He shook hands with Jack as he continued. "Of course I have not yet had the opportunity to review the thinking of the man expected to oppose you in next fall's senate contest. I believe he is Representative Mark Reynolds, is he not?"
Jack's polite smile sort of froze on his face.
"But, I'm sure I will," Noda proceeded blandly. "Again let me stress that voices such as yours are important. There are so few opinion- makers in America, individuals such as Dr. Richardson and yourself, who have the receptivity to appreciate the importance of Dai Nippon's program and its objectives."
I quickly offered to show the distinguished senator to the door, hoping I wouldn't need that Christmas-gift dog muzzle. He was still closing his briefcase as we passed the guards, a couple of guys who looked like the heavies in an old Bruce Lee karate epic. Click, we were on the elevator, click, we were headed down.
"Good Christ!" He exploded. Before he could say anything else, I waved for silence. Around here the walls probably had ears. (Shortly thereafter I discovered I'd underestimated even that.)
In minutes we were on Third Avenue, autumn wind in our hair, with O'Donnell positively awestruck by Matsuo Noda's balls.
"Matt, did I hear what I thought I did?" His eyes were grim.
"That he's got X million bucks that say you get retired if you fuck with him?"
"My reading was, I play ball with him and his crowd and he'll write a blank check for my campaign next year. I cross him and I'll be watching the Mark Reynolds show every night on prime time right through election day." He was livid. "Matt, take my advice and get out of this thing. That bastard thinks this country's for sale. If he expects me to run interference for him on the Hill while he gears up for World War Three, he's making a big mistake."
"Jack, I can't quit now. Who else is going to keep an eye on this guy? Besides, he'd never let me. I know too much."
"So what? He's got to be stopped."
"Look, if you're so worried, then deliver a major speech on the Senate floor. About all these Japanese billions rolling in, absorbing companies, with a lot of samurai fanning out to take
names and kick ass across the boardrooms of America. It ought to get picked up by the Nightly News. Then we'll see what the country wants to do about it."
The problem, obviously, was what _could_ the country do about it. And more than that, where would it eventually lead? Did anybody--Tam Richardson included--seriously believe this was merely a temporary helping hand? History had a practice of going in one direction--forward. So after Noda had acquired a lot of our high-tech outfits, maybe even kept them from going the way of Mostek and others, what next? More and more I was beginning to wonder if this was really preferable to our blundering along as best we could on our own.
After gazing at the sky a minute, he declared he was going to do exactly what I'd said. Blow the whistle. He was about to write a speech that would be read the length of America, maybe even in the White House--unless, as Henderson claimed, nobody there these days read anything but TelePrompTers. Nobody was going to buy off Jack O'Donnell.
I watched as he bulldozed a matron and her fur-collared pooch out of the way to grab the next cab for his midtown office. On the way back through the lobby I stopped off and grabbed a copy of _Time_. Had we made the weeklies yet?
Yep. Lead article, all about how the Japanese loved investing here. Going up in the elevator, though, I happened to flip past a profile of some recently disappeared luminary in the academic world, the guy who was supposed to have been the father of artificial intelligence. It occurred to me the piece might be of interest to Tam. She'd been so busy she was probably out of touch.
When I got back up to twelve, Noda was gone. Vanished almost as though he hadn't been there. I wanted to huddle with Tam about his evasive new song and dance, but since I was holding the magazine, I showed her the item. The rest of what happened you can probably guess. She had been out of touch.
"Oh, my God, Allan!"
"Friend of yours? I'm sorry."
"Nobody told me." She grabbed it and quickly skimmed the article. Finally she headed for her office. "I've got to call Sarah."
"Tam." I caught her arm. I'd finally made the connection.
"I think I already know the story." Then I recounted Henderson's bizarre tale.
That was the first time though not the last that I saw Tam Richardson look scared. She obviously knew something I didn't.
"Matthew, something is very, very wrong."
"Just repeating what I heard." I looked at her, now twisting the magazine in her hands, and decided to press. "Is there more to this than you're telling me?"
"I don't know." She glanced around. "I really don't want to talk about it here."
"Whatever you say." I paused. "How well did you know him?"
"He had dinner at my apartment not more than a couple of months ago." She tossed down the magazine. "And he asked me to do something for him."
"Did you?" Don't know why I asked. It just seemed relevant.
"No. I guess you could say I did just the opposite. Now it all makes me wonder if . . . if maybe it has some connection with . . ." Her voice trailed off.
"What? What connection?"
"Nothing." She was starting to clam up.
She didn't say anything more. And, so far as I know, that phone call never got made.
Besides, something else occurred that night to occupy her mind. When she got home, she picked up her mail and decided to crash. She'd been so busy she still hadn't finished with all the odds and ends that had stacked up during the Tokyo trip, but that night she was too knocked- out to bother. She poured herself a glass of white wine, quickly checked the mail, and was getting ready for bed when she first noticed the light flashing on her answering machine. For a minute she considered just letting it wait. There was nobody she wanted to talk with who wouldn't still be there in the morning. But finally curiosity got the upper hand, and she pushed "Play."
There was only one message. In Japanese.
Ms. Akira Mori wanted to see her Friday morning, at the DNI offices. It wasn't a request; it was a summons.
Wait one minute! Mori? When did she get into town? And more to the point, where did Mori-san come off summoning Tam Richardson for a command appearance? She had another
glass of wine and finally went to bed wondering who exactly was now running the show at DNI.
Friday late she awoke still thinking about Allan. What was going on? She was beginning to get worried, and maybe a little frightened. Finally, just before lunchtime, she got her briefcase and hailed a cab for uptown.
After she cleared the checkpoint at the twelfth-floor elevators, she spotted Mori-san, right there in the midst of the action. This woman wastes no time, she told herself. Mori, an incongruous peacock of designer elegance in the midst of the bustling, short-haired staff, was poring over a stack of printouts assembled on a desk in the center of the floor. Meanwhile, the office was going full tilt: the green print of CRT screens glowed; printers hummed all around; data bleeped between terminals; and staffers were hurrying over selected documents for Mori to review. Also, since heavy buys were underway, the latest SEC filings (required when one entity acquires more than five percent of the stock of a given company) were being readied.
As it happens, I was already on hand too, over in Noda's office where we were going over some paperwork. The day's news as far as I was concerned also was Mori-san. She'd appeared bright and early, held a closed-door confab with Noda, proceeded to do some photocopying, then commandeered an office.
By purest coincidence I was doing some copying of my own round about then and ended up on the copy line right behind her, inhaling her perfume. Next an odd thing happened. As we all sometimes do when rushed, she'd snatched up her copies while the last original was still on the machine. Then she asked me if I wanted regular size or legal. Legal, I said, and she reached to flip the switch. As she did, though, she accidentally clicked the "print" button with those long fingernails, whereupon she stalked off, rummaging through her copies and forgetting the original.
Not for long. Two seconds later she was back to claim it, but by that time an unauthorized copy was lying in the output bin. I didn't even see it. However, when I scooped up my own pages a minute later, mixed in with them was a sheet listing some names and numbers with REVISIONS lettered across the top. I started to toss it, then paused to glance over the names for a moment.
Hang on, everybody, this is very out of line. That's when I decided to slip it into my briefcase.
When Mori saw Tam come in, she quickly stacked the printouts she was reviewing into a neat pile, then beckoned her toward the far corner of the floor. Tam noticed that Mori's new office was at the opposite end of the building from Noda's.
"I understand Noda-san has appointed you director of this division." Mori was ushering Tam into the office, all the while running her fingers nervously through her sculptured black hair. "Congratulations."