"Absolutely out of the question," Danny ranted. "No way. No way in hell."
Steve clenched his hands tighter around the steering wheel as they sped from Tripler to the palace. "Danny. Listen to reason. You . . . you can't be involved in this. You can't. You have Gracie to think of. "
"Chin and Kono will agree with me," Danny insisted. "We aren't letting you after these people alone. Do you not remember we just pulled you out of North Korea? We barely got you back, Steven."
"Chin and Kono have family and careers to think of, too," Riley said quietly, leaning from the back seat.
"Plausible deniability," Danny said, incredulous. "You want us to have plausible deniability while . . . "
"While we go look for some answers," Steve said gently. "That's all we're doing here, Danny. We're not . . . storming the castle, or whatever."
It was wrong. Steve wasn't supposed to be gentle. He was supposed to be loud, obnoxious, all of the things that irritated and infuriated Danny on a regular basis. He was not supposed to be gentle, kind, like he was preparing for -
"A suicide mission," Danny blurted out.
"What? No," Steve insisted. They pulled up in front of the palace and Steve parked. "Recon, Danny. Just recon."
They stepped off the elevator with Danny and Steve still arguing.
"And what, pray tell, are the rest of us supposed to do?" Danny yelled, hands waving.
Steve paused for a moment. "Find the damn poachers," he finally said, pointing at the computer console triumphantly.
#*#*#*#*#*#
Garrison sat in front of the computer monitors. He was starting to look . . . deranged.
"We're still getting impeccable readings," he mumbled. "It worked; it's fully integrated with her central nervous system. She's ours now."
Fielding stood at the back of the room, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Her cortisol levels are very high . . . pain receptors are being actively suppressed . . . good girl, that's my good girl . . . Let's move. We don't need a monitoring system so close now; we can move on to the next phase," Garrison said. He shut down the computer and picked up a stack of files.
"This is insane. I will not be part of this any more," Fielding said, turning angrily to leave the room.
"I thought as much," Garrison said, sighing. He turned casually and fired off three shots at Fielding's retreating form, then turned back and fired into the computer equipment until it was a smoking pile of rubble.
Stepping over Fielding's body, Garrison locked the door behind him and headed up the staircase to the helicopter waiting on the rooftop.
#*#*#*#*#
Steve, Riley, Jerry, and Joe left the palace and headed for Jerry's house. It was a silent drive; Steve and Joe were on high alert, scanning for any possible tails. Riley was cradling her arm a bit, and Steve suspected she was actively and deliberately tuning out the pain. He could do that, himself, to a point, but the tilt of her head and the calculating look in her eye was distinctive, and if he were honest, a little unsettling. Jerry was just sitting in stunned disbelief. The events of the day had been a bit much, even for him.
Joe and Steve exchanged a nod and a head tilt as they walked up Jerry's driveway, and Joe disappeared into the light shrubbery surrounding Jerry's house. Steve continued with Riley and Jerry into the house, where he proceeded to check every possible entrance and exit point of the house, while Riley and Jerry settled in the basement in front of the computers.
"I can't believe we're doing this," Jerry whispered. "Hey, do you need something for your arm? Like, I don't know, a cushion or something to rest it on?"
Riley shook her head. She had effectively compartmentalized the pain and was completely focused on the keyboard in front of her; fingers flying over the keys and eyes scanning between three monitors.
"Jerry, we need to see if there's any way we can detect a frequency from this . . . transmission," Riley said. She glanced to be sure Steve was out of earshot. "And you're one hundred percent sure that our transmitter is completely off?"
"One hundred and ten percent," Jerry said emphatically, "but I still think you need to tell Steve."
Riley shook her head. "No. Jerry. If he knew, and if somehow he gave that information up to the wrong person, and if WoFat used that to find me . . . Steve would never forgive himself."
"But he's a Navy SEAL. And you're his sister. He would never -"
"He's only human. And he has more attachments than he realizes. There are too many things that could be used against him as leverage. And Jerry, look - don't you sweat it, okay? Don't do anything to protect me. You do what you need to do to protect yourself. Let me and Steve worry about me. Got it?" Riley said, looking intently at Jerry. "Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Jerry?"
"You're saying you expect me to give you up," Jerry said. "I think I'm insulted. And terrified."
Riley laughed. "If I'm as good as I think I am, no one will ever connect you to us, okay? So you shouldn't have to worry about it. Besides, if someone threatens you, my brother will kick their ass. Now, we have to find out how this data is being transmitted."
Steve had finished his search of the house. "You're sure, Riley? I'm not doubting you . . . it's just . . . you're sure?"
"Yeah. I don't know how to explain it. I just know. At first, it was a completely vague sensation; and then, when I concentrated, I felt like I could follow - I know that sounds crazy, but I felt like I could follow it, if I tried, so I concentrated and felt like there was something, in my arm. That's why I - I thought I could get it out. You have it with you, right? The thing the nurses found?" Riley asked, rubbing her arm absently.
"It's here," Steve said, pulling the evidence bag out of one of his many pockets. "I wish we could take it to a proper lab, but . . . "
"No way," Jerry protested. "People in black suits would come and we'd never see or hear from either of you again."
"That used to sound far-fetched," Steve commented.
"I've been telling you for years . . . " Jerry mumbled, as he wheeled over a small table which was outfitted with a powerful magnifying glass. "It looks like a hollow cylinder. Definitely small enough to be implanted with a needle. Not microscopic, but definitely small enough that it was probably inserted with a needle."
"When we found you, Riley, when WoFat . . . there were needles and IVs all around you. What do you remember?" Steve asked.
"I remember he shot me up a couple of times, before he set up the IV. It all blurs together, though, I'm sorry," Riley said, pressing her hands to her eyes. Trying to remember her time with WoFat was making her head hurt.
"Riley, are you hurting?" Steve asked, alarmed.
"Just a little headache," she mumbled, trying to wave him off. He had a penlight out, trying to flash it into her eyes. "And seriously, what do you think you're accomplishing, here? Do you know what you're looking for?"
"Well, no, not exactly," he said, smiling apologetically. "But, you said, when you tried to fight back against shooting Charlie, that you remembered pain. I was just . . . "
"Worried that I was going to flip out and murder you and Jerry," Riley said flatly. "Oh my God, this is terrible. Jerry, forget the implant or whatever, let's focus on backtracing the bug that Fielding put on the Five-O computers, and see if we can somehow match that with . . . I don't know. Match it, triangulate it, something." Riley scrubbed her hand over her face, and Jerry smiled, because it looked so much like Steve.
"You can do that from here?" Steve asked.
"Oh, yeah, I've got full access to the Five-O mainframe," Riley said.
"That happened after she got here," Jerry supplied helpfully. "Not before. She did it. Not me. I told you, she's good."
"What I'm doing can't be traced to Jerry, or to Five-O," Riley said, her fingers going back to the keyboard.
"Where can it be traced to, Riley?" Steve asked. She was silent. "Come on, Riley, I was Naval Intelligence. Ultimately, it can be traced somewhere. Tell me where."
"Hashima Island."
Steve was speechless for a moment. "You're kidding me. The abandoned island . . . we had exercises there once."
"Hidden in plain sight. It's protected by the Japanese government, now open to tourists. In one of the abandoned housing complexes, in a closet. There's a server," Riley said. "And please, that's all you need to know. If someone, somehow, manages to pick up my trail, it will lead them to an empty apartment on an abandoned island. And the Japanese government will have to grant them access and we know how long that will take."
Steve shook his head. "Well, okay then, have at it."
#*#*#*#*#
"Well, shit," Riley said quietly, staring at the screen in disbelief. It had only been about fifteen minutes. Granted, she was fast - very fast - but this was almost too easy. "Steve, I traced the bug on the Five-O mainframe back to a physical location."
"That's fantastic," Steve said. "Wait, you don't look like someone who just did something fantastic. What's wrong?"
"Is that -" Jerry peered at the screen.
"You're kidding me," Steve said. "The cannery? Where WoFat . . . they set up shop right after him. Unbelievable."
"I guess they didn't think we would look there," Riley said, shrugging. She turned to Jerry. "Any luck? Have you found anything at all that might be able to detect the frequency of . . . well, of me?"
Jerry shook his head. "It's not cellular, it's not bluetooth. I can tell you that much. I'm at a loss. There's theory . . . "
"Which is?" Riley prompted.
"Acoustic wave technology."
She looked at him blankly and blinked a few times, then shook her head. "I can't wrap my brain around that right now."
Steve nodded. "One thing at a time. I'll take Joe and go check out the cannery."
"Without me?" Riley demanded, standing up. "Like hell."
"Riley," Steve said, in that unmistakable, universal, exasperated-older-brother voice. "Absolutely not." He crossed his arms, confident that he'd had the last word. He was older, stronger, and wiser; a Navy SEAL and leader of an elite task force, for crying out loud.
#*#*#*#*#
Riley sat quietly in the back seat of the Silverado. When Steve's eye met hers in the rear view mirror, he tried for a stern expression, but only managed fond.
Joe had stopped Steve as they loaded gear into the tool box on the back of the truck. "You have a soft spot for her," he'd said, frowning. "It could cloud your judgment."
Steve had looked at him, impassive, his eyes unreadable. "Well, apparently we have a soft spot for you, Joe. And maybe it has clouded our judgment."
Danny's ringtone pulled Steve's thoughts back. "Yeah, Danny," he said. "Do you have a lead on the poachers?"
"Well, Steve, here's the thing. This poaching case: it's tricky. Lots of conflicting information. What Chin, Kono, and I were thinking, is how there are going to be some false leads. It happens with a case this widespread. But, you know, we need to follow up on every lead. All of them. Even the ones that don't end up being connected to the case." Danny paused. "For example, there could be a lead, right now, as we speak, that we should follow up on. Because it sounds to me like you're heading somewhere, off duty, so probably we should be heading somewhere, too, on our case. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Steve shook his head, even as he smiled. "Danny, I think . . . with Kono looking for a promotion, you know, for the sake of her career . . . probably you should focus on the leads that seem more productive. But thanks, man. I appreciate the thoroughness of the team. The willingness of the team."
"Well, it just seems to me that our newest hire, Riley, was working on this poaching case right before that unfortunate misfire. I'm thinking, there's possibly something on her laptop. An address or something, that she hadn't had time to forward to the rest of the team. And we should probably go look for that right now," Danny said, "and then head over to check it out."
Steve hesitated. He really didn't want to involve the rest of the team, but Danny was always yelling at him about backup.
"Okay, Danny," he said, choosing his words very carefully. "I think, yeah, go look and see if Riley left any leads on her laptop. And go ahead and check out any addresses she left, but keep a distance. We don't want to tip off the poachers. I'm sure if there's any activity that you need to be concerned about, you'll realize it and use your best judgment."
Steve looked in the rearview mirror as Riley held up a finger in acknowledgement. "Done," she said, slipping her tablet back into her backpack.
"Your team takes unreasonable risks, for civilians," Joe commented, shaking his head.
Steve's jaw tightened as he looked at Joe. "Unreasonable? Interesting choice of words. Yes, my team is my family. And there's nothing you won't do for family. Unless, of course, by unreasonable, you mean that they're taking a risk for a less than worthy cause. Like me. Or Riley. Is that what you think, Joe? We're not worth it? There's no . . . tactical advantage here?"
"They're risking unnecessary exposure," Riley said quietly, from the back. "They have attachments, dependents. They aren't expendable."
"You're damn right, they aren't expendable. And neither are you," Steve said.
Riley shrugged.
Joe started to say something more, but Steve cut him off with a glance.
"Joe, I barely trust you. And right now, I'm reasonably sure I hate you as much as I've ever hated anyone, ever, in my life. So, please. Just be quiet," Steve said, as he slipped the truck off the road and behind a thatch of scrubby palms. "Okay, the cannery is at the end of this road. We're going to have to try to stay in cover. Riley, with me. Joe, go in from the north side."
They each grabbed a backpack from the toolbox, and Steve ensured that each of them had a small radio.
"Danny?" Riley asked.
"He'll see the truck and know exactly what we're up to," Steve said, confident in Danny's ability to read between the lines. With that, they split up, and began their quiet and cautious approach toward the abandoned cannery.
#*#*#*#*#
"Unbelievable!" Danny yelled, bent over awkwardly looking at Riley's laptop. He had not yet been in the little space set aside for her office, and was puzzled at the low table.
"What is it?" Kono asked, pushing past Chin to get into the room. She gracefully sank to the floor behind the low table, pulling the laptop toward her. She read the address on the screen and her eyes widened.
"What?" Chin demanded, looking between Danny and Kono.
"The cannery," Danny said. "Where we found Riley after WoFat . . . the hack into the Five-O mainframe traces back to the cannery. Those bastards have probably been right under our nose, and working directly with WoFat this whole time."
"Or they set up right behind him, knowing it would be the last place we would look," Chin said.
"Well, we're looking now," Danny said grimly. He extended a hand to Kono and pulled her easily to her feet. "Let's go."
"Can we stop by the armory?" Kono asked hopefully as she followed Danny and Chin through the door.
#*#*#*#*#
"I'm at the south wall," Steve said quietly into his radio. "No sign of activity."
"North entrance," Joe's voice came back. "Same."
"Okay, move in," Steve said. He frowned at a digital keypad, out of place on the old building, and very obviously added recently. "I've got a digital access panel," he said.
"Affirmative," Joe replied. "It could be rigged."
Riley was busy pulling cables and a roll-up keyboard out of her backpack. "Hold on, I've got it," she said.
Steve looked at her curiously.
"Remember, when I borrowed some stuff from Jerry, before we went to look for Frank? And I said I could poof a building?" she asked, as she peered closely at the edge of the panel. "I'll poof the building." She selected a cable and inserted it into the bottom edge of the panel, and then connected it to the keyboard, and used another cable to connect the keyboard to her tablet.
"That a technical term?" Steve asked, watching her fingers fly over the keyboard.
"Look, half of the students at the university had skipped high school altogether. Some of them still had pink laptops. 'Poof' was the least of it, trust me. Okay, there's an encryption . . . this would have been a seven digit access code . . . oh, nice, an alarm for a single digit error, that's clever . . . there." She hit enter and the access panel lit up, then went dark. "We can go in now."
"What about Joe's door?" Steve asked, watching her deftly roll up her keyboard.
She smiled up at him. "All of the doors are unlocked. All of the alarms are silent. All of it, Steve. Are you glad you let me tag along?"
"I am glad I let you tag along," he agreed, grinning back at her as he thumbed his radio. "Joe, you're clear." He turned back to Riley. "Let's go; but stay behind me, got it?"
She nodded. "I've got your six."
"That's not what - okay. Good. You've got my six." He pushed the door open carefully, and stepped through, leading with his Sig Sauer. "Clear," he said quietly, as he continued moving into the eerily quiet building.
Riley was close on his heels, slipping the door shut silently behind her. She turned back around, and almost ran into Steve, who had stopped and was staring around the vast, open space in amazement.
"What -" she said, stepping slightly to his side so that she could see around his broad shoulders. "Oh. Wow."
The space was filled with equipment: monitors and CPUs spread over folding tables filled the center of the cannery. Most of it was in rubble; screens shattered, wires exposed, smoke wafting up in weak, gray tendrils. Steve's eyes drifted toward the raised platform where they had found Riley, and he quickly raised his weapon toward the body lying there. He moved quickly and silently, Riley falling in behind him, up the stairs. A quick prod of his foot indicated that the person lying facedown in a significant amount of blood was no threat, and he holstered his weapon.
"Fielding?" Steve said, confused, as he turned the body over gently and got a look at the face of the man for the first time. There was a deep graze on the side of his head, which had bled profusely and contributed to the bulk of the blood. There was another wound on his shoulder, also bleeding. "He's got a pulse," Steve said, as his hand pressed against his neck. The heel of his hand rested against something bulky under his simple button-down, and Steve pulled the shirt down to reveal a Kevlar vest.
Fielding groaned as Steve investigated further.
"Fielding?" Steve said again, slipping one hand under his neck and patting his cheek with the other.
"McGarrett," Fielding wheezed. "Never thought - I'd be happy - to see you."
"Hold still, tell me where you're injured," Steve said. Riley saw Joe approaching and waved him over.
"Bastard - shot me - in the back," Fielding said through gritted teeth. "Might have - couple - busted ribs."
"Why were you wearing a vest?" Steve asked.
"Because these people - are insane," Fielding replied, struggling to focus his eyes. "Shit." He closed his eyes again.
"You probably have a concussion. Hold on, we'll call an ambulance," Steve said, reaching for his phone.
"No!" Fielding protested, fisting his hand in Steve's shirt. "No, Garrison has to - think I'm dead, or he - would have finished the job. Let him - think that. It's the only way - I can - help you."
Joe nodded in agreement. "The building's clear, and there's a small infirmary set up just down that way. Let's get him there, take a look. Probably nothing we can't handle."
Joe and Steve carefully hoisted Fielding up off the floor and down the stairs, Joe leading the way to the small room he'd passed. Steve hadn't noticed it when they were searching for Riley, but then, he'd not cleared all of the rooms. Fielding turned ashen with pain, sweat beading out on his face.
"Riley, call Danny," Steve said, as they made their way carefully through the debris ridden space. "Tell him to come on, but carefully."
"No one else will be - coming," Fielding said. "They've moved." He sighed in relief as Steve and Joe deposited him on a narrow exam table. Steve looked around. The room was small, but impeccably clean, and filled with medical equipment.
Fielding answered his unspoken question. "It was set up - after. After you found her here. It was - in case -" he broke off in pain.
"This. This was set up for Riley?" Steve asked, his hand fisting around the collar of Fielding's shirt.
"Steve," Riley said, placing her hand gently on Steve's arm. "The rest of the team is coming. Fielding can't tell us anything if he's dead, right?"
Steve shook his head and took a deep breath. "Okay, Joe, let's get him fixed up. And then he's going to tell us everything. And so help me God, his story better match yours."
SEAL medic training was good - outstanding, in fact. SEALs rivaled the best of trauma paramedics in their training and abilities, and as Joe rummaged through the cabinets, he was pleased to see they had plenty to work with. No need for some of the primitive make-shift provisions he'd used on many missions. But there was one item that he couldn't find.
"I can't find any local anesthetic," he commented, double checking several cabinets. "No lidocaine, no marcaine."
"They wouldn't have - stocked any," Fielding said, looking away from Steve. "Not for the girl."
Steve growled low in his throat as the implication of Fielding's words set in.
Fielding looked at him apologetically. "They would have wanted - data. On pain reception. She can - block -"
"Shut up," Steve hissed. "Fine. You won't get any anesthetic, either, then. Seems fair." He looked at Joe. "You want the head or the shoulder?"
"Your hand is steadier than mine," Joe said, looking at Steve impassively. "I'll take the shoulder, you stitch up his head. I don't think I'd want you digging around for a bullet in me, in your state of mind."
"Fine," Steve said tersely, scrubbing his hands at the small sink.
Steve and Joe set to work, shifting Fielding to remove his shirt and vest. The vest had stopped two bullets from entering his back, and he bit back a muffled cry of pain as the vest was removed, revealing spectacular bruising already forming on his back.
"I wasn't going to - continue. Any more. I was done," Fielding said. "I turned to walk away - Garrison shot me in the back."
"Who's Garrison?" Steve asked. "No, stay on your side. You've got an entrance wound at the back of your shoulder, no exit wound at the front." Riley wordlessly fetched a thick foam pillow from the corner of the room, and wedged it behind Fielding's lower back.
Fielding nodded in thanks at Riley, as he answered Steve. "My boss. Project - manager. Seriously, you're going to - do this all at once?" he gasped, as Joe began cleaning out his shoulder, and Steve started irrigating the head wound.
Steve grinned, feral and malicious. "Oh, there's a theory that if you confuse the brain with pain signals from two places at once, it actually helps minimize the pain."
"Really?" Riley asked. She had perched herself next to Joe, curious.
"No," Steve said flatly. "I honestly don't give a shit about his pain levels. You don't have to help, Riley."
She shrugged. "Joe didn't teach me this part. I want to see," she said stubbornly.
"Show her, then," Steve nodded to Joe. "You've taught her everything else, why not."
Fielding opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth together as Joe probed his shoulder with a forceps, and Steve began suturing the gash on his head. By the time Chin, Danny, and Kono arrived, Steve had finished, and Joe was supervising Riley's placement of the final stitches on Fielding's shoulder.
Fielding was panting in pain and looking positively green as Danny, the first to come through the door, looked at Steve in alarm.
"Please tell me you're not torturing someone for information, Steven," he said.
"No, our friend Agent Fielding managed to do that all by himself," Steve said. "Get him cleaned up, Joe, I'll catch everyone up." Steve washed his hands again and stepped outside the room.
"What is going on?" Chin asked, gesturing to the smoldering equipment behind them.
"Fielding's Special Activities Division was apparently set up here," Steve said. "He was going to refuse to cooperate with them further, and the person in charge, someone he called Garrison, shot him in the back and left him for dead."
"And apparently destroyed all of the evidence," Kono said.
"Shooting a computer is a stupid way to try to destroy it," Riley said, coming out of the room. "That was fun, thanks for making Joe show me how to do it." She wandered off toward the equipment that looked the least damaged, and started fiddling with it.
Chin looked skeptically at Steve, who shook his head.
"Fielding was injured, but the worst of the shots were blocked - he was wearing a vest. He said that he thought Garrison was crazy, so I guess he saw this coming. He had a bullet in his shoulder and one grazed his head. That's probably what saved his life; head wounds bleed like crazy, this Garrison person probably assumed all of his shots were good and that Fielding would never survive," Steve explained.
"Still, we need to get him to a hospital," Danny said.
"We can't risk it," Joe said, coming out of the room to join them. "Besides, there's no need. I found a supply of antibiotic so I've proactively dosed him to prevent infection."
"Yeah, it was just a gunshot wound," Danny grumbled. "Crazy SEALs."
"Alright, well, let's see what he has to say," Steve said, shoving the door open roughly. He stood in front of Fielding, arms crossed over his chest. "Tell us everything."
Fielding looked at them weakly and sighed. "This was a sub-division of Special Activities. Off-book, a unit run by Director Marcus Garrison. We don't even have a name, just a project title: Shelburne. Which was damn confusing, because the person calling the shots, the director of the director, was also Shelburne."
"The person?" Steve asked, wanting to test and see how much Fielding really knew.
"All I know of Shelburne is that they're cold-hearted and ruthless," Fielding said. "There was a digitally altered voice that came over a speaker phone. That's all. I'm not even sure that Garrison knows who Shelburne is."
"Keep going. Tell me about Shelburne. The person," Steve said. He glanced over his shoulder, glad that Riley was engrossed by trying to piece together an only partially damaged CPU.
"Shelburne pushed Garrison harder and harder; kept escalating the testing. The more data we got in, the more the two of them wanted to push the limits. I told them, I told them it was crazy, that once the girl was with you, and once we lost Joe's cooperation, it wasn't going to end well. But they were . . . fixated. It was like the girl wasn't even human to them; just a test subject," Fielding said. He coughed weakly.
"Where is Shelburne now?" Steve gritted out, his hands clenched into fists.
"I have no idea," Fielding said. "Garrison said that the interface was complete; that the tracking and collection had fused with the girl's central nervous system, and that they could move on. I heard a helicopter . . . they could be anywhere by now." He stopped, coughing again, and groaning in pain. "Do you - do you know who Shelburne is? What is the girl to Shelburne? What prompted this insanity?"
"The girl's name is Riley," Steve growled, as Danny placed a comforting hand on his back. "And Shelburne . . . Shelburne, God help us, is our mother."
Fielding closed his eyes for a moment, then looked up at Steve. "Commander McGarrett," he said quietly. "I'm so very, very sorry. I'll do whatever I can to help you. To protect the - to protect Riley. You must realize by now, she is one of the most highly valued projects of the CIA. They'll stop at nothing to control her."