The jet taxied toward the hangar and the occupants were favored with an unobstructed view of Diamond Head. The dark lava landmark rose into the clear blue sky, overshadowing the skyscrapers that were, at this distance, mere white dots against the extinct volcano.

"Another perfect day in paradise." Illya Kuryakin delivered the off-handedly comment as he leaned across his partner to gaze out the small window.

"It's always perfect here." The unenthusiastic return from Napoleon Solo came as he studied the long-range view of Waikiki.

"You're usually much more appreciative of Hawaii, Napoleon."

During the long flight from Guam, Kuryakin had indulged in a few short naps along with unsuccessful attempts to enlist Solo in light conversation. Drawing his partner out of a brooding depression had become a steady occupation for the last several days. Kuryakin's instinctively pessimistic nature saw only disaster ahead if he could not turn Napoleon around. At first Solo had tried to exclude him, but Kuryakin had tenaciously included himself in every phase of the search and destruction of the elusive Russian spy Karkov. As Kuryakin had explained to the exasperated American, Illya had too much invested in the partnership to allow it to flounder because of his friend's bad judgement. He had left unspoken his dependence on Solo as a friend as well as a fellow agent, and how he could not remain idle as Solo fell headlong into self-destruction.

In the face of Kuryakin's dogged resolve, Solo found it impossible to resist aid, knowing the futility of trying to out-last a stubborn Russian. Argument was especially difficult after their -- Magnum's -- successful assassination of Karkov. Solo's wounds left him weak and in no shape to contest Kuryakin. When Napoleon had agreed to further rest and recovery in Hawaii, Kuryakin had received a brief leave of absence to remain in Hawaii with his partner.

Solo pulled his eyes away from the scene of the tropical splendor of Oahu and stared at his partner. Illya knew there was more bothering Solo than just the abrupt and chilling discovery of Karkov in Vietnam. Solo's reaction to finding the old nemesis was as much a reflection of his current instability as it was of his need to bury the past that Karkov represented. Now Karkov was dead and Solo's mood had hardly lightened. Soon he would have to reveal his inner turmoil to his partner. Napoleon just couldn't find the words yet. Perhaps this little holiday in paradise would help.

"Last chance to end babysitting duty and catch the next flight to the mainland."

"I've already had enough flying for one day, thank you." Kuryakin stared back evenly. "Besides, you could never get along without me."

"I know, I know."

It was more truth than a joke. Solo needed Kuryakin at his back in the risks and the rare calms in his life. For now, at least temporarily, the dangers would remain at bay. Solo's side wounds, the VC bullet and the slice from Karkov's knife became infected on the trek out of the Cambodian jungle. Strong antibiotics and rest were required before he could make the extended trip back to New York. For at least a week the UNCLE agents were on leave in tropical paradise. A pleasant prospect under normal circumstances. With so much on his mind, Napoleon doubted he would appreciate much of the vacation. Almost as soon as they stepped off the jet Illya spotted a car parked at the side of the hangar. "There's our ride." He slid sunglasses into place and strode quickly across the sun-beaten asphalt toward the black sedan.

Dan Williams stepped away from the car and greeted them with enthusiasm as pleasant as the tropic air. "Illya, Napoleon, it's good to see you," he smiled and pumped their hands.

"And you, Danny." Kuryakin returned easily. It was a relief to be back among allies and on friendly territory.

Solo warmly shook hands with the younger man. "Thanks for the ride, Danny. Looks like you're taking care of paradise for weary tourists like us."

"That's my job," he assured. He grabbed one of the bags and helped stow the luggage in the trunk, studying Solo. "I heard you're here to recover from your nasty business in Vietnam."

"Yeah, I'll fill you and Steve in whenever he shows up."

Dan crossed to the driver's side of the car. "He had some last minute problems to clear up. He'll meet us at the hotel." In the car, he joked, "Sorry I didn't bring any leis."

"It's never the same without the girls in grass skirts anyway," Solo assured as they pulled into traffic.

"You would think of that," Kuryakin countered dryly. Scattered clouds hugged the tips of the Koolaus behind Honolulu, and errant drops of liquid sunshine carried on the Trades sprinkled the LTD as they sped along the H-1 freeway. Steel silhouettes stretched to the sky as cranes that looked like awkward insects built more high rises across the face of Eden. Every year brought more buildings, more scars, and less land on the small archipelago.

Williams glanced at Solo from the rearview mirror. The Five-0 detective didn't know Solo and Kuryakin very well. The UNCLE men had been on the islands a few times and had caused a certain professional friction between UNCLE and Five-0. Most notably just a few years before when Solo had been revealed as a notorious cat burglar [THE NAPOLEON OF CRIME AFFAIR]. However, because of the long friendship between Solo and McGarrett, differences had been negotiated. Solo and Kuryakin had paid their dues for playing their spy games in McGarrett's territory. And suspiciously, Danny fleetingly wondered if the spies were really on holiday at all.

Evening traffic was thin by the time they turned into the curved drive of the Ilikai Hotel. Napoleon groaned and Illya smirked. This was the hotel they had twice tried to rob during their last, ill-fated stay in Honolulu.

"Steve has a wicked sense of humor," Napoleon complained. "I suppose he recommended the Ilikai?"

"As a matter of fact he did," Dan confirmed with a grin. Checking his watch, he thought, "He might be here already."

McGarrett was not in the lobby, so Williams accompanied the agents up to their ocean view room.

Steve McGarrett closed the file folder and locked it inside his desk drawer, satisfied the night's paperwork had been completed. Philosophically he pondered for a moment the strange cycles of life. Years ago he had met Napoleon Solo during a war -- their lives changed forever in that steamy jungle. Now, worlds and years apart from Korea, Napoleon had ended some long unanswered questions. Before going to Vietnam, Solo had admitted to being disillusioned and tired of the spy game. After Karkov's death, what would Solo feel now? Clearly Solo's recuperation would not be the only thing on his mind while in Hawaii.

Steve stood and pushed one of the lanai doors shut, leaning on the frame for a moment as he drank in the peacefulness of the soft tropical twilight. May in Hawaii was a special time -- balmy, warm and filled with the last of spring's gentle rains -- Hawaii at it's best. Several content moments were sacrificed to the god of nature and the incomparability of fresh, fragrant air; moist with the memory of a recent sprinkle, the tangy smell of sea and the sweet smell of flowers. Remnants of perfection still lingered in this last paradise on earth. This was his home, his center of gravity. There was no need inside crying to travel the world and defeat international conspiracies. He had not gone to Vietnam to chase spectres because he'd laid to rest -- buried -- his ghosts from Korea. He did not want those memories to intrude on his life here.

The phone rang and McGarrett answered it, knowing he shouldn't. He was already late for his rendezvous. "Are you still working? Do you want us to go to dinner without you?"

McGarrett smiled at the light reprimand from his detective. "I was just locking up, Danno. I'll be right over."

He closed the lanai door and snapped the lock, then walked the koa wood floors of the hall in silence. The footfalls echoed with eerie cadence in the empty building. As he walked to his car, the muted sound of sporadic traffic on King Street was overshadowed by the fast gun of an engine and the squeal of tires as a car skidded around the corner of the Iolani Palace and raced toward him.

McGarrett rolled over the hood and onto the grass in front of the car. As he hit the lawn, he rolled to his knees and drew his gun. At the same time a spray of bullets raked the grill, hood, and windshield of the Mercury sedan and spat across the pavement. McGarrett felt the sting of asphalt chips and shattered glass on his hands and face, felt the crunch of glass under his knees as he knelt in the wet grass and fired back at the car that was speeding around the far corner of the Palace.

A few of the bullets from the Police Special hit their mark but the sedan continued out of the Palace grounds. Before the sound of the racing engine had faded, Steve scrambled to the radio in the Mercury. "It was a rental," he finished his report to HPD dispatch, commanding an APB on the car.

McGarrett was still staring at the corner of the driveway where the car had passed under a street light before disappearing. He couldn't stop thinking about the face in the back window. A big, red-haired man with a mangled face.

Identifying the face and the person still did not make the reality any easier to accept. Karkov, the Russian spy was here in Hawaii and had just made a very personal attempt to kill him. He hardly thought of the sadistic spy anymore. Now, Karkov was back -- and Napoleon Solo was here. Coincidence? Not likely.

Washington D.C. -- MAY 1975

Washington was experiencing its first major storm of the rough spring season. May brought cool winds and seemingly endless days and nights of rain. As he stepped to the curb, Oscar Goldman relished the feel of the brisk wind and soft drizzle-rain. He refused the umbrella offered by the doorman and paced away from the protection of the awning of the plush restaurant. He gratefully undid his black bow tie and breathed fresh, clean, moist air into lungs stifled from hours spent in smoke-filled conferences. Budget dinner conversation was as stuffy as the atmosphere and Goldman sighed with relief that the meetings were over.

As he waited for the limousine he let his mind stray from the pressing problems of budgets and committees to a more personal matter; a remnant of the past that had never really faded, but which had surfaced with a new urgency.

Headlights broke through the misty darkness and Oscar stepped back to the curb. Suddenly the car accelerated and shot directly toward him. Years of OSI training instinctively surfaced and in the scant seconds it took the speeding car to jump the curb and tear under the awning, Oscar had leaped back toward the building. He rolled clear as the car rocketed past then bounced back to the street and careened around the corner, disappearing into the night-cloaked mist like a ghostly dragon.

For long minutes Goldman laid completely still, unable to move. Part of his mind was assimilating data even though his thoughts were still numbed by shock. He was trembling from the fear and sudden flood of adrenaline into his system. His instincts had saved him, but he had almost forgotten what it was like to be in a life-threatening situation. He realized a sudden intense appreciation of his quiet job as an administrator. He was no longer cut out for this kind of action.

The doorman was practically hysterical, hovering about like an electrified puppet. Oscar came slowly to his feet and for the first time noticed the flap of his trench coat was blackened by a tire tread. He closed his eyes and caught his breath, not wanting to really think about how close he had come to death.

A long black limo pulled to the curb and Goldman extricated himself from the doorman as quickly as possible, now eager to be away from the crowd that had gathered. Once inside the safe cocoon of the limo, he leaned his head back and tried to calm his thoughts enough to function. Even in the split-second crisis his mind had been working. He remembered the make and color of the car along with a partial license number.

Oscar did not believe in coincidence. Though his enemies, both foreign and domestic, would have to be listed in a book the size of Webster's dictionary, this did not have the feel of a current case or an assassination. It was crude -- perhaps improvised -- but the intent was unmistakable, as was the message. Karkov. The cryptic messaged let at his office, earlier that afternoon, had surprised him. Then, he doubted the strange memo -- jotted down from Steve McGarrett in Honolulu:

Karkov alive, be careful.

Oscar picked up the phone and asked for a Honolulu number as his mind continued racing through the possibilities. Was Karkov after revenge, or to silence the men who could identify him -- who had ruined his set up in Vietnam? Was there some larger purpose, some operation he intended to launch in the US and felt the Korean War survivors would hinder his success? Of the original four NI officers, only he and Solo were still involved in the intelligence game. But he didn't think that would stop Karkov from an all-out vendetta.

The call was answered after only one ring. "McGarrett."

The voice was deep with fatigue. Not unusual -- he checked his watch. It was after sevenPM in paradise. Oscar knew the fatigue was accumulated over a long day at a stressful job.

"Steve, this is Oscar. I just had a run-in and I think it's Russian in origin."

For a moment the line was quiet, filled only with the hum of noise from an overseas connection.

"Are you all right?"

Goldman held out his left hand which still trembled. "I'm a bit shaky, but in one piece."

"Not to doubt you, Oscar, but you have a lot more enemies than Karkov. What makes you think it was him?"

"I don't believe in coincidence, pal You and Napoleon better be on your guard."

On the other end McGarrett spoke to someone else, then back into the phone. "It was one of his henchmen. Karkov was here tonight in Honolulu trying to kill me." McGarrett briefly explained the attack. Solo, Kuryakin and Williams were there at the office with him, discussing the event and the implications of Karkov's survival and offensive.

There was a long sigh from the other end of the connection. "Then he's alive and he's after us." The line clicked. "Oscar, you're sure you're okay?" It was Solo.

"Well enough to catch an immediate flight to Honolulu."

"That might be playing right into his hands." McGarrett, still on the connection, added his observation. "More than one can play this game."

Oscar agreed with the sentiment. "I'll see you soon."

"Be careful," Napoleon warned.

"How do you think I've stayed alive this long? And take your own advice, Napoleon. If this is revenge, you're going to be Karkov's main target" Soberly, Goldman unnecessarily reminded him of the past. "You're the one who shot him. He's not going to forget that."

The silence at the other end was indication enough that the warning had hit home. Knowing Karkov's vengeful, sadistic nature, Solo would doubtlessly be singled out for personal revenge.

"Neither will I," Solo responded quietly.

Goldman broke off, already organizing details in his mind. Being Director of the OSI gave him a certain amount of autonomy and could continue to use the vast resources of his organization for this new hunt for Karkov. He would leave OSI in the capable hands of his assistant and join Solo for the denouement of their quest. Oscar had revealed none of this intrigue to his two closest friends, Steve Austin, and Rudy Wells. They would both want to help and Oscar did no want to expose his friends to the dangers of his past. It was hard enough to be reunited with old friends under such dangerous circumstances. He hoped they would all, again, survive this continuation reunion as they had survived Vietnam.

The sun shone bright and clear on the Iolani Palace grounds. Only a few tourists strolled the area of the historical royal palace. Dan swung the car past a family of shutterbugs and pulled into his parking slot next to the makai lawns. As he and Goldman exited the car Dan reflected he was beginning to feel like a tour guide or a taxi driver -- shuttling Steve's old friends from the airport. Not that he minded much. This Karkov character was a threat to McGarrett and his pals, and that made the Russian a target for Williams.

Goldman had been invited to stay at a windward estate owned by a mysterious suspense writer of his acquaintance named Robin Masters. Oscar accepted the luxury accommodations eve though he would not be out at the private Windward estate very much. Williams expected the main campsite to be Iolani Palace where McGarrett controlled operations for Five-0 and any other case he happened to be working on.

They climbed the crumbling front steps that had been tread by a king, a queen, army officers and governors over the years of Hawaii's political history. Dan led them around the top landing and entered the busy offices of Hawaii Five-0, the special state police unit of the Islands. The outer office was the reception area where several secretaries worked. Against the wall were three cubicles where the detectives kept their offices.

McGarrett was standing by one of the cubicles talking with a stocky Oriental. Both glanced up as Dan and the visitor approached.

"Oscar," the chief of Five-0 smiled as he shook hands. "Good to see you again. I just didn't expect it to be so soon, or under these conditions."

"The circumstances are regrettable." He offered a slight grin. "With this group, though, I don't think Karkov will know what he's in for."

McGarrett was not so confident. "Let's hope we can get this nasty business out of the way quickly." McGarrett introduced him to Chin Ho Kelly, one of his detectives. "Chin has lots of relatives with ears to the coconut wireless," he grinned at the Oriental, "but so far no luck on Karkov's whereabouts." Napoleon and Illya met them at Jenny Sherman's desk and exchanged greetings. "Come into the office." Steve gestured them to precede him and stepped toward the door of his private office where a command center had been established.

Solo snagged his sleeve and forced them to stay behind. Oscar, noting the action, joined them along with Illya. "Do you think it's wise to bring in another outsider?"

McGarrett stopped and glanced around the circle of professionals who had gathered in Honolulu to do battle with a formidable opponent.

"Outsider?"

"This is our fight," Solo gestured to Goldman, McGarrett, and himself. "Extra personnel can only mean extra liabilities."

"We can't find Karkov by ourselves, Napoleon," Goldman returned incredulously. "Karkov must have his own private army. We have to use all the resources we can find."

Shaking his head, he released a deep breath. "More vulnerabilities, just like 'Nam." Solo decried. "We are all vulnerable in some way," Kuryakin responded with quiet soberness. "Our loyalty to each other is our greatest weakness."

Solo pointedly avoided looking at his partner. He was unwilling to let Kuryakin see how the comment had struck a nerve, how worried he was to have Illya along. "You know how dangerous it is to care about someone you're working with. It clouds judgement and is an invitation to trouble," he confessed with difficulty. Defensively he added, specifically to McGarrett, "Or maybe you've been out of the action too long to remember."

The accusation was thinly shrouded and the others stiffened. "Maybe you've been IN the field too long," Oscar shot back in irritation.

"This is not a private war." McGarrett's voice was hard and cold, and his stern blue eyes bore into Solo without mercy. "I have brought in my staff, who have extensive investigative experiences, and you have come here with your partner. All of these people can contribute to our goal, and they are aware of the risks. Remember that, Napoleon."

Solo released a long-held breath. He clenched and unclenched his jaw in irritation. His voice was as stern as McGarrett's. "Just remember we're even more vulnerable than we were in Korea, or 'Nam. Karkov knows us better for this round. He studied us in Vietnam. Be sure you're willing to risk your detectives on this, Steve, that's all I'm saying." When he finished as he glanced warningly at Kuryakin. "Karkov will not give us any second chances."

"I don't think we'll forget," Oscar returned confidently. "Besides, he's zero for two. He missed Steve and I -- "

"A warning," Kuryakin cut in. "I suspect his goal was to gather us here, in Hawaii. For what purpose, I think you can guess."

Napoleon summed it up for all of their unspoken thoughts. "To finish us all off this time."

The six men entered the spacious office which was crowded with communications equipment and miles of computer sheets. Two detectives were examining a map at a side table. Then the newcomers were introduced to the rest of the Five-0 staff, Duke Lukela, and Ben Kokua. McGarrett briefly outlined their efforts to find Karkov. Even with the help of HPD there had not been much progress since the attempt on McGarrett's life.

Dan asked the most obvious question to begin the session. "Why is Karkov here? Are you sure it's just revenge against you three?" The group had settled onto the sofa, the chairs, and edges of desks. Coffee was distributed and they prepared for their meeting of the minds.

McGarrett knowingly looked at his second-in-command. "You have something in mind, Danno?" "Why hit any of you? Because he saw you in Vietnam? Obviously he was wounded. Then managed to leave and track Steve and Oscar."

"You sound like you're onto something," Oscar said eagerly.

Dan shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe. We've been guessing that Karkov is here to kill you. But why? It seems like a waste of a lot of energy for a wounded man. What if it's not revenge?"

Kuryakin was leaning on the side of Solo's chair. "Yes, what if it is because the three of you can not only recognize him, but link him to his evil past in Korea."

"Because he's planning something here in the States?" Chin asked to no one in particular.

McGarrett snapped his fingers as he paced the space by the lanai doors. Finally he sat on the edge of his desk and observed the rest of the group. Every face was tense with intent concentration.

"I think you're right," McGarrett agreed thoughtfully.

He had not missed the fact that this theory was generated by the parties who were not directly involved with the case. The significance that these detectives might have a better perspective than the veterans was mentally noted.

"Drug smuggling?" Oscar asked. "People smuggling? You're guessing."

Until now, Solo had been silent. For the first time he joined the discussion. "Intuition," he stated firmly and nodded in agreement as he glanced at his partner. "I agree. Why leave the safety of his perch in Asian now? He could be helping restructure the Communist party of Vietnam. He wouldn't leave all that just to get revenge on us. Karkov's here for a reason, and he wants us out of the way."

Several theories were thrown out and everyone had a new angle to contribute to the speculation. However, it was Oscar who suggested the most likely common denominator. Since all three Korean veterans were somehow still involved with intelligence; international, criminal, or governmental, each of them had wide circles of influence. The conclusion was that Karkov was, for some unknown reason, coming to the US and could not afford to be recognized. This put a new slant on the investigation and opened up new avenues to consider. It was agreed that splitting forces would enable them to cover leads more efficiently.

McGarrett, Oscar, and Chin would trace some contacts in Chinatown. Dan, Duke, and Chin would check some informants on the other side of the island. Ben would man the command post and coordinate reports. Napoleon and Illya would pursue their own contacts around Oahu.

Clouds hovered over the Chinatown/ Little Saigon area of Honolulu and River Street was soaking under a May rainstorm. Asian immigrant had gravitated to these neighborhoods for over a century. With the recent influx of Vietnamese and Cambodian refugees, the old, narrow streets were crowded with emigrants.

"Lousy weather for pedicabs," Oscar commented conversationally as he pressed against the door of the small mom and pop store they had just left.

"Then Charlie will be home soon," Chin responded, glancing around the corner of their shelter and scanning the sidewalk.

Huddled Chinese ladies dwarfed under their broad umbrellas scurried along the rail by the river. Elderly men draped papers over their heads as they waited for a bus. School children darted between pedestrians and rushed for their homes.

McGarrett leaned past Oscar and glanced up and down the street. Their search of Chinatown had taken most of the second afternoon of Oscar's stay. The last four stops all being businesses of Chin's family. They had finally been referred to a relative named Charlie, who reputedly had some with friends who held ties to Vietnam.

The stake out was reminiscent of a few Steve and Oscar had shared in their first partnership as young NI officers. After the debacle in Manchuria the NI team had been returned to Seoul and reassigned. Steve and Oscar had stayed together briefly as investigators in everything from black-marketing to interrogation of spies, before Oscar returned to DC. The experience had served them well for future careers.

Solo, upon returning from that fateful mission had requested field duty and received the dangerous missions of infiltration deep into enemy territory. He worked alone and had in fact vowed to the others he would never work with a team again. The wounds from Murray's and Magnum's deaths were too painful. It was a surprise when McGarrett had seen Solo only a few years ago with the inseparable Kuryakin. The taciturn Russian had somehow turned Solo around about partnerships and about Russians.

Oscar, Napoleon, and Steve were too much alike. They wholeheartedly devoted their lives to their careers, their 'missions' in life. The result was professionally satisfying but isolating on a personal basis. Fortunately they had all found coworkers who also filled an emotional gap left by the necessarily lonely lifestyle.

"Just when does Charlie get home, Chin?" Oscar asked as he leaned out the doorway to glance down the street.

The Oriental detective shrugged. "Anytime. Depends how business is. And how much cousin Charlie needs the money."

"He's your cousin, Chin?" Oscar asked with slight confusion. "I thought your cousin was named Lee and owned the restaurant that delivered lunch?"

"Charlie is a hui cousin. A brother of a second cousin. But it's all the same in the hui -- a big association of various relatives -- not necessarily all blood relations." Oscar nodded in acceptance, but exchanged an amused glance with McGarrett. "I think it would take all the resources of the OSI to figure out your genealogy, Chin"

"I'm sure it would. Only a family member could understand . . . there he is!" Chin exclaimed and pointed along the river sidewalk.

A Chinese youth was peddling hard on a bright orange pedicab. He dodged in and out of the walking traffic and slowed as he approached the herb store where the three investigators had taken shelter. Chin stepped out to stop the pedicab, McGarrett and Oscar close behind.

"Charlie! We need to talk to you!"

Charlie braked hard and skidded the vehicle to within a foot of McGarrett's foot. The young man was coolly arrogant in the face of such authority.

"Hiya, Chin. Whatcha doin' heah? You wanna deal on ginseng?"

"We want information, Charlie. This is Steve McGarrett, and Oscar Goldman. They have a few questions."

Fear darted into the wide brown eyes of the young man. Eyes that were riveted on the well known face of McGarrett. Charlie swallowed hard. "What does Five-0 want with me? I dun nothin', bro." The cool facade was slipping under the steady, relentless gaze of McGarrett. "I got no guilt, man."

"Good," McGarrett said quietly. "Shall we find somewhere out of the rain and discuss your friends in Vietnam?" Charlie gulped again. He was small time, definitely not the kind of fish Five-0 usually went after. There was a subtle formidability about McGarrett that made him larger than life. The reputation of Five-0, and its boss, was enough to subdue the young man, who now faced the ultimate authority of Hawaii.

"Yeah. Follow me," he suggested and parked the pedicab at the curb, then stepped into the herb store.

"You'll have to teach me that interrogation technique," Oscar said with appreciation as he held the door.

"Anytime, Oscar."

Dan Williams, Duke, and Illya had spent their third day on the job much as they had spent the second, in the air above Oahu. Using an HPD chopper, they had tracked one of Dan's informants, a snitch who was rumored to have some connections with gunrunning. Rumor also had it that about twenty automatic rifles and even more pistols had recently been purchased by a Russian. The number of arms was too small for foreign sales and too large for local hoods. It looked promising, the only problem was to find the location of the snitch. The helicopter swung low over the hills behind the famous North Shore beaches.

Through binoculars Dan scanned the ocean and watched several surfers riding the magnificent waves. "Wish I was out there today," he sighed and glanced back at the hillside.

"You wish you were out there everyday," Duke returned with a knowing smile.

Illya took his eyes off the hillside long enough to glance at the senior detective who looked young enough to be one of the surf bums cutting classes. "Into surfing? Or just the girls on the beach?"

"Both," Dan laughed.

"He was born a surf bum," Duke assured. "He'd live on the beach if he could."

Illya played along. "Should we check for sand in his shoes?"

Dan used the binoculars again to scan the hillside, but he was still smiling. "You won't find any. I have to work for a living."

Duke nudged his arm. "There's Reni. And he's running for that car!"

The chopper took a dive and swooped toward the ground. A thin, shirtless man was running from a dilapidated shack, heading for an old car parked on a dirt path. As the chopper closed in on the quarry, several other people raced out of the house.

"Get us low and we'll jump," Williams shouted to the pilot as he opened the door and prepared to leap to the ground.

The chopper hovered near the car and Dan, Duke, and Illya all jumped. The fugitives had quickly scattered, but with help from skilled piloting, most were corralled near the shack. Illya chased a chunky Hawaiian down the slope and through a huge watermelon patch. He quickly closed the gap between them and he brought him to the ground with a flying tackle. The man was too stunned to put up any resistance to the much slighter man who had grounded him. Wrestling the captive up, Illya glanced around at the watermelons and noticed the vines were tangled with marijuana plants.

"No wonder you were running." He smiled as he led her prison back toward the shack.

"Great job, Illya," Williams congratulated as he dragged a subdued Reni behind him.

Duke emerged from the shack and held several bags of marijuana in one hand, a thin teenage girl by the arm with his other hand.

"Not exactly big time."

Dan stared at Reni and company with no hint of mercy. "But big enough to put Reni away for a lot of sunsets. Right, Reni?"

"What do you want, Williams?" Reni stuttered, shying away from the detective who was pressing him against the wood frame of the shack.

"Information, Reni."

The skinny man sagged against the wall, unwilling to resist the power of Five-0. Everyone on the rock knew if you didn't cooperate with the Five-0 guys you would be buried deep with a very long time to surface from prison.

Reni didn't want any grief. "Whatever you want, Williams. Just remember I volunteered the info."

"I'll tell the judge you were a model citizen," Dan assured wryly.

...Continued