Chapter 37 - Part One of the Final Furlong . . .

Kono had the shifty and downright lecherous purveyor of artwork right where she wanted him.

Gerard Hirsch's eyes had initially lit up when he first encountered Kono at an exclusive art exhibition but those same eyes were now flashing with anger after she had used her considerable charms to get him to agree to 'certify' a fake painting and then promptly showed the unscrupulous dealer her Five-0 badge.

They needed information on local art collector, Tom Emery. That was the name divulged to them by Katsu Mori in the Blue Room when the increasingly desperate man had realized that he was all out of options.

The very wealthy 'art-lover' was to all intents and purposes a fine upstanding pillar of the community. His friends and family would be shocked to learn that the well-respected man was running a lucrative side-business brokering the sale of very rare and very illegal pieces of priceless art for the select few. This illicit trade in stolen paintings was conducted in a secret high-security room within his opulent mansion, located on the upmarket street of Olohua Road in Honolulu.

But you couldn't just wander into one of these 'sales' off the street. They needed an invite and Gerard Hirsch was just the man to secure one of the 'golden tickets' for them. He just needed a little 'persuading' and the threat of a lengthy spell in prison turned out to be quite the motivator.

3 days later, 'Mr. Park' and 'Miss Kim' were among the select few ushered into the fortified viewing area located in the basement of Tom Emery's mansion. The team had acquired detailed schematics for the high-tech home and had SWAT standing by to breach on their command. Chin's 'spy' glasses recorded the unveiling of several high-value paintings as well as picking up the incriminating commentary from their host.

A very grumpy Hirsch was cooped up in the tatty old Takahamo Cleaning and Restoration van - Five-0's go-to undercover surveillance truck. Danny had parked the truck out of sight down the street and was firmly 'encouraging' the reluctant Hirsch to ID the artwork. With a resigned sigh, the art expert duly identified each and every painting in that room as being stolen. The dodgy dealer got quite animated when the last painting was unveiled and excitedly relayed to the detective that it was The Storm on the Sea of Galilee, "Oh my God, I can't believe it! That is a 1633 oil-on-canvas painting by the Dutch Golden Age painter, Rembrandt van Rijn. It was stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston in 1990 and hasn't seen the light of day for over 20 years . . . until now! And it's all down to me that the world gets to see it once again - I should get a finder's fee, right. I bet it's a huge reward for a Rembrandt?"

Danny rolled his eyes, this guy was unbelievable, "No. Your reward is me not slinging your sorry ass in jail. Just understand that if I come across you conducting shady art deals again then I won't be so understanding."

Danny had more than enough evidence to greenlight the raid and within minutes Five-0 and the SWAT officers had arrested Emery, his henchmen and the rich clientele who had knowingly been in the market for stolen artwork. The detective offered the panicking collector a lifeline, "So, Mr. Emery. Things are not looking very good for you right now. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that your immediate future is looking extremely bleak . . . but, I may be able to put in a good word if you cooperate with Five-0."

Mr. Emery was sweating profusely and looked like he was about to have a heart attack. He had never imagined that the authorities would discover his little side-line and even if they did then he arrogantly assumed they he was far too clever for them to catch him in the act. His initial bluster had dissipated and he was ready to sell out his own grandmother if it helped him. He nodded weakly to confirm that he was willing to cooperate.

Danny eyed him with a knowing look and posed a question to the captured man, "I would like you to tell me all about a painting you had in your possession until very recently," he pulled up a photo of the unassuming landscape that had caused them so much trouble, "Can you tell me why there are fresh prints on this that belong to you? We found them all around the edges and on the back of the canvas, which is pretty impressive given that it has been safely stored in the vault of Honolulu Museum of Art for a number of years now."

Emery's face visibly dropped and he let out a shocked gasp. How had anyone linked him to that? His mind was racing but he didn't have time to fully process anything before Danny cut in again, "Don't waste your time trying to explain this. I already know exactly what happened here. Let me tell you a bedtime story . . . feel free to nod along if you recognize the plot."

The detective had come up behind his prisoner and abruptly clapped the distressed man on his shoulder, which made the other man jump with shock. Williams settled into his tale with a smirk, "Many years ago, you had a specialist crew steal this from the museum and replace it with a very good quality forgery. I have no idea why you wanted it so badly, it's not priceless like all these other works in your possession? For whatever reason, having the original painting made you a very happy man until you discovered that an eminent Art Professor at the University wanted to get his hands on the painting to carry out a study on the rare pigments that the artist used in the paint . . . except that the painting in the museum didn't contain those vanishingly rare pigments, did it? The theft was about to be exposed to the world and that must have been a terrible worry for you."

Emery was looking paler by the minute and Danny felt a great deal of satisfaction in watching him squirm. This entitled piece of shit had caused a whole lot of pain all because he wanted something that he couldn't have. He twirled around on his heels to continue his story, "In fact, it was such a worry that you got back in touch with the same crew to swap the paintings back again before the theft could be discovered. Unfortunately for you the heist didn't go to plan and a lot of people got hurt. A patrol car full of cops was rammed off the road and into the ocean - that's multiple counts of attempted murder of serving police officers for starters. Then two young men who worked at the museum, one not even out of his teens, were killed in cold blood - congratulations, you've graduated to actual murder now. Killing young people with their whole life ahead of them rarely makes a jury sympathetic to you, by the way."

At this point Danny had been forced to pause in order to administer a swift light slap to Emery's face. The accused man had begun to hyperventilate as the shocking truth was starting to sink in.

Danny was far from finished with his story, "But there's more . . . a rookie cop on his very first patrol was shot at point-blank range and barely survived surgery and another young man was nearly killed after being shot on Moloka'i and may never walk again. And last but not least . . . the head of Five-0, the Governor's own special Task Force, was deliberately targeted and very nearly killed. He's still recovering in hospital right now." He paused again to take a breath before summing up the situation in case Tom Emery had somehow not grasped quite how screwed he really was right now, "Would it be stating the bleeding obvious at this point to say that the Chief of Police and the Governor are not happy men? No, Sir - not happy men at all. They are looking for someone to blame and you're the one who set this whole sorry chain of events off in the first place."

"But . . . but, you can't blame any of that on me," blustered Emery, "I had nothing to do with it! All I did was pay them to swap the paintings!"

"Pay who?"

"I never met the man in person. It was all brokered through a third party and no one used their real names. I wired the payment with my instructions and that's the last I heard. I thought the paintings had been swapped - I watched the live news coverage of the Professor analyzing the painting and he was finding all these rare pigments. He definitely had the original for his tests!" Danny eyed the other man coldly and his voice was icy,

"Oh, he did. We'd already uncovered the switch by the point and had both copies of the painting in our possession." Danny leaned in and got right in Emery's face, "You're gonna tell me everything you know in order for us to find the boss of this crew and you're gonna tell me . . . right . . . now."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Later that evening, it was with enormous frustration that Danny was updating his boss on the raid. Steve was still being closely monitored but was now allowed out of bed to take his meals and undergo gentle sessions of rehab each day. The man in question would have hated to have seen what more 'aggressive' rehab looked like given how much the 'gentle' version hurt.

But he sucked it up because he would be allowed to go home tomorrow if his latest kidney and liver function tests came back with satisfactory readings.

As his pain levels were dropping then so was his tolerance for being stuck in hospital and he was starting to go stir-crazy. He would still have to take it easy after his discharge, but at least he would be in his own home and would be able to sit out on his beach while he recuperated. Colonel Campbell had personally called the Governor with a full laundry list of possible complications and his stern words soon had Denning promptly agreeing to sign Steve off for at least 2 weeks and then have a very gradual return to active duty after that.

Steve knew he was very lucky - the injuries he sustained when the truck had ploughed into him had been serious and it could so easily have been a much less positive outcome. A full recovery would not happen overnight and there was still the chance of neurological side-effects as a result of the traumatic brain injury. Oh well, he would cross that bridge if and when he came to it.

McGarrett tuned back in and listened to what his partner was telling him, "So, Tom Emery couldn't spill his guts fast enough and we're still none the wiser. The middle man and our fugitive covered their tracks. We can't trace the money and we don't have anything to ID either player. This is a slick operation and I suspect that they've been at it for a very long time. They know how to cover their tracks," Danny sucked in an angry breath, "do you know what else is a kick in the teeth?"

It was a rhetorical question and Steve just shook his head without speaking. The other man scythed his arm through the air in a vicious arc to convey the full depth of his frustration before continuing, "All of this came about because Emery lost a bet. He was just a kid when his Aunt taught him how to play poker . . . I'm glad Grace doesn't have any relatives like that! Turns out that highly questionable Auntie wanted young Tommy to learn the value of money and so told him if he lost the game then he would lose his inheritance of her extensive collection of artwork. Most of her paintings were pretty standard landscapes of the island, apparently the old bat liked that kind of thing, but there was an original Picasso that was valued at well over $100,000 back then so imagine what it'd be worth now-" Steve interrupted with an incredulous cry,

"You have got to be shitting me! A poker game got us into this mess?"

Danny pulled a sad face, "Yup and you can see where this is going . . . predictably, the hapless boy didn't have the winning hand and his Aunt wanted him to learn a valuable lesson about the perils of gambling and so gifted the lot to the Honolulu Museum of Art in her will. It made Emery very bitter and he admitted that was what set him off on his quest to build his own, far more impressive, art collection. It was almost by accident that along the way he discovered the huge sums to be made from dealing in stolen pieces. HoMA often loans paintings to other galleries around the world and Emery got the Picasso back by targeting it when the canvas was in transit in Europe. It was a desirable piece and the museum assumed it was the work of international art thieves. Emery made a big show of loaning the museum a painting of his own as he was so upset at the loss of his Aunt's painting." Steve chipped in,

"And that non-descript landscape? What about that?" Danny nodded as he continued with his explanation,

"Well that particular painting was so unremarkable that it was only on display at the museum because control-freak Auntie made it a condition in her will. Turns out that Emery always wanted to get his hands on the original landscape for no other reason than to spite the woman . . . apparently it had been her favorite because her father had taken her to that very spot in Kuliouou Forest Reserve when she was a child. Emery knew it would piss her off from beyond the grave and the little prick was almost proud when he told me that nothing gave him greater pleasure than when he got the original painting back. He hired our unknown perp and his crew to swap it for a forgery without anyone being any the wiser. It couldn't be seen to be stolen - the low-value of the piece would've immediately raised suspicion and, with a bit of digging, soon had the authorities looking in his direction . . . especially if the museum staff linked it to the stolen Picasso and tipped off the cops. The irony is that the minute the clause in the will ran out, the Director at HoMA had the painting removed from display and squirreled away in the bowels of the museum with almost indecent haste. If Emery had waited and stolen it when it was in storage then the museum most likely would've assumed that it had been misplaced and given the Professor another painting by the same artist. Turns out Crazy Auntie had left the museum five more paintings by the same artist and any one of them would have done the job. The Professor only requested that particular piece because he had seen in on display at the museum a few years ago and was intrigued by the unusual blend of colors used to paint the trees."

Steve was lost for words, his own losing hand in a poker match was what had led to him going on a Ride-along with Lt. Keo and the rookies and stumbling on the heist in the first place. He shook his head sadly, "So, a misguided relative trying to teach a spoilt rich kid a valuable life lesson indirectly led to this FUBAR situation then?" Danny pulled a face and had to agree. He shrugged his shoulders and replied,

"Yup. Pretty much. Unbelievable, right?"

Steve could only parrot what his partner had said, "Yeah . . . unbelievable."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

6 months later . . .

Steve punched the button on his cell to accept the incoming call and answered in his customary clipped manner, "McGarrett."

"Well hello there, McGarrett," quipped the caller, "I've got some intel you might just find interesting." Steve sat bolt upright in his office chair. The team were all taking the opportunity of a break between cases to catch up on tedious, but necessary, paperwork.

"Tom, my Man! Howzit, Buddy?" Tom Hennessey chuckled,

"It's all good. This has been a good fit for me," the ex-CIA special operator paused as he reflected on the sad events which had led to him leaving The Company and joining a private security firm based out of Washington DC. He started speaking again, "Yesterday, I had someone contact me out of the blue about the photo of your thought-to-be-dead Army Ranger, Tommy Grainger. It was the old photo that Harry acquired of Grainger when he was still in the Army that got my contact's attention." Steve could hardly contain his excitement,

"Please tell me your source knew Grainger from back then?"

"Indeed he did. He told me that Grainger was going by the name of Thomas Adams and was re-training to be a bodyguard. My contact had been in the game for years and took the lad under his wing. Taught him the tricks of the trade and even got him his first proper gig. They had this thing going on where they were employed as a private butler but were really bodyguards for people who didn't want it to be known that they had a bodyguard. My contact retired and lost touch with Grainger after that but remembered the name of his first employer . . . let me see, I've made a note . . . ah, yes - it was a man called Charles Linwood Jefferson. He lived in some crumbling pile on the outskirts of New York, right on the banks of the Hudson River. Entitled, well-connected, from old money - you know the type."

Steve's lips thinned as he frowned deeply.

Oh yeah . . . he knew their type, alright.

He batted a question across to Tom, "This would've been nearly 20 years ago . . . is Charles Jefferson still alive?" Tom scrunched up his nose and made a face,

"No. He died shortly after Grainger took the job. I looked into it, apparently some investors were none too pleased with Jefferson Senior and had been making veiled threats . . . I imagine that's why the old man thought it necessary to employ Mr. Adams. He definitely died of natural causes though, the autopsy showed that his arteries were more clogged up than D.C. Metro's Interstate 395. I can only presume that Grainger took his considerable skill-set elsewhere when his employer died."

Steve huffed crossly, "Another dead end." Tom could feel his friend's frustration,

"Maybe. But I thought that I would pay the surviving family a visit. They all move in the same circles and so maybe provided a reference for this Mr. Adams. You never know, they might just remember where the man went next? People in this line of business can stay with the same family for years and we might get a lead on his associates."

"Yeah, it's gotta be worth a try . . . I'm long overdue a visit to the mainland to see you and lay some fresh flowers at Gabrielle's grave. Let me square it away with the Governor and my team and I'll see if I can swing a couple of days R&R. I'll book a flight to JFK and you can drive up and meet me at the airport. We can pay the Jefferson family a visit together."

Five-0 were not in the middle of a case and so Sam Denning saw no reason to deny Steve his request. Danny fancied a couple of days with his daughter and Chin was more than happy to hold down the fort - he could always call on Danny if they caught a difficult case. Safe in the knowledge that the Task Force would be in good hands, Steve booked the next available flight to NY.

He soon found himself waiting at the kerb outside the arrivals hall at JFK airport, shivering in the brisk East Coast breeze. He was very glad when Tom pulled up in his sedan and Steve relished in the warm air blowing through the car's heating vents. The two friends chatted as they crawled through the city traffic and slowly made their way towards their destination.

Steve was pleased to hear that Tom was seeing someone. It was still early days but Tom was getting good vibes and was hopeful that it would lead to something more serious. He in turn told Tom all about Captain Mia Shaw. Things had moved on a lot since he was released from hospital 6 months ago and Steve had found himself window shopping for engagement rings whenever he happened to be passing a jewelry store. He had been escorting Mia's beloved 'Nana' to her regular ladies brunch through the Hilton Hawaiian Village when the sharp old lady had spotted his eyes settling on the sparkling engagement rings as they walked past Na Hoku, one of Hawaii's Finest Jewelers. Without saying a word she had slipped her own vintage ring from her finger and pressed it into the palm of Steve's hand. Hope Shaw's eyes had twinkled with delight as she spoke, "I don't have any use for this old thing anymore. I'd rather see it on the finger of my precious Mia . . . just don't make me wait too long, I'm not getting any younger!"

Steve had colored up, embarrassed at being caught out so easily by an octogenarian. He slowly opened up his hand and looked in wonder at the exquisite ring. Now he knew why the many shiny rings which he had looked at had so far had failed to catch his eye. They were too bling and not at all what Mia would like. This delicate diamond cluster was perfect. He automatically started to try and give it back to the old lady but was stopped in his tracks, "Oh no you don't. . . I won't hear of it, young man. What use is a fancy ring to an old woman like me? I'd be honored if you were to present this to my granddaughter . . . I want it to stay in the Shaw family after I'm gone." The commander had come up against enough hard-assed 3 star Admirals to know when he was beaten and so accepted the generous gift graciously. That had been the push he had needed and he had popped the question to the lovely lady the very next day.

Tom had hooted with delight at the tale and clapped his friend on the shoulder, "Well it's about time, McGarrett. Try not to cock it up!" Steve gave his driver a wry smile,

"Copy that." He glanced at the car's navigation system and pointed at the right hand turn coming up ahead, "It's just down here. The house should be at the end of this driveway."

The Jefferson family estate was nestled in a secluded area not far from Stony Point right on the banks of the mighty Hudson River. At this point the Hudson became a sprawling mass of water and was wider than many inland lakes. It was home to numerous sailing clubs and country parks, as well as the Jefferson mansion. The house was just as impressive as any of the grand old estates further up the river in the prestigious Hudson Valley area, but was much closer to the city and so suited Carlton. Some of the stuffier families may turn up their noses at its location, but he loved it. It was so unexpected and was completely concealed from the road by the acres of gently undulating lawns planted with shrubbery and the occasional beautiful mature tree. The meandering private driveway gradually dipped down the closer you got to the water until you reached the main house. This change in altitude created a natural hideaway for the residence, along with the trees surrounding its position.

For Steve it was a trip down memory lane. West Point was really not all that far away, just a little further up river, and he knew the whole area well.

Both men stretched their legs as they exited their vehicle and took in their surroundings. Steve spoke first, "I thought your contact described this as a crumbling pile? It looks in perfect condition to me." Tom had to agree, there was no doubting that some serious cash had been splurged on the period property. The beautifully manicured gardens looked like they cost a fortune to maintain as well. He could only shrug,

"Well, it was nearly 20 years ago. A lot can happen in that time. Maybe old man Jefferson left the family a fortune when he died? I looked into the family, Mrs. Jefferson died of a stroke not long after her husband passed away and they had one son . . . Carlton. He has never married and works in acquisitions - whatever that means? I presume he lives here with his staff. There are several smaller houses on the estate, as well as stables. With its river-side location, it won't be a surprise to learn that there's a boathouse down by the water."

They hadn't quite made it across the graveled driveway to the imposing front door when it opened and a young woman came out to meet them, "Hello, Gentleman. I haven't been able to get hold of Mr. Jefferson since you called. He's out on his yacht while the weather is still good enough for sailing," she shivered a little as the cool wind chilled her bare arms, "Autumn's on the way, it seems a long time since we were sweltering in the heatwave!" Steve smiled and made the necessary introductions, showing the young lady his credentials. After inspecting the shiny Five-0 badge she introduced herself, "I'm Freya Long. I've not had this job very long . . . it was my mother's job for years and she died after taking ill all of a sudden."

Tom cut in to express his condolences to the visibly-upset girl. She sniffed back her tears, "Mr. Jefferson was so supportive, Mom had been with the family for over 30 years. He paid all the funeral costs and then when he learned of my financial difficulties he offered me a job. I'm really not qualified for the post, there would've been far better candidates but Mr. Jefferson said that I was as good as family and insisted that I accept the position. Mom always said it was like being part of the Jefferson family working here and now I know what she meant."

Steve smiled encouragingly but was inwardly cursing their bad luck, Mrs. Long would've known everything there was to know about anyone who had ever worked for the Jefferson family - if only she had still been alive to tell them. They would have to try the son and hope he remembered something.

Freya cut in again, "Um, I can see Mr. Jefferson's yacht coming back now . . . look, it's the one with the blue and while sail right across the other side of the Hudson." The two men followed the path of her outstretched finger and could see the small vessel cutting through the water at a fair clip. The moderate breeze was billowing out the sail and effortlessly propelling the boat across the river. At that speed, they wouldn't have long too wait for Carlton Jefferson to reach his destination.

With a shy smile Freya pointed out a small gate set in the neat row of box hedging and told the men how to reach the boathouse. Nodding in thanks, Tom led the way and soon both men were stood at the water's edge watching the yacht navigate a path through the other moored boats until it was nearly at the boathouse.

Steve moved towards the shoreline until he was in full view of the sailor on board the small sailing boat.

He had to shout so Jefferson Junior could hear him, "Ahoy there, Mr. Jefferson. I'm Commander Steve McGarrett and this is my colleague, Tom Hennessey. I work for the Governor's special Task Force on the Hawaiian island of Oahu and I was hoping you could help me with a case? I'm trying to track the movements of a man who worked for your father, he was employed as the family butler and went by the name of Mr. Adams."

Carlton had manoeuvred closer to the shore and turned to face Steve and Tom. His initial shock when Steve had announced himself had been hidden and his face was now carefully rearranged into an impassive mask. His cultured tones rang out across the water, "Of course I'll try and do anything to help, but I'm not sure I'll be able to remember much about my father's employees from so long ago. Mrs. Long would have been the font of all knowledge in these matters but she sadly passed away earlier this year." As he stopped speaking he locked eyes with Steve.

The fuzzy image of a face buried deep within McGarrett's memory suddenly clicked into place.

Maybe it was hearing the distinctive accent again? Or it could have been seeing the man at such ease on his boat and linking this to the sumptuous yacht which had been stolen from Will and Tanya Appleton in Moloka'i?

Whatever triggered it, the flash of recognition was unmistakable. This was the driver of the old pickup in the forest on Moloka'i. The man who had murdered his own pilot, shot the young boy and Danny and then very nearly succeeded in trying to kill Steve.

Unfortunately Carlton had also clocked the change in Steve's expression and instantly knew that he had been compromised. In one fluid motion he swung the sail around to guide the yacht back out into the Hudson. Neither Steve or Tom were armed. The commander couldn't be bothered with the rigmarole of taking his firearm through the airport and onto the flight and Hennessey's own weapon was safely secured in a lockbox in his car - Steve was a long way out of his jurisdiction and all they were doing was asking a few questions about an ex-employee.

Steve's feet caught up with his brain and he sprang into action. He could not let this criminal get away again. If the Jefferson heir made it out into open water then he would never be seen again. Taking deep lung-filling breaths as he waded into the cold water, Steve lunged for the retreating boat and managed to hook his hand around a trailing rope. The wind caught the angled sail and caused the yacht to pick up speed and the sudden motion forced Steve under the water. He managed to heave in one final deep breath before his head dipped under the small waves.

Tom shouted in alarm as he saw his friend slip under the surface. The yacht picked up speed once Carlton had navigated around the moored boats and Steve didn't reappear at any point. In less than 30 seconds, the streamlined racing boat had made it out into open water and was approaching its top speed as the sailor at the helm angled the large sails so that they caught the wind just right.

Hennessey waded into the water as he called out for Steve. The pebble riverbed and frigid water temperature meant that visibility was excellent, giving the searching man a clear view of what was underneath the surface. McGarrett wasn't there, of that he was sure . . . which could only mean that he was being dragged underwater in the wake of the fast-moving yacht, possibly trapped in what would rapidly become a watery grave . . .

Part Two of the Final Furlong and 'The End' coming soon . . .