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AUGUST 21, 1959
FEBRUARY 1959
The humidity of a Hawaiian August evening pressed in through open windows, clinging to Steve McGarrett’s starched uniform as he sat behind the battered desk dating back before the attack on Pearl Harbor. Faded charts of the Pacific, peppered with penciled notations and red circles, were scattered around him like a sea of unfinished thoughts. Pearl Harbor Naval Base had long since gone quiet; even the clang of the last mess trays had faded into memory. But McGarrett’s mind was stubbornly awake, tracing the tangled threads of intelligence that stretched from Manila to Hong Kong, all the way to his doorstep on Oahu.
He tapped his pen against the edge of the file, eyes narrowing. Reports of strange radio transmissions had spiked in recent weeks, coded bursts slipping into the static at odd hours. The faces of the men under his command flickered through his mind -- young, sharp, some homesick and some seasoned veterans too hard for their years. It was his responsibility to mold them into top notch operatives. Train them to make sense of codes, cyphers and patterns. To keep the Islands safe from threats both seen and hidden.
Tonight, though, he felt the weight of duty pressing heavier than usual. The 50th star had not yet been sewn onto Old Glory, yet he could sense the shifting currents of power and suspicion. The Territory of Hawaii, paradise to many, had become a magnet for secrets. And as the golds and purples of sunset faded into darkness, he knew there would be little rest before dawn.
The clock on the wall read eleven minutes to 9:00 PM. Time to stop had passed several hours before. Rechecking the typed Intelligence report before him, Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett could not let go. With the Cold War raging at numerous points around the globe his duties at Naval Intelligence were vital to the safety and security of the United States in the Pacific theater. At least that's what he kept telling himself.
His last few statements had not been welcomed by the frosty Admiral Richter. Out here in Hawaii assessing the Intel, the by-the-book senior brass completely lacked anything hinting intuition, risk or imagination. Stuffily at odds with the relaxed, hang loose attitude here in the Islands.
Steve was a button up 100% Navy officer himself. The few years he'd been stationed on Oahu he recognized an easing of his starchy attitude. It was comfortable to appreciate the beauty and lure of the Islands. Read: geography and people he admitted with a smirk as images of last weekend’s sunset dinner with an extremely lovely local girl surfaced.
Refocusing on the paper in his hand he ground his teeth with irritation. Admiral Richter glossed over this report about communist Chinese infiltrators here, insisting they were prevalent in Asia and Eastern Europe. Not in the South Pacific. The nearly-always-right Lieutenant Commander disagreed.
At McGarrett’s request NI had staked out a boat repair shop at an isolated beach on the windward coast. Perfect, vulnerable inlet for small craft to zip in and out without much notice. If not for a knife fight at a local bar no one would have questioned the injured Oriental man. With no ID and no neighbors to vouch for him the HPD officers on scene searched the victim’s hut and discovered detailed photographs of Kaneohe Marine Base as well as Schofield Army Base. The attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7th, still a raw, prevalent wound in the psyche of everyone on this archipelago. Suspicions flared.
On a Pacific Island centered between the United States and Asian enemies it was easy to be distrustful of any untoward activity. Working in close cooperation with HPD Steve had shadowed the investigation. He did not believe in coincidence and so labeled it dubious enough to follow all leads. If the victim was part of a Red cell there was no link to other spies. Yet.
Night had settled over the harbor when fatigue won over stubborn persistence and Steve finally left the office. The air outside heavy with the scent flowers, brine and the humid damp from a late rain. Driving the quiet streets of Honolulu, the city lights from the base reflected as glimmering glitter across the dark water. Despite the beauty and ambiance of paradise the officer could not relax. Mind still churning, the case kept twisting -- a puzzle with missing pieces.
He stopped at the wharf on his way home for a meal. Sashimi as an appetizer -- fileted raw ahi right off the boat. Followed by a bowl of saimin -- flavorful noodles, broth and pork. Both Japanese specialties now his culinary addiction since his duty in Tokyo.
Sitting at a small outdoor table he watched the activity around the harbor. Fishermen returned after a day of strenuous toil at sea. Cleaning their boats after they delivered their catch. Making everything ready for early the next morning. This late-night stand represented a microcosm of Hawaii. Multicultural multiethnic work-a-day people making a living and getting by in paradise.
The cook who always kept the radio tuned low to the ballgame. The deck hands at the bar drinking their beer. The world could be coming apart at the seams, but here, the chatter was about surf conditions, the price of pineapples and sugar cane, and the coming statehood vote. Steve let himself fade into the background, absorbing the synergy of the local scene. Worlds away from the injured stranger, the Intelligence reports dismissed too easily, the fine line between vigilance and paranoia.
His apartment near Waikiki offered little comfort that night. With the windows thrown open to the soft drone of waves, Steve tried to sleep but instead spent too much time pacing. Stubborn doubts gnawing at him. Was he seeing ghosts, or had the Islands truly become the next chessboard in the grand Cold War game?
It wasn’t until the first pale light crept over Diamond Head that Steve finally rested. But it was fitful, full of dreams where behind every plumeria bush hid a shadowy spy and every friendly face masked intent. The new day would bring fresh questions -- and perhaps a chance for him to shape his own answers.
Preparing his primary cup of strong coffee Steve paused to step out the front door to the outer walkway that wrapped around the upper floors of the building. Staring out at the beautiful, glimmering, silvery-sheen azure of the ocean his nerves quelled momentarily. The ocean had always been a lure, a strong magnet to his soul. Joining the Navy imbued in him a nearly oppressive need to be on the sea or as close to it as possible. He always chose abodes within sight of whatever aquatic body he was stationed near.
The ringing of the phone surprised him. In the next heartbeat he spun inside. Already the adrenaline was pumping. A call this early meant something was up. Was it concerning the unknown Oriental? Was there a break in the case? Answering it in his crisp, curt manner he paused everything but breathing when he heard the familiar voice at the other end.
“Steve, good morning. Walter Stuart. I'm calling to set up a lunch appointment with you for One this afternoon. Are you available?”
Former JAG prosecutor in Japan. Walter retired out here at Pearl, now in law practice and involved with local politics.
“Sounds good, Walter.”
“I'd like us to lunch with Paul Jameson then. Can you free up your schedule?”
Walter Stuart -- successful civilian attorney close to Territorial Governor Paul Jameson. McGarrett questioned what this was about.
Stuart’s chuckle was knowing. “No need to get suspicious, Steve. Paul Is a friend I'd like you to meet.”
Hmm. Jameson. The Territorial Governor appointed by Dwight D Eisenhower a few years ago. Jameson was rumored to be the popular choice to be elected governor when Hawaii became a state.
Alaska becoming the 49th state just last month surprised most citizens. There was a prevalent resentful attitude that Hawaii deserved the honor a long time ago because of the devastation of the Pearl Harbor attack. Thus, the cry for official status in the Islands had intensified. An inevitability to happen soon.
Steve hung up, his mind immediately churning through the implications. Lunch with Stuart -- and Jameson, no less -- was no ordinary courtesy. The timing felt pointed, almost strategic, with the vote so near and the political winds shifting daily. He dressed carefully in his Navy suntans. Next to the uniforms the stylish and somewhat loud long-sleeve aloha shirts. Attire befitting the shining sun and the pleasures of paradise. A metaphor of his life -- personal always deferred to career.
Outside, the city was already awake, the streets humming with anticipation, and Steve slipped into the rhythm with practiced ease. He spent the morning at headquarters, reviewing reports that felt suddenly more urgent. For a change he paid attention to the civilian rhythm of the Islands. Routinely political and criminal reports were noted by his department and mostly ignored. This morning was different. Everything, from petty thefts to whispers of organized crime seemed sharpened by the prospect of Hawaii’s imminent transformation.
The phone rang twice more with status checks on the injured foreign operative, yet Steve’s thoughts frequently wandered to the upcoming lunch. He finally diverted to the Infirmary to check on the patient. The suspected Oriental spy -- for his profession -- had an unfortunate tendency to talk when semi-conscious. A JAG rep took copious notes and when the now correctly labeled espionage agent for North Korea awoke he would be escorted to custody in a holding cell.
Feeling incredibly satisfied to be proven right capturing a dangerous infiltrator, Steve cruised along the tree lined streets of Honolulu. He took the long way to the Waikiki meeting, weaving through downtown, past banners proclaiming “Statehood Now!”
Citizens gathered at storefronts and corners, their conversations a tapestry of hope and anxiety. It struck him how much the Islands were poised between worlds—between old allegiances and new possibilities.
Past noon, Steve was ready: not for a simple meal, but for whatever would be laid on the table, whether an opportunity or challenge.
The meeting started in the stately, aging royal Iolani Palace. From there the men traveled in limousine to Waikiki and the classic Manoa Hotel restaurant under a shaded lanai. The oldest hotel in Waikiki. Striking in its white colonial style. A beacon on this famous beach. The magnificent banyan tree spreading from the center court to shade the elite guests.
Amused and a little wary, Steve wondered why he was getting this royal treatment. Between Jameson and Walter -- two politically ambitious, intelligent legal chess players -- there had to be ulterior motives.
Steve’s senses sharpened—the salt tang in the air, the steady pulse of nearby surf, blazing Tropical sun on glittering ocean, the animated murmur of diners who, like him, sensed the shifting currents beneath ordinary schedules.
Jameson and Walter in the lead gravitated to a corner table. Stuart, his posture relaxed but eyes bright with anticipation. The smile couched within a full set mustache and pointed beard set the tone for a positive gathering. Governor Paul Jameson, every inch the statesman. With predominantly white hair the tanned, movie star handsome man’s smile revealing nothing but practiced warmth.
They exchanged pleasantries About the spectacular beach scenery of Waikiki. They chatted of the delectable items on the menu. After ordering the conversation quickly dove beneath the surface after ordering. The starter of poke salad then entree of grilled ono and pineapple with local vegetables served with a side of small talk until there were no more interruptions. Then Stuart, ever direct, outlined a vision for the future: an independent law enforcement unit, answerable not to the Navy or the old territorial powers, but to the emerging state itself.
“There’s going to be need for leadership with roots in the Islands,” Stuart explained, nodding meaningfully at Steve. “Someone who understands both the discipline of command and the nuances of local traditions.”
Jameson added, his tone measured yet inviting. “Change is coming and we want to shape it -- not be shaped by it. I’d like you to consider serving in a new capacity. A civilian post.
Intrigued yet cautious, Steve asked for more details. In keeping with the perfect political veteran, Jameson admitted he was still exploring possibilities. What he knew absolutely was he wanted McGarrett on his team.
“I've assured Paul he could find no one better in helping to construct a state government.”
Scoffing, the naval officer assured he knew nothing about politics. He was Navy through and through. Yet even as he spoke the words a niggling voice in the back of his mind reminded him of the constant irritation of superior officers hampering his investigations. Squashing his ambitions to accomplish what was obvious to him.
Steve listened, weighing each word. The offer was extraordinary, but so were the expectations. He thought of the struggles he’d faced -- bureaucracy, inertia, the constant tension between mainland protocols and Island realities.
Glancing occasionally at the postcard beach next to the restaurant. Vacationers and locals enjoying a pure paradise of surf, sun and satisfaction. The scene was an alluring temptation. What would it be like to absorb into the civilian tapestry? Could he build something lasting in a place that had been – was -- both refuge and battleground?
“As you know my background is in intelligence work. I'm not a politician”
“I have something in mind more toward your specialty,” Jameson replied elusively.
“I'm not an MP.”
“Steve you wouldn't be just an ordinary cop,” Walter clarified keenly. “This would be your organization. Designed to combat major crimes, conspiracies, anything that might be thrown at this new state so vulnerable in the middle of the Pacific.”
“I envision the scope of this task force to be much more than HPD or any other police organization.” Jameson leaned forward emphasizing his passionate intent. “This would be a team specifically molded by you to meet the needs of our unique state and our place in the world.”
After a moment McGarrett gave a brief nod. Pondering. Considering the initial impressions of such possibilities and his commanding roll.
“I'm flattered.”
Stuart good-naturedly scoffed. “Don't be modest, Steve. It doesn't suit you. You would be a perfect fit.”
The Lieutenant Commander took a breath. “It's a lot to think about.”
Famous Hula Pie arrived for dessert and Steve left it unfinished. He needed to return to duty. Jameson offered his limo while he and Stuart remained in this beautiful setting to discuss more business.
The meet ended with handshakes and quiet promises, the sort that linger in the mind long after the plates were cleared. On busy Kalakaua Avenue the afternoon breeze carried the scent of hibiscus and approaching rain as McGarrett met the waiting limo.
After returning to the Palace and walking to the car Steve replayed the conversation, searching for any hidden motives or unspoken challenges. As he drove back to the base banners for statehood fluttered at every intersection, each one a reminder Hawaii was set on the brink of history and he was asked to step directly into its path.
By that night the process with the North Korean spy completed. Pushing away the bitter memories of cruelty during the war Steve fought down rolling shivers along his spine. Slamming the door of the building behind him he stopped to gaze out at the serene harbor. Rusted shards of metal stabbed toward the sky from the deceptively placid bay just a few years back mutilated by war. There were drives to build a permanent memorial here. Everyone welcomed it. What happened on that traumatic day had disfigured paradise and the soul of America. It had shifted the world. Certainly it deserved some kind of monument.
In the shadow of such gravitas McGarrett refocused on his personal drama. He felt internally twisted. Dealing with the espionage agent and Admiral Richter left such a bitter taste on his psyche. When the three men in black suits from an unknown alphabet agency arrived to take the prisoner the superior officer conceded to Washington DC higher ups yet was quick to claim the glory.
Vexing beyond words the whole nasty affair.
Why did it so bother a lowly Lieutenant Commander after all these years in the Navy? Against logic, conformity and irrefutable rank it still aggravated Steve’s streak of independence, right and justice. He paced and reminded this was the Navy way.
Standing like a Sentinel at the edge of the black rocks lapped by foamy blue tide, he took a deep breath. This was the most beautiful spot on earth, surely. The blue sky dotted with dappled clouds of pink, cream and grey drifted in wisps. Sprinkling rain drifted back to the mountains behind him. At the horizon the tinge of violets and purples, rust and ochre burned at the skyline as if the sun had sizzled into the sea. Like everything else here on these magical Islands twilight ran on Hawaiian time-- gradual and easy -- closing out the day with a gentle sigh. God's brush stroke of tender magnificence as night closed over Oahu marking the cleft in time with a blanket of darkness. Vivid contrast for what the sparkling gold dawn would bring tomorrow.
In this meridian moment of light blending into grey melting into darkness he could imagine the rippling waves as ghosts in this tragic bay. The whisper of wind carrying moans and cries of those shocked and dying in these waters less than two decades ago.
That was enough. His gloomy Irish heritage was getting to him after the tough day. Walking to his car his thoughts shifted to the more pleasant speculations from lunch. The possibilities from Jameson and Stuart had never been far from his mind.
He drove home with the city’s pulse echoing in his chest, intersections marked not only by banners but by faces -- neighbors, colleagues, strangers -- looking ahead to the promise and uncertainty that statehood would bring. The rest of his evening spent in restless contemplation. He replayed the lunch meet, the words, their implications. The sense of history engulfing him exhilarating, but Steve was no stranger to the shadows that came with opportunity.
What would it mean to say yes? To become the architect of a new order -- one that honored the Islands’ complex heritage but did not shy from progress? Steve poured a glass of pineapple juice, the condensation tracing slow paths down his fingers, and let the sound of the trade winds carry his thoughts.
What of Maryann? Unlikely his sister would leave California to join him here in case he left the service and remained in a long-term career across the Pacific. Separated anyway because of his career. He thought about the officers he worked alongside, and the locals whose trust was hard-won and easily lost. The stakes were enormous: a stain on this beautiful Paradise Island, if he failed. But the chance to organize and run his own unit was extremely appealing, almost seductive in its promise of autonomy.
Pacing the lanai as twilight deepened, this was not a quick decision. So many factors to consider. He would weigh every angle, consult his conscience as much as his ambition, and perhaps -- just once -- let hope outstripped caution. The Islands were changing. So was he.
MARCH 1959
This breakfast meeting with Jameson was casual. Set on the back lanai of the distinguished gentlemen's luxurious house in Kahala. Across a lush green lawn the curling waves of the sea provided a gentle murmur of tide hitting sand. The early, fresh sunlight glittering the shoreline with silvery diamonds. A decorated Navy officer from WII, successful lawyer turned polished politician, Paul Jameson was completely at ease.
Feeling he was a pretty good poker player he knew how to conceal his thoughts and feelings behind a mask of objectivity. Still, Steve knew that Jameson knew why he was here.
The air was thick with the scent of plumeria, but underneath that sweetness, the tension between the old and the new was palpable. Steve smoothed imagined creases from his suntan uniform trousers, collecting himself before approaching the sprawling estate’s shaded lanai. Here, the traditions of Hawaii met the calculated ambitions of men who dreamed in terms of legislation and legacy.
Jameson greeted him not only with a handshake, but with a measured nod. A signal that this was a conversation that would proceed on nuance and implication rather than bluster. They settled into wide rattan chairs where the ocean’s hush framed their words with gravity.
“The strategic location here in our Islands is a reality few consider. For the states we’re the gateway. For the South Pacific and Asia we are the access in the other direction. We're central to trade, tourism and political intrigue.”
Offering a slow nod, McGarrett completely agreed. The strategic value seen by Captain Cook and the British known in the 1790s when these Islands were discovered by western civilization. Russia, Britain and the USA all wanted to control this isolated archipelago stranded in the center of the world's largest sea. The US Army and Navy planted bases here to anchor their claim. Infamously targets on December 7th. Fortuitous for the strategic advantage to catapult men and equipment to counter the Japanese threat.
Their discussion interrupted by the house man who brought a trolley filled with food. Pineapple, papaya and mango spears as appetizers. Eggs, Portuguese sausage and coconut pancakes as the entree. A steady trade wind swirled about them soaking the lanai with salty air fresh off the water. Mingled with the ginger and hibiscus edging the lanai. Along with the tangy conglomeration of scents from the food. All a bit heady for an officer too busy for many such delights.
They were silent as they tucked into the scrumptious breakfast. Aside from the meal it was a slice of heaven to be on this beach in perfect, temperate tropical weather. Eating the local delicacies added to the splendor of Island living.
Jameson stopped slicing the papaya on his plate and leaned forward in earnest sincerity. “For the people who matter you’ve been noticed,” Jameson began, his tone both flattering and tactical, “but leadership is about more than sterling service, Steve. It's about vision. About trust.”
Grasping the intent McGarrett tempered his excitement. “Thank you, Sir, and I agree.”
“You would be the perfect man to organize and implement a special task force. A job you were made for. Combining your experience in the service with your investigative abilities.” He smiled. “And your formidable personality. Your record speaks for itself. Even more than all those sterling talents, I know you're the man for this because of your character. You believe in setting this state off on the right course. Law abiding. Safe and prosperous for locals and tourists.
Minutes slipped by, punctuated by the clink of ice in tumblers and the distant laughter from a gathering beyond the hedges. Steve weighed the offer against the cost: the isolation of command, the expectation to deliver, to bridge divides old as the lava fields themselves. Yet, there was a thrill in the risk -- a promise that the Island’s story might bend in a new direction. With the courage to lead.
As the younger officer listened, his mind sharpened as the governor laid out the invigorating, amazing proposal. An idea simple yet profound and incredibly appealing. A law enforcement unit built for the next era, unencumbered by the old guard, but respectful of what made Hawaii unique.
The satisfactory breakfast -- on copious levels -- ended with a handshake and a promise to meet again soon. All day, the memory of Jameson’s steady gaze as he outlined the plan for a new kind of state police. The enticing possibilities lingered, mingling with the restless churn of his own thoughts.
Steve drove out along the scenic coast, engine humming, passing the volcanic slopes and tangled valleys that reminded him how much this place had shaped him since arriving here. Soberly, how much was at stake if he accepted and failed.
In subsequent days the question of this new future was never far from his mind. On the base roadblocks continued to frustrate him in the upper chain of command. The pressure from mainland superiors who valued protocol over genuine connection.
The idea of commanding his own civilian unit of police became more and more appealing. Building a career on this beautiful paradise as a permanent home sent sweet anticipation through his spirit. The offer to organize and build a team of his own design was the final big red bow atop this enticing vision.
Jameson intimated such a command might demand: an unfaltering moral compass, the deftness to balance tradition and innovation, and the courage to make decisions that would echo far beyond any one department or district. The weight of legacy pressed on him -- not just his own, but the collective history of the Islands and their people. With every passing day the lines between personal ambition and civic duty blurred, challenging him to redefine both.
What could this unit become? How might it serve as a bridge between the old ways and the new era barreling toward them? Could he win the trust of the locals who eyed change with skepticism? Would the mainland’s expectations stifle his vision before it ever took root?
These were questions too important for analyzing in the confines of an apartment one night. He jogged through Waikiki and ended up at the spacious empty and dark Kapiolani Park. There within the sound of the surf, with distant hum of traffic and tourists, he lay down on the grass. Staring up at the stars helped settle him with perspective. In this vast, tremendous universe his actions and decisions mattered. They would be even more significant if he took this job for the police force. He could make a difference for himself and his adopted state-- soon to become state -- by dedicating his life in this fresh direction.
Absorbing the glittering, pinpoint stars scattered across the Hawaiian sky, Steve resolved to face the uncertainties head-on. Committed, tomorrow he would cross his Rubicon. He believed that boldness -- tempered by respect for the Islands – would carve his new path forward.
When he returned to his apartment he called Jameson. Yes he was ready to meet again. They had a few things to iron out. Because he was accepting command of a state police unit molded on his own terms.
MAY 1959
The early morning meeting with Jameson in his office at Iolani Palace felt like stepping into history. In this regal home for monarchy, army and territorial government, McGarrett felt custodial.
“Sir, if I take this job there's a few things I'd like to put on the table out front. Non-negotiable.”
The warm smile made it seem this politician could read his mind. “Of course Steve. I would expect no less. There’ll be roadblocks. But this state will need someone who can walk the tightrope between federal authority and the soul of Hawaii.”
Steve glanced out the window to the tall palms fluttering in the trade winds and gathered his thoughts. “First, I pick my team. No interference -- no advisors from the mainland or local political favorites. I need people I can trust.”
Jameson’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. “You’ll have full discretion on personnel. What else?”
“I answer to you and you alone. If I’m going to build this unit, it needs to be insulated from political maneuvering. No back channels, no shifting allegiances.”
Jameson’s lips curved in a thoughtful smile. “That’s a tall order, Steve. But I believe you’re the man tall enough for it to work.”
Ignoring the compliment from the silver-tongued politician Steve pressed on, his voice steady. “Complete operational independence. No one second-guessing tactics or resources midstream. If we’re going to get results, I need room to move.”
A trade wind ruffled the parchment on the desk between them. For a moment, Steve wondered if he’d demanded too much. But Jameson leaned back, folding his arms with a satisfied air.
“Sounds to me like you already know what it means to lead here. I didn’t ask you because I wanted someone to follow instructions. I asked because I want results -- the kind only a man who’ll stake his reputation on doing things right. Who can deliver.”
Steve felt the tension in his shoulders ease just a fraction. “Then we have an understanding?”
“We do.” Jameson stood, extended his hand, and as Steve grasped it, he sensed a tremor of possibility. The beginning of something that might change the Islands forever. “Welcome to employment with the future state of Hawaii.”
AUGUST 20, 1959
The night was pristine. A perfect calm. Trade winds whispered the palm fronds in a gentle beat of murmured song. Traffic in downtown Honolulu restrained.
Emerging from the nice sedan that was now his company car, McGarrett stood back and observed this magnificent, stately Iolani Palace. Patriotic bunting draped the lanais. Dying twilight sparkled on the Victorian architecture. The parking lot and steps were puddled from an afternoon rain that washed everything clean. Symbolically the start of a new regime, a new life.
Using his keys he opened the front, magnificent stained-glass door and stood in the lobby for a moment. Dusk light shining through the windows cast a golden glow on the hardwood floor. The impressive color of koa banisters on the central staircase gleamed. He trotted the steps a few at a time absorbing the solitary splendor.
At the top he turned Diamond Head toward his new home. The entire wing was set aside, separate from other governmental administration. This belonged to his unit. Where he would spend most of his time for the foreseeable future.
Entering the common room of his office he gazed approvingly at the desks that would soon be crowded with papers, the area peopled with his staff and detectives. Then he stepped to the closed koa wood door.
McGarrett
Five-0
He didn't need anything more flashy than that. There was no doubt this was his domain, his realm to oversee like the king and queen of old.
Hawaii Five-0.
A title Jameson and he thought fitting and distinctive for this new police unit that would break ground. A unique force to deal with the specialized needs of this new state.
His tour ended at the corner office which would be his seat of power. Furnished with Island tokens reflective of the rich history here. Functional yet with a befitting nod to Hawaiian symbolism. He paused at the solid desk dominating the room. Atop were functional pieces, most striking the elegant pen set with carved tikis that the governor had presented him last night in a personal ceremony of acknowledgement. Their private meeting earlier was a mutual affirmation of their trust in each other.
The official swearing in for Jameson and all the staff would be tomorrow. Public and grand and celebrated with a parade and bunting and the Royal Hawaiian Band.
He opened the French doors. Pausing a moment on the threshold he breathed in every scent of plumeria and palm and ocean before stepping out to – his -- lanai overlooking the Palace grounds and King Street. Set with grandstands and signs denoting the parade route. These celebrations would be incredible. Not to be forgotten by those participating.
Enveloped in a sense of ownership he drank in every detail. In this isolated moment, probably the last in a long while, he could assess his new circumstances. No going back yet no regrets.
Yes, this was the royal Palace built by King Kalakaua in the last century. Yes it belonged to the territory, then the United States Army for the war, and then the territory again. Tomorrow it would belong to the sovereign state of Hawaii. Where once royalty, sea captains, military, celebrities and plantation barons walked he now surveyed alone. The last monarchs of Hawaii had ruled and entertained from here. Tomorrow it would be a new phase in the storied history of this unique Bali Hai.
Tonight, as the sole occupant he held this sacred ground as his. Where he would plant his flag as the chief of a new police agency. Organized and directed by him. With only the governor as his superior.
He didn't expect things to go smoothly. Since the announcement of his appointment there had been opposition and complaint. He would have to prove himself. Prove Hawaii Five-0 -- a fitting label to the 50th state -- was a cut above PD. Or any other law enforcement outfit. Because the underdog always had to be better than the best.
Move over King Kalakala and Queen Liliuokalani. While detractors snidely derided that there was a new monarch at the Palace, Steve would not readily dismiss that sobriquet.
He was the boss. The buck stopped with him. So successes and failures would be on his shoulders. It was his turn to author a chapter.
Silently he vowed that tomorrow and all the subsequent days and years would bring more triumphs than failures. He would mold his talented detectives into a cohesive and successful unit. He felt it in his bones. In his gut where instinct and prescience directed him at finding answers. Five-0 was about to step into legend and him along with it. Each detective with their own stories and scars, their loyalty untested under the banner of Hawaii’s new day.
At midnight fireworks blossomed on the horizon. Steve felt the threshold of change -- fragile, electric, undeniable -- and with anticipation in his heart, he welcomed it.
PAU