BEFORE THE BEGINNING

Some Interesting Proposed Connections

Year: 1965 or so:

It was a Monday late in the program and the other cadets in their civilian clothes were checking a prominent notice under the glass on the academy bulletin board.  This group, as far as anyone outside was concerned, was part of a secret project; no uniform was issued to them, and they attended their various classes and training sessions in casual wear, work clothes, business attire, sweats, or martial-arts outfits as the situation required.  Officially, the academy was closed for renovation.  The top man in the class arrived and parked the plain black sedan he'd been issued for the duration under a banyan tree next to other plain sedans; powder blue, beige, white, brown.    A tall, lanky fellow, and at forty-one by no means the oldest of the bunch, he'd chosen simple work clothes: a dungaree shirt, 501 bluejeans, and a red bandana around his sun-sensitive throat.  A blue and yellow baseball cap with a billy-goat mascot covered the thick, dark brown hair on top of his head.  He strode on over to the bulletin board.

NO CLASSES TODAY - ORDERS OF THE DAY: MON. 09 OCT -

Your kokua is needed on various details and assignments; thought you'd appreciate the change of pace.  Next class is here 0800 Thursday 12 Oct.  Your staff has some unrelated meetings and duties in the meantime. Aloha, Jeffries.

BOND: Take a boxlunch, a transistor radio, and a newspaper and sit in Aala Park for a couple of hours.  File obs report.

FAASOOPO: You've probably heard the King of Tonga is in Queen's Hospital.  Go talk story with him if he's up to it.  File intel report.

JOHANSEN: Take a newspaper and sit in AMSC for a couple of hours.  File obs report.

LEE: New INS field agent, Karl Peterson, assigned to Haleiwa, wants to learn to surf.    You da man.  File intel report.

MCGARRETT: Go home and go to bed.  Col. Olmquist has instructions to ring you between 1700 and 1830 this evening.

QUINCY: You're expected ASAP at Physicians Ambulance as a third-man ride-along.    File obs report...

McGarrett noted his instructions and gently knocked his fist on one of the board's wooden posts.  "Well, gentlemen, and lady," he said as he turned around to leave, adjusting his cap, "it looks like I'll be pulling a late shift of some kind.    Be seeing you."

"Later, Steve," said the others.

At twenty-five minutes past six that evening Carl Olmquist rang Steve at his flat.    "Com - , McGarrett," Steve answered, suppressing the word "Commander."  It would take some getting used to.

"Steve, this is Carl," the Director introduced himself.  "You'll be expected at HPD between 1945 and 2000. Wear - let's see - your darkest blue trousers and black shoes and just about any kind of a shirt.  Ask to see...Sgt. Kelly, and we'll take care of everything else when you get here. All right?"

"I'll be right there.  "Aloha," Steve responded before hanging up.

McGarrett climbed up the steps and into the lobby of the main police station at ten minutes of eight. His shoe heels echoed as he walked across the wide marble floor, which caught the attention of the uniform behind the dais, an older Chinese fellow smoking a pipe while scrutinizing a sheaf of reports and other documents. They recognized each other immediately, quickly exchanging salutes and smiles based on a prior acquaintance. During Korea, Chin Ho Kelly had been a Marine MP who had occasionally been assigned to help McGarrett at NAVINT. But each of them had learned something from the other, and had come away the better for it. McGarrett gained from Kelly an insight into "the Asian mind" which would prove very helpful throughout his career. Kelly for his part gained from McGarrett an appreciation for the constant insistence upon excellence...from himself first as well as from those with whom he worked.

"So, boss, I hear you're one of Olmquist's people now. How's it going?"

"I'm loving it, Chin Ho. I can't tell who's been learning more...me from the program or the others from me." McGarrett referred to the well-received guest lectures he had given his classmates - and his instructors - on the relevance of milint techniques in common law enforcement.

"Working with you is always an education, Steve," Chin Ho replied with a grin.  Kelly popped a switch on the intercom. "Hello. Yeah, tell Olmquist    my eight-o'clock's here. Could you get someone to cover the desk? Thanks."  Just then a young cop with close-cropped, bushy red hair and corporal's stripes bounded out of one of the doors behind the dais. Kelly turned to him and out of Steve's area of immediate attention mumbled some instructions.   "Okay, Mister McGarrett," Chin Ho addressed him as he rose out of his seat - the corporal's eyebrows visibly arching at those last two words as he took the seat, "please follow me."

Olmquist and the Chief were waiting in the the Chief's office along with Captain Jeffries. "Hello, Steve," Olmquist greeted him.

The Chief handed Steve a hanger-bagged blue uniform top and a large grocery bag. "Go ahead and put this on. Use my bathroom."

"Well, this is a surprise." Steve was mildly overcome with pleasure. Jeffries spoke up so that Steve could hear through the bathroom door. "You were doing so well that you've already met all the requirements. We've decided to graduate you ahead of schedule because..."

Then the Chief took over. "...the decision was made that it was you who was to be the appointee, because..."

Now it wasOlmquist's turn. "...my doctor has advised me to retire from the force within the next twelve months, and it'll be better in the overall scheme of things for me to bring a hand-picked apprentice up to speed..."

Steve was adjusting himself in the mirror.  He briefly looked odd to himself in a dark blue uniform, having worn various forms of white or khaki previously.  He inspected the revolver they'd issued him, verified that the ammo was good, holstered, snapped, and adjusted the belt.  A familiar job, a different venue, he told himself as he thought a prayer, remembering a brief stint of provost duty in Manila.

"How do I look?" Steve asked as he came out.

"There's one thing I forgot," the Chief apologised as he fumbled around in a desk drawer, fishing out a badge.  All were quiet as he pinned it onto McGarrett's uniform.

Chin Ho and Steve emerged into the station's backlot and picked out a cruiser, an enormous old Ford Fairlane.  Chin Ho fired her up and the engine responded with a steady, muscular rumble. The air conditioner kicked in with a brief <squeak!> and off they went into the night.

"Central, 2 Sam 9 is 10-8, car 406, 5-0 Lincoln 2 with me," Chin Ho checked in on the radio.

"2 Sam 9, roger," the dispatcher acknowledged.

McGarrett always found Honolulu fascinating. Nowhere else on earth could one find so many cultures, languages, and traditions coexisting side by side. The nose was tempted on Kalakaua by the restaurants of a dozen cuisines. Businesses' signage could be in any of as many languages.

Suddenly the patter of dispatch on the radio was broken by a triple beep.

"Attention all units. Signal 4 on a white four-door late model Cadillac fled the scene of an 11-51 heading Diamond Head from Chinatown about two ago. Driver is sole occupant, heavy build male oriental with bald head and slight mustache, wearing white jacket and red ascot. Unknown whether armed.  Apprehend and hold for vice detail."

"Didn't say if he was carrying any birds with him," McGarrett observed.

"Yeah but an informant probably saw him with proceeds before the raid took place," Kelly explained. "Well, whaddya know! He's crossing right in front of us." He picked up the mike. "Central, 2 Sam 9 spotted your 11-51 suspect proceeding mauka on Kapahulu from Kalakaua, a white Œ63 Cadillac, tag Ocean Queen Ida 483, and following." "He's onto us. Take the radio."

"2 Sam 9, Central. 9-13 to pursue." Kelly flipped a couple of switches on the dashboard.  Instantly beams of brilliant blue light shot out in all directions from the cruiser's beacon, and the car's electrical functions briefly dimmed when its siren was roused. "All units, Central. 2 Sam 9 in pursuit of 11-51 suspect mauka on Kapahulu from Kalakaua, a white Cadillac, Ocean Queen Ida 483."

"Central, 5-0 Lincoln 2 with 2 Sam 9, suspect turning right that is Koko Head on the 72 from Kapahulu." Steve reported the change of direction. Then other voices were heard on the radio.

"8 Xray 5 aware and coming in from Waimanalo."

Central read back the information about the car. "Units on the 11-51, Central. Your white Cadillac, Ocean Queen Ida 483 , registered to Vashon Investments Limited, at 13 dash 585 Hanauma Terrace. No wants, no warrants."

Kelly groaned. McGarrett looked at him and didn't ask anything, but Kelly replied, "Birds of a feather."

"Easy does it, Truck. 2 Mary 3 aware and coming in from Kahala."

"Look behind us, Steve," informed Chin Ho. Three other cars and two motors were following behind them.  Getting into a chase was one thing, but this old naval tactician's mind was heartened to be leading and coordinating a task force!

The Caddy showed no sign of interest in stopping or slowing down.  Eventually the road became twisted in the vicinity of rocky precipices at the shore.  Suddenly the Cadillac screched to a halt, banging its windshield on the undercarriage of a huge crew-cab Dodge Power Wagon four-wheel-drive that had been in the process of making a U-turn.  The trunk of the Caddy popped open like a toppled dustbin and instantly dozens of chickens jumped out running all over the place.   And when the blinking blue light strapped to the top of that crew-cab was noticed by the man in the white jacket, he got out and started to run.  But, with eleven barrels of various calibers/gauges trained on sundry parts of his anatomy, and caught literally between black rocks and the deep blue sea, he had no place to go. With his back to Kelly's unit and the other cars, he surrendered, raising his hands over his head.

Quietly and cautiously, McGarrett and Kelly walked up to him.

"I know most of the big wheels around Chinatown, but I've never seen you around here before.  What's your name?" Chin Ho asked observantly. Not receiving an answer, he repeated the question in Cantonese.

"My name is...Ling Fong. I'm an...art dealer," the stranger replied in crisp Mandarin. Kelly blanched at the accent. McGarrett stepped forward.

"I know this guy, Chin," Steve said, cuffing "Ling Fong" behind his back and searching him, turning up a loaded gun, a black notebook, and $5000 in cash. "His name is Wo Fat..."

The blood drained from the stranger's face and his heart fell into his belly.

"...and he has a lot to answer for."

EPILOGUE.

"The Chairman will see you now, Comrade Lieutenant," the functionary announced, sliding open the door to the Chairman's inner chamber. The chubby-faced squinty-eyed old man himself, in uniform, sat at his desk underneath a familiar portrait of himself that could be seen in any ofmillions of places.

"Come in, come in!," Mao Zedong affably urged the big, bald soldier, extracting a couple of bottles of lemonade from a small refrigerator behind his desk. "I take it you are well. Your report?," he asked, opening both and handing one to his guest.

"At first, Comrade Chairman, it would appear that I have someone to... thank, for making sure that certain...records of my...activities...in Tokyo could... not be located."

"Ah, think nothing of it, Teng Chih Wo. Every thing done for our Revolution eventually bears fruit."

"This Vashon fellow we've been looking into is an archetypical capitalist hooligan.  We can, however, use him for our purposes without his knowledge, as we have with the others, and he will in time destroy himself when his usefulness to us comes to an end."

"Yes.  Good.  And?"

"One of the policemen who arrested me in Honolulu, and this, Comrade Chairman, was the source of my concern over my past service in Tokyo, is an American Navy commander named Steve McGarrett."

Mao put down his bottle and sighed. "And because that one Tokyo operation during the Korea conflict was forced by its nature and the circumstances to use an operational model--that of a bordello--which was inherently unsecure, McGarrett busted it wide open."

Wo Fat nodded.

Wo Fat continued. "And since Officer McGarrett had no rank on his collar, I would believe his service in the Honolulu Police Department would be of a relatively perfunctory nature.  The real reason I would gather is that he is being trained for a special mission.  His handlers will already know about my little run-in with the law and what McGarrett, _can_, tell them about Tokyo."

"Take a couple of months and look in on your family while this cools down," Chairman Mao said, penning an order. "Your insights and your experience are very valuableto our Cause and our Revolution. You will be going back to Honolulu as a section chief.  Keep an eye on Vashon, and keep a closer one on McGarrett. I will give you my personal assurance that everything you need will be taken care of."

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Billy Wright

mailto:wsw5740@earthlink.net

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