CHAPTER SIXTEENThat Saturday turned out to be the day when winter descended abruptly and with rare vengeance. Remember we're only talking mid-December, still a dozen full shopping days till you know what, but it could have been the depths of January. After things kicked off with what seemed a foot of snow around three, the elements really started to unload. Everything from sleet in historic proportions to a wind-chill that would have frosted the horns off aBexarCountybilly goat.While I waited for Tam, I battened down the garden, covered the outdoor furniture, and prudently provisioned the larder with a flagon of Remy antifreeze. Ben in the meantime was lumbering around downstairs, eyeing the snow-covered garden with an air of disgruntlement. The universe had turned unacceptable, something he never greeted with equanimity. I decided to try and divert his misery by hauling him up on the long Country French dining table and combing some of the knots out of his shag. When that merely reinforced his overall gloom, however, I called it quits, located a consoling rawhide stick for him to gnaw, and poured a brandy. It was along about then, shortly after nightfall, that Tam finally appeared.A cab with snow chains dropped her off (she'd come directly from the office, which Noda had just shut down for the weekend), and I helped her navigate the sleet-covered steps. I got the immediate sense that her first impression of my living quarters was unchanged from the old days. In spite of all the art, armor, and antiques, the place had a poignant rootlessness about it. Boys like toys; they just get more expensive as the bank account grows. Also, since she'd been in the man game long enough to spot a divorce-rebound case a mile off, she probably had me figured from the start: part of that army of emotional paraplegics in our feckless day and age.After the MITI twist, however, I suppose she was ready to consult with somebody concerning the direction things were headed. I warmly invited her downstairs to the sisal-carpeted den just off the garden and dumped some logs in the fireplace. Next I pulled out a few discs—Mendelssohn seemed about right for some reason—and offered to whip up a batch of margaritas. 'Twould be, I dared to hope, a long winter's eve. Alas, she said no thanks, a club soda and lime would do fine. Looked as if I would be working barehanded, without aid of that universal socializer, distilled spirit, so I rustled up a Perrier, then poured another snifter of brandy for myself.Since she appeared exhausted, my first suggestion was she kick off her shoes and get comfortable. No argument.After settling in, shoes off and feet to the fire, she announced she was ready to hear what I'd come up with.Before an awkward silence could grow, I snapped open my briefcase."Dr. Richardson, in keeping with the ground rule that this is a formal business meeting, let me introduce my first agenda item." I flashed her my best smile, then pulled out the purloined page. "This is part of the paperwork Mori seems to have brought with her. I don't understand too well what it's all about, but my first impression is that somebody has decided to do some major tinkering with your program. Take a look at this and give me an opinion." I passed it over.She glanced down, then back at me. "Are you supposed to be bringing DNI documents home?"That was her first reaction, swear to God."Look, this just accidentally got in with some of my photocopies. All it is is a list of companies. And I didn't want to talk about it there in the office." I reached over and ran my finger down the string of firms, then to several columns of numbers off to the right. "The question is, what are these outfits suddenly doing on DNI's buy list?"She studied it a second, looked around the room, and said exactly nothing."Doesn't that seem at all strange to you?" I finally spoke up. "As I understand the plan, you want to shift more corporate funding into research in the companies you're buying into? I do have it right, don't I?"She nodded."Okay, then you're with me so far. But take a look at this." I indicated the column of numbers. "That's the current research budget for these firms—it says so right up there on the top. Presumably these figures came out of the analytical setup down on eleven. Does anything about those figures seem out of line?"She looked at it, her eyes widening, then narrowing."Well, I don't know what this sheet is all about." She glanced up. "These companies aren't part of our buys.""Got news for you. I think they just made the team." I pointed to the heading. "See that—'ACQUISITION SCHEDULE: REVISIONS.'"When she said nothing, nada, I continued, "But you're right; they weren't on the original list. The reason being, I would surmise, that they didn't need any of this so-called management Rx you guys are supposed to be cooking up. Look at that one, and that one. Even I know enough to realize those outfits are operating with a real cash surplus right now, have plenty of R&D funding already, and hence are doing just fine, thank you. The figures, in fact, are right over there in that column on the right.""Matt, we don't know what this is for.""True, true. So let's just play pretend. And to make it fun, let me show you something else." I rummaged through my briefcase some more, finally extracting another paper. "I copied a corresponding page from the file on current buys."I laid it alongside the first.She picked up the second sheet, checked it over. "I helped compile this list.""Then maybe you'll see what I'm saying? Format's the same. The only difference is, some of the dogs have been dropped and replaced by some very well run corporations.""You're right about that. All high-tech, heavy research investment."Progress? The first scale to fall from her eyes?"Then let's play another round of this 'pretend' game. As I understand it, you and yours put together this original list of companies for one main reason: lousy management. But all of a sudden the outfits in the worst shape on list number one have disappeared on list number two. Meaning, I would assume, that they're no longer part of the program, at least as it's laid out on this revised version Mori must have brought in from Tokyo.""What are you trying to say?"For chrissake, what did she think I was trying to say?"Oh, nothing much, I suppose. Except that it looks to me like somebody's just knifed your program in the back. All of a sudden DNI's going to start buying outfits that already have good management, not to mention heavy research commitments. So what exactly is anybody supposed to be doing to help them along?" I paused. "Maybe a better question is, who removed those others, the ones now winging it on a hope and a prayer."She laid down the two pages side by side and began to compare them in more detail, a finger here, a finger there. But strictly no comment.Along about then Ben got up and checked out the sleet- covered garden, then lumbered back and plopped down beside us, clearly expecting a pat for diligence in the line of duty. She remarked that English sheepdogs always reminded her of a big flotaki rug. After that put-down she returned to the lists. I hoped the poor guy's sensitive ego wasn't mortally fractured.Well, she announced finally, my so-called discovery didn't add up to much."Matt, I officially have no opinion about this. It could mean anything." She shrugged. "Maybe the new twist is to start with the companies that can benefit the most from coordination. Take on the easy job first where the payoff will be greatest. Save the tough ones for later.""Oh, sure. Who knows? It could all be very innocent, right? I mean, for all we can tell, the moon might really be green cheese." I wondered what had gotten into her all of a sudden. It was plain as day what was happening. But instead of congratulating me on my sleuthing, she was turning obtuse."Tell me exactly how you got this sheet.""Like I said, more or less by accident." I told her the story again. "I was about to chuck it, then I took a second to mull it over. That's when I got to wondering why the numbers seemed so inconsistent. Next thing I noticed was the new list of players. All of a sudden the heavens opened. A vision." I got up to freshen my brandy, then came back. She was still sitting there, maybe too exhausted to think straight. "But I take it you don't believe my little epiphany means anything?""Since I don't know what it means, I'm not going to engage in a lot of uninformed speculation."Good Christ, I thought, what's happened to all her reputed brilliance?"You know," she went on, "I don't think you should be taking any more documents out of the office. There's a reason for all the security.""Hey, back off. I just have boundless curiosity." I still couldn't fathom her lack of interest . . . no, make that hostility. "Look, I don't claim to understand how birds fly, how fish swim, or how this whole damned picture fits together. However, my new, albeit uninformed, observation is that Noda and Company are not exactly giving us the fine print on their scenario. Exhibit A: this strange new list.""I think some fresh air would be nice." She rose to her feet, located her shoes, and strolled over to look out at the garden. The sleet and snow was about a foot and a half deep. "Why don't we go into the back?""What?" I stumbled to my feet. "Do you have any idea . . ."She looked at me a bit funny, then made some hand signals.Huh?Finally I realized she was telling me she didn't want to say anything more inside the house.Talk about paranoid! Suddenly the reason for all her hemming and hawing over my little theft came clear. She actually thought we might be bugged! Get serious, lady.Anyway, she gave me the cool-it sign, then calmly started putting on her coat. Astounded by the possible dimensions of human mistrust, I dug out a sweater from behind the couch and opened the door. She was still nursing that damned designer water.Ben snapped to alertness and galloped to the door, whereupon he confronted the weather. His strategic decision, executed with lightning speed, was to switch into his patented "zone defense" surveillance mode against backyard trespassers, which required staying inside where it was warm. I gave him a pat, freshened his water bowl, and followed her out into the snow.There was a brief lull in the weather. The sky glowed red from all the streetlights, at least what you could see of it through the surrounding brownstones and the leafless ailanthus tree at the back. I looked around as Ben gave the fence one last survey, then plopped down and settled his chin onto his paws with a grunt.Tam, I suppose, had finally concluded I wasn't pulling some kind of loyalty check for Noda, so that was when she opened the real can of worms."How long was she making copies? I mean, you were standing right behind her.""Mori? I don't know. Less than a minute." I examined her, a trifle puzzled. "Why?""How many pages?""Probably half a dozen or so."She just stood there a moment, gazing up at the sky, then she went back inside, stepping around Ben, and returned with the sheet. "Did you notice this?" She pointed to the upper right-hand corner.I took it and strained in the faint light from the back windows. "It says '129/147.'" I looked up. "You think that means . . . ?""I think your episode suggests at least two things." She took back the page. "The first one is, this is part of a much larger document.""With you so far. A hundred and forty-seven pages. And the second?""You said she only made half a dozen copies, then overlooked this?" She paused. "Don't you think Akira Mori can count?"At that moment the snowy night grew silent as a tomb."What are you suggesting?" I finally blurted it out. "That she left this on purpose?""Maybe. But I don't have the slightest idea why.""Christ, you have a very mistrusting mind." I slogged on through the snow for a few steps, then turned back. "I'm convinced it was accidental.""All right, let's just say that's a possibility for now. But what we do know for sure is we'd better get our hands on the rest of this.""Hey, don't look at me. I'm already in this scam deeper than I ever intended to be. I say we either play their way or cut and run. We start getting too nosy and we could end up on the wrong end of one of those Uzis.""Matt, there's something else I noticed about the list. It's ominous.""Care to elaborate?" I kicked at the snow."Well, not out here. I'm freezing." She pulled her coat a bit tighter. "Is there someplace inside where we can talk?""I've got an idea. But let's warm up first." I led the way back in. The fire had died a bit, so she settled on the floor next to the hearth, the smooth contours of her cheeks golden in the flickering light."Sure you won't have a brandy after all. To combat the chill?" The quartet Opus 44, No. 1, was enveloping us, both violins emerging out of the shadows.She looked up and smiled. "Maybe it would be nice."I fetched it, slid onto the floor next to her, and stretched to stir the coals. Ben sauntered over to keep me honest, plunked down, and was immediately out like a light."How're we doing for warmth?" I propped the poker against the side of the mantel, then reached over and touched her tangled hair lightly with my fingertips. To my everlasting surprise, she leaned next to me."Much better.""Maybe we should both bail out right now. Tonight. Why not just go down to my place in the islands and monitor the apocalypse off the satellite dish? Watch MITI eatAmerica."Was I joking? Only partially. Down home we have a saying about folks with a certain . . .je ne sais quoi. They'd do to ride the river with. In my book Tam was definitely one of the riders.The fire snapped and startled Ben, who glanced up, checked out the sleet-covered garden, then grimly resumed his snooze. She reached over and gave him a pat. The first time. "You know, I can't believe MITI is behind all this. I know at least one MITI person myself.""You know somebody in MITI?" I was a trifle taken aback. "Who?"She stared at the fire. "His name is Kenji Asano. You wouldn't have heard of him."I lay there for a moment listening to the quartet, my memory registers running a quick sort. Then it came to me. Kenji Asano was the MITI guyHendersonsaid had mastermindedJapan's rape of theU.S.semiconductor industry."You actually know him?""Sure do." She smiled. "Very well."Shit. I didn't really need to hear this. "That sounds like a little more than a professional acquaintance." I looked at her for confirmation."A little."Okay, I thought. Guess we're getting down to the straight story here. Press on. "Well, I have some news you may not like. This Asano genius personally engineered the destruction of theU.S.industry in RAM chips. Probably the most devastating sneak attack onAmericasincePearl Harbor."She stiffened. "Who told you that?""Let's just say I heard it. So what's this guy doing all of a sudden savingU.S.high-tech industry? He's already cost this country tens of thousands of jobs and literally billions of dollars.""I don't believe it. I know Ken. Sure, he works for MITI, but his job is overseeingJapan's own research in supercomputers. He's very proud of their progress."Oops. I swirled my snifter. "Whatever you say. If that's really true, then excuse me. I take it all back."She looked up—probably not believing my diplomatic reversal—and watched as I casually slipped my arm around her waist. I couldn't tell if she wanted it to happen or not.Thinking I might have some momentum going, I reached back and pulled a couple of wide cushions off the couch, stationed them by the fire, then eased us both against them. I tried to do it with naturalness, finesse.It wasn't happening."Matthew, underneath all that unnecessary bluster, which is just as I remember, you're still a half-decent guy, which I also remember. But I don't really think this is a good idea." She looked at me, her face highlighted in the orange glow of the embers."I hope it's not because you have other commitments." I heard my voice harden. "Like maybe inJapan.""I'm just a little distracted tonight, that's all." She watched as I trailed a finger around the hard tip of a nipple beneath her shirt. Gently she moved my hand away. "Don't start.""Maybe I can at least get a rain check." I retired from the field."Possibly." She smiled, then gave me a telling glance. "A while ago you said something about another place."My soundproof chamber?"Right." I rose. "We're always open around here for travelers on a frosty night." I helped her up. "And for this evening's special introductory offer, there's a hot tub down the hall. Why don't you let me fill it, and you can unwind those muscles for a while, Japanese-style or California-style or whatever. Do you good."She looked me over a second, then smiled. "Lots of nice, loud running water?""Exactly."Off we went to the Italian-marble bathroom there off the downstairs bedroom. I'd installed that little indulgence for Joanna back during happier times; these days I used it as the world's largest laundry hamper—ripping it out would have cost a fortune. Jo's revenge, I called the thing.She marched in, took a look about the room, which had one of those big tubs trimmed in redwood, and said it reminded her of a place near Ise. She did at least have the discretion to omit the circumstances of that occasion.What happened next sort of shook my cool, my being a goodTexaslapsed-Baptist. You see, I'd never bought into the nudity-is-wholesome ethic of the Age of Aquarius. Passed me right by. I mean, where's the fun in life without a little forbidden fruit? But Tam just began shucking her clothes. Everything. Kept going till she'd even doffed her little beige knickers, piling everything one piece at a time in a neat heap on the counter. Just like that. While bold corporate raider Matt Walton stood there in terminal astonishment, grasping the edge of the sink as if it were a life preserver. My nonchalance was an Oscar-winning performance.Now in the attire God gave her, she calmly inquired if I had any bubble bath."Well, ah, sure, I mean, I suppose so, probably somewhere around here. If not, there's probably a box of Tide in the basement." I groped blindly in the cabinet and my hand fell upon a pink bottle whose label read "Mr. Bubble." What's this? Then I realized it must be some suds stashed there by Amy. Bet she saw somebody soaking on TV and concluded that's the way grown-up women behaved. My God, it's in their genes.Then I turned around.Tell you one thing, Dr. Tamara Richardson was still in greatshape. All of her. Was she pulling a tease number on me, or just doing what comes naturally? Sad to say, I fear it was the latter. I guess she'd somehow internalized this Japanese idea that nudity is no big deal."Tam"—I finally found my voice—"you're something else. I know you're smart, and I'm beginning to remember you never were all that retiring. How about refreshing me on a few of the other things I seem to have forgot.""I think I wanted to be a boy." She laughed as she sampled the water with her toe. "I thought they had all the fun." Now she was pouring in a test portion of Amy's Mr. Bubble. "Then I found out girls could do anything boys could, but usually better. So I stopped worrying about it." She stepped in."Easy. You're talking to an unreconstructed male chauvinist.""What else is new? You all are at heart. At least you have the decency to admit it." She dumped in the remainder of the pink gunk. Will somebody please tell me why women, all women, go for that stuff? An exaggeration, you say? Ever see one turn it down?"Hey, I'm trying to deprogram myself, but it's uphill work." I watched as a perfectly formed breast disappeared beneath the foam. "I tend to be old-fashioned.""I recall all too well.""Well, give me a chance." I leaned back against the sink. "You know, this striptease isn't helping repress my primal male instincts a whole heck of a lot.""Matt, for somebody who's supposed to be an expert onJapan, you've understood very little about us.""Us?""You know. I'm half and half." She flashed me a Mona Lisa smile as she was wrapping her hair in a towel. I found myself thinking that at least she shaves her underarms, a minor concession to conventional propriety."Well, so what. I'm an equal-opportunity seductionist. That is, when I get the opportunity.""Not making much headway tonight, I fear." Another tricky smile. She was starting to drive me distracted."Thought you'd never notice.""Matt, you're an emotional basket case. I've seen plenty." She looked me over sympathetically. "Sorry, but I've got enough problems of my very own. You'll have to manage your own salvation.""Could be you're just deceived by my sensitive nature." I leaned against the counter, playing peek-a-boo with a tan nipple now half-concealed in the bubbles. "Mistaking it for brain damage.""Uh, uh." She shook her head in the negative. "I read your gender pretty well."I was beginning to get a little annoyed. Who needed this? "Tell you what, Dr. Richardson, for all my putative failings, I do happen to possess a modest allotment of native wit. And my male intuition tells me your dance card is full right now. That same right-brain perception also suggests it has something to do with this MlTl honcho Asano.""So?""So that upsets me for a couple of reasons, only one of which will probably be of any interest to you. I don't think you have an entirely open mind on the possibility MITI or somebody may be about to try and nail this country to the wall. Because if you admitted that, you would also have to admit something you apparently find distasteful to concede about your Prince Charming." I watched her eyes grow sad. "Stop me if I cross the line from preaching to meddling—to use a little expression from my youth.""Matthew, you've just ceased being nice." She looked down. "What do you do if you think you trust somebody and then you find out maybe that trust is . . . misplaced?""Old Ecclesiasticus, back in Bible times, told us, 'In the time of adversity, consider.' As advice goes, that's still probably sound value for the dollar. Like for example, you might want to back off and do a little thinking on whether Noda and his crowd have been using you, and me for that matter, like a couple of patsies."When she said nothing, I pressed on. "I walk into the office yesterday, the first thing I hear about is some MITI connection, then tonight I hear about your MITI connection, and it's starting to sound like the same tune. Like maybe these guys have been playing you like a violin.""But why me?""Credibility. And low profile for MITI's grab. By sending you out to meet the victims, they've thrown the hounds off the scent. Dr. Save-American-Industry has come to help. You're so goddam clean, Tam. Impeccable credentials. You're gold to those guys." I was set to give her a blast, but I decided to try keeping the lid on for once. "Maybe a better question than why they chose you is why you went for it. How did they brainwash you?""Nobody brainwashed me. I still think Noda's being straight. He can think in global terms. That's a rarity.""And how about this Asano character? You sure gave me the message to back off when I questioned his intentions.""Maybe I've been thinking with something besides my head." She sighed and leaned back. "But then, maybe not. I have no reason to believe he'd mislead me.""Look, I don't know anything about the situation. But I respectfully suggest you ought to reflect on that possibility." I looked at her. "By the way, I seem to remember you said there was something else about the list that struck you as odd.""It has to do with the kind of research being done by those new firms on the list. A pattern." She paused."What pattern?""I'd rather not say just yet. Until I'm sure. It's probably just my imagination."Something snapped inside me about then. Anger. TamRichardson, I was rapidly concluding, was being used by those bastards. And as best I could tell, this idealistic woman couldn't let herself believe it. The situation royally pissed me off. Even more when I also suspected this Asano operator had somehow been playing fast and loose with her heartstrings. I decided then and there I wasn't going to let them get away with it.A strange psychology takes hold of you when you sense you've been temporarily outflanked; I think it's that primal human response somebody once dubbed flight or fight. You realize you've got two choices: you can either stand your ground, or you can make a run for the sidelines. So what to do about Dai Nippon and Noda and Mori and Asano? Right then and there I made a tactical decision. I decided that—like the caveman facing the saber-toothed tiger—the best defense would be to try and make the beast back off.More to the point, it wasn't merely Tam that was imperiled. MaybeHenderson's suspicions were right; maybe this was the handshake that turned into a karate flip, the beginning of World War II, Part B. So I figured I owed it to myself and everybody else to at least uncover the truth.No entity, I've always believed, is unstoppable, no matter how massive. There's always a soft underbelly somewhere. After a while any big organization gets cocky and makes a blunder. Sometimes, in fact, you can lure them into it. I concluded there was only one way to go, head-to-head with Dai Nippon. You want peaches, you shake the tree."Okay, you've got your theories, I've got mine. But for both our sakes, I think it's time we moved on them.""What do you mean?" She looked up."I suggest we start with a little information gathering." I turned on the hot water again, nice and noisy, then continued. "What do you say we go up and take a little private look around the offices.""Tonight?""What better time. Weather alert, right? Nobody's there. It's perfect. We can fast-talk the security, get in, and check the place over.""And where, exactly, do you propose we look?" She examined me skeptically. "I'm there every day.""How about that new office Mori commandeered for herself. I think we ought to poke around and see what she's got. Maybe try and locate the rest of that document, if nothing else.""I'm not sure we ought to be doing anything quite that drastic, at least not just yet.""I didn't claim it was approved by Amy Vanderbilt. I just say we ought to give it a shot. If we don't look into this, who will? Maybe we'll find something to explain the so-called pattern you think you see.""Matt, for all I know, that may be nothing more than a coincidence. If Noda found out we'd done something like this, the whole ball game would be over.""That's the chance we take. Let's just see what we can come up with, okay? Personally, I'm beginning to think Noda and your pal Asano are both world-class con artists." I poured a little more cognac for us both. "But whoever's right, we should at least try to find out. Who knows? What if it's becoming a MITI show now, for some purpose neither of us can imagine?""All right." She looked apprehensive for a second, only a second, and then her eyes hardened. "You know, Noda and Mori claim I'm Fujiwara ... on my mother's side naturally." She laughed. "And you know something else? I feel in my bones that it's true. I believe it. I'm Japanese, Matthew, and I'm proud of that."I glanced over at a set of samurai armor stationed just outside the bathroom door, glistening enameled steel. '"Tell you the truth, I'm second to nobody when it comes to admiringJapan's ethic and their guts. But I tend to draw the line at 'master race' talk. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't object too strenuously if they did manage to beat us in a fair contest. Hell, we won round one and they were remarkably sporting about it. But what I want is to make sure round two is fought on level ground. No inventing new rules, no rabbit punches or below-the-belt stuff. That's all I ask.""How about showing me some of those swords you claim you collect?" She came out with it, just like that."My pleasure. Like nothing better."Besides, it seemed a good time for a change of pace. I straightened up and headed for the back parlor upstairs, then around the corner to the sword room, its door now fully repaired from the strange break-in. I fished out the key and snapped open the lock.Funny thing, but walking around fully dressed / had started feeling out of place. Maybe it is merely a state of mind.All right now, where to start? This was a crucial moment. My first impulse was to go all the way to gold, that marvelouskatanadating from the earlyKamakura, or even before, said to have come from the forge of the Shogun Yoritomo Minamoto's personal swordsmith. But wait a minute. After that, what? Maybe the absolute tops should be saved for a more auspicious moment. That sword was, to my mind, an almost sacred work. Maybe instead we ought to start with something a little offbeat, then gradually work up to the best and sharpest.The obvious choice, in fact, was a piece I considered a real curiosity, racked there on the left, top slot. As I lifted it off and slipped it out of its scabbard, the metal glistened like a mirror, reminding me how long it's been since I'd oiled and pampered my playthings."I'm afraid nothing here was handed down by the Sun Goddess." I was coming back down the stairs a little unsteadily, like a half-drunk samurai. "But this one's kind of like the old style, at least the metallurgy is. Unusual. Heavy on copper and tin. In a way almost closer to bronze than steel."Then I proceeded to point out a few interesting features—the nice curve of the face line, the burl grain, the Shinto deities on the ellipticaltsubahand guard, that kind of thing— taking care to keep it out of the damned bubbles. I was starting to get wound up, as all enthusiasts do with a captive audience, when she tactfully cut me off."How's the handle attached, or the grip, or whatever it's called?""That's the hilt, thetsuka. Held on with a little wooden peg stuck through a hole in the metal. Here, let me show you." I had a small brass punch on my key ring that was specially designed to push it out. "Under the grip there's a wrapping of silk braid, and then a layer of the belly skin of a stingray, to protect the steel. But you just remove this peg and the whole ensemble slides right off." I removed the handle and laid it on the sink. "Now you can see the untempered end of the sword, the tang ornakagoas it's called." I passed the weapon to her, blunt end first. "That's where a swordsmith engraved his signature, his title, the place it was forged. So you always should check. On a really important piece, there may be cutting tests noted there. Like maybe they tried out the blade on a criminal or two just to see if it worked. Quality control.""God." She shuddered. "Really?""Licensed testers did it and certified it in gold engraving on the nakago. Some of the ones upstairs have it. But this one's an ubu, virgin." I watched her turn it in the dim light. "Careful now. That edge is very sharp.""How can you tell if it's really old?""Lots of ways. The grain, the signature, and then too a good one should have some rust there on thenakago, black not red."She held it up a second and examined it."Virgin, huh? No signature?" She had a funny, almost embarrassed, expression on her face."Correct. But like I said, this one's not—""Then who was 'Nihon Steelworks:Nagoya'? Somebody you bought it from?""Anybody ever tell you you've got a crummy sense of humor." I wasn't smiling as I reached to take it back. Her crack annoyed me and I'm afraid I showed it. Some things you don't kid around about. "That's a modern foundry that turns out crappy—""Don't get testy. I'm only reading. Right there." She pointed to some very faint English engraved into the metal."Christ!"I grabbed it back and held it under the light to look. No mistaking. There it was, plain as could be.That's when I finally realized the thing was a copy. A goddam replica of the original. Okay, a remarkably good one, but a fake nonetheless.How did this get in my closet?Could somebody have broken in and . . . ?Suddenly it hit me. The robbery. Whoever had lifted my records must have also pulled a switcheroo on thiskatana, leaving this piece of Nagoya junk and disguising the deed by replacing the original grip and tsuba hand guard. I'd been too loaded to notice.I wanted to crack the goddam fraud over my knee like in the movies, but you don't do that with a samurai sword, even a phony modern one. So instead I flung it down on Jo's Italian-marble floor and headed back upstairs to check the others. What in hell had happened? Had they cleaned me out after all. My God, thousands . . .I began yanking down swords, starting with the aforementioned centerpiece of the collection, scrutinizing them in the light. But after about half a dozen proved to be all right, I started calming down. Nothing else seemed to have been touched. Well, what the heck, I thought. It wasn't exactly a crippling loss. Finally I grew a little ashamed of myself and sheepishly wandered back down, collecting the ringer off the floor."Tam, I'm sorry. Somebody broke in a while back, and they must have stuck this fraud in my collection. It's not the one I thought it was.""Sure." She just looked at me, with some sympathy. "Matthew, it's all right. Really. Lots of people own replicas of art. I have a few prints myself. It's not a crime." She touched my hand. "Don't worry. It doesn't matter—""You—" I bit my tongue to squelch the unpleasant word forming on my lips, stomped back upstairs, and returned with a real sword. Then I gave my lecture all over again, dwelling on every insignificant detail. I was going to bore the woman till she cried uncle. Finally I succeeded."Okay, you win. I apologize." She leaned back in the bubbles. "You really love this hardware, don't you?""Tam, I love the samurai ideals. I admire craftsmanship. I revere courage. The guys who made and used these blades had it all. If I'm going to collect art, why not something that inspires me."She just looked at me and nodded. I think she really understood."Then let's make a pact, Matt, you and me." She finally spoke up. "We'll face Dai Nippon or MITI or whomever honorably. And we'll keep them honest.""Samurai." I smiled. "Lineage to lineage. And may the best . . . person win."I returned the sword and locked up, then lounged in the bedroom and chatted through the open door while she finished her soak. It didn't seem proper to lug a chair into the bath, and there was something too undignified about perching atop the loo. Why, I kept wondering, had somebody taken such elaborate pains to lift a single antique and plant a fake? So I wouldn't miss it? But why bother?Finally she got into a robe and came out, whereupon we went downstairs and proceeded to put away more brandy, sleet slamming against the windows. That was when she refreshed my recollections of her early life, the peripatetic half-breed army brat. I think, truth be told, she was currently about as adrift as I was. She was too wary to admit it; I was too incapable of touching my own fractured emotions. So we talked around things, saying everything except that maybe we needed somebody. All the while the storm outside continued to rage. But once again I was feeling those stirrings that I'd kept on ice for way too long.Alas, though, it had to end. Aboutone A.M.we geared up. She retrieved her coat; I banked the fire; and we straggled out into the sleet. After finally managing a cab, we headed uptown. We'd agreed on the rules; now we were off to face the beast.
That Saturday turned out to be the day when winter descended abruptly and with rare vengeance. Remember we're only talking mid-December, still a dozen full shopping days till you know what, but it could have been the depths of January. After things kicked off with what seemed a foot of snow around three, the elements really started to unload. Everything from sleet in historic proportions to a wind-chill that would have frosted the horns off aBexarCountybilly goat.
While I waited for Tam, I battened down the garden, covered the outdoor furniture, and prudently provisioned the larder with a flagon of Remy antifreeze. Ben in the meantime was lumbering around downstairs, eyeing the snow-covered garden with an air of disgruntlement. The universe had turned unacceptable, something he never greeted with equanimity. I decided to try and divert his misery by hauling him up on the long Country French dining table and combing some of the knots out of his shag. When that merely reinforced his overall gloom, however, I called it quits, located a consoling rawhide stick for him to gnaw, and poured a brandy. It was along about then, shortly after nightfall, that Tam finally appeared.
A cab with snow chains dropped her off (she'd come directly from the office, which Noda had just shut down for the weekend), and I helped her navigate the sleet-covered steps. I got the immediate sense that her first impression of my living quarters was unchanged from the old days. In spite of all the art, armor, and antiques, the place had a poignant rootlessness about it. Boys like toys; they just get more expensive as the bank account grows. Also, since she'd been in the man game long enough to spot a divorce-rebound case a mile off, she probably had me figured from the start: part of that army of emotional paraplegics in our feckless day and age.
After the MITI twist, however, I suppose she was ready to consult with somebody concerning the direction things were headed. I warmly invited her downstairs to the sisal-carpeted den just off the garden and dumped some logs in the fireplace. Next I pulled out a few discs—Mendelssohn seemed about right for some reason—and offered to whip up a batch of margaritas. 'Twould be, I dared to hope, a long winter's eve. Alas, she said no thanks, a club soda and lime would do fine. Looked as if I would be working barehanded, without aid of that universal socializer, distilled spirit, so I rustled up a Perrier, then poured another snifter of brandy for myself.
Since she appeared exhausted, my first suggestion was she kick off her shoes and get comfortable. No argument.
After settling in, shoes off and feet to the fire, she announced she was ready to hear what I'd come up with.
Before an awkward silence could grow, I snapped open my briefcase.
"Dr. Richardson, in keeping with the ground rule that this is a formal business meeting, let me introduce my first agenda item." I flashed her my best smile, then pulled out the purloined page. "This is part of the paperwork Mori seems to have brought with her. I don't understand too well what it's all about, but my first impression is that somebody has decided to do some major tinkering with your program. Take a look at this and give me an opinion." I passed it over.
She glanced down, then back at me. "Are you supposed to be bringing DNI documents home?"
That was her first reaction, swear to God.
"Look, this just accidentally got in with some of my photocopies. All it is is a list of companies. And I didn't want to talk about it there in the office." I reached over and ran my finger down the string of firms, then to several columns of numbers off to the right. "The question is, what are these outfits suddenly doing on DNI's buy list?"
She studied it a second, looked around the room, and said exactly nothing.
"Doesn't that seem at all strange to you?" I finally spoke up. "As I understand the plan, you want to shift more corporate funding into research in the companies you're buying into? I do have it right, don't I?"
She nodded.
"Okay, then you're with me so far. But take a look at this." I indicated the column of numbers. "That's the current research budget for these firms—it says so right up there on the top. Presumably these figures came out of the analytical setup down on eleven. Does anything about those figures seem out of line?"
She looked at it, her eyes widening, then narrowing.
"Well, I don't know what this sheet is all about." She glanced up. "These companies aren't part of our buys."
"Got news for you. I think they just made the team." I pointed to the heading. "See that—'ACQUISITION SCHEDULE: REVISIONS.'"
When she said nothing, nada, I continued, "But you're right; they weren't on the original list. The reason being, I would surmise, that they didn't need any of this so-called management Rx you guys are supposed to be cooking up. Look at that one, and that one. Even I know enough to realize those outfits are operating with a real cash surplus right now, have plenty of R&D funding already, and hence are doing just fine, thank you. The figures, in fact, are right over there in that column on the right."
"Matt, we don't know what this is for."
"True, true. So let's just play pretend. And to make it fun, let me show you something else." I rummaged through my briefcase some more, finally extracting another paper. "I copied a corresponding page from the file on current buys."
I laid it alongside the first.
She picked up the second sheet, checked it over. "I helped compile this list."
"Then maybe you'll see what I'm saying? Format's the same. The only difference is, some of the dogs have been dropped and replaced by some very well run corporations."
"You're right about that. All high-tech, heavy research investment."
Progress? The first scale to fall from her eyes?
"Then let's play another round of this 'pretend' game. As I understand it, you and yours put together this original list of companies for one main reason: lousy management. But all of a sudden the outfits in the worst shape on list number one have disappeared on list number two. Meaning, I would assume, that they're no longer part of the program, at least as it's laid out on this revised version Mori must have brought in from Tokyo."
"What are you trying to say?"
For chrissake, what did she think I was trying to say?
"Oh, nothing much, I suppose. Except that it looks to me like somebody's just knifed your program in the back. All of a sudden DNI's going to start buying outfits that already have good management, not to mention heavy research commitments. So what exactly is anybody supposed to be doing to help them along?" I paused. "Maybe a better question is, who removed those others, the ones now winging it on a hope and a prayer."
She laid down the two pages side by side and began to compare them in more detail, a finger here, a finger there. But strictly no comment.
Along about then Ben got up and checked out the sleet- covered garden, then lumbered back and plopped down beside us, clearly expecting a pat for diligence in the line of duty. She remarked that English sheepdogs always reminded her of a big flotaki rug. After that put-down she returned to the lists. I hoped the poor guy's sensitive ego wasn't mortally fractured.
Well, she announced finally, my so-called discovery didn't add up to much.
"Matt, I officially have no opinion about this. It could mean anything." She shrugged. "Maybe the new twist is to start with the companies that can benefit the most from coordination. Take on the easy job first where the payoff will be greatest. Save the tough ones for later."
"Oh, sure. Who knows? It could all be very innocent, right? I mean, for all we can tell, the moon might really be green cheese." I wondered what had gotten into her all of a sudden. It was plain as day what was happening. But instead of congratulating me on my sleuthing, she was turning obtuse.
"Tell me exactly how you got this sheet."
"Like I said, more or less by accident." I told her the story again. "I was about to chuck it, then I took a second to mull it over. That's when I got to wondering why the numbers seemed so inconsistent. Next thing I noticed was the new list of players. All of a sudden the heavens opened. A vision." I got up to freshen my brandy, then came back. She was still sitting there, maybe too exhausted to think straight. "But I take it you don't believe my little epiphany means anything?"
"Since I don't know what it means, I'm not going to engage in a lot of uninformed speculation."
Good Christ, I thought, what's happened to all her reputed brilliance?
"You know," she went on, "I don't think you should be taking any more documents out of the office. There's a reason for all the security."
"Hey, back off. I just have boundless curiosity." I still couldn't fathom her lack of interest . . . no, make that hostility. "Look, I don't claim to understand how birds fly, how fish swim, or how this whole damned picture fits together. However, my new, albeit uninformed, observation is that Noda and Company are not exactly giving us the fine print on their scenario. Exhibit A: this strange new list."
"I think some fresh air would be nice." She rose to her feet, located her shoes, and strolled over to look out at the garden. The sleet and snow was about a foot and a half deep. "Why don't we go into the back?"
"What?" I stumbled to my feet. "Do you have any idea . . ."
She looked at me a bit funny, then made some hand signals.
Huh?
Finally I realized she was telling me she didn't want to say anything more inside the house.
Talk about paranoid! Suddenly the reason for all her hemming and hawing over my little theft came clear. She actually thought we might be bugged! Get serious, lady.
Anyway, she gave me the cool-it sign, then calmly started putting on her coat. Astounded by the possible dimensions of human mistrust, I dug out a sweater from behind the couch and opened the door. She was still nursing that damned designer water.
Ben snapped to alertness and galloped to the door, whereupon he confronted the weather. His strategic decision, executed with lightning speed, was to switch into his patented "zone defense" surveillance mode against backyard trespassers, which required staying inside where it was warm. I gave him a pat, freshened his water bowl, and followed her out into the snow.
There was a brief lull in the weather. The sky glowed red from all the streetlights, at least what you could see of it through the surrounding brownstones and the leafless ailanthus tree at the back. I looked around as Ben gave the fence one last survey, then plopped down and settled his chin onto his paws with a grunt.
Tam, I suppose, had finally concluded I wasn't pulling some kind of loyalty check for Noda, so that was when she opened the real can of worms.
"How long was she making copies? I mean, you were standing right behind her."
"Mori? I don't know. Less than a minute." I examined her, a trifle puzzled. "Why?"
"How many pages?"
"Probably half a dozen or so."
She just stood there a moment, gazing up at the sky, then she went back inside, stepping around Ben, and returned with the sheet. "Did you notice this?" She pointed to the upper right-hand corner.
I took it and strained in the faint light from the back windows. "It says '129/147.'" I looked up. "You think that means . . . ?"
"I think your episode suggests at least two things." She took back the page. "The first one is, this is part of a much larger document."
"With you so far. A hundred and forty-seven pages. And the second?"
"You said she only made half a dozen copies, then overlooked this?" She paused. "Don't you think Akira Mori can count?"
At that moment the snowy night grew silent as a tomb.
"What are you suggesting?" I finally blurted it out. "That she left this on purpose?"
"Maybe. But I don't have the slightest idea why."
"Christ, you have a very mistrusting mind." I slogged on through the snow for a few steps, then turned back. "I'm convinced it was accidental."
"All right, let's just say that's a possibility for now. But what we do know for sure is we'd better get our hands on the rest of this."
"Hey, don't look at me. I'm already in this scam deeper than I ever intended to be. I say we either play their way or cut and run. We start getting too nosy and we could end up on the wrong end of one of those Uzis."
"Matt, there's something else I noticed about the list. It's ominous."
"Care to elaborate?" I kicked at the snow.
"Well, not out here. I'm freezing." She pulled her coat a bit tighter. "Is there someplace inside where we can talk?"
"I've got an idea. But let's warm up first." I led the way back in. The fire had died a bit, so she settled on the floor next to the hearth, the smooth contours of her cheeks golden in the flickering light.
"Sure you won't have a brandy after all. To combat the chill?" The quartet Opus 44, No. 1, was enveloping us, both violins emerging out of the shadows.
She looked up and smiled. "Maybe it would be nice."
I fetched it, slid onto the floor next to her, and stretched to stir the coals. Ben sauntered over to keep me honest, plunked down, and was immediately out like a light.
"How're we doing for warmth?" I propped the poker against the side of the mantel, then reached over and touched her tangled hair lightly with my fingertips. To my everlasting surprise, she leaned next to me.
"Much better."
"Maybe we should both bail out right now. Tonight. Why not just go down to my place in the islands and monitor the apocalypse off the satellite dish? Watch MITI eatAmerica."
Was I joking? Only partially. Down home we have a saying about folks with a certain . . .je ne sais quoi. They'd do to ride the river with. In my book Tam was definitely one of the riders.
The fire snapped and startled Ben, who glanced up, checked out the sleet-covered garden, then grimly resumed his snooze. She reached over and gave him a pat. The first time. "You know, I can't believe MITI is behind all this. I know at least one MITI person myself."
"You know somebody in MITI?" I was a trifle taken aback. "Who?"
She stared at the fire. "His name is Kenji Asano. You wouldn't have heard of him."
I lay there for a moment listening to the quartet, my memory registers running a quick sort. Then it came to me. Kenji Asano was the MITI guyHendersonsaid had mastermindedJapan's rape of theU.S.semiconductor industry.
"You actually know him?"
"Sure do." She smiled. "Very well."
Shit. I didn't really need to hear this. "That sounds like a little more than a professional acquaintance." I looked at her for confirmation.
"A little."
Okay, I thought. Guess we're getting down to the straight story here. Press on. "Well, I have some news you may not like. This Asano genius personally engineered the destruction of theU.S.industry in RAM chips. Probably the most devastating sneak attack onAmericasincePearl Harbor."
She stiffened. "Who told you that?"
"Let's just say I heard it. So what's this guy doing all of a sudden savingU.S.high-tech industry? He's already cost this country tens of thousands of jobs and literally billions of dollars."
"I don't believe it. I know Ken. Sure, he works for MITI, but his job is overseeingJapan's own research in supercomputers. He's very proud of their progress."
Oops. I swirled my snifter. "Whatever you say. If that's really true, then excuse me. I take it all back."
She looked up—probably not believing my diplomatic reversal—and watched as I casually slipped my arm around her waist. I couldn't tell if she wanted it to happen or not.
Thinking I might have some momentum going, I reached back and pulled a couple of wide cushions off the couch, stationed them by the fire, then eased us both against them. I tried to do it with naturalness, finesse.
It wasn't happening.
"Matthew, underneath all that unnecessary bluster, which is just as I remember, you're still a half-decent guy, which I also remember. But I don't really think this is a good idea." She looked at me, her face highlighted in the orange glow of the embers.
"I hope it's not because you have other commitments." I heard my voice harden. "Like maybe inJapan."
"I'm just a little distracted tonight, that's all." She watched as I trailed a finger around the hard tip of a nipple beneath her shirt. Gently she moved my hand away. "Don't start."
"Maybe I can at least get a rain check." I retired from the field.
"Possibly." She smiled, then gave me a telling glance. "A while ago you said something about another place."
My soundproof chamber?
"Right." I rose. "We're always open around here for travelers on a frosty night." I helped her up. "And for this evening's special introductory offer, there's a hot tub down the hall. Why don't you let me fill it, and you can unwind those muscles for a while, Japanese-style or California-style or whatever. Do you good."
She looked me over a second, then smiled. "Lots of nice, loud running water?"
"Exactly."
Off we went to the Italian-marble bathroom there off the downstairs bedroom. I'd installed that little indulgence for Joanna back during happier times; these days I used it as the world's largest laundry hamper—ripping it out would have cost a fortune. Jo's revenge, I called the thing.
She marched in, took a look about the room, which had one of those big tubs trimmed in redwood, and said it reminded her of a place near Ise. She did at least have the discretion to omit the circumstances of that occasion.
What happened next sort of shook my cool, my being a goodTexaslapsed-Baptist. You see, I'd never bought into the nudity-is-wholesome ethic of the Age of Aquarius. Passed me right by. I mean, where's the fun in life without a little forbidden fruit? But Tam just began shucking her clothes. Everything. Kept going till she'd even doffed her little beige knickers, piling everything one piece at a time in a neat heap on the counter. Just like that. While bold corporate raider Matt Walton stood there in terminal astonishment, grasping the edge of the sink as if it were a life preserver. My nonchalance was an Oscar-winning performance.
Now in the attire God gave her, she calmly inquired if I had any bubble bath.
"Well, ah, sure, I mean, I suppose so, probably somewhere around here. If not, there's probably a box of Tide in the basement." I groped blindly in the cabinet and my hand fell upon a pink bottle whose label read "Mr. Bubble." What's this? Then I realized it must be some suds stashed there by Amy. Bet she saw somebody soaking on TV and concluded that's the way grown-up women behaved. My God, it's in their genes.
Then I turned around.
Tell you one thing, Dr. Tamara Richardson was still in great
shape. All of her. Was she pulling a tease number on me, or just doing what comes naturally? Sad to say, I fear it was the latter. I guess she'd somehow internalized this Japanese idea that nudity is no big deal.
"Tam"—I finally found my voice—"you're something else. I know you're smart, and I'm beginning to remember you never were all that retiring. How about refreshing me on a few of the other things I seem to have forgot."
"I think I wanted to be a boy." She laughed as she sampled the water with her toe. "I thought they had all the fun." Now she was pouring in a test portion of Amy's Mr. Bubble. "Then I found out girls could do anything boys could, but usually better. So I stopped worrying about it." She stepped in.
"Easy. You're talking to an unreconstructed male chauvinist."
"What else is new? You all are at heart. At least you have the decency to admit it." She dumped in the remainder of the pink gunk. Will somebody please tell me why women, all women, go for that stuff? An exaggeration, you say? Ever see one turn it down?
"Hey, I'm trying to deprogram myself, but it's uphill work." I watched as a perfectly formed breast disappeared beneath the foam. "I tend to be old-fashioned."
"I recall all too well."
"Well, give me a chance." I leaned back against the sink. "You know, this striptease isn't helping repress my primal male instincts a whole heck of a lot."
"Matt, for somebody who's supposed to be an expert onJapan, you've understood very little about us."
"Us?"
"You know. I'm half and half." She flashed me a Mona Lisa smile as she was wrapping her hair in a towel. I found myself thinking that at least she shaves her underarms, a minor concession to conventional propriety.
"Well, so what. I'm an equal-opportunity seductionist. That is, when I get the opportunity."
"Not making much headway tonight, I fear." Another tricky smile. She was starting to drive me distracted.
"Thought you'd never notice."
"Matt, you're an emotional basket case. I've seen plenty." She looked me over sympathetically. "Sorry, but I've got enough problems of my very own. You'll have to manage your own salvation."
"Could be you're just deceived by my sensitive nature." I leaned against the counter, playing peek-a-boo with a tan nipple now half-concealed in the bubbles. "Mistaking it for brain damage."
"Uh, uh." She shook her head in the negative. "I read your gender pretty well."
I was beginning to get a little annoyed. Who needed this? "Tell you what, Dr. Richardson, for all my putative failings, I do happen to possess a modest allotment of native wit. And my male intuition tells me your dance card is full right now. That same right-brain perception also suggests it has something to do with this MlTl honcho Asano."
"So?"
"So that upsets me for a couple of reasons, only one of which will probably be of any interest to you. I don't think you have an entirely open mind on the possibility MITI or somebody may be about to try and nail this country to the wall. Because if you admitted that, you would also have to admit something you apparently find distasteful to concede about your Prince Charming." I watched her eyes grow sad. "Stop me if I cross the line from preaching to meddling—to use a little expression from my youth."
"Matthew, you've just ceased being nice." She looked down. "What do you do if you think you trust somebody and then you find out maybe that trust is . . . misplaced?"
"Old Ecclesiasticus, back in Bible times, told us, 'In the time of adversity, consider.' As advice goes, that's still probably sound value for the dollar. Like for example, you might want to back off and do a little thinking on whether Noda and his crowd have been using you, and me for that matter, like a couple of patsies."
When she said nothing, I pressed on. "I walk into the office yesterday, the first thing I hear about is some MITI connection, then tonight I hear about your MITI connection, and it's starting to sound like the same tune. Like maybe these guys have been playing you like a violin."
"But why me?"
"Credibility. And low profile for MITI's grab. By sending you out to meet the victims, they've thrown the hounds off the scent. Dr. Save-American-Industry has come to help. You're so goddam clean, Tam. Impeccable credentials. You're gold to those guys." I was set to give her a blast, but I decided to try keeping the lid on for once. "Maybe a better question than why they chose you is why you went for it. How did they brainwash you?"
"Nobody brainwashed me. I still think Noda's being straight. He can think in global terms. That's a rarity."
"And how about this Asano character? You sure gave me the message to back off when I questioned his intentions."
"Maybe I've been thinking with something besides my head." She sighed and leaned back. "But then, maybe not. I have no reason to believe he'd mislead me."
"Look, I don't know anything about the situation. But I respectfully suggest you ought to reflect on that possibility." I looked at her. "By the way, I seem to remember you said there was something else about the list that struck you as odd."
"It has to do with the kind of research being done by those new firms on the list. A pattern." She paused.
"What pattern?"
"I'd rather not say just yet. Until I'm sure. It's probably just my imagination."
Something snapped inside me about then. Anger. TamRichardson, I was rapidly concluding, was being used by those bastards. And as best I could tell, this idealistic woman couldn't let herself believe it. The situation royally pissed me off. Even more when I also suspected this Asano operator had somehow been playing fast and loose with her heartstrings. I decided then and there I wasn't going to let them get away with it.
A strange psychology takes hold of you when you sense you've been temporarily outflanked; I think it's that primal human response somebody once dubbed flight or fight. You realize you've got two choices: you can either stand your ground, or you can make a run for the sidelines. So what to do about Dai Nippon and Noda and Mori and Asano? Right then and there I made a tactical decision. I decided that—like the caveman facing the saber-toothed tiger—the best defense would be to try and make the beast back off.
More to the point, it wasn't merely Tam that was imperiled. MaybeHenderson's suspicions were right; maybe this was the handshake that turned into a karate flip, the beginning of World War II, Part B. So I figured I owed it to myself and everybody else to at least uncover the truth.
No entity, I've always believed, is unstoppable, no matter how massive. There's always a soft underbelly somewhere. After a while any big organization gets cocky and makes a blunder. Sometimes, in fact, you can lure them into it. I concluded there was only one way to go, head-to-head with Dai Nippon. You want peaches, you shake the tree.
"Okay, you've got your theories, I've got mine. But for both our sakes, I think it's time we moved on them."
"What do you mean?" She looked up.
"I suggest we start with a little information gathering." I turned on the hot water again, nice and noisy, then continued. "What do you say we go up and take a little private look around the offices."
"Tonight?"
"What better time. Weather alert, right? Nobody's there. It's perfect. We can fast-talk the security, get in, and check the place over."
"And where, exactly, do you propose we look?" She examined me skeptically. "I'm there every day."
"How about that new office Mori commandeered for herself. I think we ought to poke around and see what she's got. Maybe try and locate the rest of that document, if nothing else."
"I'm not sure we ought to be doing anything quite that drastic, at least not just yet."
"I didn't claim it was approved by Amy Vanderbilt. I just say we ought to give it a shot. If we don't look into this, who will? Maybe we'll find something to explain the so-called pattern you think you see."
"Matt, for all I know, that may be nothing more than a coincidence. If Noda found out we'd done something like this, the whole ball game would be over."
"That's the chance we take. Let's just see what we can come up with, okay? Personally, I'm beginning to think Noda and your pal Asano are both world-class con artists." I poured a little more cognac for us both. "But whoever's right, we should at least try to find out. Who knows? What if it's becoming a MITI show now, for some purpose neither of us can imagine?"
"All right." She looked apprehensive for a second, only a second, and then her eyes hardened. "You know, Noda and Mori claim I'm Fujiwara ... on my mother's side naturally." She laughed. "And you know something else? I feel in my bones that it's true. I believe it. I'm Japanese, Matthew, and I'm proud of that."
I glanced over at a set of samurai armor stationed just outside the bathroom door, glistening enameled steel. '"Tell you the truth, I'm second to nobody when it comes to admiringJapan's ethic and their guts. But I tend to draw the line at 'master race' talk. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't object too strenuously if they did manage to beat us in a fair contest. Hell, we won round one and they were remarkably sporting about it. But what I want is to make sure round two is fought on level ground. No inventing new rules, no rabbit punches or below-the-belt stuff. That's all I ask."
"How about showing me some of those swords you claim you collect?" She came out with it, just like that.
"My pleasure. Like nothing better."
Besides, it seemed a good time for a change of pace. I straightened up and headed for the back parlor upstairs, then around the corner to the sword room, its door now fully repaired from the strange break-in. I fished out the key and snapped open the lock.
Funny thing, but walking around fully dressed / had started feeling out of place. Maybe it is merely a state of mind.
All right now, where to start? This was a crucial moment. My first impulse was to go all the way to gold, that marvelouskatanadating from the earlyKamakura, or even before, said to have come from the forge of the Shogun Yoritomo Minamoto's personal swordsmith. But wait a minute. After that, what? Maybe the absolute tops should be saved for a more auspicious moment. That sword was, to my mind, an almost sacred work. Maybe instead we ought to start with something a little offbeat, then gradually work up to the best and sharpest.
The obvious choice, in fact, was a piece I considered a real curiosity, racked there on the left, top slot. As I lifted it off and slipped it out of its scabbard, the metal glistened like a mirror, reminding me how long it's been since I'd oiled and pampered my playthings.
"I'm afraid nothing here was handed down by the Sun Goddess." I was coming back down the stairs a little unsteadily, like a half-drunk samurai. "But this one's kind of like the old style, at least the metallurgy is. Unusual. Heavy on copper and tin. In a way almost closer to bronze than steel."
Then I proceeded to point out a few interesting features—the nice curve of the face line, the burl grain, the Shinto deities on the ellipticaltsubahand guard, that kind of thing— taking care to keep it out of the damned bubbles. I was starting to get wound up, as all enthusiasts do with a captive audience, when she tactfully cut me off.
"How's the handle attached, or the grip, or whatever it's called?"
"That's the hilt, thetsuka. Held on with a little wooden peg stuck through a hole in the metal. Here, let me show you." I had a small brass punch on my key ring that was specially designed to push it out. "Under the grip there's a wrapping of silk braid, and then a layer of the belly skin of a stingray, to protect the steel. But you just remove this peg and the whole ensemble slides right off." I removed the handle and laid it on the sink. "Now you can see the untempered end of the sword, the tang ornakagoas it's called." I passed the weapon to her, blunt end first. "That's where a swordsmith engraved his signature, his title, the place it was forged. So you always should check. On a really important piece, there may be cutting tests noted there. Like maybe they tried out the blade on a criminal or two just to see if it worked. Quality control."
"God." She shuddered. "Really?"
"Licensed testers did it and certified it in gold engraving on the nakago. Some of the ones upstairs have it. But this one's an ubu, virgin." I watched her turn it in the dim light. "Careful now. That edge is very sharp."
"How can you tell if it's really old?"
"Lots of ways. The grain, the signature, and then too a good one should have some rust there on thenakago, black not red."
She held it up a second and examined it.
"Virgin, huh? No signature?" She had a funny, almost embarrassed, expression on her face.
"Correct. But like I said, this one's not—"
"Then who was 'Nihon Steelworks:Nagoya'? Somebody you bought it from?"
"Anybody ever tell you you've got a crummy sense of humor." I wasn't smiling as I reached to take it back. Her crack annoyed me and I'm afraid I showed it. Some things you don't kid around about. "That's a modern foundry that turns out crappy—"
"Don't get testy. I'm only reading. Right there." She pointed to some very faint English engraved into the metal.
"Christ!"
I grabbed it back and held it under the light to look. No mistaking. There it was, plain as could be.
That's when I finally realized the thing was a copy. A goddam replica of the original. Okay, a remarkably good one, but a fake nonetheless.
How did this get in my closet?
Could somebody have broken in and . . . ?
Suddenly it hit me. The robbery. Whoever had lifted my records must have also pulled a switcheroo on thiskatana, leaving this piece of Nagoya junk and disguising the deed by replacing the original grip and tsuba hand guard. I'd been too loaded to notice.
I wanted to crack the goddam fraud over my knee like in the movies, but you don't do that with a samurai sword, even a phony modern one. So instead I flung it down on Jo's Italian-marble floor and headed back upstairs to check the others. What in hell had happened? Had they cleaned me out after all. My God, thousands . . .
I began yanking down swords, starting with the aforementioned centerpiece of the collection, scrutinizing them in the light. But after about half a dozen proved to be all right, I started calming down. Nothing else seemed to have been touched. Well, what the heck, I thought. It wasn't exactly a crippling loss. Finally I grew a little ashamed of myself and sheepishly wandered back down, collecting the ringer off the floor.
"Tam, I'm sorry. Somebody broke in a while back, and they must have stuck this fraud in my collection. It's not the one I thought it was."
"Sure." She just looked at me, with some sympathy. "Matthew, it's all right. Really. Lots of people own replicas of art. I have a few prints myself. It's not a crime." She touched my hand. "Don't worry. It doesn't matter—"
"You—" I bit my tongue to squelch the unpleasant word forming on my lips, stomped back upstairs, and returned with a real sword. Then I gave my lecture all over again, dwelling on every insignificant detail. I was going to bore the woman till she cried uncle. Finally I succeeded.
"Okay, you win. I apologize." She leaned back in the bubbles. "You really love this hardware, don't you?"
"Tam, I love the samurai ideals. I admire craftsmanship. I revere courage. The guys who made and used these blades had it all. If I'm going to collect art, why not something that inspires me."
She just looked at me and nodded. I think she really understood.
"Then let's make a pact, Matt, you and me." She finally spoke up. "We'll face Dai Nippon or MITI or whomever honorably. And we'll keep them honest."
"Samurai." I smiled. "Lineage to lineage. And may the best . . . person win."
I returned the sword and locked up, then lounged in the bedroom and chatted through the open door while she finished her soak. It didn't seem proper to lug a chair into the bath, and there was something too undignified about perching atop the loo. Why, I kept wondering, had somebody taken such elaborate pains to lift a single antique and plant a fake? So I wouldn't miss it? But why bother?
Finally she got into a robe and came out, whereupon we went downstairs and proceeded to put away more brandy, sleet slamming against the windows. That was when she refreshed my recollections of her early life, the peripatetic half-breed army brat. I think, truth be told, she was currently about as adrift as I was. She was too wary to admit it; I was too incapable of touching my own fractured emotions. So we talked around things, saying everything except that maybe we needed somebody. All the while the storm outside continued to rage. But once again I was feeling those stirrings that I'd kept on ice for way too long.
Alas, though, it had to end. Aboutone A.M.we geared up. She retrieved her coat; I banked the fire; and we straggled out into the sleet. After finally managing a cab, we headed uptown. We'd agreed on the rules; now we were off to face the beast.