Chapter 3

"He wants to be found," echoed Danny. The company looked silently at each other for an incisive moment.

Compelled, McGarret said, "Well, if he insists. . . Chin, run facial recognition."

With just a few taps on the board's touch screen, Chin had the FBI-sanctioned program up and running, analyzing the specific structure of this enigmatic criminal and scanning for a match in the federal databases. In fewer than ten seconds, it came to a conclusion: No matches.

"No matches? There's got to be a match. Over 100,000 registered felons in that database and not one match?" Danny began pacing the floor.

"Don't get too anxious - your blood pressure, remember?" A grin crept across McGarrett's expression but was quickly stifled when Danny shot him a look. "This's happened before."

"Right. There are similar alternatives - other databases that we can search," added Chin.

"You seem to have forgotten that he's taken a hostage. Time is a luxury we don't have. We've got to get a lead," added Danny. "Kono, come with McGarrett and me. We'll scope out the station. Chin, do you think you can find the identity of our shooter?"

"I'm on it," and with that Chin began pounding furiously onto a keyboard while the others loaded their ammunition.

"Let's go."

Kono, Danny, and Steve hopped out of the silver Camaro and joined a team of HPD officers and forensic scientists around the entrance of the dilapidated gas station.

Kono, glancing around at its battered facade, approached the officers. "Has it been cleared?"

"Yeah. Vic's being examined as we speak."

"Thanks." The several Five-0 agents walked into the run-down building. Inside, convenience store-type shelving occupied almost all of the floorspace. Apart from the distinct smell of iron emanating from the blood-stained carpet behind the counter, it smelled of dust. Dust and grime, with a hint of pungent liquor. Whatever rays of light did show through the unwashed, grimy windows were filtered by advertisement posters. "Obviously this place wasn't well-taken care of. It looks like no one's even been in here for months. Max - What've you got?"

He looked up from his examination of the cadaver.

"Not much. About 45, with a close-range gunshot wound to the forehead by a silenced handgun. But get this - no bullet. See?" Max gestured to the corpse's temple. "Entrance wound, but no exit wound, and nothing to be found inside his skull, either."

"No bullet." Steve McGarrett inched closer to the subject of the inspection. "What if. . . What if it's because the bullet would identify the shooter? The Yakuza. The entire organization uses a uniform gold bullet. After the tape cut out, the shooter removed the bullet hoping to disguise himself, obviously unsuccessfully."

"That would explain the lack of data in the system. All Yakuza members are classically trained in homicide, but not all of them have actually committed a felony," remarked Kono genially. "I'll inform Chin Ho." She retreated to the semi-soundless front of the store and dialed while Max resumed his analysis.

"We are running data right now and should have a full report within a few hours. One last thing you should see while you're here." He traversed to the cash register and unlatched its drawer.

"15K. Left here untouched."