Debt Of Honor by Clancy, Tom

that our auto manufacturers will themselves hire safety inspectors to clear

the vehicles in your ports, and-”

“Seiji, you know that’s unacceptable. We can’t have government func-

tions carried out by industry representatives.” That wasn’t true, and the bu-

reaucrat knew it. It happened all the time.

“In the interest of maintaining our friendly trade relationship, we offer to

undertake any unusual expense incurred by your government. We-”

Nagumo was stopped by a raised hand.

“Seiji, I have to tell you to stop there. Please-you must understand that

what you propose could well be seen as an inducement to corruption under

our government-ethics laws.” The conversation stopped cold for several

seconds.

“Look, Seiji, when the new statute is passed, this will settle out rapidly.”

And that wouldn’t take long. A flood of mail and telegrams from rapidly

organized “grass-roots” groups-the United Auto Workers, for one, smell-

ing blood in the water as sharply as any shark-had directed every one of its

members to dial up Western Union for precisely that purpose. The Trent Bill

was already first in line for hearings on the Hill, and insiders gave the new

statute two weeks before it appeared on the President’s desk for signature.

“But Trent’s bill-”

The Commerce Department official leaned forward on his desk. “Seiji,

what’s the problem? The Trent Bill will allow the President, with the advice

of lawyers here at Commerce, to duplicate your own trade laws. In other

words, what we will do is to mirror-image your own laws over here. Now,

how can it poxaibly be unfair for America (o use your own. fair. Hade laws

on your products the same way that you use them on ours?”

Nagumo hadn’t quite got it until that moment. “But you don’t understand.

Our laws are designed to fit our culture. Yours is different, and

“Yes, Seiji, I know. Your laws are designed to protect your industries

against unfair competition. What we will soon be doing is the same thing.

Now, that’s the bad news. The good news is that whenever you open markets

to us, we will automatically do the same for you. The bad news, Seiji, is that

we will apply your own law to your own products, and then, my friend, we

will see how fair your laws are, by your own standards. Why are you upset?

You’ve been telling me for years how your laws are not a real boundary at

all, that it’s the fault of American industry that we can’t trade with Japan as

effectively as you trade with us.” He leaned back and smiled. “Okay, now

we’ll see how accurate your observations were. You’re not telling me now

that you . . . misled me on things, are you?”

Nagumo would have thought My God, had he been a Christian, but his

religion was animistic, and his internal reactions were different, though of

exactly the same significance. He’d just been called a liar, and the worst part

was that the accusation was . . . true.

The Trent Bill, now officially called the Trade Reform Act, was explained to

America that very evening, now that the talking heads had used the time to

analyze it. Its philosophical simplicity was elegant. Administration spokes-

men, and Trent himself on ‘ ‘MacNeil/Lehrer,” explained that the law estab-

lished a small committee of lawyers and technical-trade experts from the

Commerce Department, assisted by international-law authorities from the

Department of Justice, who would be empowered to analyze foreign trade

laws, to draft American trade regulations that matched their provisions as

exactly as possible, and then to recommend them to the Secretary of Com-

merce, who would advise the President. The President in turn had the author-

ity to activate those regulations by executive order. The order could be

voided by a simple majority of both houses of Congress, whose authority on

such matters was set in the Constitution-that provision would avoid legal

challenge on the grounds of separation of powers. The Trade Reform Act

further had a “sunset” provision. In four years from enactment, it would

automatically cease to exist unless reenacted by Congress and reapproved by

the sitting President-that provision made the TRA appear to be a temporary

provision whose sole objective was to establish free international trade once

and for all. It was manifestly a lie, but a plausible one, even for those who

knew it.

“Now what could be more fair than that?” Trent asked rhetorically on

PBS. “All we’re doing is to duplicate the laws of other countries. If their

laws are fair for American business, then those same laws must also be fair

lor the industries of other countries. Our Japanese friends”-he smiled-

“have been telling us for years that their laws are not discriminatory. Fine.

We will use their laws as fairly as they do.”

The entertaining part for Trent was in watching the man on the other side

of the table squirm. The former Assistant Secretary of State, now earning

over a million dollars a year as senior lobbyist for Sony and Mitsubishi, just

sat there, his mind racing for something to say that would make sense, and

Trent could see it in his face. He didn’t have a thing.

‘ ‘This could be the start of a real trade war-” he began, only to be cut off

at the ankles.

“Look, Sam, the Geneva Convention didn’t cause any wars, did it? It

simply applied the same rules of conduct to all sides in a conflict. If you’re

saying that the use of Japanese regulations in American ports will cause a

war, then there already is a war and you’ve been working for the other side,

haven’t you?” His rapid-fire retort was met with five seconds of very awk-

ward silence. There just wasn’t an answer to that question.

‘ ‘Whoa!” Ryan observed, sitting in the family room of his house, at a decent

hour for once.

“He’s got real killer instinct,” Cathy observed, looking up from some

medical notes.

“He does,” her husband agreed. “Talk about fast. I just got briefed in on

this the other day.”

“Well, I think they’re right. Don’t you?” his wife asked.

‘ ‘I think it’s going a little fast.” Jack paused. “How good are their docs?”

“Japanese doctors? Not very, by our standards.”

“Really?” The Japanese public-health system had been held up for emu-

lation. Everything over there was “free,” after all. “How come?”

‘ ‘They salute too much,” Cathy replied, her head back down in her notes.

‘ ‘The professor’s always right, that sort of thing. The young ones never learn

to do it on their own, and by the time they’re old enough to become profes-

sors themselves, for the most part they forget how.”

“How often are you wrong, O Associate Professor of Ophthalmic Sur-

gery, ma’am?” Jack chuckled.

“Practically never,” Cathy replied, looking up, “but I never tell my resi-

dents to stop asking why, either. We have three Japanese fellows at Wilmer

now. Good clinicians, good technical docs, but not very flexible. I guess it’s

a cultural thing. We’re trying to train them out of it. It’s not easy.”

“The boss is always right…”

“Not always, he isn’t.” Cathy made a notation for a medication change.

Ryan’s head turned, wondering if he’d just learned something important.

“How good are they in developing new treatments?”

‘ ‘Jack, why do you think they come here to train? Why do you suppose we

have so many in the university up on Charles Street? Why do you suppose so

many ol them stay here?”

It was nine in the morning in Tokyo, and a satellite feed brought the Ameri-

can evening news shows into executive offices all over the city. Skilled

translators were rendering the conversation into their native tongue. VCRs

were making a permanent record for a more thorough analysis later, but

what the executives heard was clear enough.

Kozo Matsuda trembled at his desk. He kept his hands in his lap and out of

view so that the others in his office could not see them shake. What he heard

in two languages-his English was excellent-was bad enough. What he

saw was worse. His corporation was already losing money due to … ir-

regularities in the world market. Fully a third of his company’s products

went to the United States, and if that segment of his business were in any

way interrupted . . .

The interview was followed by a “focus segment” that showed Nissan

Courier, still tied up in Baltimore, with her sister ship, Nissan Voyager,

swinging at anchor in the Chesapeake Bay. Yet another car carrier had just

cleared the Virginia Capes, and the first of the trio was not even halfway

unloaded yet. The only reason they’d shown those particular ships was Balti-

more’s convenient proximity to Washington. The same was happening in

the Port of Los Angeles, Seattle, and Jacksonville. As though the cars were

being used to transport drugs, Matsuda thought. Part of his mind was out-