Thomas Hoover - The samurai strategy

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."

Not exactly a great opener. It sounded even harsher in Japanese, since it was so at odds with the usual polite greetings.

"I've been hired to do a job, Mori-san, and I intend to do it."

"So desu ne," Mori concurred in Japanese, her voice a trifle strained. Tam thought she looked a bit bleary-eyed after her flight in from Tokyo, but there were no half measures about the woman. She was all business in a prim silk suit shading to gray with a bright blue scarf tied at the neck. She wore high heels, but they didn't slow her brisk stride as she paced around her desk. "I am sure you will do it well. I would like you to know I am prepared to assist you at every step."

Well, Tam had a pretty clear idea of how she intended to proceed, which didn't really include a lot of assistance from Akira Mori. What exactly had Noda been telling this woman? Maybe, she mused, Mori-san just hadn't been fully brought up to speed.

"I noticed that you're reviewing our analytical sheets." Tam continued, "Those are the firms we're going to start restructuring first."

"And if you do not receive the desired cooperation? What will you do then?" Mori asked evenly, as though she didn't already know the answer.

"We'll just keep up stock acquisition till we have whatever we need. Also, I intend to appoint a representative to sit on the board of directors, to monitor performance and make sure our program is implemented."

"That is my understanding as well." Mori went on, "And concerning the matter of who will be assigned-"