exoskeleton of an insect, and was necessary because, as forbidding as the
missile might appear, it was in fact as delicate as the flimsiest tissue. Fittings
within the silo accepted the base of the capsule, which allowed it to be
rotated to the vertical and then lowered fully into place. The entire operation,
bad lighting and all, required ninety minutes-exactly what the Soviet man-
ual had demanded of its people, remarkably enough.
In this case, the silo crew consisted of five men. They attached three
power cables along with four hoses that would maintain the gas pressure in
the fuel and oxidizer tanks-the bird was not yet fueled, and the internal
tanks needed pressure to maintain structural integrity. In the control bunker
located six hundred meters away, within the valley’s northeastern wall, the
control crew of three men noted that the missile’s internal systems “spun
up” just as they were supposed to. It wasn’t the least bit unexpected, but was
gratifying even so. With that knowledge, they made a call to the phone
located adjacent to the top of the silo, and the work crew waved the train off.
The diesel switch engine would deposit the flatcar back on a siding and re-
trieve the next missile. Two would be emplaced that night, and on each of
the four succeeding nights, filling all ten of the silos. The senior personnel
marveled at how smoothly it had all gone, though each wondered why it
should be so surprising. It was perfectly straightforward work, after all. And
strictly speaking, it was, but each also knew that the world would soon be a
very different place because of what they had done, and somehow they’d
expected the sky to change color or the earth to move at every moment of the
project. Neither had happened, and now the question was whether to be
disappointed or elated by that turn of events.
“It is our opinion that you should take a harder line with them,” Goto said in
the sanctity of his host’s office.
“But why?” the Prime Minister asked, knowing the answer even so.
‘ ‘They seek to crush us. They seek to punish us for being efficient, for
doing better work, for achieving higher standards than what their own lazy
workers are willing to attain.” The Leader of the Opposition saved his asser-
tive speaking voice for public utterances. In private with the leader of his
country’s government, he was unfailingly polite in manner even as he plot-
ted to replace this weak, indecisive man.
‘ ‘That is not necessarily the case, Goto-san. You know as well as I do that
we have of late reasserted our position on rice and automobiles and com-
pulcr chips. It is we who have won concessions from them, and not the re-
verse.” The Prime Minister wondered what Goto was up to. Part of it he
knew, naturally enough. Goto was maneuvering with his usual crude skill to
realign the various factions in the Diet. The Prime Minister had a tenuous
majority there, and the reason his government had taken a hard line on trade
issues had been to assuage those on the margins of his voting bloc, ordinarily
minor players and parties whose alliance of convenience with the govern-
ment had magnified their power to the point where the tail really could wag
the dog, because the tail knew that it held the balance of power. In this the
PM had played a dangerous game on the high-wire and without a net. On the
one hand he’d have to keep his own diverse political allies happy, and on the
other he couldn’t offend his nation’s most important trading partner. Worst
of all, it was a tiring game, especially with people like Goto watching from
below and howling at him, hoping that their noise would make him fall.
Av though you could do better, the Prime Minister thought, politely refill-
ing (ioto’s cup with green tea, getting a gracious nod for the gesture.
The more basic problem he understood better than the leader of his parlia-
mentary opposition. Japan was not a democracy in any real sense. Rather
like America in the late Nineteenth Century, the government was in fact, if
not in law, a kind of official shield for the nation’s business. The country
was really run by a relative handful of businessmen-the number was under
thirty, or even under twenty, depending on how you reckoned it-and de-
spite the fact that those executives and then- corporations appeared to be cut-
throat competitors, in reality they were all associates, allied in every possible
way, co-directorships, banking partnerships, all manner of inter-corporate
cooperation agreements. Rare was the parliamentarian who would not listen
with the greatest care to a representative of one of the zaibatsu. Rarer still
was the Diet member who was graced with a personal audience with one of
these men, and in every such case, the elected government official came
away exhilarated at his good fortune, for those men were quite effective at
providing what every politician needed: funds. Consequently, their word
was law. The result was a parliament as thoroughly corrupted as any on
earth. Or perhaps “corrupt” was the wrong term, the PM told himself. Sub-
servient, perhaps. The ordinary citizens of the country were often enraged by
what they saw, by what a few courageous journalists proclaimed, mostly in
terms that, despite appearing to Westerners to be rather weak and fawning,
in local context were as damning as anything Emile Zola had ever broad-
sheeted across Paris. But the ordinary citizens didn’t have the effective
power that the zaibatsu did, and every attempt to reform the political system
had fallen short. As a result, the government of one of the world’s most pow-
erful economies had become little more than the official arm of businessmen
elected by no one, scarcely even beholden to their own stockholders. They
had arranged his own accession to the Prime Ministership, he knew now
. . . perhaps a bone thrown to the common people? he wondered. Had he
been supposed to fail? Was that the destiny that had been constructed for
him? To fail so that a return to normal could then be accepted by the citi/ens
who’d placed their hopes in his hands?
That fear had pushed him into taking positions with America that he knew
to be dangerous. And now even that was not enough, was it?
“Many would say that,” Goto allowed with the most perfect manners.
‘ ‘And I salute you for your courage. Alas, objective conditions have hurt our
country. For example, the relative change of dollar and yen has had devastat-
ing effects on our investments abroad, and these could only have been the
result of deliberate policy on the part of our esteemed trading partners.”
There was something about his delivery, the Prime Minister thought. His
words sounded scripted. Scripted by whom? Well, that was obvious enough.
The PM wondered if Goto knew that he was in even a poorer position than
the man he sought to replace. Probably not, but that was scant consolation. If
Goto achieved his post, he would be even more in the pawn of his masters,
pushed into implementing policies that might or might not be well consid-
ered. And unlike himself, Goto might be fool enough to believe that he was
actually pursuing policies that were both wise and his own. How long would
that illusion last?
It was dangerous to do this so often, Christopher Cook knew. Often? Well,
every month or so. Was that often? Cook was a Deputy Assistant Secretary
of State, not an intelligence officer, and hadn’t read that manual, assuming
there was one.
The hospitality was as impressive as ever, the good food and wine and the
exquisite setting, the slow procession through topics of conversation, begin-
ning with the polite and entirely pro forma inquiries as to the state of his
family, and his golf game, and his opinion on this or that current social topic.
Yes, the weather was unusually pleasant for this time of year-a perennial
remark on Seiji’s part; fairly enough, since fall and spring in Washington
were tolerably pleasant, but the summers were hot and muggy and the win-
ters wet and dank. It was tedious, even to the professional diplomat well
versed in meaningless chitchat. Nagumo had been in Washington long
enough to run out of original observations to make, and over the past few
months had grown repetitive. Well, why should he be different from any
other diplomat in the world? Cook asked himself, about to be surprised.
“I understand that you have reached an important agreement with the
Russians,” Seiji Nagumo observed as the dinner dishes were cleared away.
“What do you mean?” Cook asked, thinking it a continuation of the
chitchat.
“We’ve heard that you are accelerating the elimination of ICBMs,” the
man went on, sipping his wine.
“You are well informed,” Cook observed, impressed, so much so that he