A
Matter of Trust
by Peg Keeley
onenerveleft59@hotmail.com
Part 6
The small leer jet containing the Five-0 team and Camp was streaking back towards Oahu when McGarrett received the call from the Coast Guard that a helicopter had spotted the debris of a red plane in the surf north of Laie.
"He really did go back to Oahu," Kono mumbled. "Makin' it easy for us."
"I wouldn't count on it being easy," Steve commented.
Camp lay back against the seat, eyes closed contemplating the shock on Gorek's face when he was faced once again with the CIA operative. I am the agent that will not die. He grinned, liking the sound of that. His chest hurt from the blunt force bruise and his right arm was supported in a sling, the wound stuffed with gauze since he had refused treatment.
The leer screamed in to Honolulu International on a clearance keeping all other air traffic in a holding pattern. As soon as his feet hit the tarmac, Steve was headed for the car that would carry them to the police helipad a short distance away. Every step seemed like an eternity, but was bringing them closer.
Three more men joined the group as they arrived at the helipad and there were two blackhawk choppers beside the police Sikorsky. "Camp-" Steve turned as one of the large robotic-looking men handed Camp a radio. "This is my action."
Camp turned his back on Steve arrogantly and spoke into the radio.
"Camp!" McGarrett roared, turning the man back by grabbing his painful right arm.
"McGarrett, they are still on the North Shore," Camp declared. "I have two men keeping them under surveillance. My team can raze the place and remove Gorek on my word."
"Gorek!" Steve roared above the noise of the rotors as the police chopper started to warm up. "This isn't about Gorek!"
"This is all about Gorek!" Camp screamed back.
Steve waved towards two of the uniformed police officers. "Hold him." He pointed at Camp.
"You can't do that!" Camp retorted.
"Watch me!" Steve roared back. To the officers he said: "The three of them. Keep them here." When the officers' shotguns were trained on the three CIA agents, he reached inside of each of the agents' jackets and removed their guns and field radios. "Make yourself comfortable, Camp." He turned and headed for the Sikorsky.
Camp slammed his left fist against the chain link fence in rage.
Kachan felt he was not well suited to the heat of the tropics and certainly not the warmth and humidity of the shack. He knew he needed to limit his actions to something that would not overwhelm Williams. He picked a thin strand of straw from the wall of the hut and contented himself by poking Danny. "You think now more about things worse than dying?" he asked jabbing the straw against one of Danny's mangled fingers.
Danny did not answer, just picked a point on the straw roof to stare at.
"No help for you, Williams. I kill you when the police come." He stabbed the straw into the leg wound and dug it around.
Danny caught his breath and bit the inside of his lip, tasting new blood in his mouth.
"Gorek, he say he was going to let you live," Kachan chuckled. "No fear of that. Now I may let him take you into the submarine, but I will be the last person you ever see." He brought his face close. "Promise."
Mason, having been relatively ignored the past few minutes, accurately deduced that the straw walls of the hut could be easily overcome and sat, hands behind him, using a scalpel to begin cutting through the weathered bamboo strands that tied the webbed panels of straw wall together. It was easy work and even doing it blindly, he quickly made an opening large enough to get his hand through.
The relative quiet was suddenly shattered as police choppers descended like a swarm of angry bees on their hive. Three landed off to the left and their cargo of swat officers spilled out and scattered to contain the perimeter of the hut. From the fourth, McGarrett and his team jumped as four squad cars from the nearby town of Laie spun into the clearing before the hut. Officers jumped from them using the vehicles as protection, rifles ready.
"This is Five-0. You are surrounded," Steve declared into the bullhorn. "Give yourselves up."
Kachan glanced at Gorek nervously for reassurance. "Just like these American movies, eh?"
Gorek ignored him and called: "I speak only to McGarrett."
"This is McGarrett," he replied.
Mason's hole was nearly two feet high. He shoved a white handkerchief into it where the breeze caused it to flap gently.
McGarrett waited a moment, his calm demeanor providing a feeling of peace amongst the police team. "Gorek, there is no way out for you. It's over. Give yourself up." When Gorek did not reply after several moments, Steve added. "I have kept your friend Camp away. He wanted to give the order to raze that hut with you all in it."
Gorek snorted. "Come now, McGarrett. Camp is dead. I saw him shot."
"He is very much alive, Gorek. Maybe you'd better turn yourself in if you'd like another try at him sometime."
Gorek remembered how he had wanted to make certain Camp was dead, but been unable to. Could McGarrett be telling the truth? What is in it for him? Williams.
Kachan had left Danny and was standing by Gorek's side. "Is he lying?" he murmured.
"I don't know." He called out to Steve. "I can see that you are a reasonable man, McGarrett. You have no desire to see your friend die after you have come so far. We can make deal."
"What kind of a deal?" Steve asked, deciding to play along.
Kachan clenched his fist and whispered, "No, Wilhelm."
Gorek patted his arm. "McGarrett is right about one thing -- we can lose a battle today to win the war tomorrow."
Kachan's countenance was reddening with rage. "You don't mean to give them Williams, do you?"
Gorek ignored his request and called back to Steve. "A simple transaction. We go free. You receive Williams alive."
Steve glanced at the overwhelming manpower around him.
"Are you really going to do that?" Ben murmured. "How do you know you can trust him?"
McGarrett gave a forced grin. "How does he know he can trust us?" He pressed the trigger on the bullhorn. "How do I know Williams is alive? Let me see him."
Gorek glanced at Kachan then at Danny. "Call to him," Gorek ordered.
Kachan cursed in Russian.
Danny, wondered what Steve had up his sleeve. Certainly a bargain would not be in Steve's plan. Even when it caused Kurt Metzger his life, Steve did not bargain. It has been a long-standing policy. No deals. The best thing is to go along for now. He mustered the strength and started to call out, but as he did, Kachan gave him a vicious kick in his broken leg. Instead he issued an unexpected scream of pain.
Beside Steve, Ben uttered his own curse.
Kachan gave a smirk and walked the few steps back to Gorek.
Mason, who had slid back to hide his escape plan, began breathing again. He gripped Danny's shoulder in reassurance as the latter continued to groan in pain. Danny looked at Mason and the doctor noted the wild look in his eyes. He is nearly mad with pain. I must get him to hold on. "You are about to be rescued," he whispered in Danny's ear.
Out on the police line, Chin came over to Steve. "The swat team reports a white handkerchief in the wall on the north side."
Steve picked up his field glasses, but from his point of view could not see the cloth. But he did see a swat officer already in motion, crawling on his stomach towards the wall. "Get him to fall back," he said anxiously into the radio to the swat commander.
"He's not in communication," crackled the response.
We need to keep Gorek talking to distract him. Steve spoke into the bullhorn. "All right, Gorek, how do you want to accomplish this?"
"An auto, gassed."
Steve blinked. Doesn't he remember he's on an island? Where can he go? "All right."
"Clear passage to the Russian Embassy in Honolulu."
Steve paused. "Gorek, they may not accept you. We have diplomatic relations. I cannot force them to allow you to enter."
Gorek glanced at Kachan. "Will your people admit us?"
"What happened to your sub?" he remarked hotly. "If they open the door to us, my government is accepting responsibility for this travesty."
Gorek hesitated. It was a moment Kachan interpreted as weakness and the KGB agent began to consider developing his own strategy for survival. Alone I might take a car and disappear. I know this island well enough. I might lay low and escape on a Russian freighter. It would take time, but be successful. Gorek never understood that he was being brought here to fail.
Gorek's eyes narrowed. "It was agreed upon by KGB!"
Mason took advantage of the distraction and dared to peek through the escape route he had created. If there had been a sizable breeze, the section of wall would have flapped stiffly; fortunately, the air was nearly calm. Mason spotted the edge of the swat officer's olive pants and a moment later, a hand was at the edge of the opening. Mason wondered if the officer realized that although the woven wall provided protection from vision, it would never stop a round of ammunition. Yet, Mason had his first real thought that they might actually survive this ordeal. Gorek and Kachan stood in quiet but heated debate about their future -- backs to Mason and Danny. Mason grabbed hold of Danny's shirt and brought his face down eye to eye with that of his patient. "The time is now," Mason whispered intently. "You must remain silent. Do you understand?"
Danny made eye contact and a passable attempt at a nod.
Mason, still gripping the shirt slid him the six inches it took to get his shoulder to the opening. The hands from the other side reached through immediately and grabbed Danny's shoulder. The shoulder disappeared through the opening, then his head, and the other shoulder. He was half way through the make shift escape.
In the hut, there was a sudden unfamiliar sound. Mason, Gorek and Kachan all turned as one towards the source as the dark-haired head of the small toddler popped up from beneath the mound of rags and clothing where she had been soundly napping. At nearly the same instant, Kachan saw Mason and Danny half though the hole in the wall. His instant reaction was with the shotgun.
The first blast caught Mason square in the chest and blew out the wall, revealing the swat officer, both arms wrapped around Danny's chest and unable to get to his weapon. The second blast knocked Danny and the officer to the ground outside in a heap.
"Oh my God," Steve uttered as officers returned fire. "Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" he bellowed into the bullhorn attempting to maintain control of the situation and hoping to take Gorek and Kachan alive. Shots died away as his orders were passed. Trying not to look at the three sprawled bodies on the ground, Steve fought to maintain composure. "Gorek! Gorek! This is your only chance. Drop your weapon and come out now! The building is surrounded by police. There is no other way out."
A black car pulled up behind the police line and Marten Camp jumped from the driver's side.
"Dammit," Steve muttered wondering how the agent had evaded his guards.
"McGarrett!" Camp shouted, approaching at nearly a full run in spite of his arm injury. "I knew it, I knew it! You wouldn't listen. Your people are dead. Now I take this operation! Let's blow Gorek to the hell he belongs in."
As Steve violently grabbed Camp to shut him up, there came a plaintiff child's crying from inside the shack.
Kono came running up behind McGarrett. There was commotion on the edge of the standoff -- a woman hysterically shouting in a rush of Hawaiian.
"I have a little girl in here!" Kachan's voice shouted.
Kono was panting from his run. "Lady's daughter. She down the road working the field. They been squatting here. Her baby was asleep in dere."
Steve fixed a steamy glare on Camp. "Let's talk to the mother before you kill her child in a hail of gunfire."
Camp gritted his teeth, but allowed Steve to pull him over to the mother.
"How old in your child?" Steve asked of the weeping mother.
"Emma. She only three" the mother sobbed. "Please! My baby! Save my baby!"
"Hey, McGarrett!" Kachan's voice called. "I want to make a deal!"
Steve cocked an eyebrow towards Camp. "Still want to handle this?"
Camp fired a look of distain towards the mother. "Damned civilians." He jammed his hands in his pockets as he and Steve headed back to the front of the line. "What do you suggest, McGarrett?" he asked grudgingly.
Steve permitted himself the luxury of casting a glance towards the carnage outside of the hut. There had been no movement in the knotted bodies of the swat officer and Danny or Mason. "We let them talk," Steve muttered. For insurance he again called into the bullhorn for officers to hold their fire. "Okay, Gorek, we are still willing to listen to your demands. What do you want?"
"I have a dear little child here," called Kachan. "You do as I say or I kill her. Do you understand?"
"That's not Gorek," Camp muttered.
"I want to talk to Gorek!" Steve fired back.
"You talking to me now," came Kachan's reply. "I am an honest man. You do as I say and I assure you the child lives. I have no desire to kill a little one."
"Think Gorek was killed in the last round of gunfire?" Chin asked.
"Let me," Camp murmured. "I can get him to talk."
Steve hesitated, then passed the bullhorn.
"Gorek!" Camp shouted loud enough not to need to bullhorn. "Come admit your failure. You are not of the stuff Stasi wants. They have asked us to remove you, did you know that? There will be no peace for you, nowhere to run. The Russians say to kill you and do us all a favor. Hell, you couldn't even kill me right. Go ahead, kill that child then see what hell we can make for you!"
There was a wail from the girl's mother, but no response from inside the hut.
"Gorek! Are you too cowardly to even answer me?"
"I will talk only to McGarrett, a man of honor," Kachan called out. "He certainly does not wish the blood of the innocent on his hands."
Camp scowled as Steve took back the horn. "Okay, Kachan get on with it."
"I want a car and a leer jet at the airport. Police escort to the airport. I want all air traffic on the coordinates I will supply the tower cleared of traffic. After I arrive at my destination I will deliver the child to my consulate and they will return her to you. Anything other than this and she dies."
"What of Gorek?" Steve asked.
"That is his own affair."
"I want to speak to Gorek," Steve countered.
"That is impossible at the moment."
Steve exchanged looks with Camp. "Maybe he really is dead," Steve muttered.
Amongst the tangle of limbs of the slain swat officer's body, Danny opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Mason's body sprawled across the fallen wall like a child's discarded rag-doll; his lifeless eyes staring up into the hot afternoon sun. The second thing Danny was aware of was the gleaming white and red broken femur bone of his left leg; the jagged end pointing through the skin upward at the sky. Remarkably, there was little pain. It took him a full moment to comprehend it was his own leg he was viewing. He was pinned on his right side under the weight of the dead officer. Directly above his chest dangled the officer's service revolver in its holster. He carefully pulled his right arm free, reached up and snapped off the holster's safety guard.
McGarrett was speaking into the bullhorn again. "Okay, Kachan. There is a car here. We are working on the plane." He snatched Camp's keys from his hand and tossed them to Ben. "Bring it around."
"McGarrett, if you let him go, he'll kill that child!" Camp sputtered.
"Right now I think I trust him more than you."
Ben pulled the car up beside Steve and got out and turned it off.
Chin put the car phone down and gave a single nod. The plane had been arranged
"You're aren't going to do this!" Camp shouted.
"Maybe I can get him to trade the child for you," Steve retorted.
Kachan stepped into the doorway of the hut, little Emma at his chest, gun at her head. "I want all those officers away from the house out here where I can see them! I want all the weapons on the ground, hands up."
Emma's mother began screaming again.
Steve passed the order on through the speaker. There was hesitation expressed as officers slowly rose from their positions. Having seen one of their own killed before them only moments before, the concept of coming into the open unarmed was not being well received. Steve counted heads. "Everyone!" He reissued the call. He then stepped forward and lay his own pistol on the ground. Chin, Ben, Kono and the others slowly followed suite. Steve motioned to Camp.
"Like hell," Camp muttered.
Steve punched him in the jaw, sprawling him across the car hood where Kono pinned him while Steve found and removed three handguns of different sizes and added them to the small mound of weapons on the ground.
Kachan seemed to have found some humor in the drama. He took another step out into the open, the gun still at Emma's head. The child saw her mother in the crowd and began to wiggle and cry, trying to reach towards her.
Steve placed the keys on the car hood. "There it is. There is a jet on runway six at the airport. But your plan isn't going to work. No country will allow you to land."
"So say you," remarked Kachan, brushing aside the remark.
"Let her go," Steve pleaded. "There is nowhere for you to go. Your partners are dead. Give up now and I promise you fair treatment. We will not allow the CIA to step in. This is matter of Hawaiian jurisdiction."
Kachan shook his head. "Look at him," he argued jerking his head towards Camp. "He is a dog who should be on a leash. Now, you start the car, McGarrett."
From where he lay pinned on the ground, Danny had done his best to maneuver with a minimum of motion. He now gripped the .38 in his hand and tried to steady his aim, arm stretched out across the dirt.
Steve slid into the car and the engine started effortlessly. He got out, leaving the door open.
"I have a warning," Kachan declared as he moved towards the car. "Follow me or attempt to stop me and I shall be forced to kill the child."
"Followed by your own death almost immediately," Steve commented.
"But her blood is on your hands," Kachan commented. "You Americans hold much to the issue of guilt."
Danny had the gun lined up on Kachan's back twenty yards away, but his eyes would not focus. The gun drooped, he fought to have strength enough to even pull the trigger, aware that if he missed Kachan he could hit the girl or one of the officers. Cannot miss. He blinked and re-aimed.
Kachan lowered the gun from Emma's head to slide into the seat behind the wheel. There was a loud shot and Kachan was thrown against the side of the car with a surprised gasp as the bullet struck him in the lower right side. He dropped the girl and Ben dove in, grabbed her and rolled over protecting her with his body. Steve lunged for the weapon pile on the ground grabbing at random Camp's .357 magnum. Kachan, in spite of his serious wound, turned and pointed his gun at Danny who still lay clutching the police special. Steve and Kachan fired at the same instant.
Kachan's head fragmented scattering bone and flesh amongst the group. He hit the ground, dead instantly. the gun dropped from Danny's hand as he collapsed face down in the dust. Kachan's bullet had struck harmlessly in the dirt less than three inches from Danny's face.
"Gorek! I know you're in there!" Camp shouted. Control was disintegrating as a Camp snatched up a swat officer's automatic rifle and pumped 40 rounds into the shack before anyone could make a motion. Kono tackled him to the ground as Chin ran forward several officers behind him and burst through what remained of the door into the small hut. The room was empty.
Chin kicked through the mounds of clothing. "He's not here," he exclaimed.
Ben looked out the back. "He must have escaped when Kachan called the officers forward."
Kono and Camp arrived at the room. "He's gone, isn't he," Camp muttered.
Chin reholstered his gun. "He can't be far. Fan out, cover everything."
Steven was outside, crouching over Danny as two paramedics worked around him. The magnitude of Danny's injuries was staggering. His face was swollen and blackened from bruises and peppered with small lacerations from the shrapnel of the shotgun blast. Both nostrils were plugged by dried blood. He was only barely recognizable. When one technician lifted Danny's left arm to take his blood pressure, the mangled fingers were obvious. The leg wound was horrifying. Not since Korea had McGarrett seen anything like it. Finally he asked one medic: "How is he?"
The one at his arm looked up, needle cap in his teeth. He was on his third attempt to start an IV in Danny's collapsing veins. "Don't know," he uttered.
The one working on the leg looked up, too. "He's alive. Nobody else is."
On hearing Steve's voice, Danny had opened his eyes. An attempted grin ended in a grimace of pain. He tried to speak, but was too weak.
McGarrett leaned forward but could not make out the words.
"I think he wants to know if you got that Gorek guy," the medic offered.
Steve
ground his teeth and turned away.
The area around the little straw hut was peaceful at last. Yellow caution tape still encircled the remains of the little structure and the strong evening breeze caused it to hum. Otherwise all was quiet. Visible from the foot of the cliff below, the rays of sunset flashed against the gray metal con tower of a sub that broke the surface a mile offshore.
Wilhelm Gorek had been waiting patiently and considering his future as he squatted on the flat black rock on the shoreline. He rose now and pulled out the small gray inflatable he had dug out of the secluded spot in the sand by the cliff. He pulled the cord and it burst outward as the CO2 filled the craft. In just seconds, it was sea worthy. He dropped it down on the edge of the surf and stood just a moment, arms crossed, looking out to sea.
"Going somewhere?" spoke a voice.
Gorek turned in mild surprise to face Steve McGarrett. The startled look melted almost instantly into amusement. "Steven McGarrett, I presume?"
He gave a half-nod of the head. "Wilhelm Gorek," Steve replied.
Gorek returned the same half-nod, then glanced out towards the waiting submarine. "You are an admirable man, McGarrett, for an American."
"I'm afraid you are going to miss your boat," Steve said evenly.
Gorek bit the inside of his lip, no indication of malice or disappointment. "So it would seem. Quite all right, really," he added. "I am a dead man -- a man without a country. I failed my mission, McGarrett."
"There never was a mission, Gorek. There was no top security facility."
Gorek grinned. "Yes, so Williams said. He referred to it as a storage facility -- housing toilet paper and such. He was not to be trusted -- neither are you."
"Camp says your people sent you here to fail. They set you up."
Gorek sighed and crossed his arms again. "Does he? So he really is alive?"
"Alive and kicking," Steve muttered.
"Aha." Gorek gave a genuine smile, detecting Steve's dislike of the CIA agent. "It seems we have one thing in common."
"No we don't," Steve replied, "we have nothing in common at all. You killed eight people and your three partners are dead. I cannot imagine having anything in common with you."
"But you are wrong, McGarrett. You see, we both have a great deal of respect for life -- for it's value. If I did not understand its value, I would have nothing to offer those we needed to interrogate. Williams never understood that. He impressed me with his stubborn loyalty even in the face of hopelessness. I really was prepared to let him live -- just because he had tried so hard." He gave a shrug. "He did not believe me of course. His loss is a shame."
Gorek's nonchalance and eulogizing of Danny on top of it angered Steve. "Williams is alive, Gorek," he snapped.
"Alive?" His eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Yes and, if what the doctors tell me is correct, he'll walk into your trial on his own two feet," Steve added hotly.
Gorek, undaunted by McGarrett's rising temper nodded placidly. "Then Mason did a better than fair job. Tell me -- about Mason -- he was in your employ, correct?"
"It's over, Gorek. Standing on the sand running a play-by-play isn't going to improve things and it won't bring back the dead." Steve reached towards him. "Hands over your head."
Gorek obeyed, glancing once again towards the sub. "What do you plan for me, McGarrett?"
"How I see it, if I let you go, you'll be shot by your own people. You stay here you'll be alive doing time. And you might do some good."
Gorek gave a questioning look.
"What did Camp do to you in 1964?" Steve asked quietly.
Gorek stared past him, not answering.
"He can be brought before a senate sub-committee for his actions. We can make that happen."
Gorek gave a sad grin. "You think so? Do you think that a simple island prison can keep out Camp and his people? Or the KGB? Or the Stasi?" He shook his head. "No, McGarrett. There is no place for me. To exact payment from Camp is tempting, but not likely. I rather think I shall not be taking you up on your offer to stay."
Steve stiffened slightly, thinking Gorek might be challenging him. He brought his gun into view. "Let's go."
"Don't be hasty," Gorek replied. "You see, as I said, I understand the value of a life well spent. I shall leave you now."
McGarrett tensed, knowing something was about to happen.
Gorek suddenly winced, gripped his abdomen and pitched head first to the ground.
"Gorek!" Steve rolled him over. There was a crushed cyanide capsule in the East German's mouth. Slowly, Steve rose and looked out across the sea towards the submarine. The contower was slowly sinking into the waves and within a moment, was gone.
Steve went back to the office. The weight of the last three days was heavy on him and he knew he needed rest, but the desire to place this behind him won out. There was no hope of completing the labyrinth of paperwork involved but it would be therapeutic to begin the task. And no one would be there. Armed with a bag of hamburgers, French fries and Coke, he slowly climbed the stairway to the offices aching for solitude. The knob turned under his fingers and his exhausted nervous system leapt once again to alert. The door should have been locked. Setting the food aside on the floor, and drawing his gun he quietly turned the knob again, then exploded, gun first through the door. And stopped.
Marten Camp glanced over at him from where he sat at May's desk on the phone. In spite of Steve's sudden entrance, he seemed unconcerned. "Yes….." he said into May's phone at his ear. "Yes….I'll get back to you. Have to go." He hung up. "Evening, McGarrett."
Still ruffled by Camp's presence, Steve began to re-holster his weapon, then chose to leave it in his hand, pointed in Camp's general direction. "What are you doing here?"
"Reports to file. Need some info from you."
Steve decided not to ask how the CIA agent had gained access to the office without setting off the alarm. "I hope that wasn't a long distance call." He turned, went back and snatched up his bag of food. "Hungry?" He asked Camp.
"Yes," Camp answered, expecting an offer.
"Go buy your own." McGarrett crossed through the outer office into his, which he noted had still been locked, and slammed the door behind him. His exhaustion was now playing itself out in rage. What the hell is he doing here? I either let this go on or I draw the line here -- now. As he considered the events of the last several days, it all kept coming back to Marten Camp's actions both now and two years ago. Is he here to get me to write something to clear him? Does he really answer to someone who can put him in his place? Unlocking the desk, he pulled out Danny's file regarding the security facility. Why was it built? What was Gorek seeking? Did he know or was he simply a drone of East Germany? That date -- June 1972. What does it mean? Steve knew there was something more here, something he should know already.
Camp opened the door without knocking and McGarrett hastily slid the file under his blotter, knocking the paperweight from his desk into the trashcan beside it. Steve pulled the carved teak piece back out and stopped, spotting the headline of the first section of the discarded newspaper of the day before Danny's abduction. Then The Sun had been more preoccupied with Watergate than home issues. He stared at the headline.
"I need to get your report on Gorek," Camp announced. It was obvious that he was less than pleased that it had been McGarrett alone that had encountered Gorek in the end.
"You'll have it," Steve muttered, but his pulse was racing. He slowly pulled the old paper from the trash. The Watergate break in was June 1972. Coincidence? Is anything involving Camp coincidence?
Camp glanced at the paper in Steve's hand. "Now." He added authoritatively.
Steve glared at the operative. For a moment all he could envision was Danny's battered body. He nearly died protecting Camp and his past. What is that security building about? "Sit down, Marten." Steve gestured to the far side of the desk, leaving Camp to get a chair from across the room and pull it up, the desk solidly between them.
Camp turned on a small tape recorder. "I want to know everything you saw, everything Gorek told you."
"Everything?" Steve asked, a fake innocent expression on his face. "I saw a submarine about a mile off shore -- whose it was I don't know. Gorek had a zodiak craft and was about to rendezvous." He stopped.
"What did he say?" Camp prompted.
Steve took a breath and a chance. "He said he knew what your security building contained." Steve noticed he had gained Camp's total interest. "He said Danny told him it was toilet paper."
Marten cracked a little smile.
"Interesting metaphor," Steve continued quietly. "Danno was right -- it does contain toilet paper, doesn't it? Paper covered with shit." He tossed the old paper onto the desk. "June 1972? Let's tiptoe through the crap of some recent history, shall we? The Watergate scandal blew wide open June 17, 1972. What else was going to blow? The Pentagon Papers had already given provided the public was some of the less than sterling actions of government. Where are you going to hide the crap in a hurry? Certainly not Washington. Some place remote -- some place that looks innocent. And what else was there to hide? Any more Bay of Pigs little actions? Or Laos? Where do you hide the guilt? Where do you hide the things you'd like to retrieve later when you might want to blackmail an official, a politician -- a president?"
Camp was staring at Steve, white as a sheet.
Steve rose from the desk and began to pace, Camp turning his whole head tennis match fashion to follow back and forth. "You need to build some place. Only, you can't use government builders -- they could be tracked back to the Agency. So what do you do? Locals might talk -- so you can't use a one contractor. You farm it out in little pieces." He pointed to the board still containing names and pictures of dead bodies. "A plumber here, interior decorator there, electrician here -- none of them able to put it all together. And to keep it distanced, you bring back in two former agents. What did you have on Lu, Camp? What did you have on Williams?"
Marten crossed his legs, attempting to look unaffected, but the rouse failed. "Williams is a patriot."
"Williams was trustworthy -- you knew he would stand fast. Gorek didn't nearly kill him -- you did." Steve had stopped walking and now stood before Camp accusingly. "How did the Stasi learn about the building? Was some kind of mis-information carefully planted to draw attention away from what was really there? If anyone started looking for domestic secrets they would dismiss a place recently the attack of international spies? Who leaked to the Stasi and KGB?" Steve demanded.
"Really, McGarrett," Marten muttered. "You have nothing to back up all of this."
"How about what you did to Gorek in 1964? Did you hope he'd be sent back here so you could kill him before the US someday made peace with the Soviet Bloc."
Camp jumped up. "The US will never establish friendship with them -- not the kind you are speaking of."
"Well, at least if they do, you've tidied up that little piece of it already," Steve remarked, then paused. "Except I was the last one with Gorek. A man about to die shares all kinds of secrets. I'm sure you're aware of that."
Camp set his jaw, eyes narrowing.
Steve lifted his eyebrows and gave a nod. "Maybe not as tidy as you thought, huh?"
Camp was aware that Steve was taunting him. What does he know? "You don't know anything," Camp decided with a sneer.
"All right," Steve said simply and turned his back.
Camp hesitated. "This is a national security issue, McGarrett. You could be in great danger if Soviet agents knew Gorek had talked to you."
"Soviet agents?" He half turned back with a wry grin. With sudden explosive violence, he grabbed Camp by the jacket, lifting him off his feet and slamming him across the desktop sending papers, pens and the desk lamp crashing to the floor. "You think you can threaten me?" he demanded. "What was it you threatened Danny with?"
"I didn't," Camp gasped under McGarrett's grip.
"What was it!" Steve insisted, slamming Camp against the desk. "What was it!" He slammed him again.
Camp's treated arm wound had torn open and a bloodstain started to seep through his shirt. "His aunt," he gasped.
"What?"
"His aunt."
"What about his aunt?" Steve loosened his grip slightly.
"HUAC was going to blacklist her in 1958…"
"The year Danny joined special ops," Steve added.
"Yes," Camp admitted. "We saw to it she was protected."
"And when he left the Agency?" Steve twisted the shirt.
"It was righteous. We had no issues with that."
"How about in 1972 when you wanted him back?"
Camp did not answer and Steve gave the shirt another twist. "Okay, I reminded him that we still protected his aunt!"
"All right, Camp," Steve said darkly. "Our business is concluded." He brought his face close to Camp's. "And so is your business with Dan Williams, Clara Williams and anyone else dear to him. You ever come close to them again and I will see to it that everything about Gorek is shared with a congressional investigative committee. Is that clear?"
Camp managed a nod.
McGarrett released him and Camp nearly sprang away from the desk. Steve bent down and picked up Camp's recorder from where it now lay on the floor. He turned it off, popped out the cassette and tossed the empty machine to Camp. "I believe you have my report," Steve concluded in a calm tone.
The hospital seemed very white. Steve brought a bouquet of multi-colored carnations with him to break up the stark white. White walls, white sheets, white blankets, and white pillows -- even the cast that suspended Danny's leg in traction was white. In contrast, the bruises on Danny's skin seemed very dark next to all the whiteness. Even washed scrubbed, stitched and through two surgeries the purple-black bruising remained.
"Hi, Danno," Steve said quietly as he entered.
Danny opened his eyes, the red sclera still startled visitors, and the doctors said it would be weeks before the blood was gone. "Hey, Steve," he murmured, exhaustion still in his voice. "One hell of a treasure hunt."
Steve grinned. "I guess you can say that."
"Mason's agreement?"
"I saw his son's mother today. The Governor approved the scholarship for the boy."
Danny nodded.
Steve pulled out the tan colored cassette tape. "Get well gift."
He frowned. "What is it?"
"The beginning and likely the ending of Marten Camp's singing career. You never have to worry for Aunt Clara again," Steve said, re-pocketing the tape.
Danny relaxed against the bed, gazing up at the ceiling. "It was never supposed to be this way," he murmured. "I was a kid, I didn't know any better. I joined a team of men I thought I could trust to the death. Only that's not how it turned out."
Steve gave a quiet nod. "Sometimes it's hard to know who to trust," he offered sympathetically.
Danny looked back over at him. "And sometimes it's not. Thank you, Steve."