Thomas Hoover - The samurai strategy

Henceforth, she went on, management would begin planning ten years ahead, not three months. XYZ would concern itself with world competition then, not now, and it would develop a substantially more diversified product line to cushion slumps. As part of that shift, it would double the budget for R amp;D immediately and expand the lab. Innovation would once again be brought to the product stage fast and adapted quickly to world markets. XYZ's new focus would be on making its market share grow in the decade ahead, which also meant cracking down on quality and halving the current customer-be-damned response time on deliveries and service. Concerning those last items, product managers would now be required to address customers' complaints personally. She figured that in itself would turn around XYZ's substantial quality control debacle overnight.

Finally, there would be an immediate crash program to rectify XYZ's costly illusion that English was the worldwide language of business. These days, she explained, the language of business is the one your customer speaks. Accordingly all XYZ's overseas operatives would be required to enroll in intensive language training now, including formal study of the history and social customs of their territory.

"Sounds like you let him have it with both barrels. Keep on like this, and the U.S. of A. may never be the same."

"That's the idea. One company down and about three thousand to go."

What's that saying about a journey of miles and miles starting with the first step? Well, she'd taken the step. The future lay ahead.

"Hey, can I buy you a drink?" I was winding up the day, the week. "You've earned it."

"Like nothing better." She was repacking her briefcase. "Matt, I'm having the time of my life. All the things I've always wanted to do. This is like a fantasy come true. We're going to pull this off, wait and see."

"Could be." I was switching off the lights in my office. "Tell you something though, Doctor. I keep wondering what will happen when Noda gets through with us."

"Thoughts?" She glanced back.

"Well, after Japan takes over half the companies in this country and starts running them right, then what?" We were headed for the security doors. "But maybe we ought to talk about that some other time. And place."

"I'll think about it tomorrow. Just now I'm bushed."

"Tomorrow, in case you've lost count, is Saturday. Don't know about you, but I'm taking the day off. The hell with Japanese business hours. My daughter comes this weekend." We were saluted by heavies in the security airlock, then the doors opened. "Matter of fact, we're going to eat somewhere down in SoHo tonight. Care to join us? Be warned it'll be mostly soy by-products and brown rice."

"I'd love to meet her." She looked at me. "Matthew Walton with a daughter. My God." She laughed. "Sorry, Matt, but you really don't seem the father type."

"Amy's mother said approximately the same thing as she was packing her bags. But I'm now undergoing intensive on-the-job father training. Fact is, I'd planned to knock off around Christmas and take her down to our place in the islands, though now I'm not sure there'll be time."

"Sounds very fatherly. You should go."

"I'm still hoping to." I looked her over again. "Well, the hell with it, why mince words. Tell me, Tam, how's your love life these days?"

She burst out laughing again. "You haven't changed a bit. Not at all."

"Spare the commentary, okay? Just stick to the question."

"Excuse me, counselor. The honest answer is it's nonexistent, which you surely must know, since I'm here every night till midnight just as you are." She examined me pointedly. "Matthew, could this conceivably be construed as a proposition? To a horny, bone-tired woman in her moment of mental fatigue?"

"It might be a tentative gesture in that direction. I'm a slow mover."

"You always were." She finished buttoning her coat. "What time's dinner?"

"I'll pick up Amy and buzz you. Give us an hour."

"Think she'll like me? Some stranger competing for Dad's attention?"

"If she does, it'll be a first." I pushed the down button on the elevator.

Guess what. Matthew Walton barely got a word in edgewise the entire night. Then around eleven, in the cab headed home, Amy whispered to me she thought Dr. Richardson was "kinda neat." Was she gonna be my new girlfriend?

Tell you, it's not always simple learning to be a father.

Over the next couple of weeks I began to wonder if the scenario wasn't going a little too smoothly. Everything about Noda's setup seemed surprisingly pat. The answers came too easily. Was it all really what it seemed?

I should also add that in the fortnight since Tarn's first contact with America's shell-shocked industrialists, the situation had not gone unnoticed in Washington. Tuesday of the second week Jack O'Donnell called and left a message downtown with Emma, asking if I could arrange a meeting for him with the elusive Matsuo Noda. Although I'd tried to keep Jack informed as to developments, he still wanted to confront America's New Age maker face-to-face.

"Walton," he said when I got back to him, "I just heard your guy's too 'busy' to meet the press, but maybe he'd chat with a close, longtime friend of his American attorney. That's me, in case you don't recognize the description. Why not try and get me in to see him?"

"You're dreaming, Jack." I told him that a U.S. senator was about the last person Matsuo Noda would be interested in meeting just now. "Don't hold your breath, but I'll bring it up and see what he says."

And what do you know! Noda declared that nothing would please him more. Naturally there had to be a few ground rules about confidentiality-this was after all a delicate corporate situation-but otherwise he'd be delighted to chat. You could have knocked me over with a feather.

Thus around two P.M. Thursday, Jack O'Donnell arrived at the new twelfth-floor operation, ready to get the truth or by God know the reason why. After he made his way past our Uzi- outfitted reception, I brought him on through the floor and introduced him to Dr. Richardson. Jack knew of her writings and hit the ground running, asking who, why, when, where, etc., but before he could get any real answers, Noda appeared and took over.

O'Donnell confided later that his first impression of Matsuo Noda matched perfectly my description of the man-every bit central casting's image of the in-charge Japanese honcho. After the usual routine pleasantries, Jack said he'd like to record their talk. Noda politely demurred, saying recording instruments stifled his spontaneity, then proceeded to laud Jack's own articles and speeches urging American industry to get its house in order. Senator Jack O'Donnell, he declared, was a visionary American statesman.

Jack accepted this praise warily, then asked if he could maybe have a peek at the computer operation on the floor below, the analytical armory I'd told him about. Again Noda begged off, claiming he'd be honored to guide the esteemed senator's tour personally, but surely they'd both prefer to postpone that until such time as they had the leisure to review the operation in detail.

Jack sensed, and I did too, that he was getting a polite runaround, so he decided to get down to business. He clicked open his briefcase and took out a notebook.

"Mr. Noda," he began, "there's been considerable speculation in Washington this past couple of weeks regarding the specific intent of Japan's sudden heavy involvement in America's high-tech sector. My subcommittee has monitored foreign investment here for a number of years, and frankly I've never seen anything remotely like what's now underway. I'd appreciate an informal briefing, unless you wish to open the regrettable possibility of a formal subpoena to appear before our subcommittee."