sealie

“It’s very green,” Rodney announced as he looked around the park.

“Yes, but no conifers,” John pointed out as he rocked from side to side, stretching out his newly healed hip. He loved Ancient technology. Toby turned in a circle, mouth open as he took in the green, open space.

“That makes a change,” Rodney noted. “Are they palm trees?”

“It smells nice.” Grant inhaled deeply. “Clean. Warm.” He lifted his face up to bask in the tropical sun.

“You know, this feels like an episode of Star Trek,” Rodney said.

“You mean beaming down into a park?” John asked. “Damn, we should have brought a puddlejumper and cloaked it.”

“Sir?” Cody folded his hands behind his back.

“Yes.” John focussed on matters to hand and took in his personnel. McKay, and all his glory. Grant, and all his idiosyncrasies. Efficient, drily humorous and practical Mehra. Phlegmatic and competent Cody. His baby brother –- Shit…

Toby raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything – verbally, or otherwise.

“Okay,” John said. “Mehra, walk into the city and book us a suite in a good hotel and rent an SUV. Take Grant and Toby with you. McKay and me are going to go find this McGarrett.”

“Me. Me. You need me,” Grant said, tapping his chest.

Rodney leaned over and flicked the edge of Grant’s tricorder making him jump back out of reach. “You know what to do. Find out everything. And, you, Busty--”

“Dusty,” the sergeant corrected.

“Dusty. Busty. Rusty. Whatever.”

“It’s important to get people’s names right, Doctor McKay,” Mehra said. “You could be in the middle of an operation and give someone the wrong name and wrong direction just because you’re not able to remember anyone’s names. Have you spoken to a doctor about this problem?”

“I choose to expend my considerable brain power on important things like figuring out how to build ZPMs instead of boring names.”

“Oh, the brain power’s limited?” Dusty smirked.

Rodney glowered.

“Forget it,” John ordered, stopping them. “Sergeant Mehra, book us into the Hilton.”

“Good choice,” Rodney said. “It has good Wi-Fi.”

“Okay, where are we?” John asked, derailing the two of them from starting again.

“Is that rhetorical?” Rodney snapped. “We’re in downtown Honolulu. In the park beside the Alo’iōlani Hale, the home of the Hawai’i State Supreme Court and, apparently, your other brother’s special task force headquarters.”

John did not preen.

“The SEAL has been arrested for murdering the Governor of Hawai’i,” Grant announced. “And someone else: Laura Hills.”

“What!”

Grant flinched back as everyone turned on him. Holding his tricorder at arm’s length, he pointed at it.

“It said it. Not me.”

John stepped right into Grant’s space. Bravely, Grant held firm, twisting his head away, looking over his shoulder, but keeping his arm outstretched to the fullest extent so that John could see the information. John gestured at the screen making the displayed page flip over. Lieutenant Commander Steven J. McGarrett had been arrested at the Governor’s mansion for the premeditated murder of Governor Patricia Jameson in the early hours of the morning. He was being held for processing at the Honolulu Police Department. Another member of McGarrett’s task force, Officer Kono Kalakaua, was under investigation from Internal Affairs.

“Is this all you’ve got?” John asked.

Still gazing determinably into the blue-blue Hawaiian sky, Grant said, “The firewalls around the task force’s servers are very good. I think that they might have purged a lot of information recently?”

“Okay, change of plan.” This has gone official, John realised. “Cody, Toby and I are going to the PD, but first we are going back to the Daedalus and smarten up. The US Air Force is going to visit the Naval Reserves. Rodney, Grant, Mehra, you need to suit up and use some governmental clout--”

“Governmental clout?” Rodney echoed.

“--to get into the task force offices and get all the information relevant to this case and everything that’s happened leading up to this situation.”

Rodney crossed his arms over his chest.

“Don’t look at me like that,” John snapped.

“Fine!” Rodney unfolded his arms as fast as he had folded them, and tapped his ear comm. “Daedalus, six to beam back up.”

~*~

“Oh, very smart,” Rodney mocked as John stepped up onto the Daedalus’ teleport platform in service dress uniform. John held his service cap under his left arm and a blue folder in his other hand.

Toby trooped along at John’s heels wearing an enlisted airman’s less ostentatious version of service dress. Toby already wore his service cap on his head and John winced. Cody, equally smartly turned out, was studiously ignoring the breech in etiquette.

“You’re just jealous. Nice suit by the way,” John returned.

Rodney stroked the lapels of his Gucci suit flat. “How am I supposed to explain to the other members of your brother’s task force that twins are hacking into their servers?”

“I’m sure that you’ll come up with something.” John stood straight. Cody stepped up behind him, taking the protective rear position. Toby bounced up onto the platform between them. The kid was extraordinarily passive, happy to coast along and just listen by the feel of it.

::I’ve been trying to find other telepaths since I was four. I’ve been looking for my family since I was five. I know you need me. And you’re not leaving me behind::

“Rodney, just get into the task force offices and find out everything that you can about this case. Find out what really happened.”

“You know, just because you’re probably related to this McGarrett, doesn’t mean that he’s innocent.”

“I know, McKay. That’s why I’m taking the telepath with me.”

“I’m booking us into the penthouse suite at the Hilton, just so you know. Penthouse.”

“If that means that we don’t have to share a bathroom, I’m okay with that.” John smirked as a flare of energy spirited them away.

~*~

::How are we going to play this?:: Toby asked.

John set his cap straight on his head and strode out of the alley. Cody was a protective, looming presence at his back. Toby came right into John’s personal space and he fought not to flinch. Toby read him instantly and backed off.

John held the blue folder up before Toby’s eyes. Lieutenant Commander McGarrett has time sensitive information relating to an operation which is currently ongoing and we need to find out if it has been compromised. People’s lives are at risk. Signed and sealed by a general of the US Air Force.

::Sneaky. Why did a general agree to provide you with that?::

Honestly?

::Yes, ‘honestly’::

Because if this guy is related to us -- given Carson’s research and Grant’s computer hacking, he probably is -- and has the Ancient genes, he’s an asset. Especially with his training, he’s an asset which can’t be lost. The US Government has already spent millions of dollars on him. The general can afford to give me carte blanche to figure out what’s happening. He’s just been accused of murder and he’s probably my--our brother and--

::We have to figure out what’s happened::

Yeah. Can you do that?

Toby nodded. ::You know that I’ve been working with the Integrated Investigative Bureau, yeah?::

“No, what’s that?” John stopped dead on the sidewalk and faced his new little brother, making pedestrians dodge around them. Cody stepped to the side and waited patiently.

“It’s a special unit of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I’ve been sitting in on interrogations. If you ask probing questions and I listen, we can get to the bottom of this.”

“Like?”

The images which Toby projected were clear and concise, a PowerPoint slideshow of Toby with a blonde, tall female in a grey cell with bland walls and utilitarian furniture and criminal after criminal, pervert after psychopath, victim after innocent, sitting and unconsciously sharing their problems, their lies, their truths and worlds with Toby.

John’s stomach lurched. Toby reached out and caught his elbow.

::It hurt. I had to stop. I had to cut down. It was too much. But I can do it now::

“Hurt?” John latched on to that.

“Sir, behind you,” Cody interrupted.

“Officers, do you mind?”

There was a woman in a motorised wheelchair. She couldn’t skirt around them.

“Sorry,” Toby apologised immediately, and drew John out of her way.

“Thank you.” She whizzed by.

“We need to go, see McGarrett. Come on,” Toby’s voice firmed, “John.”

“Yes.”

John strode out, determinedly, knowing that Toby and Cody followed behind. He took the steps up to the PD two at a time, long legs making it effortless. A cop coming out the double doors dodged to the side making way. Unconsciously, John determined that she was likely ex-Air Force or from another service. Inside the foyer was cool after the heat of mid-morning in the tropics. The desk sergeant, behind a protective glass partition, overseeing the normal morning chaos of active police department on any given day, merely glanced at them as they entered. John removed his service cap, tucked it under his elbow, and silently prompted Toby to take his own off.

“Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, I’m here to see Lieutenant Commander Steven McGarrett, it’s a matter of national security.”

“What?” The round faced man asked.

John looked him up and down. “Now.”

~*~

John sat, folded hands resting on the plain metal table that was bolted to the floor. Cody and Toby stood behind him, backs to the wall -- subordinates awaiting orders. The tableau that John had set was one that he knew that a fellow military officer would expect to see under such circumstances: officer being faced with criminal charges.

The man who was probably his brother was frogmarched in handcuffs into the interrogation room and dumped in the chair opposite. John guessed that he and McGarrett were probably the same height, but McGarrett had some weight on him, and it looked like it was all toned, lean muscle. Ronon could probably take him in a fight, but it would be a close thing.

The two escorting cops ducked out of the interrogation room without a backwards glance.

McGarrett blinked at him, blearily registered the uniform and then straightened. “Sir?”

“Are you hungover?” John asked looking into bloodshot eyes.

“No.” He craned his neck, showing two burnt and weeping wheals on his neck. “I was tasered with what was probably an X30 with no cut off.”

“Has any one seen to those?” Toby asked, moving forwards. Cody caught his elbow.

“Logan,” John chastised and backed it up with a: back off, he could break you in half without thinking about it.

McGarrett grimaced and rubbed at his temple. He squinted at John’s ribbon rack. “I’m fine. Why are you here, Lieutenant Colonel--?”

“Sheppard, John Sheppard.”

“Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard, why are you here?”

“Did you kill the governor?”

“No, it was Wo Fat!” McGarrett slammed his joined fists into the table. “And if any one was following any sort of procedure, they would have processed my gloves and figured out that there was no gunshot residue on them or my sleeves and figured out that I hadn’t fired the damn weapon!”

He yelled that at the two way mirror dominating the far wall.

John struggled to maintain a neutral expression as a skewed, lurching image, coloured by pained disorientation, showed an Asian guy shooting an older, elegant white woman directly in the chest.

He didn’t do it?

::He didn’t do it:: Toby confirmed.

McGarrett grimaced again and rubbed at his temple.

“Why did Wo Fat kill the governor?”

“Because he’s a manipulative bastard, responsible for killing my father and my mother, and he wants to torture me and get me out of the way as something big goes down!”

“Why didn’t he kill you?” John said.

“What part of torture didn’t you get?”

“Responsible for killing your father and was involved in your mother’s death?” Toby asked.

“Who are you guys, really?” McGarrett demanded.

“Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. Lieutenant Cody Hall and Corporal Toby Logan.”

“Yeah, I got that. You’re a Lieutenant Colonel or some kind of military despite that hair. But he’s not.” McGarrett glared at Toby. “And that still doesn’t answer why you’re here.”

“The US government has a vested interest in you. And--”

“Your behavioural psyche profile makes it unlikely that you committed this murder despite your belief that Ms. Jameson may have been involved in your father’s death,” Toby blurted.

“Get me the Hell out of here,” McGarrett said bluntly.

“I’m working on it.” John stood up, pushing the chair back. “Have they got you in solitary confinement or the general populace?”

“You don’t know much about police, do you? I haven’t been officially charged; I have my own cell.”

“I need to talk to my associates. You’ll be out of here before the end of the day.”

“You need to find my partner, Daniel Williams, and Kono Kalakaua. Chin Ho Kelly, who is probably waiting outside, can help you. I don’t know what Wo Fat is up to, but they’re in danger. Kono’s probably off his radar, he’s already engineered her suspension from the Honolulu PD, but he might be planning something for Danny.”

“I need a DNA sample.” John pulled out the buccal swab kit that Carson had given him. The files on the Naval database were good, but they needed a live sample to figure out who, exactly, Steven McGarrett was to them.

“Why?” McGarrett didn’t pick up the plastic tube with its cotton bud.

“Commander.” John was in control here.

Mulishly, McGarrett snapped the seal, stuck the bud in his mouth, wiggled it around and mashed it back in the tube. He set the tube down, flicked his finger and fired it across the table top right into John’s waiting hand.

“Get me out of here, Colonel.”

“Logan, Hall, with me.” Phew. John got out of that tiny, hot room. There was a man waiting on the other side of the door with the most sculptured cheekbones that John had ever seen. If you had seen this man once, you would be able to pick him out of a crowd of thousands; he had that kind of quality.

“Chin Ho Kelly?” John asked.

He nodded, once. Unreadable.

“McGarrett said that you could help. Who are you?”

“I am a member of Hawaii 5-0, the ex-governor’s task force, headed up by Steve.”

“Steve, eh?” And John could hear an echo of Rodney’s Canadianism in his own voice. “Have Commander McGarrett’s BDUs been processed by forensics? Has any gun shot residue been found on his gear?”

“The resident forensic specialist, M.E. Dr. Bergman, has just come in. He has Steve’s clothes,” Chin said solidly.

“You need to get a doctor to check out Mr. McGarrett. I mean Commander McGarrett,” Toby said. “He’s been stunned using a taser and has two second degree burns on his neck. They need to be treated, but their bruising and development can also give you a time line.”

A bare flicker of restrained concern crossed Chin Ho Kelly’s face. “I’ll get on it.”

“A moment.” John stopped him before he headed off down the grey corridor. “You know McGarrett well?”

“I’m his friend,” Chin said, suddenly no longer inscrutable. “I’ve known him since he was a kid.”

“Who is Wo Fat?” John asked.

Phlegmatically, Chin checked the corridor for anyone overhearing. “High up in the Yakuza, if not the Head of the Yakuza operations in the US.”

Yakuza? “Why so interested in McGarrett?”

“Which one? He’s been playing with the family for decades.”

John was thinking at the speed of light. Why the Hell would a member of a criminal syndicate be interested the McGarretts? And if Steven McGarrett was a thorn in his side, why not kill him, instead of framing him for the Governor’s murder? Because this Wo Fat wanted McGarrett contained, but not dead. Why?

Toby, did he hear us?

::Possibly. He winced when I was listening::

“Where will I find Daniel Williams?”

~*~

“Put down that Python Super Computer XII table,” Rodney barked. “Carefully!”

The two Honolulu Police officers froze.

“You drop that and you’ll be responsible for upwards of a million US dollars of equipment,” Rodney snapped. “You can’t honestly think that two, obviously newly graduated, skinny rookie police officers can lift and carry that out of this building.”

A short, stocky blond barrelled through the double doors behind them, forcing Grant to scurry out of his cannonball-like path.

“Put that down!” he screamed at the two officers.

“Jesus. Bob, put it down,” the darker, skinnier one said.

“We’ve been told to clear the building, Keahi,” his taller Caucasian partner retorted, but slowly lowered the black computer table back to the floor.

Keahi jerked his head at the blond, impressively ignoring Rodney, Grant noted.

“Listen to your partner, kid. And get out of my offices, now!” The blond pointed with his entire body at the exit.

The boys balked.

“I am still a member of this task force and no member of the government has told me that this task force has been disbanded. I outrank you; so get the Hell of here!”

They bolted.

Full of piss and vinegar and fair face flushed, the stranger turned on Rodney.

“You too. Out.” He jabbed a finger at the swinging double doors.

Rodney looked him up and down and then consulted the datapad in his hand. “You, I assume, are Detective Daniel Williams.”

“Who the Hell are you?”

“Doctor Rodney McKay, this is Grant McKay, we’re here to carry out a forensic audit of your computers and hard drives.”

“And you brought your twin brother?” Detective Williams returned scathingly.

“And why is that a problem? You have a problem with brothers working together?” Rodney pushed past him. “Look at those idiots. They didn’t even unplug the cabling. They just lifted up the table. Grant.”

Grant gave the detective a wide berth. Crouching down, he checked and then tucked the cables back. Rodney was already interfacing his data tablet with the larger data table.

“Stop it,” the blond demanded again.

“No.” Rodney twisted on his heel and directly faced the angry man. “We are scientists. We’re impartial. We’re going to weigh the evidence and ascertain Commander McGarrett’s innocence or guilt. You want us here.”

The detective clicked his fingers. “ID, now.”

Eyes narrowed, Rodney fished out his leather ID folder. He tossed it at the detective. Grant shivered. The little man was angry; it skittered over his skin, vortices of pain, fury and rage. Grant could only glimpse at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Air Force civilian consultant?” the detective shrieked. Everything about him was penetratingly sharp.

“Impartial!” Rodney snapped back at him. “Here at the Navy’s request to investigate Lieutenant Commander McGarrett. Forensic computer audit!”

They really needed Flyboy as the voice of reason, Grant thought, because Rodney and Detective Daniel Williams were fire and fire and the conflagration could only increase. Grant jumped as his tricorder rang, startling him. The dark shadow under the table beckoned and he ducked into its security. The phone continued to ring, a low reassuring tone. And knowing that it was John, because only he had the number, Grant answered. The battle above his head went on unabated.

“Hullo,” he said.

“What the Hell is that noise?”

“Rodney has met Detective Daniel Williams and they are…”

“Shouting at each other,” Flyboy supplied.

Grant nodded, even though he knew that John couldn’t see him. He reached up and tugged Rodney’s data tablet off the tabletop and onto his knees. The systems had all ready integrated allowing Grant full access.

“Toby read McGarrett; he’s innocent.”

“He’s your brother,” Grant returned confused.

“So that means that he’s innocent?” Flyboy said, humour evident. “So what have you got, Grant?”

“Someone has attempted to delete all the information on the Hawaii 5-0 task force servers but they used--” Grant wrinkled his nose, “--Windows. They didn’t even try.”

“So you have access to everything,” Flyboy said unnecessarily. “Concentrate on any information about a Wo Fat – that’s Whisky Oscar – next word -- Foxtrot Alpha Tango. Active in the Yakuza. He’s been targeting the McGarrett family for years. He was responsible for McGarrett’s mother’s death in 1992.”

“But,” Grant began.

“Yes, Toby’s younger than McGarrett. Carson has McGarrett’s buccal swab, so he can figure out how we’re all related.” John paused for a long breath. “But I want answers.”

“Cuckoos?” Grant offered.

The silence was much longer this time. “Jesus, Grant.”

Grant pursed his lips and stared at the phone. He had lots of ideas, but perhaps he shouldn’t share all of them? He especially liked the idea that Flyboy, Paramedic and the SEAL were Faerie changelings.

“Grant, look at the data, and keep Detective Williams there until I get there.” The noise above his head continued unabated. It actually seemed that Rodney might have met his match. Surely they would run out of air at some point?

Grant tuned them out.

There were several basic inconsistencies in the files and folders before Grant that were really bothering him: the equipment around him was state of the art, the code that he was interfacing with was neat and orderly and had no extraneous tangents. An expert worked regularly on this system, and the digital finger prints all over the work belonged to Chin Ho Kelly of the H5-¬0 task force. A coder of this skill would not have simply deleted the information; it would have been an insult to his skill set.

Therefore, what Grant had retrieved was smoke and mirrors – false information. He drummed his fingers against the side of his data tablet and dove into the servers.

~*~

It was well hidden, but hidden was fine. Lots of lovely organised folders with files, mpegs, jpegs and information. There were really three strands -- evidence pertaining to:

1. Death of Mrs. John McGarrett.
2. Death of Mr. John McGarrett, not limited to,
3. Current operations of Wo Fat and the Yakuza on the Islands of Hawai’i, the Mainland and Asia.

The third strand was a conglomeration of Mr. John McGarrett’s information, H5¬-0 task force evidence and gigabytes of data from a CIA analyst called Jenna Kaye. The information was well hidden, which spoke of its authenticity, but it was very important to separate fact from fiction. Luckily, he had found multiple back ups -– Chin Ho Kelly was very diligent -– both on site and off site.

However, the compilers of this data were hardly objective.

The fourth strand: Lieutenant Commander SEAL’s involvement in the death of the governor and Ms. Laura Hills, was inconsistent and incomplete. Vaguely nauseated by the gaps, Grant concentrated on the first three strands. Flyboy, Paramedic, The Mouth and Rodney could focus on the fourth strand.

“What’re you doing?”

Someone was talking at him. Grant held up his hand protectively by the side of his face, blocking out The Mouth. Where was Rodney? Perhaps The Mouth had eaten him?

“Leave him alone, Detective Williams,” Rodney barked.

“What is he doing?”

“Finding evidence to exonerate your McGarrett.”

Grant shrugged, he wasn’t doing that, but he wasn’t going to tell Rodney or The Mouth. Flyboy said the SEAL was innocent – it was a waste of his time to concentrate on that, and the state of the data -- ewwwwww.

“Chin deleted the files.”

Both Rodney and Grant snorted identically. Grant could imagine Rodney waving his hands at the tech around the office.

“The back ups and redundancies in this system would make deleting information practically impossible,” Rodney said. “You would have to carry out a full overwrite of all media and to be sure you’d have to destroy the hard drives. Lab degaussing to scrub the data from the drive platter followed, ideally, by a sledge hammer. I don’t imagine that you had time to even overwrite the data, and you obviously haven’t destroyed the hardware, in between McGarrett running and then killing your Governor.”

“He didn’t--”

“Yadda yadda ya…”

And they were off again. Grant bunkered down. The third strand of compiled information was giving him the heebie jeebies. The degree of order in the repeat patterns was sequential. Grant opened the files. They were a selection of photos of Asian men and one Caucasian woman entering a hotel. Another set of one man, who Grant had identified as Wo Fat, in a variety of situations. Two scanned pages of CIA stamped foolscap, evidence from 1985 and 1989, looked interesting. Grant zoomed in on the beige pages. Curiously, they had the same embedded time stamp.

“Hello?”

The problem with hiding under tables, unlike air vents, was that there were too many approaches for people to get to him.

The girl-woman crouched down beside him was disconcertingly bland in appearance, visage and aura. Grey from head to toe.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

There were too many people in this office to work. Grant crawled out from under the table. He jack-in-the-boxed-up beside Rodney.

“I can’t work like this. Can’t. Too many people. Tell them to leave. Leave. Okay?”

“It’s okay, Grant. This is Daniel Williams and Jenna Kaye, they’re with the task force.”

“No. No. No.” Grant shook his head and fixated on his navy-blue gym shoes with their brilliant white piping.

“Come on.” Rodney swung an arm over his shoulders. “McGarrett’s office is empty, you can work in there.”

“No way,” The Mouth immediately protested. “I’m not letting him--”

“Uh, uh.” Rodney tapped his own chest twice and then pointed at the blond. “You and me going at it like Rock ‘Em and Sock Em’ Robots is kind of invigorating, but Grant is off limits. McGarrett does not need his office. Grant does.”

Flyboy breezed through the double doors, ribbons a bright slash of colour on his chest, cap tucked under his left elbow. Grant thought that he looked like a character from a movie, and that Flyboy knew what image he was projecting. Jenna Kaye sighed audibly and then blushed.

“Glad to see you’re all getting on fine. Not.” John’s eyebrow rose.

The Mouth shuddered and went for the metaphorical jugular. “More uniforms. Who the Hell are you?”

John cocked his head to the side. “I’m Colonel Sheppard, Detective Williams.”

“What of?”

“US Air Force,” John drawled.

“Insane. You should have sent the Navy. He’s Navy. He’s a God damn SEAL.”

“Lieutenant Commander McGarrett has potential input to ongoing, sensitive operations affecting Air Force and, potentially, Navy operations,” John said smoothly. “We’re here to find out what happened.”

Grant’s mouth fell open; that was an impressive piece of obfuscation.

“So.” Flyboy’s gaze took them all in. “What have you found?”

“The third strand of information is odd. Inconsistent.” Grant shook his head from side to side. “I don’t like it. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Who is this dweeb?” The Mouth demanded.

“The guy that you want trawling through your data to figure out everything you need to know about this Wo Fat guy and the Governor’s death,” John said.

“No. No. Four strands. Number One: Death of Mrs. John McGarrett. Number Two: Death of Mr. John McGarrett, not limited to, Number Three: Current operations of Wo Fat and the Yakuza on the Islands of Hawai’i, the Mainland and Asia and then Number Four: Lieutenant Commander SEAL’s involvement in the death of the governor and Ms. Hills. I don’t like the fourth strand. It’s very confusing.”

“Hey.” Flyboy ducked down a fraction so that he could catch Grant’s eyes. “Come on. You can’t ignore the Fourth Strand, just because you don’t like it. We need hard evidence to clear Commander McGarrett. Are there similarities about what’s bothering you in your Third and Fourth strands?”

“No. Fill in the gaps. Fill in the gaps,” Grant echoed.

“Rodney, can you help him?”

“I’m hardly an assistant. We will work together.” Under the sheltering arc of Rodney’s arm, Grant let himself be directed him into a blissfully quiet, well-lit office.

~*~

“Mother load,” Rodney hollered in gleeful singsong.

John hauled himself off McGarrett’s office couch, mindful of his tender hip. Ancient tech was awesome, but there was a little bit of residual ache after sitting still for too long.

“What have you got?”

Rodney grinned up at him from where he sat opposite Grant looking like identical bookends on either side of McGarrett’s desk.

“That reminds me,” Rodney said, apropos of nothing, “what happened to Coby?”

“Toby and Cody,” John said, rolling his eyes, “are at the Honolulu PD. Chin Ho Kelly said that there was… possibly a mole in the department. Toby wanted to hang around and listen.”

“Sounds inefficient and aggravating,” Rodney mused.

John shook his head. “What. Have. You. Found?”

Dramatically, Rodney lifted his finger high and then stabbed it down on his laptop, hitting the return key.

A woman’s voice controlled, with an edge of fear, filled the room. John started to speak, but Rodney shushed him, as McGarrett spoke -- demanding a confession and answers. John’s ears pricked up as the woman -– John guessed it was the Governor –- slyly stated that McGarrett did not want answers. McGarrett tersely laid out the timeline of events leading to both his mother and father’s death. Then Rodney’s mother load: a flat recitation where Patricia Jameson calmly admitted organising the murder of her disloyal assistant, Laura Hills. The harsh arc of discharging lightning and the thump of a body hitting a carpet heralded the end of the recording.

“What was that?” Grant asked innocently.

“McGarrett being knocked unconscious,” John interpreted.

“It’s not proof, though,” Detective Williams said from the doorway. “Just sounds. It could be Ms. Jameson being tasered.”

“Why would The SEAL tape himself murdering Ms. Jameson?” Grant said without raising his chin, intent on his own searches through the systems. “He programmed his own phone to record the conversation on H5-0 servers, accessible and backed up.”

“But once the gun shot residue on McGarrett’s BDUs comes back negative and medical documents the taser burns on his neck, I think that we’re getting into the realm of reasonable doubt.” John glanced at the detective.

Williams stood a little taller, a little straighter. “We still don’t know why, though.”

“Yeah.” And that niggled at John.

“Chin’s back at the governor’s mansion with the forensic specialist, Bergmann,” Williams said. “They’re looking at the governor’s office, especially her desk. Hopefully they’ll find something there.”

“What’s an asset forfeiture locker?” Rodney asked, rewinding the tape and listening to the Governor again.

Williams shuffled; it was the first nervous tick that John had seen since meeting the man.

“Chin got kidnapped by Hesse, the guy who killed Steve’s dad. We needed ten million ransom.” His sentences were staccato. “We couldn’t get it anywhere, so we borrowed it from the asset forfeiture locker which is where the police store confiscated drug money. The plan was to put it back when we’d rescued Chin. Hesse burnt the ransom money. We thought that we were fucked, but ten million reappeared back in the locker.”

“So the governor put the money back? Out of her own pocket?” Rodney asked incredulously. “Why?”

“Something’s going down,” Grant said with his typical, total detachment.

“What!” Williams pounced, bouncing forward a step.

“Hey, stop!” Rodney snapped out and Williams froze.

Grant kept his head down, flinching into a tighter ball. “Kill three birds with one stone. Stop H5-0 from interfering with his operations. Lock down The SEAL. The SEAL was unconscious on the floor; Mr. Wo Fat could have shot him dead.”

“And he didn’t, when it would be so much easier.” Williams tugged at his bottom lip, deep in thought.

Grant nodded. “And murder the Governor.”

“Why did Wo Fat murder the governor?” Williams asked.

“She was laundering Yakuza money through the Islands and siphoning off more than five percent this last year. Sometimes up to eight percent. Previously she only took zero point one percent. Million of US dollars. Billions of Yen. Getting ready to run. Wo Fat is planning a sensitive operation -- threatened the Governor’s position -- she was going to take her ill gotten gains and run. Today. Tomorrow. This weekend,” Grant continued, musingly. “But I might be wrong.”

John crouched down by Grant’s side, forgetting his hip. “What operation? Do you know? McGarrett thought that something was going down as well.”

Grant shook his head. “Person. Thing. Coming through the Islands? Too big to hide. Too likely to be found? Big Bomb? Terrorism? Terrorist? Terrorists? A cell.”

“How?” Williams whispered.

“Boat. Wo Fat likes boats.” Grant nodded at his screen. “Statistically more likely to use ground transport if the material he’s transporting is organisationally or politically motivated. Hmmm, if the data’s right. Hmmm.”

“This is ridiculous,” Williams snapped. “You’re just pulling this stuff out of midair. How the Hell can the governor be working with Wo Fat? Why did she create the task force if she was working with the Yakuza?” Williams asked. “You’ve got some good ideas but others? Suck.”

John tapped the edge of Rodney’s laptop thinking. “She wanted the task force to succeed. That’s why she put the money back in the asset forfeiture locker.”

“Because,” Williams jumped in, “she wanted Steve to succeed; to bring down Wo Fat so she could get away scot free.”

The words hung between them, the complex strands of a story unfurling.

“We might not have all the answers, but I think we’ve got enough to talk to the police,” John said into that void.

“Shit,” Williams said eloquently. Abruptly, he held his hand out. “Okay, this is what we’re doing. Steve’s going before the judge in a couple of hours. We need to go before the judge with the audio file. You, mouthy guy--”

“Me? Mouthy guy?” Rodney said, aghast.

“McKay,” Williams corrected, “can come and explain it in words of less than one syllable to the judge, who’s a moron, honest and non-judgmental, but he needs everything explained slowly. Bergman has the gun shot residue stuff. And maybe something from the governor’s office? We should be able to get bail – it’s going to be astronomical, but we should be able to get it. The other stuff, can you explain that?”

McKay tapped his chest. “Me? Grant’s supposition? Yes, it’s subjective, but probable.”

“Good, you’re definitely coming. Get your computers, anything you need.” Williams was already moving.

“Detective, hold up,” John ordered. “I’m coming with.”

“Why?”

“Bail money,” John said succinctly. Still crouched, he lightly tapped the side of the laptop that Grant had acquired. “Grant?”

“Hmmm?” he hummed absently, fingers dancing over the keyboard.

“Dusty is going to stay with you. Firm up your hypothesis--” as expected John saw a tiny grin flitter over Grant’s face, “--and check out Commander McGarrett’s mom’s death.”

Grant stuck his tongue into his cheek, making it round out, even as he kept his gaze on the screen. “You need to talk to the Clone Doctor. Lots of things to do. Need to know if she is your mom before spending time on that. Eh?”

“WHAT! You’re Steve’s brother!” Williams grabbed John’s shoulder and yanked him to his feet. “What? Is that why you’ve come here? You were lying when you said that you were Air Force. Who the Hell are you?”

“Back off, Detective!” John straight-armed him away.

“Impartial investigation? Yeah, right,” Williams snapped, bouncing right back into John’s personal space.

“I was gene-typed and cross referenced on US Air Force, Army and Navy databases. Lieutenant Commander McGarrett was identified as a possible gene match. Our gene type is relevant to specific and ongoing operations necessary for domestic and international security,” John said directly. “There is some confusion as to how we are related, since as far as I am aware my mother died when I was a baby.”

“How the Hell can genie-types be important?” Williams demanded.

“We’re not at liberty to say,” Rodney interjected. “It’s classified. But if the White Knight here thinks your McGarrett is his baby brother, he’s going to go to the end of the galaxy to make sure he’s okay.”

“McKay!” John squalled.

Williams snorted. “Baby brother? Hah!”

“Oh no, don’t tell me: Another over-protective idiot that thinks that he has to look after everyone.” Rodney’s eyes rolled heavenward.

“McKay, shut up.” John stared down at the shorter man. “Detective Williams, suffice to say we were interested in McGarrett before this shit-fest started. McGarrett did not kill the Governor, and we have to prove that. And yes, I’m not impartial. But that’s what my team’s here for, because I’m guessing that McGarrett will want his innocence proven absolutely one hundred percent without doubt.”

“Suffice? You actually said suffice,” Rodney mocked.

“Shut up, McKay. Seriously, this is turning out to be a really long day. You have no idea.” John breathed out harshly. “This is how we’re going to play this. McKay, get your equipment, so you can explain to the judge what we’ve found so far. Detective, we’re going to go to McGarrett’s place and get his dress uniform and dopp kit, because he’s going to want to go before the judge, clean and respectful. I’m going to pay McGarrett’s bail, and then we’re all going to bunker down and figure out what this damn Wo Fat’s up to, and exonerate McGarrett and throw Wo Fat’s ass in jail.”

John wanted his subordinates, team members and mouthy detectives to simply heed his orders and obey; but it was like herding proverbial cats. They all stood looking at him.

“Come on!” John chivvied. “We’re leaving now.”

“Fine,” Detective Williams growled. “But I’m driving. You’ll wait in the car while I get Steve’s kit.”

“I’ll stay.” A woman, who John hadn’t even noticed, gingerly held her hand up. “I’ll help Grant with his interrogation of the databases.”

“Yeah, good idea, Jenna,” Williams said. “This is Jenna Kaye, CIA-analyst. She put together a lot of the data your dude is looking at.”

“I can be a lot of help,” she said brightly.

“Yeah, okay, help Grant. But if he wants some space give it to him.” John glanced down at Grant who was ignoring them. “Grant? Grant? Earth to Grant?”

That garnered a response. “I’m on Earth.”

John fished out the ear piece from his breast pocket and waved it in front of Grant’s nose. “You hooked up?”

Grant nodded enthusiastically. “Always. I’m part of the ‘net.”

John poked the receiver in his ear and gave it a double tap. “Hey, Carson, you there?”

The communication delay between the Daedalus in geosynchronous orbit was non-existent despite being 40, 000 km above the Earth.

“Dr. Beckett is at the SGC, rerouting your signal,” a quiet, competent voice said.

“Aye?” Carson said subliminally a second later.

“The results?” John drawled.

“Oh, yes, of course. Uhm.” Carson coughed.

“Carson!” John said through gritted teeth.

“Statistically. Yes, you’re related. Brothers. Same maternal DNA. Congratulations?” he finished weakly.

End part three.

Part Four