CHAPTER NINETEEN
I hung up the phone very slowly.
"We've 'moved the shadow.'" I spoke the words to myself hesitantly, maybe even a little apprehensively. That was the name for a famous strategy of the seventeenth-century swordsman Miyamoto Mushashi, using a feint to lure your opponent into prematurely disclosing his battle plan.
The way I saw it, Matsuo Noda now stood revealed. It had all been a setup. The financial scam, the help-American-industry cover, the MITI "guidance." This was a takeover, all the way. A global takeover. What else could it be?
And the only people on this side of the Pacific who knew were Matt Walton and Tam Richardson.
For some reason that thought brought to mind the professor at Stanford, the AI guy who'd disappeared. What was it Tam had said? He'd had dinner at her apartment? Asked her to do something for him in Japan? And her MITI friend, whose name was all over that stack of memos on the table downstairs? Asano. Where did he fit in?
One thing, he'd helped Noda recruit her. They'd worked together, and their play had been flawless.
But now our friend Matsuo Noda had a small headache. Tam Richardson and Matt Walton had exposed the underside of his game. The shadow had moved. Which meant it would only be a matter of time before he struck.
Where was our weakness, hers and mine? What would cause us to lose our rhythm, to blunder? He'd already outmaneuvered Jack O'Donnell with ease. He had a master swordsman's unerring instinct for his opponent's weakness. So where was mine? I had to know it before he found it.
He'd realized Jack could be blackmailed, if the stakes were
his constituents' jobs and lives. But I didn't need a job. And the only life . . .
Of course! It was obvious. Amy.
Could it be I was dealing with a madman who made people disappear?
If I was about to take on a pro like Noda, I had to cover every possibility. Which meant I had to get her out, away, beyond his reach. Today.
Still, though, there were so many questions. Who was really behind all the moves, the master puppeteer? Was it only Matsuo Noda, or was this possibly, just possibly, something that wound its way even higher. If so, who was the point man on that? Akira Mori?
The only rational countermove now was to back off and "survey prevailing conditions." Miyamoto Mushashi's _keiki o shiru to iu koto_. But to do that we had to remove ourselves beyond the reach of Dai Nippon's sword. How long did we have?
I glanced at the clock on my desk, the little Sony digital. The number 12:18 stared back, the two dots in the middle flashing every second. Amy was still at school, and for the moment I couldn't think of a safer place. They wouldn't even let me in without a pass. She didn't get out till four P.M.
So now what?
Simple. In swordsmanship, vigilance is everything. And there are two things you always have to keep in view. The first is called _ken_, the surface actions, the moves your opponent wants you to see. The second, and more important, is _kan_, the essence of things, the real truth. _Ken _covers the superficial moves; _kan _gives you the big picture.
Instinctively I still believed we had only been witness to _ken_, the distractions, the insignificant feints of our opponent. The deeper wisdom of _kan_ still lay beyond us. Time to probe.
We had three and a half hours.
I got up and headed downstairs to retrieve a couple of very important memos. If we needed them, we'd have them. The rest of the pile I brought back upstairs and locked in the sword room (the closest thing I had to a safe). Finally, I reflected a second and paused to scribble Emma a note, asking her to feed and walk Ben in case I wasn't around for a while. That taken care of, I retrieved my heavy topcoat from the front closet, walked out into the street, and grabbed a cab for the offices of Dai Nippon, International.
Maybe our opening move should be _uromekasu to iu koto_, to feint a thrust that would induce a state of confusion in Noda's mind. Then we could stage a tactical retreat to plan the final, all-out attack.
Retreat to where? Well, that part at least was easy: the obvious hideaway was my place down in the islands. The thing to do was to quietly catch American 291 and head for the Caribbean. If Noda did manage to track us down, he'd be in for a surprise. Let me explain.
Back when the world was young and Amy was still a gleam in our eye, Joanna and I acquired a rambling white fortress, complete with pool, that was being offered to the first tourist appearing on St. Croix that day with ready cash. Seemed its Cosa Nostra owner back in Sicily (so the story went) suddenly needed a transfusion of a hundred grand in bail money. Fortunately I'd had a good year and happened to have the necessary liquidity. It was luxurious beyond vulgarity. Hardwood parquet floors, heavy tile roof (to withstand an Interpol bombing run? Who knows?), manicured grounds, satellite dish, a bar worthy of Caesars Palace, three bedrooms, and music in every room. It was oversize and garish and pretentious and . . . who cares, I loved the place. Sort of a Roman villa in the middle of paradise. However, because of the peculiar requirements of its former tenant, it also had a security setup to shame Fort Knox, including a six-foot fence, two-inch-thick doors, and TV monitors all over the grounds.
If we could locate a little hardware to match Noda's Uzis, he'd be in for a surprise should he try and send down a Dai Nippon hit squad for an unscheduled visit.
But first things first. Right now we needed to somehow lure Matsuo Noda into revealing more of his overall strategy.
After the cab dropped me off, I rode the elevator up to twelve and passed through security. The complement of guards, I noticed in passing, had just been expanded. Instead of two, now there were four. And when I walked out onto the floor, nobody said anything, but there was an almost palpable air of tension. Stony silence, analysts nervous. Bad vibes, very bad vibes.
I just ignored the stares and headed straight for Tarn's office. She was waiting, and she had an identical reading of the
situation. The minute I walked in, she got up and shut the door. Her first words . . .
"He just brought in more security. That, and the IBM thing. Matt, he's getting worried."
"Bet your ass he is. We're moving in too close. But I think Noda figures he's just toying with us now. Having some fun before he cuts us in half."
"I'm not afraid of him. No matter what he tries." She glanced at the door. "Did you bring the memos?"
"Here in my briefcase. But I think it's too soon to show him everything we have. Right now he doesn't know what we've got. That's better."
"Well, I've just begun to fight. I'm going to Tokyo to get the truth out of Ken." She paused, and her voice trembled slightly with anger. "He's got some heavy explaining to do."
"You're incredible." I just looked at her. "I almost believe you still can't accept that your friend Asano is in on Noda's play. Since he's such a terrific guy."
"Matt, I don't believe it. He wouldn't be part of this. You don't know him."
"That I don't."
"All I'm saying is, this doesn't feel right. He wouldn't involve MITI in whatever Noda's planning." She sat down, running her hands through her tousled dark hair. "You know, the fact is we still don't know for sure who's really behind what."
"Exactly. How does everybody fit in, including us? We've got pieces of a puzzle lying around--a section here, a section there--but something fundamental is missing."
"So what do we do next?"
"How about a little joust with our friend downstairs? Try and feel him out. Maybe we can lure him into making another move, something that'll give away more of his game."
"You don't think he's actually going to talk."
"Not really. He'll feint, parry. But if we watch carefully, maybe we'll glimpse more of the outline of his strategy. Then we'll know what our counter scenario has to be." I decided to hold off on telling her the getaway plan. Assuming the walls had ears, we'd already said too much. "Look, make you a deal. First let's see what happens with Noda, then we decide what to do about your friend Asano."
"All right. But let's stay cool." She was locking her desk.
"You read my mind."
With that settled, we strolled out, past the doubled security, and headed down to eleven. The way people looked at us, I felt as naked as Tam had been in the bath Saturday night. How much did they know?
Matsuo Noda was in his office. His secretary buzzed us right through, almost as though he'd been waiting for our appearance.
"Dr. Richardson. Mr. Walton." He rose to greet us. "How timely. There is an urgent matter we have to discuss."
"We want to talk about MITI." I decided to try and break his rhythm as quickly as possible. Take the action to him.
"Then this is a coincidence." An easy smile as he resumed his seat. "That happens to be the very matter I wanted to explore--"
"What we want to know," Tam interrupted, "here and now, is whether our program is being run by the ministry."
"Dr. Richardson, you . . . and Mr. Walton, are in the employ of Dai Nippon, International, not MITI." He leaned back in his chair. "Though of course nothing in this world is entirely simple. Certain . . . interests of the ministry are germane to our programs here."