Chapter 12

Steve had been in plenty of tight situations before. They were a given in the life of a SEAL and even with Five-0, Steve often found himself thinking on his feet to avoid disaster. So while having a few guns trained on him was not great, it also was nothing new. He always kept his cool and if he couldn't talk his way out, he would resort to fighting or shooting his way out. It was no big deal. Most of the time, he didn't even get hurt.

However, even Steve knew his current situation was less than ideal.

First, he was outnumbered. But three to one weren't the worst odds in the world and the fact that he was sitting while his opponents were standing actually bothered him more. It was always harder to mount an offensive when your butt was planted on a sofa. The element of surprise goes right out the window when you have to get up first.

Second was the obvious, he wasn't armed. Leaving his gun in the car had been a tactical decision, one he was beginning to regret. He knew his gun would have been confiscated if he brought it in but still, it would have been nice knowing it was down the hall if he needed it. He had come in peace but it was obvious his sentiment would not be returned.

Third, Zhào knew Steve was lying; or at least he thought he did. If Zhào knew for sure, Steve knew he probably would have already been shot and his body disposed of quickly before his blood could pool and run down the sofa, staining the priceless antique rug.

So, in short, things were bad but there was still hope—hope that he could execute his plan, hope that he would get out alive.

However, hope by itself never got anything done so it was time for Steve to form his plan.

Step one, lie.

He could admit he was at the house—that he had gotten confused on the meeting date and arrived a few days early by accident. There was a degree of truth to it, after all, and Steve had sold it once before. He was fairly confident he could do it again. But it did nothing to explain the presence of his boots; he never would have left them behind if it was all a simple mix-up. So admitting he was there for a different reason was out.

That only left denying he had been there at all. That one was trickier because he actually had been there. Granted, Zhào had security cameras outside the house but Steve had seen them three nights ago and was confident he managed to evade them all. And if all Zhào had to incriminate him was the boots, then he could probably explain them away. Actually, he would have to. Denial it was.

Step 2, neutralize.

That one was fairly self-explanatory. Get the weapons away from Zhào and his men and take them down. He was aided in this somewhat since only two of the three men were currently armed, with one of the bodyguards still foolishly holding Steve's boots. He probably had a weapon as well, but since it was not drawn, it would buy Steve a few more seconds before he had to worry about him.

Step three, don't get killed.

Step three was really an offshoot of step two and it was one that Steve hadn't thought about in a while. It's not that he wanted to die; it's just that when you're running ops by yourself, it's not one you tend to think about too much. You do what you have to do to get the job done and if that includes dying, so be it. You don't give up and you never quit.

But when the op involved others, it changed and the welfare of your fellow teammates became a concern. The SEALs had their own phrase for this concept—leave no man behind. It was one they all bought into wholeheartedly and obeyed, even though sometimes the man you weren't leaving behind was a corpse.

When Steve joined Five-0, that concept, as it was, didn't fly anymore. He still didn't leave a man behind but now the people he was working with were police officers, not SEALs. Danny, Chin, and Kono were all very capable in their own rights, and Steve still pitied anyone who thought they could take Kono in a fight, but as Danny would put it, they didn't all have his freaky ninja skills. Steve found himself becoming very protective of them and eventually realized that their welfare was more important to him than getting the job done. Granted, it took Steve a while to get to that place, with Danny getting shot at the gun-runners house on day one being a prime example, but he had learned his lesson and had never taken their safety for granted again. They still did their jobs, of course, but catching criminals would never be at the expense of Danny, Chin, or Kono's well-being.

And even though he was on alone now, Steve couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt when he thought of his friends. True, he didn't care if he died doing what was necessary, but they probably would. As a matter of fact, he knew they would.

If one thing was clear over the past few days, it was how much his Five-0 family cared for him. The last 19 months had been hard on him, but it clearly had been just as hard on his team. They didn't say much about it, of course; Danny broke down a bit that first night at Steve's kitchen table, Chin smiled and told him every day how nice it was to have him back, and Kono had confessed "they had all been a mess" while they waited for his CT scan at the hospital, but that was about it. They let their actions speak for them instead.

And speak they did. From the moment Steve reappeared, they had dropped everything and had been there for him. Even when his memories began to resurface and they became aware of all the questionable things he had done, their concern, faith, and friendship never wavered. And after putting them through hell for 19 months, the idea of causing them any more grief was simply unacceptable.

So the optimal outcome, the only outcome, was for him to get the job done and still be standing at the end of the night.

With his thoughts now solidified and his plan formed, it was time for him to act, starting with step one.

Steve looked Zhào straight in the eye. "Like I said, I've never been here before. Ask your butler; he'll tell you the truth." It was a bluff, but Steve still thought it was a safe bet. He hadn't seen the butler all night; the man who greeted him at the door tonight was different.

Zhào's eyes narrowed, his smile fading. "My security guard, Mr. Chang, or the 'butler' as you called him, was killed three nights ago, as I am sure you are well aware. That was also the same night I found these boots sitting in the foyer. Would you are to explain, Commander McGarrett?"

Steve shook his head. "I'm sorry about your man, but I can't explain his death or the boots since I wasn't here."

"You are insinuating someone else left these boots here? The same style and size you wear?" Zhào asked, the doubt evident in his voice. "That would be quite the coincidence. And I do not believe in coincidences."

Steve shrugged. "Those are very popular boots. Hawaii is home to eleven military bases which employ over 45,000 people. Pretty much anyone who's ever served in the desert has a pair or two, not to mention the wannabes who like to dress up for Halloween. They're not special issue- anyone with a hundred and fifty bucks and access to the internet can have a pair. So, yeah, I'd call that a coincidence."

Zhào's face did not waver. "Please forgive me, Commander, but I do not believe you. You see, the day after you went missing, my men received a call from your crew. You had not returned to your boat and they were concerned about you. Naturally, so was I. So I sent someone to find you."

The revelation caught Steve by surprise although he didn't show it. He knew he was dazed that day and had a concussion and all, but how on earth had he missed that?

"He found you at Queen's Medical Center, leaving the emergency room with your old partner, Lieutenant Williams," Zhào continued. "He said it looked like you had been in some sort of fight. He also mentioned you were barefoot. Was that another coincidence?"

"No," Steve shook his head. "I went out for a drink and after a few beers, things got out of control and I wound up in a bar fight. I hurt my toe, which required some bandaging, so I couldn't put my boots back on. And I couldn't drive, either. What your man saw was Lieutenant Williams taking me home the next day."

Zhào smiled at Steve sadly. "I wish I could believe you Commander, but you will see why I cannot." He stood and walked over to his desk, where he opened a drawer. Steve tensed, wary of what Zhào was doing, but he relaxed somewhat then Zhào withdrew his left hand, holding what appeared to be a remote control. He pushed a button and a large flat-screen TV began to rise from the credenza.

Steve had a sinking feeling he was going to be going from step one, lying, to step two, neutralizing, in a matter of seconds. His shifted his weight as inconspicuously as he could, and inched closer to the edge of the sofa.

"You see," Zhào said as he walked back toward Steve, "I am a man with many enemies, men who would want to harm me. But I am also a careful man; I take security very seriously. I have my own private guard force as well as a state-of-the-art security system. Eleven cameras are installed outside of my home alone. You managed to avoid all of them when you arrived, which is quite an impressive feat. However, when it comes to the cameras inside the house, you were not as fortunate. Actually, you are the star of the show."

Steve silently cursed to himself. He had seen the cameras outside; that's how he knew to avoid them. He knew cameras inside were also a possibility and he had looked carefully, both three nights ago and today, and had not spotted them. Wherever they were, they were well-concealed.

"Shall we watch?" Zhào asked and then, without waiting for an answer, he pointed the remote at the TV. It sparked to life and he realized immediately that Zhào had not been lying; Steve was the star of the show.

The taped camera feed began three nights ago with the security guard, Mr. Chang, opening the front door. Steve watched and saw himself standing on the other side.

"Commander, what a surprise," Chang said cordially with a slight bow. "Please, come in."

Steve bowed back and then stepped through the door.

"To what do we owe this honor?" Chang asked politely as he closed the door behind him.

"I have a meeting with Mr. Zhào," Steve replied.

"Ah, I see."

Steve sat on the sofa and watched the familiar process unfold on screen; Chang frisked him, then directed him to the bench where Steve sat and removed his boots, fatefully leaving them on the copper tray.

"This way, please," Chang said, leading him down the hall.

Steve was impressed as he watched the feeds seamlessly switch from camera to camera. He still wasn't sure where the cameras were hidden, but the angles indicated they were either in the ceiling or more likely, concealed within the ornate chandeliers.

On the screen, Chang led him into a small study. While the study he was currently sitting in was opulent and showy, this one was smaller and more business-like. A desk sat at one end of the room, a conference table and chairs at the other. And instead of bookshelves, each wall was lined with file cabinets. The room also had a large glass window, similar to the room he was in, which allowed him to take in the beautiful view.

"Please, sit down," Chang said, gesturing at one of the chairs. Steve complied. "May I get you anything?"

Steve smiled. "A glass of water would be great."

Chang bowed again and then left the room, closing the door behind him. Almost immediately, Steve jumped up and went to the closest file cabinet. He opened it and shuffled through its contents for a moment, before closing the drawer and moving on to the next cabinet.

Steve's attention was drawn away from the screen when Zhào spoke.

"You may not know it, but when Mr. Chang left to get you a glass of water, he called me," Zhào informed him.

Zhào was right—Steve didn't know. But it did help explain things.

"I knew we did not have a meeting and that you must have been there for some other reason," Zhào continued. "So I asked him to detain you until I returned home several hours later. And we both know what happened next."

Steve actually didn't know exactly that happened next, but he had a pretty good guess. He had killed Chang.

But time on the screen had not caught up to his memory yet, and he watched as the man he was three days ago continued to search the file cabinets. Then, he stopped, transfixed, holding a piece of paper in his hands. After a moment, he heard a noise and hastily shoved the paper back in the cabinet. He ran to his chair and sat back down a mere second before Chang returned with the glass of water.

Steve nodded his thanks and sitting there, watching, he remembered that when he looked at Chang, something seemed off. It wasn't overt, yet still Steve could see it in his eyes. He knew he'd been made. Steve brought the glass halfway up to his lips before he threw the water in Chang' face.

The man sputtered, wiping his eyes, providing Steve the opening he was looking for. He quickly jumped to his feet, getting in the first blow. It was a right uppercut followed by a left hook and if Chang were any normal man, it would have knocked him out. But he wasn't; he was well conditioned and well trained. Chang shifted his head minutely right before impact, escaping the worst of Steve's blow, and only staggered for a second before regrouping and mounting his own offensive. He attempted a few punches, which Steve deflected, before he connected with an uppercut. Steve quickly shook it off and the men began fighting in earnest, trading blow for blow and kick for kick.

Skill-wise, they were evenly matched and Steve continued to watch as he fought with Chang, feeling oddly detached like he was watching a hero in an action movie. He noted when Chang tried to step on his right foot but only managed to get his sock. Steve pulled away quickly, his sock coming off in the process, before he landed repetitive blows to Chang' head. The man was trying to protect himself, but it wasn't working; Steve's hits were coming too hard and too fast. He continued to drive Chang back, toward the window, where the sun was setting over the mountain tops.

Steve was about to win; it was obvious to everyone watching.

But it was evidently obvious to Chang as well. As Steve went in for one last right hook to knock him out, Chang reached out and grabbed Steve's arm. He twisted his body, using Steve's momentum against him, and swung him around.

Straight toward the window.

In that split second, Steve knew he was going through it; that much was a given. His momentum was just too strong.

But he wasn't going to go through it alone. At the last second, Steve reached out and grabbed the front of Chang' shirt.

The tempered glass shattered as they crashed through the window, the tiny pieces cascading down on them like ice pellets. The camera angle switched over to an outside feed and Steve couldn't help but wince when he saw himself land, flat on his back, onto an outcropping of rocks one story below. He could almost hear his ribs breaking on impact and even now, sitting on the sofa, he had to resist the urge to wrap his arms around his tender midsection.

He continued to watch as his limp body rolled down the hill, out the camera's range. He was clearly knocked out by the fall, which really wasn't a surprise. He remembered the fight up until they went through the window and the next thing he remembered, he was coming to on the mountain at night, his memories gone.

But watching Chang land was even worse. He fell straight down and landed on his head, his neck visibly snapping under his weight. There was no doubt in Steve's mind he died on impact.

With the show now over, Zhào turned off the TV and set the remote down on his desk.

"You were saying, Commander," he prompted; his words was still cordial but his voice was icy cold.

Steve shrugged. "Ok. So maybe I was here."

Zhào nodded once. "A fine concession, given the evidence. However, what I want to know is why you were here. And what you were looking for in the first place."

Steve shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you that."

Zhào sighed as he walked toward Steve, his SIG still trained on Steve's chest. The two guards watched, but did not move to join him.

"It is a shame," Zhào said. "I never wanted to kill you. After all, I had such high hopes. That is why I added another China route and gave you your own ship. And you did not disappoint me. Your business was up over 210%." He shook his head as if he would be the person most burdened if Steve was murdered. Correction, if he murdered Steve.

"And after the unfortunate capture of my lieutenant in Shantou last month, I needed a new number two in charge," Zhào continued. "I was going to promote you to his position. That is why I called this meeting tonight, with all of my captains. I wanted to make it official. It would have been a night worthy of celebration." He shook his head again. "But that is not possible now."

"That's ok," Steve interjected, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I never wanted to be your lieutenant anyway."

Zhào's brows quirked up in surprise. Steve wasn't sure if that was because he wasn't used to being interrupted or if he simply couldn't grasp that being his lieutenant wasn't the best position in the world. Steve concluded it was probably a little bit of both.

"Then what did you want to be?" Zhào asked.

Steve didn't hold back. He smiled menacingly.

"I wanted to be you," he said.

And with that, he leaped up and lunged straight at Zhào.

To be continued…