Matter of Trust

Chapter 4

It was not Steve's custom to spend much time at the morgue. But right now things were anything but customary. He closed the door behind him and stood in the quiet, brightly lit room that smelled slightly of chemicals, formaldehyde he guessed. There were four autopsy tables each baring a white shrouded body.

"Steve."

He turned to face Doc Bergman coming from the small bathroom. "Thought I would see how you are getting on down here," he said gently.

Bergman gave a small grunt. "Standing room only in a morgue? Never makes this a good place to be. If it is okay with you I can start releasing my guests to funeral homes tomorrow."

Steve shrugged. "If you think you have everything they can tell."

"Being a last responder has its drawbacks," Doc admitted. "Especially when you wish there was more to learn." He motioned to the collection of small labeled containers. "Everyone died by gunshot wounds to the head from the same gun. Russian made Tokarev. All these victims were tortured by a pro. But they did not die by the torture, so he is skilled at knowing when to hold off. They only died when he either got what he wanted or they were on no further value." He walked to one table and gently pulled back the sheet from the body's head. "Except Lu."

Steve joined him and looked into the now quiet and peaceful face of Ben Lu.

"No torture at all." Doc commented. "That isn't to say he did not suffer. Stomach almost completely empty of contents. Had not eaten in days. How long did you say he was captive?"

"Almost three weeks," Steve replied.

"Yep," Doc sighed. He slipped a glove on and turned Lu's head to one side to demonstrate the effect of the wound. "This isn't the kind of wound one uses to kill a man. Usually see this when the victim was running away, maybe defensive. He bled out in seconds." Doc pointed to the secondary hole in his head. "This wound was for show."

McGarrett recalled that Lu's body was crumpled beside the bed. "Could he have been trying to protect someone else?"

Doc paused to think of the body mechanics, the trajectory of the neck wound and slowly nodded. "Yes, in fact likely. Trajectory would was support he was leaning, maybe jumping forward."

They both stood in silence for a minute in respect for the man they now knew have given his life for Danny.

Bergman gestured Steve to the chair beside his old metal desk and then sat down in the desk chair. He shoved around the stack of forms he had gathered. "I wish I had something better to say. I think you know you need to be prepared for the worst."

McGarrett sat down in the chair doc had pointed to and heaved a deep cleansing sigh.

"You need some rest," Doc observed.

He nodded, placing his elbows on his knees and face in his hands. "What is the saying? I can rest when I am dead?"

Schroeder cut back the throttle as the boat moved towards the berth in Keauhou Harbor on the west coast of the Big Island Hawaii. Under his expert guidance, it nosed in beside the dock without touching and Drosnins leapt nimbly down to the dock and deftly secured the lines to the horn cleat. Schroeder hurried from the flying bridge, down the short five foot ship's ladder to the wharf, then ran off up towards the parking lot.

From the foredeck, Kachan observed as a 24 foot Winnebago came into view. "Okay," he murmured to Gorek.

Gorek nodded, glanced towards the wharf as if to double-check Kachan. "Get below and get Williams untied. Remember," he took hold of Kachan's elbow. "No attention. We have to cross nearly fifty yards to that motorhome. I want it done quietly."

Kachan gave a second nod a disappeared.

"Wilhelm!" Drosnins called.

He turned, irritated with the agent before Karl could utter a word.

"I received a radio message. McGarrett is circulating our photos on the television."

"To what end?" Gorek muttered with a scowl.

"Hoping these silly civilians will see something and report us," Karl answered.

Gorek glared at the fifty yards of open area that now looked formidable.

"It is worse," Karl added. "Marten Camp is involved."

Gorek reacted like he'd been struck with an electric charge. "Are you sure?" he snarled, eye to eye with Drosnins. Is he creating this to get me off my guard? It is a big world. How could Camp be here?

"Certain," Karl stated without hesitation, but felt like he was trying to stare down a cyclone.

Gorek paced across the deck and back. "No matter. I will deal with him in my own time."

"We need to eliminate Williams and get out of here," Drosnins advised.

"You'd like that," Gorek muttered. "You'd like to see me shot for this mission's failure, wouldn't you."

Drosnins shook his head. "It's too late to stop that, Gorek."

"Not yet," Gorek muttered.

Below in the cabin, Kachan hesitated upon seeing that Mason had splinted Danny's bad leg with a life jacket and rope. "Who said you could do that?" he demanded of Mason.

"I'm the doctor," Mason said coldly, "remember?"

He thought another moment, recalling Gorek's order to not draw attention. He wanted to make Mason remove the splint, but had already been wondering how they were going to get Danny to walk across the open wharf to the mobile home. Maybe with the splinting he'd be able to walk. Kachan bent down and untied Danny's arms. "I haven't forgotten, Williams, I still have plans for you," he murmured close to Danny's ear. He stepped back. "On your feet."

Mason started to intervene.

"He'll make it." Kachan pushed Mason back. "Won't you? I've seen what kind of a mover you can be," he said towards Danny.

Williams was just grateful for the relief to his strained arm muscles after having been tied for so long. He made an unsuccessful effort to rise.

Kachan sneered. "Get him up." He ordered Mason, not willing himself to get so close to Danny again.

Mason took Danny under the arms, and he was finally hauled unsteadily to his feet. He felt dizzy, his vision blurred, he had a passing wave of nausea, but he stayed upright.

"Take care of those bloody things," Kachan ordered Mason, pointing to the pile of bloody clothes on the deck. "Get going, Williams."

Danny dragged himself forward using the door jam and his good leg. Even the splinting did not help him put weight on the left leg. As soon as he stood, the throbbing pain felt like it would blow his leg apart.

The sun was bright. All three of them squinted as they came out on deck. Drosnins helped Mason pull Danny over to the ladder that dropped to the wharf. Mason remained above while Drosnins jumped down to the wharf at the foot of the ladder.

Gorek arrived at the ladder's top, displeased that Danny apparently needed help to get off the ship. He looked around. "Get down there," he muttered his voice filled with hostility.

Danny had also given a quick look at the surrounding marina and noticed two men working on the rigging of a sloop a short distance away. He started down the ladder using his hands and one good leg. I need attention called to us. Maybe someone will remember! Holding his breath and uncertain what the result would be, he suddenly let go and crashed to the dock a few feet below, startling Drosnins and the two workers.

As Danny had hoped, they looked up. "Need help?" one called.

Kachan was quick with a casual laugh. "No, no problem. Our friend is a little unsteady. Too much party last night."

The sailor turned back to his boat.

From the wooden dock surface, Danny looked up at Gorek whose eyes were aflame as Drosnins pulled him back to his feet. His left leg shot new pain through him with the act and he bit off a cry, wondering what new damage he might have done.

Mason, Gorek, Kachan and Drosnins literally encircled Danny and swept him across the wharf to the running motorhome. Once they were all inside, Drosnins, the last one up the steps, closed the door and Schroeder, who'd seen all from the driver's seat started the vehicle moving.

Mason steadied Danny who still balanced on one leg in the narrow kitchen walkway of the motor home.

"Clever, Mr. Williams, but ineffectual," Gorek commented to him, wrath seething in his tone and expression.

Danny forced a cocky smile in spite of the pain. "Maybe too early to know."

In a sudden explosion of action, Gorek slammed his right fist into Danny's stomach and he bent double with a grunt. Mason stumbled out of the way. Before Danny could recover, Gorek yanked him up by the hair a smashed his face against the Formica counter top, then threw him back against the closet opposite the counter, head first. The thin, laminated plywood shattered. Danny sank to his right knee, encumbered by the bulky home-made splint on his left leg, in a daze as blood ran down his face. The motorhome slowly turned the corner out of the marina onto the highway headed north.

"Get up!" Gorek roared at Danny.

Instead he fell over, stopped by his elbow against the cabinetry. He made a weak attempt to protect his re-injured face with his right arm. His actions seemed to enrage Gorek all the more and the East German viciously kicked Danny in the abdomen with all his might. The force threw Danny onto his left side against the remains of the closet. Gorek kicked him again and again, but Danny was so stunned by the pain, he barely comprehended it.

Drosnins started shouting and came flying back from the co-pilot's seat. "You're killing him, Gorek! Stop this!"

Gorek spun and slammed a fist into Drosnins' face, knocking him backwards to the floor. But the change in Wilhelm's focus had given Kachan the moment he needed and when Gorek turned back to face Danny, Kachan stood between them.

"You promised me," Kachan said quietly. "You said he was mine. Don't you remember?"

Gorek stood there, breathing heavily, sweating from his effort. He gradually came under control and, at last, patted Kachan's arm. "Very well, very well," he murmured. "You make wise counsel," he added in Russian. He lifted Danny's chin with the toe of his shoe and murmured hotly, "Unkluger. You take too many chances." Blood drizzled from Danny's face onto Gorek's shoe and in mild annoyance, Gorek rubbed the shoe off on Danny's already grossly blood-stained shirt. He stormed to the front of the motor home, stepping over the sprawled Drosnins and sat down in the co-pilot's seat next to Schroeder.

Mason motioned to Kachan. "Help me get him up."

They lifted Danny and moved him to the rear couch of the motorhome. As they laid him down, he, at last, passed out from pain and shock.

"Immensely stupid," Gorek grumbled to himself glaring out of the windshield.

Schroeder stole a look towards him as he navigated the large RV. "You think so? He wanted you to kill him. Maybe you should have."

Robert Temple whistled as he finished up the rope he'd been splicing. "Want a beer?" he called to his friend who was still half way up the sloop's mainmast.

He gave a half nod.

Tossing the rope aside, Robert jogged up towards the small shop near the parking lot, pausing to watch a cute girl pinning up a bulletin on the corkboard outside. Nice set of legs. He flashed her his best inviting smile, then glanced at the notice hoping to use it as an icebreaker. Upon recognizing the photo, he stepped closer…

…An hour later, Robert was sweating in the hot sun as he faced the anxious McGarrett, both the girl and the beer long forgotten.

"You are sure this is the man you saw?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, he was with a bunch of guys." The picture he'd identified was Kachan's.

"How many men?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "It didn't seem important then. I didn't notice. One of the guys fell I think. Made a loud noise. I asked if everything was okay - just trying to be friendly, you know. That guy said they were fine - their friend was drunk or something like that. They all went away together." He bit a lip. "Guess that isn't much." He felt embarrassed that the head of Five-0 had flown by helicopter all the way down here to interview him over such a small piece of information.

The expression of Steve's face indicated this was anything but small stuff. "It's plenty," Steve assured him. "Where did they go?"

"A RV picked them up - not sure what kind. It was white with brown striping. A Winnebago maybe?"

"How big?"

Robert squinted shaking his head. "Hard to know. Twenty feet maybe? They just got in and left."

"Which direction?"

Robert flushed, wishing he'd paid better attention. "I really don't know."

Steve left the young witness with a police officer taking down his name and address, hoping that if he had a few moments, the boy might remember more. Che Fong and Five-0 members were crawling all over the Luhr yacht that Gorek had abandoned.

"Yacht belongs to a Paul Hathaway, lives back in Honolulu," Chin reported.

Ben approached them from where he'd been checking out the trashcans. He held several bloody bandages and a square of bloody khaki fabric in a gloved hand. At the same time, Che stepped down from the yacht and joined them.

Che glanced at Ben's find. "There's blood on the fore bunk, too," he commented. "We're getting lots of fingerprints, several used syringes. I'll check them for contents. I think this was left for you. It was stuck under a cushion of the bunk." He handed Steve a gauze wrapper.

McGarrett unfolded it. There were three 'x's drawn in blood. He clenched his jaw. "Let's get looking for that RV."

"This island has to be crawling with Winnebagos," a local officer remarked.

Steve spun in anger. "Then we'll check every one. Get some roadblocks going. Check out campgrounds - the works."

The officer hurried away.

"He doesn't understand," Chin said in quiet defense of the cop.

Steve accepted a cool bottled water from Chin. "I know," he muttered. "I feel like we are always one step behind them. What's Camp up to?"

Chin shrugged. "He wanted to draw Gorek out - don't know if it's working or not."

"We haven't much time," Steve said with a sigh.

The motorhome rolled gently back and forth as it hummed along the asphalt top of Route 11. Danny lay conscious with his eyes closed, hoping to gain some time to think. The camper couch was anything but comfortable and his chest hurt when he took a breath - probably a cracked rib or two. He no longer had any feeling in his left foot, but the thigh was sending fiery shards of pain throughout him with each bounce of the vehicle. The swelling was still increasing in his leg. Both the shoe and sock had disappeared somewhere along the journey and Danny could see that his foot was turning a grayish blue color. He tried to think. He needed an escape plan. Anything that included survival required two good legs. He figured escape by death shouldn't be too hard to accomplish or be very long in coming. Kachan had again tied his arms behind him but much looser than earlier. His legs had not been tied at all. Sadly, he did not think it would make much difference now.

Gorek, Drosnins and Kachan huddled over the small table of the Winnebago.

"I know I can get him to talk - not with drugs," Kachan was promising. "It will be my pleasure."

Gorek gave a thin smile. "We must get the information from him soon. Otherwise we will be taking him out of the country."

"You can't do that," Drosnins argued. "I will not sanction that. It would create an international incident!"

Gorek raised a hand to silence him. "I will not go home like this! This entire mission has been a disgrace." He threw the file of information on the table and paper slid across the surface. "We have nonsense! Williams knows that pass codes to gain us entrance, or he knows the construction well enough for us to disable them. Without that information, we have nothing! I will not fail."

Drosnins snickered. "Williams may not give you a choice if he up and dies on you. You just about beat him to death back there."

"What of Camp?" Kachan asked.

"What about him?" Gorek snapped.

"He is in this hunt, you know. Williams used to be on his team."

Gorek shrugged, trying to act unimpressed.

"Don't you think he knows what you want?" Kachan asked.

Gorek slowly shook his head. "Don't tempt me, Andrei. If I ever came to face to face with Camp he would be dead in moments. If he is here, it will not matter. I don't intend to be on this island for long."

Mason had been sitting on the other couch near Danny. He began to wipe away the blood from Danny's face with a kitchen towel he'd moistened with water.

Danny winced.

Mason glanced at the leg wound, then touched a finger to Danny's swollen foot. "Can you feel that?"

"No," he whispered, hoping those at the table would not notice them.

Mason reached up to Danny's face, gently placing a finger to either side of the bridge of his nose.

"Now, that I feel." Danny winced again.

"Well, you have a fractured nose to add to your collection," Mason commented.

"Matching Kachan, huh?" he whispered, trying to sound a little comic. The RV hit a pothole and he gritted his teeth.

"This isn't funny and it isn't getting any better." Mason tugged up Danny's shirt and examined the bruising. He carefully pressed on Danny's right side.

Danny gasped and the new source of sharp pain.

Mason's already concerned look deepened. "That, my friend, is probably a lacerated liver - one more cause of blood loss. Depending on how bad it is, you may have only an hour or two. Your face looks like you used it to stop a truck. This cannot go on."

"I'm open to suggestion," Danny answered. An hour or two. Maybe just an hour or two. God, I don't want to die - but he's right, this cannot go on.

"If I give you something for the pain, you will at least be comfortable." Mason reached into his bag.

"Let me sleep forever," Danny requested.

Mason's eyes narrowed. "I hear you, but that cannot be considered."

"Since when did you get ethical? Torture is okay, assisted suicide isn't," Danny whispered back at him. Didn't Kachan say I would wish for death? Hate to admit he was right.

Mason glanced back at the others. Their heated debate continued, they did not seem to have noticed his actions. He quickly jammed the syringe into Danny's right thigh right through the clothing. "If they knew I gave you a pain killer, the next death would be mine," he whispered. "I tell them it is antibiotics. They do not know any better. But do not give up yet - all is not lost."

Danny merely shook his head, anticipating what relief the narcotic would provide.

Mason broke down his improvised splint and examined the leg wound. "The bone moved again. New bleeding. If you do not get to a hospital soon, you will lose this leg."

Danny gazed at the roof. "If Kachan has his way, I shall lose a lot more than a leg."

There was movement at the table and Kachan rose. He and Gorek walked over. "My turn now, Gorek." He turned to Mason and Danny. "Doctor, I want to speak to him. Is he alert?"

"Yes," Mason answered. "Let me finish this dressing."

Kachan shooed him back. "Leave it."

Mason obediently moved towards the opposite couch, nervousness plain on his features.

Kachan smiled in his direction, then focused on Danny. "A man of ethics - after a fashion." He leaned forward. "It would do you well to consider your situation. Here you are: lame, bleeding, maybe dying." He shrugged. "So far our exchanges have been, how you say, warm ups?" He pulled the shirt collar away revealing four cigarette burns on Danny's neck. "Believe me, I haven't begun - yet. How can you hope to hold out? I can wait until you are delirious with pain and fever of infection and you will tell me anything I want. Or you can tell me now."

Danny looked away from him. "No bargains."

"Even for your life?" Gorek interrupted from where he loomed over the couch.

Kachan blinked, displeased.

Danny managed a brief smile. "Didn't expect that, huh, Andrei? Wanna see me dead? Stick around. I shouldn't think you'll have long to wait."

Gorek crossed his arms. "It is I who have the authority. I could choose to have you live. All I need is how to bypass the security of that little minimum-security facility. Certainly that toilet paper cannot be worth your life, can it?"

"My life?" Danny murmured. He was beginning to feel the effect of the narcotic. It was like a slow sinking into a deep, soft, fluffy nothing.

Gorek bent close to his ear. "What is your life worth? You don't believe me, do you? I admire your stubbornness in the face of your odds." He paused for a moment. "I can arrange for you to live. This is not your issue. You do not work for the spy network of the United States, I know that. You are just a humble officer of the peace, right? And a pawn in Marten Camp's game. You should hate him as much as I do. I want to give you back your life."

"My life?" Danny whispered again. "Bargain for my life? Yes, I have what you want and you've got nothing. So, you take my life and you still have nothing." He managed a smile that faintly suggested victory. "No bargains."

"That is nice talk - Danno, but that is all it is, eh?" Gorek motioned to Kachan.

Kachan stepped back before Danny gave a broad smile. "You choose not to disappoint me," he cooed. "I told you I would get you. Now is my turn." He ripped off the dressing on the leg that Mason had partially reapplied. He scooped up a partially drunk bottle of whiskey that Drosnins had left sitting in the sink and pulled off the top. "Let us see how tough you are now, huh?" He jammed a handkerchief into Danny's mouth. With a look of mild curiosity, he drizzled the alcohol into the gapping leg wound. The cloth muted the shriek of agony.

McGarrett hated to conduct this line of questioning via the phone, but time was urgent. All his manpower was here on the Big Island and he did not want to waste over an hour sending someone back to Oahu to interview Paul Hathaway. He sat in a six year old squad car in the hot parking lot of the marina, patched through a static-filled line to Honolulu and the tycoon, who, without a doubt was in much greater comfort. Steve could hear the ice clinking in the man's glass as they spoke.

"Really, McGarrett," Hathaway's voice steeping in sarcasm crackled back through the receiver. "I don't understand your attitude towards Jan Schroeder."

McGarrett ground his teeth silently, picturing Hathaway, his rolling private golf and tennis courts, and trade winds whispering through the palms. Danno is dying and this guy acts like we're at a cocktail party. He tried to keep on the issue at hand. "It isn't the average employer who loans his forty foot yacht to his gardener," he replied.

"Oh, I didn't loan it. I guess you'd call it a little friendly piracy-you know a boyish prank to impress a girl friend," Hathaway replied with a chuckle. "No harm done to be sure. You say the boat is in Keauhou Harbor? It is fine with me. Just tell Jan I'll see him in a few days."

"Hathaway," Steve said in haste. "You are missing the point here. I don't give a damn about your boat. And Schroeder's boyish prank includes espionage, kidnapping, murder-"

"Really, McGarrett -"

"We have two witnesses who saw a fugitive leaving your yacht. In that yacht are blood stains that match those of a kidnapped Five-0 officer. Now, your employee is in this up to his neck. And unless you start cooperating, I'll have you arrested as an accomplice."

"There must be another explanation," Hathaway sputtered, clearly more concerned than he had been moments before.

"How did you meet Schroeder?"

"Germany, six years ago. He could do marvelous things with greenery. He wanted to come to Hawaii - horticultural studies - so I sponsored him, gave him a job. It is all on the books in immigration."

"The photos I faxed to you - have you ever seen any of those men?" Steve demanded. He had established control of the conversation and intended on keeping it.

Hathaway looked over the shiny fax sheets of Gorek, Drosnins and Kachan. "No, I don't think so."

"Hathaway, do you own an RV? A motorhome?"

"Yes, I do. It's housed right there at the marina. Camping is great out there-" He stopped, figuring the line of questioning. He yanked open the desk drawer in the study. "McGarrett," he reported, "the key is gone."

"A little more friendly piracy?" Steve commented sarcastically. "I need the make, model and tag number on that rig."

Gorek's patience was growing thin. Danny's stubborn refusal had seemed past human endurance. In the purest sense, Gorek admired that in a man, but just now it was inconvenient.

As time went by, Drosnins became more impatient. He grumbled about the delay as Kachan paused in his efforts. Danny had passed out for the third time. "Make an end," Drosnins hissed at Gorek. "Kachan has put him into a coma."

Kachan sneered. "He is not in a coma. He is merely non-responsive."

"Right," Drosnins remarked. "Non-responsive. Hey, Doc," he called to Mason, "how do you describe a coma?"

Kachan took time out for a cigarette. He exhaled a stream of smoke. "I can get him to respond."

"Yeah, but can you get him to talk?" Drosnins hooted. "Not likely."

Kachan, taking that as a personal challenge snuffed out the smoke. He was aware that Danny's drifting in and out of consciousness was probably due to shock, but he suspected Mason had given him a narcotic as well. He wanted to wait for the drug to wear off, but this challenge by Drosnins annoyed him. He glared at Mason. "What did you give him, Mason? Did you drug him so he would not talk?"

Mason spread his hands. "You ask me to keep him alive. I keep him alive, Andrei."

Kachan patted Danny's face. "Hey, there, sleeping beauty. We need you awake now."

Danny did not respond.

"Come now, wake up, wake up."

Drosnins snorted.

"Wilhelm, I will get his attention for you," Andrei commented. He pulled up the leaf of the small Formica table next to the couch. It snapped into place with a small metallic click. Using a pocket knife he cut away the restraints from Danny's arms. Andrei pulled out his Tokarev and placed Danny's left hand palm side down on the table. "Eh, Williams, it would be a good idea for you to talk now."

Danny gave no response or indication he was conscious.

Kachan picked up the gun by the barrel and pounded the butt against the second joint of Danny's fifth finger.

His scream caused Mason to jump to his feet. "For godssakes, Gorek!" Mason blurted.

Gorek rose to face the physician. "Stay out of this," he growled.

"You want me to keep Williams alive! Then you and this - animal-" he waved at Kachan, "-put him into shock!"

Andrei grinned broadly. "If you had not given him drugs, I would not have to work so hard," he snapped back.

"Sit down, doctor," Gorek muttered coldly, "or you will have your services cut short."

Kachan turned back to Danny and, with a sudden vengeance, yanked him up by the shirt. "I am not playing games with you anymore! No time for that!" he shouted into the swollen, bruised face, shaking him violently. "Now, you talk or you have nine more fingers to go. Then I can start punching out your teeth one by one. Now talk!"

Danny gave a slow weak shake of the head.

Andrei let go of the shirt and let him drop back. "It's your funeral." The gun butt smashed into the next finger.

"Laser security," Danny whispered with a moan. "…underground vault…" He fainted.

Gorek leapt forward. "Wake him up! Wake him up!" he roared.

Kachan shook Danny again, noting the complete limpness of the muscles. "Mason."

"Butchers," Mason muttered, squeezing past Andrei.

"Just get him alert," Gorek demanded.

Mason peered at Danny, making a quick assessment. "Not now. Maybe not ever. I don't know what kept him going anyway."

Kachan pressed a finger against Danny's carotid and could feel the pulse. "He's not dead, Mason."

"He might as well be," Mason answered. "Deep shock."

Drosnins rose from his seat. "Finish it, Kachan."

Andrei glanced at Gorek, who stood silent, flexing his jaw muscles. "Wilhelm?"

Gorek, in disgust threw a hand towel at Andrei. "Don't make a big mess."

Mason gulped once, but remained silent.

Andrei gave a smile and dropped the towel to the floor. "I do not waste a bullet," he murmured. He sat down on the bunk facing Danny. It is time and I will enjoy this. The power of slowly squeezing the life from my enemy. I could do this in a about 15 seconds or…closer to 45. Yes, enjoy the rush of power. If only you were awake so I could look you in the eye. He placed his hands around Danny's neck and slowly began to tighten. There was joy in feeling the rapid pulse beneath his fingers that quickly got faster and faster. Even unconscious Danny gasped to breathe.

Suddenly the motorhome started to slow. "Gorek!" Schroder called back. "We have a problem."

"Hold it," Gorek said to Kachan and looked to the front of the vehicle. "What is happening?"

Kachan increased the pressure and could feel the muscles of his victim start to twitch. Just a few more seconds. His smile was now broad.

"Kachan!" Gorek shouted again. "Stop." Gorek turned towards Kachan, gun in hand.

Kachan released his hold and instantly Danny's lungs heaved in huge gasps of air. Kachan glared at Gorek. I should have denied myself the slow kill and just shot him. This would be over, Kachan grumbled to himself.

"We may need him alive to effect our escape," Gorek announced.

"Police roadblock ahead," Schroeder reported. "They are stopping all the campers."

"There." Wilhelm pointed into the scenic overlook that led off to the right. "We will go back around the other way."

"It is McGarrett," Mason said calmly and knowingly. "He will tighten the noose."

Gorek fired a glare at him. "So, how can I outwit this McGarrett?"

Mason paused purely for theatrics. "I told you - he is unbeatable. You must give him what he wants."

"Drosnins slammed a fist on the table disappointed that Kachan had not made the quick kill. "Shoot Williams and let's get out here. If McGarrett finds his dead officer, he will get preoccupied."

"No -" Mason stopped himself.

Gorek eyed him coolly. "Go on, doctor."

Mason licked his lips. "Give him Williams back - alive. Just leave him right here on the roadside. It may buy you some time. Certainly you have a plan for escape, right? We came to this island for an intended purpose?"

"There is a plan," Gorek muttered. The plan to gather information we needed from Williams. Is there still a way? Yes, stay the course. That means keeping Williams. We can get more time.

"Wilhelm, we don't even know this McGarrett except by Mason's word. What of Camp? This could be his doing," Kachan interjected.

Gorek stared through the windshield in silence for a moment. "We keep Williams alive a bit longer. He may prove valuable after all."

Drosins tapped Gorek's elbow. "Mason makes a point. Why are we here?"

Gorek stared him down. "Time. Giving time to extract the information. And time for our transportation away from here to come into place when we succeed."

Ben had been the first on the scene of the small tavern that nestled back in the trees just off Highway 19. Chin Ho and Steve arrived moments later, the car kicking up clouds of dust as it spun into the parking lot.

"Che is coming," Chin announced to Ben who nodded.

"Where's the RV?" Steve demanded.

"Behind the building," Ben replied and led them around back to where the Winnebago sat guarded by two uniformed officers.

Steve gave a passing glance at the license plate. Using a handkerchief, he opened the door of the motorhome. It was dark, hot and stank of blood. It had been sitting here for a while.

Inside, Steve paused to permit his eyes to get accustomed to the semi-light. Shattered cabinets betrayed still another fight. There was blood on the counter, on the carpet, on the couch in the back. Three empty liquor bottles lay scattered on the floor. Under the table were more bloody bandages.

Ben appeared in the doorway with Che. "Danny leaves a pretty clear trail," Che commented, seeing the mess.

"Yeah, but a little belated." Steve gazed around the camper trying to get a feel for what had happened here. "Che, can you get me something quickly?"

"The field kit can analyze a sample and tell me if I have a match to samples from earlier," he replied. "I just need about five minutes."

"You've got it." Steve walked back out into the hot sun. He glanced at Chin. "Gorek got out of here some way. Ask around."

Kono came out of the bar, a very drunk, middle-aged man in a loud flowered shirt in tow. "I've got the means," Kono announced.

"My car, my car," the man mumbled drunkenly as he wandered around cocking his head from side to side as if to spot his missing vehicle from a different angle.

"His car was stolen," Kono interpreted to Steve.

Steven looked with distaste on the inebriated man and tried to control his impatience that the next clue in this scavenger hunt lie with him. "Sir," he commented, although internally he had little respect for the car owner, "could I have your name please?"

"Huh?" The drunk turned. "Where's the p-police? I wanna report a th-theft." His breath reeked of alcohol.

"Joe Langley," Kono put in.

"Joe, I am the police," Steve advised him with a calmness he did not feel. "Can you describe your car?"

"It's gone."

"Yes, I know that." Steve ground his teeth.

"Where is it?" the man issued a deep belch.

Steve's knuckles were white, fists tight at his sides. "If you describe your car for me maybe we can find it. I'd like to help you find it." I am desperate to find it!

"Hum…." The man appeared in deep thought for a moment. "It has a dent on the right side."

Dear God, why at a time like this? "Joe, can you tell me what the make is of your car?"

Joe looked at him blankly.

"What kind of car is it?" Steve rephrased, the anger and frustration just about at the flash point.

"A Falcon. A Ford."

I am going to have to beg him for every piece. Resigned to the fate, Steve asked. "What year?"

Joe squinted again. "Uh….65? Maybe a 64…I don't remember. Maybe-yeah, I think it is a 65." He paused. "I just drive it, you know. I don't never have to get it repaired. It's a good car. You think you can get it back?"

"I am certain we'll get it back," Steve promised. "What color is your car?"

"Blue, of course."

"Of course," Steve remarked wistfully.

"An' it's missing a hub cab. You know, you police ought to be in my neighborhood more. Those little hoodlums…"

"Joe," Steve interrupted. "Do you know your car's license number?" Internally, he cringed. If he didn't know the make or year, will he know the tag number?

Joe grinned. "My wife's initials. KEL314 - or maybe 413 - I get numbers mixed up sometimes."

McGarrett turned back to the borrowed police cruiser and snatched up the radio microphone as Kono steered Joe away.

"You did fine, Joe," Kono told him.

Joe began to again describe the details of the dent in his car.

On the far side of the parking lot, Ben spotted something in the trash and pulled a shoe out with his handkerchief. Scored in the bottom of the sole by something sharp were four x's.

"Steve…"