The Samurai Strategy

by Thomas Hoover

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Kenji Asano was a very complex human being--Western on the surface, butwith his own personality always glimmering through at the unexpectedmoment. He seemed to capture the best of both worlds: theforthrightness of an American and the intuitive self-confidence I'vecome to think of as a hallmark of the East.

  The Japanese are a subtle people, in the finest sense of the word, andI normally feel slightly oafish in their land. I always know I'mmissing about three levels of the nuance in whatever's going on. By thesame token, a Japanese venturing into the West frequently seems to bemoving as though he were following the numbers on one of those oldArthur Murray dance diagrams. The steps are precise and correct, butthere's no glide to it, no natural rhythm. Ken, I must say, had longsince gotten past that kind of awkwardness. His motions were fluid, hisreactions quick and natural. Also, he managed to achieve this whileretaining qualities that always reminded you he came from a culturethat was writing Kyoto romances and wearing perfumed silk when Londonand Paris still had pigs in their garbage-strewn streets.

  "Ken, you're a phenomenon." We were climbing into his blue Toyotasports car, which he'd driven up from Tokyo. Low profile--the car andthe trip. "This play could blow up in your face."

  Over our leisurely three-way breakfast in the hotel bar, he had givenme a reasonably detailed sketch of the situation, after which Tamheaded off in the DNI limo for her second day of appointments in therobot labs. My honest reaction, despite the prickle of jealousy, wasinstant liking of Asano. Furthermore, in the absence of anythingbetter, his scheme seemed worth a shot.

  Now came the sword. A phone call established that Noda had no objectionto Ken's seeing it too, so we were set to head over to the MetallurgyLab together. Not a bad time for straight talk.

  "I know it's a gamble, Matthew, but I'd like to think of it as repayingmy debt to America." He inserted his key in the ignition and startedthe engine. "In a way I feel some personal responsibility for thecurrent condition of your technology."

  Was he about to come clean on the subject of MITI's semiconductorblitz?

  "You know, I once heard you were the brains behind Japan's memory chiptakeover."

  "Our strategy seemed prudent at the time." He sighed, then turnedaround to begin backing out of the hotel parking lot. "If you'replanning for the long term, the sectors you focus on are obvious." Hepaused to light a Peace, then crumpled the wooden match in his hand andexhaled as he shifted into drive.

  "And you play hardball."

  "Otherwise why bother? I guess we had no idea the U.S. could be soinept. We assumed your semiconductor people, like your baseball teams,were major league."

  He was right about that part. America fumbled away its lead by chasingquick profits. While MITI was playing the only way it knew how. Longterm.

  "I can't tell you how much I regret what's happened since," hecontinued, glancing occasionally at the rows of research labs glidingby on both sides of the roadway. "I now realize that a more cooperativeapproach would have worked to everyone's

  benefit. In the long run we each need the other. Now, it's going totake plenty of cooperation to prevent the U.S. from becoming a backoffice for Matsuo Noda."

  "You really think a big MITI move will blow the whistle?"

  "Matthew, the ministry is the closest thing Japan has to a strategicdeterrent. By exploiting it, I will become the Japanese Rosenberg inthe eyes of many, but if I can cause a worldwide scandal, perhapseveryone here and in the U.S. will start thinking about theimplications of Noda's takeover."

  "Friend, you're throwing your career in front of a train." I said itwith respect. "Matsuo Noda could eat us both for _hors d'oeuvres_."

  "Us, maybe. But not MITI. At least not yet." He smiled. "You know, weJapanese have a tradition of committing ritual suicide, _seppuku_, toemphasize a principle. You might say I'm doing that, but it's onlyprofessional _seppuku_. No unseemly knives or blood on the tatami."

  "I understand now why Tam feels about you the way she does."

  "Matthew." He spoke quietly. "I am here, you are there. I think sheneeds someone she trusts, and you seem to be that person just now. Stayby her."

  "I'd like nothing better." And with that we lapsed into pensivesilence.

  It took only about ten minutes for the drive over to the laboratory,another structure that could have been a hangar for flying saucers.Somehow the idea of viewing a sacred relic of Japan's imperial past inthis sci-fi setting was incongruous in the extreme, pure George Lucas.

  We alighted in the executive parking lot and headed up the sidewalktogether. At the sealed entrance Ken showed his palm to the computer'seye, a synthetic voice cleared us, and in we went. Waiting on the otherside was a senior staff man who greeted us at the first security check,bowed, and motioned us to follow.

  One area of the lab had been cordoned off, top security, with gun-carrying guards posted about every ten feet. There were also about twodozen plainclothes types wearing a white armband emblazoned with theImperial insignia. Seemed that nobody, but nobody, got close to the SunGoddess's sidearm without clearance from the top.

  The staff man said Noda was currently tied up in a meeting

  with the director, so we should wait. No need, I said, flashing my DNImeishi. He bowed and we were waved past the guards, then ushereddirectly into the top-security workroom--where the team of white-frockedtechnicians was said to be cleaning and retouching the gilding on thesword's _tsuba _hand guard, the decorative little disc that separatesthe hilt from the blade.

  Since the _tsuba_ on swords were interchangeable, not necessarilyconnected in any particular way to a given piece, they're actually aseparate art form, interesting but not overly serious items. Fact is,the Imperial Household could just as well have sent this one up herefor work and kept the sword in Tokyo.

  Such, however, was not the case. The main attraction itself wasundoubtedly over there on the back workbench, in a big stainless steelbox half the size of a coffin, an armed guard stationed next to it.

  Noda must have told everybody we were coming in today because thetechnicians parted like the Red Sea at our approach. Although thepresident of Dai Nippon was still nowhere to be seen, the _tsuba_ wasthere all right, lying exposed on a worktable right next to a pile ofcleaning pads and the gilding apparatus.

  And it was a stunner, take my word. One of the most tasteful I've everhad the pleasure to view. Iron, of course, and about ten centimetersacross, circular. Actually it was shaped like a chrysanthemum, with theraised image of a mirror on one side and a beaded necklace on theother. The exquisite metalwork was enhanced by the fresh gilding, whichmade the embossing even more striking. My unprofessional opinion? Very,very ancient. Older than twelfth century? Entirely possible. I reallycouldn't say. But a wild guess would be early Heian, certainly no laterthan Kamakura. Fact is, back in those days metalwork didn't change allthat much for long periods of time, so there's no real way to date withprecision.

  "_Hijo-ni omoshiroi desu_"--very interesting--I said after a respectfulinterval, hoping to get into the spirit of the occasion and impresseverybody with my Berlitz Japanese. "And now, would it be possible tosee the actual sword?" I pointed toward the stainless steel coffin."Sealed in there, I presume."

  The head technician bowed and suddenly looked very troubled. Then hemumbled something in rapid Japanese to Asano. He didn't budge.

  "Problem?" I turned to Ken.

  "He says Matsuo Noda has given strict orders that the sword is never tobe viewed by the public when disassembled." He shrugged. "Noda-sama, hesays, has declared it to be sacred and therefore it must be displayedwith the proper ceremonial reverence always. Of course we'll still beable to see it, but only after the _tsuba_ is replaced. Perhaps lateron this afternoon."

  We'd come all this way, and now we were going to be stymied by somemiddle-management lab technician?

  "Of course"--I bowed back, hoping to bluff--"weren't you informed why weare here? I have the honor to be Matsuo Noda's senior Americancorporate co
unsel. Noda-sama has ordered me to check and make certainthe hilt remains in place while the _tsuba_ is undergoing repair. So ifyou'll kindly open the case, I'll verify that and the matter will beended." I bowed again.

  "_So desu_." He turned pale. Obviously the grip had been removed.Whoops. I'd just bungled, creating a problem worse than the one Iwanted to circumvent.

  "On the other hand," I continued quickly, trying to recoup, "as long asit's locked in the case, I'm sure there'll be no problem."

  Again he bowed, looking relieved. Noda had these guys scared.

  "However, it will be necessary to actually see the sword, so I canreport to Noda-sama that I have carried out his instructions. OtherwiseNoda-sama may be upset, and I will be deeply dishonored."

  Couching the ploy in personal terms seemed to tip the scale. He bowedagain, hesitantly, then led us over to the box. Throughout my littlewhite lie, Ken hadn't said one word. Guess he was as curious as I wasto take a look.

  "Do you realize what you are about to witness?" The senior staff manstood before us, his dark eyes haughty and grave. Time to put thebarbarian gaijin in his place. "Physical proof of the divinity of HisImperial Highness, the Emperor of Japan. This sword is the most sacredobject in the world."

  I nodded reverently and moved to the side to let the head technicianbegin. He slipped a magnetic card into the handle of the steel case,punched in some electronic numbers on a pad there next to the latch,and slowly raised the lid.

  Since photographs of the sword had been officially forbidden by theImperial Household, I'd not seen even so much as a snapshot. Ken and Iwere literally holding our breath.

  The interior of the coffin had been partitioned into a front and rearsection, both draped with satin. First he lifted away the back shroud--to reveal a long gold box. That, I figured, must be the watertight caseNoda's scientists had originally detected. Ken emitted a low hum as welooked at it. Gleaming, the purest of the pure, it had to be 24-karat,like something you'd find in the tomb of a pharaoh. Along the sideswere some elegant, playful Heian-style reliefs. Birds, musicalinstruments, Shinto goddesses. Breathtaking, that's the only word I canfind.

  "It's beautiful." I was staring, dazzled. "And the sword?"

  The technician hesitated. Guess we still had him worried.

  "I'm sure Noda-sama will be pleased to know of your cooperation," Isaid soothingly. "There should be no difficulty."

  He got the message. We weren't going to rock the boat. _Wa_. Harmony.

  He nodded again, reassured, then reached down and lifted away the satincloth covering the front section. Underneath was a bolster of deeppurple velvet, and nestled in the middle was . . . the Imperial Sword.

  Ken emitted a quiet, reverent exclamation, the hissed Japanese"_Saaaa_" that denotes pensive regard, and for a second we both juststood there. Dr. Kenji Asano was clearly awestruck. I was too.

  As well we should have been. For one thing, it was a superbly well-preserved piece. The blade was delicately curved, and its edge couldprobably still do damage. A few flecks of rust were visible here andthere, but overall it was in mint condition, just as Noda had claimed.

  Even more interesting was that, sure enough, the grip had been removedwhile they worked on the _tsuba_. So we were being treated to a glimpseof the Sacred Sword the way Noda had specified it should never beviewed--except by a few crew-cut technicians there in the lab--with the_nakago_, the steel beneath the grip, exposed. We were seeing it all.

  It's gratifying to report that his publicity people had told the truth:there was indeed no signature on the _nakago_. (I guess if you'reswordsmith for god, you just naturally go easy on the ego.) Thatomission notwithstanding, it was definitely a first-class _katana_.Looked to be some kind of off-alloy, heavy on copper. If you had toguess what the early swords were like, say at a time in between thelate-bronze and early-iron ages, this would be a knowledgeable estimatefor appearance. The alloy was plausible; it was clearly very old; andwith an antique hilt such as the one lying there, the overall look wasvery reasonable. I was impressed. Put the handle back on the way younormally see a sword and everything about it clicked.

  Sorry, but out of habit I have to do something now. What follows is atechnical description of the Imperial Sword, including the part usuallyhidden by the grip--which nobody else has been able to supply becausenobody else had seen it disassembled as it was there in the lab. Theremay be some collectors who'd feel cheated by anything less. This was,as the senior staff man had sternly brought to our attention, a once-in-a-lifetime moment.

  "Early Shinto _katana_. Very long and active _sunagashi _and _utsuri_extending into a _kaen boshi_. Slender _nakago _with one _mekugi-ana_.Shallow _koshi-zori _with _chu-kissaki _and _bo-hi _along either_shinogi _extending into the _nakago _. . ."

  Enough. Actually, that last part made me a little sad. Truthfully, Ithink Noda was absolutely right. Nobody should sully the divinity ofthis piece by exhibiting it disassembled, with the grip removed. Theproblem is that anybody with the slightest experience might possiblyhave his faith shaken a trifle, since it's common knowledge that atapered _nakago_, the sloping edge there extending back into thesection normally covered by the hilt, didn't come into its own tillaround the mid fif--

  "Mr. Walton, I hadn't expected you until later. You should havecontacted me."

  It was the voice of Matsuo Noda, directly behind me. I looked up tonotice that the faces of all the technicians around the room nowmatched their bleached lab coats.

  "Guess we need to coordinate better." I turned around and smiled.

  Walton, I lectured myself, don't be a smartass, just this once. Bereverent. Who the hell knows how the Sun Goddess liked her _nakagos_tapered?

  Besides, the simple truth was the Imperial Sword of Emperor Antokureally knocked me over. Superb workmanship, excellent balance, elegantshape. And overall, surprisingly good condition . . . well, exceptfor one thing.

  "It's almost perfect." I revolved back to examine it. "Except for thatlittle scratch on the _nakago_. Too bad."

  "What scratch, Mr. Walton?" He stared down.

  "It's actually on the other side as best I recall."

  There followed a long pause as Noda's eyes gradually narrowed to slits.Finally he said, "I wasn't aware you were so conversant with pressdescriptions of the sword, Mr. Walton."

  We both knew the scratch on the _nakago_, on the side not showing, hadnever once been mentioned in the papers.

  Which was as it should be. A minor blemish really. All the same I nowfelt very guilty about it. I do hope it was an unavoidable accident,like the metallurgy guys at the Princeton lab claimed in the apologythat accompanied their bill after I shipped it down last summer fortests.

  This was turning out to be quite a day. Seems New York's crimestatistics were looking up; a theft had actually been solved. The sonof a bitch was MINE.

  "Ah, well, Mr. Walton, I trust you are suitably impressed all thesame."

  "Only you could appreciate how much." My head was swimming. Judgingfrom the surrounding technicians' reverent gaze, I got the definiteimpression they had totally missed the significance of our exchange.Kenji Asano was now wearing a pure poker face. What was he thinking?

  My own concentration, however, was elsewhere at that particularinstant. The new realization: Matthew Walton is a dead man. As of thismoment. Noda would never let me live to tell what I knew.

  Just then an official wearing some sort of formal-looking black kimonoemblazoned with the _kiku_ crest of the Imperial Household Agency camewalking briskly out of the office behind us. He was carrying a silvercase, about cigar-box size, something etched across its filigreed lid.He walked over to Noda, bowed deferentially, and settled it on theworkbench next to Kenji Asano's briefcase.

  Nobody paid him much notice, however, since we were all still admiringthe Sacred Sword. Finally my brain started to function. Dates? Right .. . the night I met Noda . . . which got me out of the house ... hishirelings cleaned out my office . . . that was about, what, two weeksbefore the
sword was "discovered." Perfect. Just enough time to saltthe thing in the Inland Sea, let his high-tech research team fish itup. . . .

  The technician bowed to us once more, then started spreading the satincloths back over the two compartments. Down came the stainless steellid. Click. History time was over.

  That was when, finally, Ken looked over and noticed the silver case. Hestared at it, puzzled, then glanced at Noda, for whom it obviously wasintended, and inquired politely concerning what it might be.

  Noda cleared his throat, mumbled something about official DNI business,and started thanking the Household rep who'd brought out the case.

  However, the Household man showed his breeding. He picked up Ken'squestion, smiled and bowed, then proceeded to explain that it containedthe only copies of DNI's original technical analyses of the sword--X-raycrystallography scans, nondestructive radiation tests, variousscientific data he didn't actually understand but which had been usedby Dai Nippon to establish the sword's alloy composition and thereforeits Sacred authenticity. These data had been forwarded to the ImperialHousehold with instructions they be kept under lock and key. He'dunderstood all along that they had merely been on temporary loan to theEmperor, and thus he had no objection now that the honorable Noda-samahad requested their return for additional study by DNI scientists. Allof Japan was in the debt of the esteemed Matsuo . . .

  Kenji Asano turned to stare at me, his eyes gradually filling with anenormous realization.

  You know, I used to have a hobby of reading biographies of the geniuseswho'd come up with the truly original insights of modern times. How, Ipuzzled, did they manage it? I mean, did Newton really watch an applefall and intuitively sense it was responding to some invisible force?Maybe. Or how about Einstein's insight that matter and energy arereally the same thing? Or that space can be curved? Whatever happened,they made a connection that nobody else in history had ever come upwith.

  Who can explain how these breakthroughs happen? They're always theresult of standing off and viewing reality in a wholly new way.

  With apologies, I've invoked some heavy names. But the point is, thereare transcendental moments when a given set of circumstances issuddenly seen to fit more than one paradigm of how the universefunctions.

  Standing there looking at the silver case, Kenji Asano saw the applefall from the tree. And I was only seconds behind him.

  New insight number one: Something very fishy was going on with theImperial Sword, something which would not necessarily stand the lightof day. (On that one I was actually several seconds ahead.)

  Number two: If the truth came out, Japan would be a laughingstockworldwide. Worse, His Imperial Majesty would have egg all over hisImperial face. As would Matsuo Noda. Hence the box, having served it'sPR purpose, had to go.

  Number three: The first two insights pointed to the very realpossibility that Matsuo Noda had long since passed around the bend,sanity-wise. But whether he had or not, one thing was clear--that silvercase contained everything we needed to nail Dai Nippon.

  Who knew for sure what was in it. But Ken and I both realized at thatinstant the contents had to be pure dynamite.

  What happened next I probably wouldn't have believed if I hadn't beenstanding there to witness it with my very own eyes. Kenji Asano wascalmly extracting a Peace cigarette from the packet in his left breastpocket and inserting it in his mouth. Then his right hand came up andout of his thumbnail flared one of those wooden matches he liked somuch.

  "_Asano-san, sumimasen_." The senior staff man stepped forward andblurted out, "No smoking, please."

  "Sorry," replied Asano, and he flicked the still burning match towardthe waste bin there at the end of the table-- which just happened to bepiled high with the solvent pads they'd been using to scour the_tsuba_. A lab can be a dangerous place, and this one was no exception.A microsecond thereafter the floor was carpeted in flame.

  Later I theorized what must have occurred, remembering a long-agopersonal disaster that almost got me kicked out of college. The heavyaromatic solvent they were using, probably a benzene compound, hadvaporized off the cleaning pads, drifted down over the sides of thecontainer, and was hovering as an invisible, heavier-than-air cloudjust above the floor at

  knee level. The exact same thing happened to me once in a Chem 201 lab--during an after-hours endeavor wherein I was steaming out a twenty-gallon benzene container preparatory to an experiment on the propensityof brewer's yeast to convert grape sugar into potable ethanol. The sinkhappened to be situated next to a gas-fired hot-water heater--whichsuddenly kicked on. Next thing I knew, the heavy fumes around my anklesdetonated. Along with the lab fire alarm.

  That explosion, as this one, was actually minor, mostly noise, thoughit sounded like a bomb. The fumes flashed and it was over, leaving nodamage other than to the nervous system of any bystanders. This time,however, there was an added ingredient. The waste container. It hadbecome an instant inferno, billowing dark, toxic smoke into the room.

  As yelling lab technicians began rushing in with fire extinguishers,everybody else was bolting for the exits, including the securitypeople. All in all, it seemed a reasonably propitious moment to makeour own departure as well, since we'd been the cause of the ruckus. Kenfumbled around in the smoke now obscuring the workbench till herecovered his briefcase, and then we headed out.

  At the door I caught sight of the Household official and bowed mythanks.

  "_Domo arigato gozaimashita_. I am deeply honored by this opportunityto view the Imperial Sword of Emperor Antoku." I bowed again. He noddedback and glared at Asano.

  I'd planned to thank Noda too, but he was still in there with theconfusion, undoubtedly standing personal guard over his Sacred Sword.Let him stay. There was no real danger. The fire should be out in notime. It was mainly smoke anyway.

  Ken was also bowing his farewells to one and all. Then, as though oncue, we both started edging toward the main hallway. By now securitypeople were running down the corridors and the place was inpandemonium.

  When we reached the lobby, I almost wanted to bolt for the outer door,but we managed to keep our exit dignified, businesslike. Finally as wecleared the last security checkpoint, I turned to him.

  "You really should be more careful with your smokes, Ken." I lowered myvoice. "Manage to grab it?"

  "In my briefcase."

  "Then let's get the hell out of here. Noda's going to figure out whathappened any second now and go totally bananas."

  "I doubt he will be pleased."

  "Tell you one thing, that silver case has got to disappear, fast. Orwe're likely to vanish ourselves. We may anyway." I quickened my pacetoward the parking lot. "You know, I've got a wild hunch what's in thatbox. But whatever it is, I do know for sure we'd better get the thingsomewhere for safekeeping. Quick."

  "Should we tell Tamara?" He glanced down at the smoke- smearedbriefcase in his hands, as though holding a cobra.

  "She's got to know everything. For her own safety."

  "Matthew," he said, looking at me. "You're supposed to be an authority.So tell me the truth. You were behaving strangely in there. It's afake, isn't it?"

  "Ken, during the Middle Ages about fifty different monasteries inEurope possessed the authentic, consecrated relic of Christ'scircumcision. Who's to say? Remember Francis Bacon's 'What is truth?'Japan's emperor is now and forever. That's the only 'truth' thatmatters."

  "What are you saying?"

  "That sword belongs to the people of Japan. Ask them if it's real."

  "Well, you've learned enough about this country to be able to get yourmessage across without actually spelling it out. Very Japanese." Hestared at me. "You'll have to concede one thing, though. Matsuo Noda isan absolute genius. Think about it. He claimed to have analyzed thesword, then donated the data to the Imperial Household--knowing therewould be only one place on earth where it could be right out in publicand yet never actually examined. In a fancy silver case kept by a bunchof Household bureaucrats, not one of whom would have the presump
tion toopen it. Or be able to understand anything if he did."

  My own nagging thoughts at that moment were on a different track. Whyhad Noda offered to let me see my own piece? To flaunt the dimensionsof his balls? Or was he starting to believe his own trumped-up fantasy?Had Matsuo Noda convinced himself he was God? That he could turn waterinto wine? Or a fifteenth-century metallurgical screw-up into . . . Themore I thought about it, the scarier it got. Or maybe, just maybe, hethought I wouldn't recognize it with a different hilt. Could be he wasright. But Ken and I had accidentally viewed it disassembled. Thatwasn't part of his little inside joke. For once Matsuo Noda had blownit.

  "Ken, everything I've learned about Noda so far tells me he's going todo something totally unexpected the minute he realizes we took that."

  "Let him. I want to know what's in it."

  "Do the world a favor. No. Never, never open it."

  He paused a second and looked down at his briefcase.

  "Maybe you're right. It's better for everybody if it just disappears."

  By then we'd fully cleared the outer doors. The day was turninggorgeous, sunny and brisk. The thin film of last night's snow was allbut gone.

  Abruptly he stopped. "Wait, Matthew. Think a minute. We have to atleast make a copy of the contents. And it needs to be gotten out ofJapan."

  "To protect ourselves?"

  "Precisely."

  "Okay, I'll buy that. Got any ideas?"

  "Well, first let's go pick up Tam. Then I'd like to transmit digitalfacsimiles of whatever's in here to New York. She can set up a file inDNI's big NEC mainframe, and only the three of us will know the filename. It'll be your, and her, insurance policy."

  "Can we do that from here?"

  "In fifteen minutes. There's the Teleconferencing Center over next toElectrotechnical. They've got everything we'll need."

  "Then let's collect her and get it done fast."

  He opened the door of the Toyota, then turned to me. "You know,Matthew, I think you and Tam ought to be gone from here, too, as soonas possible. There's a copter pad by the hotel. I'm going to phone fora MITI chopper to pick you up and take you straight to Narita." Hepatted his briefcase. "After we've transmitted the contents of this, Iwant you back in New York. I'll call my secretary and have her book thenext flight out; we'll just have somebody bumped if it's full."

  "Why don't you come with us? No need for you to face Noda alone."

  "Not yet." He hit the ignition. "But I'll be there in spirit."

  How prophetic.