Hello and welcome to my new story. It's set after season 10. But there might be slight differences between the show's ending and mine to fit the story as I began t write it before the actual ending.

I'd like to mention that English is not my language so there will be mistakes for sure and I'm sorry. I'll try my best to make sense tho.

I didn't intend on writing a new story this soon, but given the situation - being "stuck" in the tropical island with 10 other people thanks to the global pandemic and nothing much to do besides daily swimming and scuba diving, I decided to spend some time working on my writing skills.

So here it is. Enjoy the reading and please leave a review.

Steve McGarrett didn't know he had less than two hours to live when he walked into the building. It looked more like a truck stop than an airport. One old, concrete square with a mismatch of tiles on the floor, a wooden-beamed roof, but it wasn't an international airport and it served its purpose. In the remote, rural area of Lagossa, it was used only for the light aircraft service taking passengers to and from the capital of Galao.

The young woman behind the check-in area scanned the waiting room, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else but here. There was no queue, which was hardly surprising given that there was only one flight out of there all afternoon—a six-seater plane that would whisk Steve away. The woman smiled as he approached the desk.

"Nice to see you again, Commander."

After his first visit, she'd remembered his name. This part of the world didn't get many tourists now—the backpackers wanting to discover rural Africa were long gone, the safaris had never operated this far north, and the international reporters either didn't care or didn't dare risk it, so his white skin stood out amongst the darker tones of the locals.

Steve handed over his passport and smiled at her, but his heart wasn't in it. He was too busy thinking about getting home to Hawaii. Putting his plan into action. Escaping.

"Thank you, Adjoua." Steve remembered her name too.

"Going back home again?" She bent over her desk and filled in Steve's details on a form.

'Yes.' He glanced out of the glass windows to his left, to the small plane already on the runway. Two passengers were climbing aboard, a young man and a woman. A member of the airport staff was filling the plane with fuel.

In a few hours, he'd be back with his ohana. With Danny. He'd tell him everything. They'd work out what to do next.

Adjoua smiled again as she held out a boarding pass for his flight. "Have a good journey. I'll see you again soon."

He nodded, although it was unlikely he'd ever see this place again. Not after what he was about to do.

Steve took the pass from her and walked towards the doors that led to the runway carved out of the African bush. He was almost at the door when a hand clamped onto his shoulder.

"Commander McGarrett, we need to speak with you," a voice said, firm and insistent. A shiver of anxiety and even fear coursed through Steve. His heart pounded.

They knew.

Steve swallowed quickly, turned around and came face-to-face with a medium-sized man with black hair, greying at the edges. He wore suit trousers and a short-sleeved checked shirt. His skin was dark and smooth. Either side of him were two taller men in black police uniforms, their hands resting on handguns in holsters at their waists.

"Is there a problem?" Steve said, forcing an affable smile. "I'm going to miss my flight." He tilted his head towards the plane outside.

"The plane can wait." Checked Shirt smiled. "Come with us. Let's clear a few things up." He swung his arm towards a doorway on the opposite side of the check-in desk. It was a casual gesture, his voice was soft and friendly, but this wasn't a request.

Steve nodded, sweat pricking at his forehead. He thought about taking them out and running, but that would be futile. He'd be shot dead before he got halfway to the front doors. And in this part of Africa, where corruption and incompetence were rife, they could make his body disappear easily. He needed to play along. Deny everything. He could still get out of here.

Checked Shirt led the way towards the wooden door. Steve followed, the two officers crowding behind him. With one push on his back, he found himself in a cramped office. A window was open behind the desk, but it did little to cool the stifling African mid-day heat oozing inside.

Checked Shirt rounded the desk, sat down. He nodded to his colleagues. Steve glanced behind him at the two officers who stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the doorway.

One of them reached out and took Steve's duffel bag from his hand.

"Empty your pockets, Commander," Checked Shirt said.

Steve hesitated for a moment, eyeing his bag. Then he did as requested, rummaging in his cargo pants for his wallet and phone before placing them on the desk.

Checked Shirt took Steve's phone and handed it to the guard with the duffel bag before nodding to the other guard, who roughly pulled Steve's arms upwards to pat him down. When he was satisfied Steve had nothing on his person, he stopped.

Another nod to the guards from Checked Shirt sent the uniformed men out of the room.

"Sit, please." Checked Shirt indicated to the plastic chair on the opposite side of the desk.

Steve sat and placed his hands in his lap, trying to appear casual. He was used to working under pressure. This was no different, he told himself. "Look, I have no idea what this is about."

The man sat back in his chair, interlaced his fingers and placed them on his stomach. The friendly smile was still in place. "Let's stop with the pretense, shall we? I know it was you. I know you were there. And I know what you did."

"I'm sorry, but I really don't have a clue what you're talking about." Steve shook his head.

Checked Shirt sighed gently as if Steve was an errant school child and he really didn't want to discipline him. "What equipment do you have?"

"Equipment? I don't have any. All my equipment is at the hospital." His gaze drifted to the open window. Beyond that was bushland, a small one-lane dusty track that led to the town of Lagossa, to the makeshift hospital, to escape.

"I have your phone, but do you have a tablet, video recorder, laptop?" Checked Shirt asked. "They will find it in your bag anyway."

"There's a laptop and video recorder. In my bag. But I really don't know what–"

"Are there copies anywhere?"

Steve gave a laugh of disbelief and thought it sounded convincing to his ears. "Copies of what? I think you must've mistaken me for a journalist. I work for–"

Checked Shirt held a hand up to silence Steve, staring at him like a snake eyeing up a mouse. "I know who you are." He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, his dark brown eyes boring into Steve's. "This is what's going to happen. You will get on that plane, and you will leave Narumbe. You will never return to this country. And you will never speak of what you did or what you saw. You are being given a chance, Commander. But if you disobey these instructions, there will be consequences. Do you understand?"

Steve's heart rate hit treble figures. "Look, I really don't know–"

"Your sister. Mary, right? She is very pretty, isn't she?" He slowly licked his lips. "If anything should happen to her, it would be a great shame. A very great shame. Don't you think?" He tilted his head, his voice still calm and soft, the smile still in place, which made the threat even scarier for Steve.

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, picturing his little sister, fear rippling through him. He knew these people didn't do empty threats.

"Do you understand?" Checked Shirt asked.

Steve opened his eyes. "Yes, I understand." The door opened behind them. One officer walked towards the desk and placed Steve's bag on it before nodding at Checked Shirt.

Checked Shirt stood and handed Steve the bag. "I'm glad you see sense. Now, let's go. You have a plane to catch."

Steve took his bag and walked past the other officer now stationed outside the door. He took one look behind him and saw Checked Shirt sit back at the desk, a mobile phone to his ear. As he strode towards the glass door to the runway, the officers trailing behind him, he clenched his free hand into a fist to stop it from shaking. The place was empty now, no sign of any staff, apart from the man outside still filling the plane with fuel.

Steve slipped through the door, not daring to look behind him. He tried to breathe slowly, tried to calm his racing pulse as he walked up the steps to the plane.

When he got inside, he spotted the man and woman who were waiting in their seats, chatting softly. He sat in an empty seat in front of them and looked out of the window, towards the airport. Through the small window, he watched one of the police officers watching the plane. Steve glanced down and saw the man who was refueling remove the pump from the plane and nod in the officer's direction. The officer nodded back, then turned around and walked away. Checked Shirt emerged from the office and the officer spoke with him, just a brief exchange before they headed to the front door of the airport building that led to the dusty track into town.

Steve wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his mind racing.

One hour and ten minutes later, as the plane was flying over a dense area of bush, all radio communication with the plane was lost. It never arrived at its destination in Galao.

*to be continued*

I'd really appreciate your opinions. Thanks in advance.