Pele's Child
By Peg Keeley
Part 2
McGarrett
gazed across the horizon towards the sun setting on the ocean and let
the breeze relax his face. The gently curling surf and sand massaged his
shoeless feet. He strolled the beach in solitude trying to free his mind
from the pressing case of Pele's Child. He needed to be on the case, but
he needed this more. He was tired. More than tired, he was exhausted.
There was a time when we would have taken that guy down, wrestled him
to the ground. Our team was good, it was the best. Chin, Kono, Danno,
Ben, Duke. The best there was. The younger men are good cops, but it isn't
the same. It will never be the same. I will not be the same. Maybe I am
getting too old for this kind of work. Maybe I really should get out of
the way.
There
was a sudden shout and a young Hawaiian boy tackled him. With a laugh
of pleased surprise, he returned the bear hug. "Lonnie!" he laughed, "How
are you doing?"
"I was afraid
you wouldn't wait," the seven year old replied.
"Of course
I'd wait. I keep you waiting often enough. Where's your dad?"
"Up at the
house." He gestured up the beach. "You should have seen my soccer game!
We were awesome!" He danced back and forth reenacting his soccer game
play by play as they started up the beach towards the house. "You got
to come to the next game, Uncle Steve."
"I'll try,
Lonnie."
"I think you
work too hard," the boy said in a sudden adult like fashion.
Steve laughed
lightly. "You think so?"
Lonnie's dark
eyes that sparkled with delight grew serious. "You don't laugh like you
should. Are you sad?"
"Just tired,
Lonnie," Steve answered, caught for the millionth time at the way Danny's
seven-year-old child could slip between the world of childhood and adulthood
so easily. There are times when he is so innocent and times when he
seems like an old sage.
"You know
what you need? You need a woman."
"What?"
"You need
a lady," Lonnie declared. "Then she could make your meals and wash your
clothes for you. And when I couldn't come, she would play chess with you.
And you wouldn't be sad anymore."
McGarrett
smiled to himself. "Where do you think I could find one?"
He scowled
and scratched his head. "I think you could find one at the mall. I think
they like to stay there." He looked up, spotted a sandpiper as it strutted
down the beach. "Hey!" he ran ahead towards the bird and it flapped into
the sky.
Steve observed
wistfully that although Lonnie was at home on the beach, as one would
expect any Hawaiian child, he never went near the water.
Lonnie came
running back down the beach. "That pesky old bird is trying to get the
crabs again. I don't want him to."
"That is his
natural way, Lonnie. They are what he eats," Steve explained.
"Well, he
needs to eat something else," Lonnie muttered. "Cause those crabs gotta
live too, right?"
They climbed
the steps of the beach house. Danny was inside chopping greens for salads.
"Sorry, Steve," he commented, "the game ran late."
"Sounds like
it was worth it. The star goalie here kept the other team pointless."
Steve shot Lonnie another proud smile.
Lonnie beamed
ear to ear, ran to the shelf and pulled down the chess set. "Can we play
chess. Uncle Steve?"
Danny gave
a comical grin. "Go wash up, Lonnie."
"We're gonna
play chess, right?" Lonnie persisted.
"After supper,"
Danny declared. "Go wash."
He darted
off.
Their meal
was the usual lighthearted affair, filled with jokes, riddles, stories
of Lonnie's day, and few old police tales thrown in. As soon as Danny
rose to start clearing away the food, Lonnie leapt up and dashed to the
shelf where the chess set was kept, brought the game back, and set it
up on the table.
Danny scraped
the plates and slid them into the dishwasher. "Lonnie, Uncle Steve might
not want to play."
Lonnie turned
a pathetic puppy dog look on the top official of the state police. "You
wanna play, right?"
Steve grinned.
I can never say no to this kid. "I'll give it one half hour, then
you'd better get ready for bed."
Lonnie finishing
setting up the pieces, then knelt on the chair, hovering over the board
as the play began.
Steve knew
that the discipline of chess was an excellent mind developer. He'd moved
Lonnie from checkers to chess by the time he was five and was pleased
to observe that for his tender age, Lonnie had a highly developed abstract
reasoning ability. Steve often threw the game, but was gradually making
it harder and harder -- even once in a while letting Lonnie lose. He was
as disappointed as Lonnie when the half-hour was up.
"Get bathed
Lonnie," Danny announced.
"But I want
to play some more," he fussed.
Danny hauled
him off towards the bathroom amid protests. Within minutes, there was
running water, splashes and giggles. Danny reappeared, towel around his
shoulders, wiping water off his face. "Well, that'll hold him for a while."
Steve smiled.
I love coming here. It is the only real peace I know. When I am here,
I understand why Danny changed careers, why he left the city to come back
to the cottage, and why he guards so carefully things that would keep
him from his son. He picked up the white queen and played with the
piece in his hands. "His chess is improving."
Danny grinned.
"He does great at what he wants to. The teacher says he needs to apply
himself better to things like math and science. Lonnie would rather draw
pictures in the margins and hide out in the music room. The music teacher
loves him."
Steve cocked
an eyebrow. "That bothers you, doesn't it?"
"What?" Danny
was defensive. "That he has perfect pitch and sings like a bird? No, that
doesn't bother me at all. That he feels like he must have an audience
for it -- that bothers me a lot."
Steve gave
a sympathetic smile and set the chess piece aside. "Well, he may have
his mother's gift of music, but he has his father's sensitivity to people."
Danny's ears
reddened slightly. "I looked over that material on Pele's Child." He pulled
the envelope out of his brief case. "All the markings of a compulsive
disorder."
Steve glanced
back towards the bath. "Shall this wait till later?"
"He'll be
soaking for a while," Danny replied. He and Steve walked out onto the
porch that faced the water and sat down on the padded chairs to enjoy
the cool evening breeze off the ocean. "Pele's Child is quite a complicated
guy."
"That's an
understatement," McGarrett answered. "He's smart enough to disguise himself,
always gives the same Pele speech."
"That's a
bit bizarre, too," Danny interjected. "According to your reports he claims
Pele will have revenge at the same time he's saying she needs help. He
definitely doesn't know a lot of folklore. What do you make of his gun-in-the-mouth
routine?"
Steve shook
his head. "It's probably his true calling card, not the propaganda."
"Well, if
respect or authority is what he's after, a nine millimeter chrome plated
magnum will definitely be an asset. He is a guy who wants to be important
-- Mr. Big. He's probably always been a loser, maybe ignored by others.
He'd be uncomfortable around women. He's latched onto this Pele thing.
He thinks he's serious, but it's the excuse. He's probably a Dirty Harry
fan. The washing of the bills--well, again he's trying to purify the offering
to Pele. But if he knew his stuff he'd know that Pele's offerings were
live human sacrifice: virgins."
"How do we
find him? Any clues about his time table?"
Danny shook
his head. "I don't know. And I've no idea why he picks certain places.
Maybe he throws a dart at the map." He stood up and stretched. "How's
our illustrious Governor taking it?"
Steve rolled
his eyes and shook his head. "Like everybody else. He wants it solved
yesterday. He says its affecting tourism and in turn the island economy."
He stopped. He didn't add that Masakasi had also told McGarrett he was
too old for the work. He had called him an old man.
"Dad."
They both
turned in surprise. Lonnie stood in the doorway to the porch clad in underwear.
He had taken the map marked with Pele's Child's hits from the envelope
and had it opened out in his hands.
"Lonnie, that
isn't yours to take," Danny scolded. "Why did you leave the bath?"
"Cause my
fingers looked like raisins," he complained. "Who did the dot to dot on
the map?"
Steve gently
took it from him. "It's just something that I was showing your dad, Lonnie."
"Well, I was
wondering why you made a dot-to-dot volcano on it," Lonnie persisted.
They both
look anew at the map.
"See?" Lonnie
pointed to Steve's dots with numbers one through six beside them. "Connect
the dots and they make a volcano--almost."
"My God."
Steve leaped to his feet. They ran back inside to the kitchen table, spread
out the document and drew a pencil line between the dots. The only missing
point was where the lines would intersect at the cone.
"He's given
us where his last hit will be!" Danny exclaimed.
"Almost."
Steve examined the map closely. "It's going to be somewhere in this two
block area. How many restaurants and bars are there in that area."
"Probably
at least ten. That's a pretty heavy tourist area," Danny replied. "But
we can beef up security, get the department together and develop a plan
to catch him."
Steve glanced
at him. Danny showed a spark, a flame he hadn't seen in years. This
is why I stay, Steve told himself. The thrill of the chase, of
solving the puzzle. "I wonder if Pele's Child doesn't intend us to
figure this out."
Danny sobered
a bit. "I don't know. One thing is certain. His last job will finish his
picture. It will probably be a big job. He'll want this to be real public.
Somebody's going to get hurt on this one."
--------------------------------------------------------
It
was nearly ten in the evening when Max Conner returned to his office.
He should have gone home, but he didn't want to face his wife, Nina. He
could think of no where else to go except the office. He needed time to
process his meeting with Governor Masakasi...
"Conner,"
the Governor said, "I need to take an action. I can endure this no longer."
"Exactly what,
Sir?" he remarked, knowing the answer already. There was only one reason
the Governor would have called for him instead of McGarrett.
"This Pele's
Child thing is going too slowly, much too slowly. People are afraid. Business
revenue is down. I need something we can use to make people see we're
doing something."
"We are doing
something! With all due respect, Sir, every lead has been followed and
refollowed. Steve-"
"McGarrett
is incompetent. In his day he was the greatest detective in the nation,
maybe the world and we were privileged to have him with our acclaimed
Five-0 team. But those days are over. He should have had the good sense
to retire."
"McGarrett
is Five-0. He made that department."
Masakasi looked
closely at Conner. "If you truly feel that the department will not survive
without him, then I have seriously misjudged you. I want you to become
chief of Five-0 effective immediately, but not if you will allow your
loyalty to McGarrett color your ability to do your job."
Max was silent.
"You know Steve wants me to succeed him. You yourself have said I'll be
the best man for the job. But I don't want it this way, not in the middle
of the night and not behind his back. If you want a chief who'll behave
that way, you don't want me."
Now it was
the Governor's turn to be silent. "Maximillian, you are a man of high
ethics. All right. As far as I am concerned, you are now chief of Five-0.
If you want to delay a day or two telling McGarrett it is not of concern
to me. But it will be done."
Max took a
deep breath. "Okay, when do you want to tell him?"
"That is your
first assignment."...
Max now
stood in the empty hallway of the department staring at the gold lettering
on McGarrett's office door. He felt like a Judas. The Governor was using
Steve as an excuse to buy time. And then what? He walked into his
office and slumped down into his chair. I should be home with Nina
sharing his with her, but she has been so distant lately. How will she
handle this? She complains about my job now. She hates law enforcement.
She says she worries about my safety, but I know it is the hours. What
could be more demanding than to be chief of Five-0? It may be the end
of our marriage, but maybe it is over anyway.
He jumped
as the door opened at the end of the hall. There were excited voices.
He could hear Steve.
"Max!" Steve
was surprised to see him. "Glad you're here. We've finally gotten the
break we needed!"
Max stared
at him, dumbfounded, then followed Steve and Danny into the office.
"The map."
Steve showed the connected dots to Max. "We have a good idea where the
next robbery will be."
"That's amazing,"
Max uttered, staring at it.
"It took a
seven year old to think of it," Danny remarked. He was already thumbing
through the business directory, jotting addresses down.
"Get Gary
and Loui in here and call HPD. We need to develop a plan immediately and
get it out to the bars and restaurants in that area. We may not know when
our guy is going to act but we have a rough idea of where. It has been
four days, so it'll be soon. When he strikes we need a network to put
into effect that can contain him within three minutes."
"I wouldn't
want to be his last hostage," Max reminded them.
"We need a
complete action plan. Do it tonight, Max, this guy could act tomorrow."
Max contemplated
the response Nina would give when he called to tell her he was putting
yet another all-nighter at Five-0.
Oblivious
of Max's concerns, Steve turned to Danny. "Using his psychological profile
can we come up with a most likely way to talk him out of this?"
Danny raised
his eyebrows. "We have an awful lot of holes. I'll do that best I can."
Steve turned
back to Max who was still standing there in deep thought. "What is it,
Max?"
He snapped
to. "Nothing, Steve." He moved for the door. "I'll find Gary."
----------------------------------------
Danny
had worked with Steve through most of the night as all of Five-0 and a
large portion of HPD had come in to work until dawn. On very little sleep,
he'd collected Lonnie from the Lukelas, gotten him ready for school and
gone down to the University for classes. It felt good to be back at Five-0
again. He remembered all he'd left behind. I'm like an old fire horse
who hears the bell, he thought to himself as he collected his notes.
Danny taught
three classes on Friday and spent most of his time between in his office
feverishly trying to compile the psychological ammunition necessary to
stop Pele's Child. The police computer sketch haunted him. It was very
vague, a common face that still looked somehow familiar.
After finishing
up his last lecture at five o'clock, he returned to the office to collect
his notes. He was in a hurry to get his profile delivered to Steve and
to get home to Lonnie. Friday was the only day that Lonnie came home from
school to the house. As usual, he had called Danny's office to report
his safe arrival at 4:30 and Danny had promised to be there by six. As
he began to load his brief case there came a rap at his door.
"Come," he
called out.
Clint Myer
entered. "Mr. Williams, " he said nervously, "I'm Clint Myer, one of your
students, wonder if I could have a moment of your time." His gaze drifted
to the stack of paperwork--and the police sketch.
"Sure." He
barely looked up from dropping the papers into his bag. "How can I help
you?"
"Well, I'm
in your Criminal Justice 101 course. You've spent a lot of time on the
concept of getting inside the criminal's mind to figure him out."
He turned
to face him. "Yeah." Hurry up, Myer, I want to get home.
Myer still
looked uncomfortable. "Well, why should we assume that anyone deferring
from the set norm is psychologically unbalanced?"
I really
don't want to discuss this right now. Can I put him off until next week?
"I don't think I've implied that. There's a lot of just plain nasty, selfish
people out there who don't give a rip about their fellow man but will
still respond in a predictable fashion."
He swallowed.
"But--but you implied this guy--Pele's Child--he's crazy."
Danny was
perplexed by the questions. "Where are you going with this, Myer? I need
to get home," he declared impatiently, glancing at his watch.
"Well, I just
think it could be wrong to look at everybody who happens to think differently
or holds to a different religious belief as a danger to society and a
crazy."
"This country's
made up of two hundred million people who all hold different beliefs,"
Danny answered. "Thinking differently doesn't make one crazy, or abnormal."
"Exactly."
Myer clapped his hands. "Jesus was a rebel of his time--his government
killed him. Ghandi was tortured. Pele's Child isn't a criminal, he's a
zealot."
"Jesus and
Ghandi didn't blow people's heads off with a 9mm magnum. It might be better
to compare Pele's Child to -- the Simbianese Liberation Army." Danny was
taking more interest in the content of Myer's statements. Just where
is this guy going with this? And why is he asking? In his mind, a
little warning light switched to the yellow caution mode.
"But the meek
aren't listened to," Myer responded. "Nothing was happening; even the
media was ignoring the plight of Pele's desecration. Action is the only
way to gain attention and make them stop. Strike them in their complacency."
Danny glanced
at the computer sketch, then at Myer. Is it possible? He tried
to dismiss it, there was no strong resemblance, but he felt his pulse
quicken. He tried to grin. "And they still haven't stopped. Change isn't
accomplished by terrorism, but by legal methods. Myer, you sound like
you've spent some time trying to get inside Pele's Child. You know, one
of the risks we haven't discussed in class yet is the risk of beginning
to identity with the criminal you hunt."
Myer just
stood there.
"Have you
been researching on this Pele's Child thing, too?"
He shrugged
and pointed towards Danny's work. "You have. You think you know all the
answers. You think he's crazy, but he's not."
"I'm not sure
I'd use the word 'crazy.' Perhaps misguided."
That seemed
to make Myer uncomfortable. "But, it's real. We are polluting this earth
at a terrific rate. The waters are poisoned, the animals die, we contaminate
the air we breathe, even the rain that falls is already poisoned. Nothing
will make them stop. It's not the money, you know. It's the sacrifice."
"What sacrifice?"
"The sacrifice
is blessed by Pele. It is cleansed and used to better the earth. Pele's
power is awesome, but she will let us dwell a little longer if the sacrifice
is made."
"What is the
sacrifice, Clint? The money?"
"The money?"
He made a sneer. "That is just a token."
Any doubts
Danny had had were now gone. He knew he was face to face with Pele's Child.
It figures. A criminal justice student, someone attempting to have
power over others through the law--around the law. Dirty Harry. "Myer,
the Defense Fund didn't use your money, they turned it over to the police.
Pele doesn't need your sacrifice."
"They did
what?" He looked at Danny in surprise.
"They turned
it over as evidence."
"The money
was clean money, I did all I could to purify the gift!"
"Myer, if
the thermal plant is stopped it will be through the conventional methods
of litigation and petition -- not through terrorism. What has happened--the
six robberies, three murders, needs to be answered for. Society cannot
condone this activity. These innocent people have nothing to do with your
convictions. I will go downtown with you and talk with Steve McGarrett.
I'm sure we can arrange an opportunity for you to speak with Gene West
if you'd like, but you're in some deep trouble here."
Myer looked
unconcerned. "Well, I would really like to talk to Gene West. I could
tell him so many things he needs to do, but I can't just now. It's time."
"Time for wh-"
Clint drew
the pistol and aimed it at Danny. "We need to keep my appointment across
campus."
Danny regretted
bitterly that he no longer kept a weapon on his person. He took a deep
breath to remain calm. I need to warn Steve, how can I do that? "It's
nearly six, I need to call my son."
"No."
"He expects
me. I promised him I'd be home at six. If I am late, he will worry. He's
got no mother. I need to call him."
"No."
Danny picked
up the phone anyway and began to punch in the number, noticing that his
hands were shaking. I've got to talk Myer out of this. I need to gain
his trust and get him focused on a different course. How the hell do I
do that?
Myer snatched
the phone from his hand and listened as it rang three times. There was
a child's voice. Myer shoved the phone towards Danny.
"Lonnie,"
he said quietly, thinking quickly. The next few minutes will probably
be my only opportunity to alert the police. Oh, Lonnie, I am so sorry
to place this burden on you. I hope you can understand what to do.
"It's me."
"Hi, Dad."
He sounded joyful.
"I'm going to be a bit late." His voice was tense, in spite of his effort
to sound calm. "We need to change our plans. Can you make a sandwich for
your supper?" he asked, stalling to complete his idea.
Lonnie was
a bit surprised. "Why, yeah--but why can't I wait for you?" There was
a touch of anxiety in the young voice.
He knows
something is wrong. I need to reassure him, but give him instructions.
"I need you to do something really important for me."
"Okay," he
said more slowly, aware of the anxiety in his father's voice.
"You need
to call Mr. Conner for me and tell him we can't meet for our regular Friday
night out tonight." Please understand!
"What?"
"Mr. Conner.
Call Mr. Conner for me." Come on, Lonnie, this is riding on you.
Lonnie scowled, confused at the odd message.
"But-"
"I think he's
still at his office. Do you remember where he works?" Danny could feel
the sweat on his palms. I am so sorry, my son, to do this to you.
"Why--well, yeah." Lonnie frowned. "Dad,
are you in trouble?"
He glanced
at Myer who was out of range of hearing Lonnie's voice. "Yes, Lonnie,
that's right. After supper take your bath."
Lonnie was
quiet a moment, his pulse racing in fear. "Dad--"
"Don't forget
to call Mr. Conner for me. Tell him I'll be stuck at the office for awhile.
I've run into an old friend."
"Dad, I'm
scared."
Me, too.
Danny sighed; praying Lonnie could follow directions. "It's okay,
Lonnie. I'll just be a little late. I love you, Son."
Myer reached
out and hung up the phone. "Let's take a walk."
-------------------------------------
End Part 2
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