Thomas Hoover - The samurai strategy

"… was the first tragedy of its kind for the ministry, and there are widespread calls for an official inquiry. Dr. Kenji Asano, nationally known director of The Institute for New Generation Computer Technology, died today here at Tsukuba Science City when a MITI helicopter, an Aerospatiale Twin Dauphin, crashed due to a malfunction. No cause has yet been ascertained for the accident, which also took the life of the pilot, Yuri Hachiro, a MITI veteran with fifteen years of service. The condition of the wreckage has made it impossible to determine how many other passengers may have been on board, although MITI sources report that two visiting American scientists are also thought to have been traveling with Dr. Asano. Their names are being withheld by the ministry at this time, pending the completion of a full investigation…

Next came an interview with a MITI official, after which the reporter offered a wrap-up.

"… believe Dr. Asano's death represents a significant blow to several vital sectors of MITI's computer race with America. However, the vice minister has assured NHK that MITI's research effort will redouble its commitment to…"

Tam clicked it off. "Two birds with one stone."

"What?"

"Matt, by bringing down the 'copter with all three of us in it, he was planning to stop MITI and us both. Now he may think he did."

"You're right." I looked at her, and finally understood the real import of the crash. "Which means we're now officially dead. If nobody else knows we weren't on that chopper, why would Noda?"

She didn't answer for a long moment. Finally she said, "Maybe that gives us the time we'll need."

"Time to nail him."

"Right. I've been thinking. About what it all means."

"Noda's play?"

"Not just that. I'm talking about Japan. Everything. You know, this country could lead the world someday, maybe even now, if it wanted. It has the finest schools, the most disciplined people; it's not hung up on a lot of 'superpower' male-macho bullshit. It could be a beacon in the dark, a force for good. But what has Noda done? He's turned it all upside down. He's exploited the noble things about Japan for his own selfish ends. Greed and power."

"Lucifer, the fallen angel. Who walked out on the Kingdom?"

"I guess so. But I'm also thinking about what he did to me. He exploited the fact I was part Japanese, that I understand the potential this country has. He made me think that's what I would be helping him realize. But all along he intended to pervert it. He's perverted us, Matthew. Both of us. Perverted us and used us. And now that we're no longer needed, he's tried to kill us."

"High time we evened things out."

"Damned right. I learned a lot when I lived here. About the Japanese mind. And you understand legal tactics. Swordsmanship. I think we're ready."

"Ready?"

"To turn our knowledge against him."

"Start probing for the niche in his armor?"

"No. There's no time for that." She was silent for a moment, as though preparing her words. "We've got to just sink him. Obliterate Dai Nippon totally. And with it Matsuo Noda."

"You mean… go public about the sword? The problem with that is…"

"Exactly. Everything's destroyed. So why not forget about the sword for a while? Whatever you know about it, at this point that's just your word against his. I mean we have to bring the whole thing down."

"Tam, we're talking billions of dollars. This could take a while. That number is a little hard to argue with."

"But what if that's both his strength and his weakness." She glanced over at me. "Look, I've been thinking about what we might try. Maybe there is a way."

"To assault him on the money front?"

"Right, but we'll need your friend Bill Henderson. Think he'd help?"

I nodded. "If you want him, I'll see that he pitches in."

"Good." She turned her eyes back to the road. "Matt, I'm Fujiwara. Did I ever tell you that? And a Fujiwara's duty is to protect the emperor of Japan. For a thousand years it's been their job."

She'd cracked. Begun talking gibberish. "What's that got to do with-?"

"Noda thinks he's going to exploit the Emperor. Well, he's got a big surprise in store. I am now going to use Dai Nippon to destroy him and then drive a stake into DNI's heart. Matthew, I'm going to make Matsuo Noda's billions just disappear."

"That's impossible."

"Watch me."

Guess Tam's Shinto kami were on our side, since we made it through Narita Airport with no hassles; or maybe being dead keeps you off anybody's hit list. Now that MlTI was determined not to release our names until they located our remains, we looked to be in limbo as far as Matsuo Noda and Dai Nippon were concerned. Given the fact the chopper had been demolished and then burned down to metal, nobody knew anything. Yet.

The scenario Tam laid out on the 747 flying back, while we drank a lot of airline cognac in the upstairs lounge, was destined to be yet another first in the annals of American finance, one way or the other. If we bungled it-and lived to face the consequences-would we end up like those grim-faced executives you see being hustled into the federal courthouse downtown, flanked by G-men in cheap trench coats? Later, eyeing the network cameras, we'd have to smile bravely and declare that American justice, in which we had full confidence, would surely vindicate us after all the facts, etc.

To go with her play meant we were headed either for the history books or jail, or both. But we would definitely need Henderson and his "Georgia Mafia." My questions were actually pretty simple: (1) Could it be done, and if so, (2) how and how fast?

We got back Monday, the day before New Year's, and the first person I called after Amy was Henderson, casually mentioning that something potentially very disrupting to the Street was in the works.

"Bill, fasten your seat belt. Bumpy weather ahead."

That captured his attention in a flash. What in hell, he inquired, was I talking about?

"We need to get together, tonight." I continued.

"Where?"

"How about your place? Matter of fact, there's a real question just now, at least in Japan, concerning whether Tam and I are actually alive."

"Walton, what in God's name is going on?"

"In the fullness of time, friend, all things will be known. Now we see as through a glass darkly… well, actually we're seeing through the smudgy windows of the Plaza, suite three twenty-five, where we're presently holed up. But we've got to stay low profile for a few more days."

"Whatever you say," he replied, still puzzled. "Then how about dropping by here tonight for a quick one, and then afterward we can all mosey over to Mortimer's on Lex for a quick bite?"

"Okay. As long as we go late. I want to miss the happy-hour crowd."

This did not please him, but he agreed. My suspicions were he wanted to use the occasion to reconnoiter the glittery, jet-set ladies at the bar. Henderson, whose style and drawl undoubtedly distinguished him from the B-school competition there like a white-maned palomino in a herd of draft horses (investment drones who wore a beeper on their belt and used "bottom-line" as a verb), surely found the place a fertile hunting ground. Mortimer's was custom-made for his idiosyncratic style.

About nine that evening Tam and I slipped out of the Plaza's Fifty-ninth Street entrance and headed up Fifth Avenue toward Bill's. He was headquartered in one of those solid, granite-faced buildings near the Metropolitan that are constructed like small fortresses-presumably so New York's upper one tenth of one percent can repel the long-feared assault of the homeless hordes at their feet. In the lobby, Henderson vouched for us over the TV intercom, after which we were given a visual search by the doorman, his uniform a hybrid of Gilbert amp; Sullivan and crypto-Nazi, and shown the elevator.