While they waited, they knocked off a little Scotch and white wine, trashed the administration, and complained about all the committees on which they were being pressured to serve. Around a quarter to nine Dave finally appeared, sandy curls askew to let her know where he'd been. She didn't even bother offering him a drink, just announced that everything was ready so let's adjourn to the dining room.
There're two kinds of dinners: ones that follow the rules, and ones that break them all. Tarn's were the latter. This time it would be real tallow candles and everybody's wine, including her own. Somehow her craziness always seemed to click; they inevitably came back for more. This time she'd decided to pay an offhand tribute to autumn and American cuisine. Cheddar cheese soup, marinated Ottomanelli's quail broiled with fresh sage, sweet potato fritters and baby peas, homemade corn bread, and then, as a change of pace (keep 'em off balance), an endive salad spiked with coriander. Dessert was an apple- walnut casserole, washed down with pots of McNulty's dark Haitian coffee. At the end she produced an ancient cognac you could inhale forever. By eleven-thirty everybody thought they'd just ascended to paradise.
She ordered Dave to take care of the dishes (since he'd
been acting as if he owned the place, let him help), then led everybody back into the living room. In the park below the weather was perfect, and marijuana sales were in overdrive. A couple of joints also appeared around the room, accompanied by withering glares from Allan. Then, while Ed Wallace was chatting up Shirin and everybody else was drinking and smoking, Allan picked up his cognac and motioned her in the direction of the study.
Finally, she thought. This must be some story.
She was right.
It wasn't her book he wanted to discuss. Instead, he wanted to tell her about what he'd just seen, and not seen, in Tokyo.
"Loved dinner." He settled into a leather chair, the one next to her long bookcase, and drained his snifter. "I was afraid I was turning into a fish over there." He laughed, but only briefly. Social hour was over. "Tam, I wanted to ask you if you could maybe help me out with something."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Well, you know I've always thought I was on top of what Tokyo is doing, but now I'm not so sure anymore. I'm afraid things are starting to get away from me."
"Such as?"
"Okay. Now, it's no secret I've been to Japan a lot. I've got my share of friends over there, people I respect and admire very much. But this trip started to get very strange. It's as though I'm suddenly an outsider. Just another _gaijin_. I'm puzzled, and I wonder if maybe I ought to be worried."
_Gaijin_. That sounds familiar, she thought. But it wasn't something that usually bothered Allan. She brushed her brown hair back out of her eyes and studied him. He'd never been more serious.
"What happened?"
He paused. "You know about their big artificial intelligence effort, called the Fifth Generation Project. If it goes the way they're saying, before too much longer they'll have programs, software, to design the next generation of computer technology. "
This was supposed to be news? Come on, Allan. Everybody knew. It was the talk of the industry. Japan's goal was computer logic capable of replicating human thought processes, a monumental, maybe impossible, undertaking.
"Allan, don't you remember we discussed doing a chapter on it in the robotics book? And if you--"
"Tamara, bear with me. You also know very well that project is Japan's attempt to leapfrog American technology. Added together with all their R&D on chip technology. In my opinion, by the way, our response is definitely too little, too late. More and more we're having to buy essential components for missile guidance systems from Japan. The Department of Defense is already nervous, but not nervous enough. We may have dug our own grave. And now I think our worst fears may be about to come true. Something funny seems to be happening, only I'm not sure what."
"What do you mean?"
"Let me close that door." He got up and did so, then turned back. "Maybe first I ought to tell you about the odd experience I had last week."
"Go on." She heard somebody in the living room put on one of her old Beatles albums--still the middle-ager's idea of hip.
"Well, as always, I scheduled a stop at the Fifth Generation lab to get up to speed on how their effort's doing. But all of a sudden it seems I'm too darned famous to be bothered with the shirtsleeve stuff. I tried to get in there for three days running. It was always the honorable Stern-san this and the celebrated Stern-san that and you must meet the head of every damned ministry and we have to set up this formal dinner and blah, blah, blah."
"Allan, you're the Grand Old Man these days." She laughed. "Get used to it."
"Wash out your mouth, Tamara Richardson. I'm not grand and I'm most decidedly not old." He sniffed. "No, it's as if they were very politely cutting me out. Okay, they didn't exactly say the project was off- limits now or anything, but there never seemed to be a convenient time to drop by the lab."
"Who knows? Maybe they just didn't want some American partisan poking about the place anymore."
"Could be. But why? I'm scarcely a spy for DOD, or the CIA. They know I only do pure science. Okay, maybe I'm old- fashioned, but Dr. Yoshida at least has always claimed to respect me for that. I used to spend hours with him going over his work there and vice versa. We swapped ideas all the time.
Now all of a sudden there's this smokescreen." He paused, sipped at his brandy, and then leaned back. "Which brings me to that favor I need."
"What?'
"Well, I was wondering if maybe you could try and get into the Fifth Generation lab yourself, check around a bit. See if you can find out what's cooking."
"Go to Tokyo?"
"I realize it's a lot to ask, but who else can I turn to? Tam, you're the only person I know who could pull this off. You know the technology, and they respect you. Also, you understand the language. Maybe you can cut through all the politeness and the translated PR. If you'd like a little per diem, I'll see if I can't shake loose the money from somewhere."
"Allan, really, don't you think you're maybe going overboard just a little. What if Dr. Yoshida was just tied up? The last time I visited the lab, he showed me everything, completely open."
"Ho, ho." He set down his brandy, and his eyes hardened. "I still haven't told you the clincher. There's some new guy in charge now."
"That's hard to believe. Yoshida practically invented the Fifth Generation Project. He's the director--"
"That's just it. Kaput. All of a sudden he's not around anymore. They said he's now 'technical adviser.' But you know what that really means. Removed. _Sayonara_. Promoted upstairs or downstairs or some damn thing. That in itself is mystifying. He's one of the most competent . . . oh, hell, the man is a genius. Why would they do that?"
"Very strange."
"Exactly. But now he's out. Couldn't even see me. 'On vacation.' The new director is some bureaucrat by the name of Asano. I spent a little time with the man, and I can testify he's a smoothie. Lots of pious generalities about 'technical cooperation.' But I got the distinct feeling he didn't want to talk details with me. Actually, I wondered if maybe he wasn't even a bit afraid to say anything."
Asano? Oh, shit. She took a deep breath. "Was his name Kenji Asano?"
"Ken. Right, that's his first name. Maybe you know him. I think he used to be a flunky with some government bureau
over there. But now he's just been put in charge of the Fifth Generation work. It's more than a little curious."
She puzzled a minute. From what she knew about the Fifth Generation, and about Kenji Asano, he had a lot more important things to do than run the lab. The "government bureau" he worked for was none other than MITI, the Ministry of International Trade and Industry. In fact, at last count he was Deputy Minister for Research and Planning, a top- ranked executive slot. Could this mean that Japan's ambitious artificial intelligence effort was being moved in on by MITI, their industrial war room?
"Allan, I'll tell you the truth. You may not have heard, but I'm in a fight now at the university. I expect to win, but I've got a lot on my mind. Notes for the book. I can't just suddenly--"
"Tam, I need your help. Look, maybe they've had some new breakthrough that none of us ever imagined." He paused. "Just between us, I lifted a strange MITI memo I found lying around an office when Asana took me on an escorted tour up to the labs at Tsukuba Science City."
She looked at him. "Was it classified?"
"How would I know? There was something about it. My sixth sense told me it was a document nobody was supposed to see. When I get back to Stanford, I plan to have a postdoc over in Physics make me a quick translation."
It was very unlike Allan to walk off with confidential memos uninvited. Which could only mean he must suspect something he wasn't telling.