missed a signal he’d never received before. “Thai’s a rather sensitive sub-
ject.”
“Undoubtedly so, bul also a wonderful development, is it not?” He raised
his glass in a friendly toast. Cook, pleased, did the same.
“It most certainly is,” the State Department official agreed. “As you
know, it has been a goal of American foreign policy since the late 19405-
back to Bernard Baruch, if memory serves-to eliminate weapons of mass
destruction and their attendant danger to the human race. As you well
know-”
Nagumo, surprisingly, cut him off. “I know better than you might imag-
ine, Christopher. My grandfather lived in Nagasaki. He was a machinist for
the naval base that was once there. He survived the bomb-his wife did not,
I regret to tell you-but he was badly burned in the ensuing fire, and I can
well remember his scars. The experience hastened his death, I am sorry to
say.” It was a card skillfully played, all the more so that it was a lie.
“I didn’t know, Seiji. I’m sorry,” Cook added, meaning it. The purpose
of diplomacy, after all, was to prevent war whenever possible, or, failing
that, to conclude them as bloodlessly as possible.
“So, as you might imagine, I am quite interested in the final elimination
of those horrible things.” Nagumo topped off Cook’s glass. It was an excel-
lent chardonnay that had gone well with the main course.
“Well, your information is pretty accurate. I’m not briefed in on that
stuff, you understand, but I’ve caught a few things at the lunch room,” Cook
added, to let his friend know that he dined on the seventh floor of the State
Department building, not in the more plebeian cafeteria.
“My interest, I admit, is personal. On the day the last one is destroyed, I
plan to have a personal celebration, and to offer prayers to grandfather’s
spirit, to assure him that he didn’t die in vain. Do you have any idea when
that day will be, Christopher?”
“Not exactly, no. It’s being kept quiet.”
“Why is that?” Nagumo asked. “I don’t understand.”
‘ ‘Well, I suppose the President wants to make a big deal about it. Every so
often Roger likes to spring one on the media, especially with the election
year on the horizon.”
Seiji nodded. “Ah, yes, I can see that. So it is not really a matter of na-
tional security, is it?” he inquired offhandedly.
Cook thought about it for a second before replying. “Well, no, I don’t
suppose it is, really. True, it makes us more secure, but the manner in which
that takes place is … well, pretty benign, I guess.”
“In that case, could I ask a favor?”
“What’s that?” Cook asked, lubricated by the wine and the company and
the fact that he’d been feeding trade information to Nagumo for months.
“Just as a personal favor, could you find out for me the exact date on
which the lust missile will be destroyed? You see,” he explained, “the cere-
mony I will undertake will be quite special, and il requires preparation.”
Cook almost said, Sorry, Seiji. hut thai is technically .ipcakinx a national-
\ecurity matter, and I never agreed to give anyone that sort oj information.
The hesitation on his face, and the surprise that caused it, overpowered his
normal diplomat’s poker face. His mind raced, or tried to in the presence of
his friend. Okay, sure, for three and a half years he’d talked over trade issues
wilh Nagumo, occasionally getting information that was useful, stuff he’d
used, earning him a promotion to DASS rank, and occasionally, he’d given
over information, because . . . because why? Because part of him was bored
wilh the State Department grind and federal salary caps, and once upon a
lime a former colleague had remarked to him that with all the skills he’d
acquired in fifteen years of government service, he really could escape into
private industry, become a consultant or lobbyist, and hell, it wasn’t as
(hough he were spying on his country or anything, was it? Hell, no, it was
just business, man.
Was this spying? Cook asked himself. Was it really? The missiles weren’t
aimed at Japan and never had been. In fact, if the papers were right, they
weren’t aimed at anything except the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, and the
net effect of their destruction was exactly zero on everyone. Nobody hurt.
Nobody really helped, except in budgetary terms, and that was pretty mar-
ginal for all concerned. So, no, there wasn’t a national-security element to
this, was there? No. So, he could pass that information along, couldn’t he?
“Okay, Seiji. I guess this once, yeah, I can see what I can find out.”
“Thank you, Christopher.” Nagumo smiled. “My ancestors will thank
you. It will be a great day for the entire world, my friend, and it deserves
proper celebration.” In many sports it was called follow-through. There was
no term for it in espionage.
“You know, I think it does, too,” Cook said after a further moment’s
contemplation. It never occurred to him to be amazed that the first step over
Ihe invisible line that he had himself constructed was as easy as this.
“I am honored,” Yamata said with a great show of humility. “It is a fortu-
nate man who has such wise and thoughtful friends.”
“It is you who honor us,” one of the bankers insisted politely.
“Are we not colleagues? Do we not all serve our country, our people, our
culture, with equal devotion? You, Ichiki-san, the temples you’ve restored.
Ah!” He waved his hand around the low polished table. ‘ ‘We’ve all done it,
asking nothing in return but the chance to help our country, making it great
again, and then actually doing it,” Yamata added. “So how may I be of
service to my friends this evening?” His face took on a quiet, passive mien,
waiting to be told that which he already knew. His closest allies around the
table, whose identity was not really known to the oilier nineteen, were stud-
ies of curious anticipation, skilled, as he was, in concealment. But for all thai
there was tension in the room, an atmosphere so real that you could smell it,
like the odor of a foreigner.
Eyes turned almost imperceptibly to Matsuda-san, and many actually
thought that his difficulties would come as a surprise to Yamata, even
though the request for the meeting must have ignited his curiosity enough to
turn loose his formidable investigative assets. The head of one of the world’s
largest conglomerates spoke with quiet, if sad, dignity, taking his time, as he
had to, explaining that the conditions that had brought about his cash-flow
problem had not, of course, been the fault of his management. It was a busi-
ness that had begun with shipbuilding, branched out into construction, then
delved into consumer electronics. Matsuda had ridden to its chairmanship in
the mid-19808 and delivered for his stockholders such return as many only
dreamed of. Matsuda-san gave the history himself, and Yamata did not show
the least impatience. After all, it worked in his favor that all should hear in
his words their own corporate success stories, because in seeing the
similarity of success, they would also fear a similarity of personal catastro-
phe. That the cretin had decided to become a major player in Hollywood,
pissing away an immense quantity of cash for eighty acres on Melrose Bou-
levard and a piece of paper that said he could make movies, well, that was
his misfortune, was it not?
“The corruption and dishonor of those people is truly astounding,” Mat-
suda went on in a voice that a Catholic priest might hear in a confessional,
causing him to wonder if the sinner was recanting his sins or merely be-
moaning his bad luck. In the case at hand, two billion dollars were as thor-
oughly gone as if burned to cook sausages.
Yamata could have said, “I warned you,” except that he hadn’t, even
after his own investment counselors, Americans in this particular instance,
had examined the very same deal and warned him off in the strongest terms.
Instead he nodded thoughtfully.
‘ ‘Clearly you could not have anticipated that, especially after all the assur-
ances you were given, and the wonderfully fair terms you gave in return. It
would appear, my friends, that proper business ethics are lost on them.” He
looked around the table to collect the nods his observation had earned.
“Matsuda-san, what reasonable man could say that you were in any way at
fault?”
“Many would,” he answered, rather courageously, all thought.
“Not I, my friend. Who among us is more honorable, more sagacious?
Who among us has served his corporation more diligently?” Raizo Yamata
shook his head sorrowfully.
‘ ‘Of greater concern, my friends, is that a similar fate could await us all,”
a banker announced quietly, meaning that his bank held the paper on Mat-