SUNDAY, JUNE 23RD - AMERICAN SAMOA (LATE MORNING)
Brian McNamara estimated that he'd be home by eight o'clock that night. He built in a substantial buffer of time and then tried to come up with a suitable story for his visible cuts and bruises. A fender bender seemed like the only plausible solution to spin. However, he would need an even better explanation as to why he missed that afternoon's final legal walk-through for the Monday opening arguments.
With cases as large as Darien's, it was all hands on deck usually seven days a week and twenty-four hours a day. The final prep meeting was more of an elaborate staging that re-established roles, responsibilities and often included a recitation of speeches or verbal tactics. The more important murder charges would be discussed and presented first, with the lesser money laundering and racketeering charges bringing up the rear to pile on the case against Allen Darien. Once the opening arguments were achieved, the murder portion of the trial could feasibly take days or even weeks to hash through between both sides. McNamara feasibly had a long wait after the first day or two since he was most involved with the money laundering portion personally ... at least at first glance. Behind the scenes, he had tampered with some murder evidence to such an extent that it might wind up missing or unavailable when needed most. At least two jurors were justly uneasy and regardless of Williams' fate on Samoa, McNamara felt strongly that McGarrett's testimony would also be suspect.
In the short term though, everyone involved on the prosecution side was expected to attend the final legal walk-through. The head of the prosecution team, Alistair Landon, demanded that they all participate in the preparation meeting. It made perfect sense since they all needed to know what each expert sub team would be doing; Landon demanded that the presentation of proof against Darien flow seamlessly from start to finish. In the successful prosecuting attorney's own words, Landon wanted Darien to have a "happy dance all the way to jail."
Brian McNamara certainly didn't approve of Landon's objectives. He preferred to collect the remaining half of his lucrative salary. These thoughts were running non-stop through his head as he waited on the long queue to board the plane. Like everyone else, he was outwardly relieved and very congenial. He blended well with the other tourists that had become marooned on Samoa despite the advance warnings.
He unconsciously shook his head as he climbed the stairs to board. He would miss the meeting. After passing muster and gaining permission, he was going to leave Samoa on the first commercial airplane allowed to land and now depart the bruised islands for Honolulu International Airport. But he would still miss the meeting and be unable to contact anyone regarding his delinquency. His cell phone was long gone and there was nothing he could do about it. Then again, he wouldn't have called anyone regardless since he was nowhere they thought him to be. Calls could be traced and he would never have taken that chance so he accepted the need to concoct a story.
He sat down with an exhausted sigh in the first available seat and then closed his eyes as he positioned his head against the small window. He would need to use a very typical car accident or even a car jacking as an excuse for his disheveled state. His phone had been stolen, as had his wallet. He didn't like that concept since it was a complete travesty to his ex-boxing prowess. Perhaps he had been overwhelmed by two or even three thieves?
McNamara almost laughed at his own ridiculous mental ramblings; if he didn't believe it possible, why would anyone else? He was tired and would use the flight time to come up with a much better explanation for his bruises and delinquency. Before dozing off, he had already decided that a more simple story was the best idea. He would maintain that he had spent the last week visiting his father in California as he had planned. But he would contrive a car accident as the reason he'd missed his return flight. Perhaps rumor of a concussion would buy him another day for not returning on time. Regardless, it would be a difficult discussion and McNamara was disgusted that was the best he might do. However, he had no choice.
With nothing to do but think or catch up on much needed rest, he kept his eyes closed and willed himself to sleep as a young couple took the two seats next to him on the plane.
MONDAY, JUNE 24TH - HAWAII (MORNING)
Danny glanced at the clock high up on the wall. It was almost nine o'clock and he knew that Steve would come as he had every day. In truth, virtually every minute of every hour for the last one and a half days that he could recall being conscious at Tripler. His self-appointed shadow had defiantly lurked or simply made his presence most obvious nearly every second except for the last few where Doctor Ramirez had forcibly removed him - and the other two members of the Five-0 team - from the building with orders not to return until nine o'clock the next morning.
Doctor Ramirez had slept nearly fourteen hours once they'd all returned home and Ellen had her surgery just the day before. She was resting but would be released later that Monday to go home. As the team had done for him, the doctor had insisted they all take time to rest with the promise that Danny would be out of the ICU upon their next visit if he continued to improve.
So in fact, he had just been moved to a private room that included not only a clock and a semi-solid breakfast, but a working television and two immovable HPD guards in the hallway to compliment the TAMC security staff. Danny had stabilized and improved steadily; enough so that he could be moved to his own room where he could be more well-protected as the trial began. But not enough where he could even consider being released based upon lingering effects of dehydration, his badly damaged feet and the stubborn infection that kept his temperature well above normally acceptable readings.
Danny sighed under the oxygen mask as a loud sound from the hallway briefly startled him. "It's okay," he chastised himself for his continued nerves and unsettled behavior before pulling up the blankets higher with one hand. His fever made him cold and he was trying to use the TV to distract himself from far too many other things. His familiar and yet not so familiar team for one.
He let his eyes wander from the screen almost directly to where his badge lay on a side table. Steve again. The man had been inordinately pleased to return it to him in the ICU.
He was about to lean over and pick up the badge when something on the TV captured his attention. A large group was walking down a sidewalk towards what appeared to be a courthouse. Danny felt the recognition tingle through him when he realized that it was the downtown courthouse and yet another report on the Darien trial. The group stopped as they were swarmed by media and after a heated discussion, one man of the group was deemed spokesperson.
Danny watched and listened blandly as the man gave his captive audience a completely contrived speech about the charges being levied against the mobster. The sound was low and Danny was quiet until his eyes settled on one particular man just off to the side. As part of the group, he was well dressed and as eager as the rest. A small skin-tone bandage was on his cheek and a soft smile curled his lips as he listened to his senior partner with evident pride.
With a start, Danny realized he was seeing the prosecution team and he thumbed the volume up; his next response was to rip the oxygen mask from his face. The text on the bottom of the screen announced the speaker as Alistair Landon, Lead Prosecuting Attorney. His discussion was exceedingly brief but Danny was riveted as the team walked away to continue down the sidewalk and into the courthouse. That one man's low, rolling gait and his broad stocky shoulders was much too familiar.
"No, no, no!" Danny forgot everything else as he gasped loudly and then tore the blankets off his legs.
"It's him. He's here!" By the time he'd ripped the leads off his chest for the heart monitor, bells were chiming and he was nearly shouting while pointing to the TV screen. The guards had come running, along with one nurse who failed completely at getting his attention as he began to hyperventilate.
"Get away from me," Danny coughed again as his chest tightened around his damaged rib.
"Sir, you need to stay in bed." The nurse had his shoulders as he fought to get up. The only thing in her favor was that he was severely hampered by the cast on his left hand and weakened condition. But she did nearly slip when he managed to push the blankets to the floor and her own feet got tangled up.
"What's wrong? Detective ... you can't walk. Please calm down!" Nothing she said helped though and she wound up turning to the HPD officers for help.
"I need more help ... he's going to hurt himself!" One of the HPD officers tried to lend a hand by bringing his legs back to center but Danny heaved the remote at him in an attempt to gain ground. It clattered to the floor loudly but the officer managed to at least help the nurse gently enough.
Danny barely noticed more than the utter frustration of being restrained as he eyed the screen and began to cough. It didn't matter that the segment had nearly ended now and the news anchors were speaking about the case; sharing their own take on things to come. Danny knew what he saw - he knew who he saw.
Sneakers Two was here and he needed to do something. Anything.
"You don't know what you're doing! You have to let me go!" Bedding and pillows were soon entirely on the floor as Danny wheezed and fought harder to escape. He was close to ripping the IV ports from his arm and the oxygen mask was long gone.
Once Danny truly began to escalate and she knew that he had no intention of calming, the nurse shouted for more help and the second officer jogged down the hall to get someone's attention.