The Samurai Strategy

by Thomas Hoover

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  "Mr. Walton, where is the silver case?" She'd walked straight up to usand now was just standing there, awaiting an answer.

  "Mori-san, that silver box is long gone, thanks to Noda." I suddenlyfelt as if we'd just dropped out of the twentieth century and back intothe twelfth. Time warp. "Let me tell you something. It was like theapple in the Garden of Eden: bite into it and out would spew theknowledge of good and evil. Better to forget the whole thing."

  "You don't know anything."

  "Definite point. We've just discovered there was a heck of a lot wedidn't know." I thumbed toward Noda's office. "Including the scope ofDai Nippon's impressive new investment program."

  She ignored that response entirely as she whirled on Tam, her voiceincreasingly strident. "Dr. Richardson, you have betrayed His Majesty."

  "Mori-san, you and everybody who's helping Noda are the ones who'vedone the betraying." Tam stared her in the eye, daggers.

  "Even though you are Fujiwara, you still let him continue," Moripressed on, oblivious. "His scheme to manipulate the Emperor, toundermine MITI--"

  "That's got nothing to do with--"

  "It is the duty of a Fujiwara to protect His Majesty."

  "Speaking of His Majesty," I cut in, "how much did you have to do withNoda's fake sword? Guess that 'protected' the Emperor too. Nothing likebeing handed a new lease on divinity."

  "The sword was to be his gift to me." She said it hesitantly. "Torestore--"

  "Perhaps we can clarify what it's really intended to restore, Mori-san," I interrupted again. 'The shogunate, with Noda as--"

  She turned on me. "And you helped him too."

  "What?"

  "You and Asano-san stole the only thing I could have used to stop him.The contents of that silver case. And then this operation. After I'dtried to warn you both."

  "Mori-san, could be we're all acting under certain misunderstandingshere today. For starters, buying up every American blue chip issue insight was not exactly our idea."

  She stared at me for a second, disbelieving. "But that is preciselywhat you are doing."

  "Think again." I pointed toward Noda's office. "That's his game. Helpedalong by that sharpshooter over at the console." I waved to Jim Bob,who toasted us with his champagne glass, still too zonked on uppers tocomprehend the revised ground rules. "Maybe you'd like to run throughit with them."

  She seemed to notice him for the first time. "Who is that person?"

  "Noda's new hired gun. We've been retired. Without even so much as agold watch."

  "He is the one responsible?"

  "He's good, tell you that. Fooled us all." I settled onto the officecouch. "Noda's got him and this supercomputer. Looks like good-byeAmerica."

  Noda's office door, incidentally, was still firmly closed, sopresumably he wasn't yet aware of Mori's arrival. Were we about to seehistory replayed before our very eyes, that fateful battle of Dan-no-ura staged all over again, eight hundred years later, as a loyalretainer of the emperor fought to thwart the armed takeover of a would-be shogun? Wonder who was going to win this time around.

  "Mr. Walton, this must be stopped." She was turning the

  key on her new leather handbag, unlocking it. "I also insist you returnyour copy of the contents of that case. Having that is the only way Ican--"

  "Mori-san, not so long ago the contents of that silver box were verydear to our hearts, which is one reason we took the precaution ofstoring a facsimile on the hard-disk memory of the mainframe here. Now,there are about ten zillion files in that computer, so all you have todo is figure out what file name we used and you can just run off allthe copies you want." I got up and faced her. "At the moment, though,there're more pressing worries."

  "You are playing with fire, Mr. Walton." She glanced at the computerroom down at the other end of the floor.

  "No kidding. This is a tough game we've got going. Maybe you'd like toget an update from the other team too, Noda and his new crony."

  "Are you saying he is the one?" She was pointing toward Jim Bob, whowas now winding up the last dispatch of our new buy orders. I noticedit was the third time she had inquired.

  "Don't take our say-so for it. Go ask him."

  Without a word she spun around, leaving a cloud of exquisite floralperfume in her wake. Tell the truth, I rather liked the designeroutfit, what you might call a real classic. What I didn't care for allthat much were the vibes. Very, very ominous.

  As she strode toward Jim Bob, he watched her with an unfocused gaze. Heapparently assumed it was all some costume-party gag. Definitely amajor mistake.

  "I am Akira Mori."

  Probably by then he no longer knew what he was seeing. He revolvedaround, adjusted the Uzi leaning against the console, and extended hispaw.

  "Pleased to make your acquaintance. Jim Bob McClinton. You work for Mr.Noda?"

  "In a manner of speaking." She ignored the proffered handshake. "Is ittrue you are now in his employ?"

  "I was. At the moment, though, I'm taking care of myself, American-style, if you want to know."

  "Whatever you are doing, I hereby order you to terminate all activitiesin this office. Immediately."

  Jim Bob just stared at her, not quite sure his brain wasn't playingmore tricks. "Well, now, I'd normally like to oblige a

  pretty lady like yourself, but I'm afraid I just don't have anyintention of doing that." He grinned, eyes flashing.

  "Are you telling me you refuse?"

  "You hear real good." He reached down for the Uzi, and his bloodshoteyes began to blink. "Far as that goes, where I come from we're notused to takin' orders from cute little twats. So the best thing for youto do would be to shake your ass out of my way and mind your ownbusiness. Or maybe go talk things over with Noda." He thumbed towardthe office. "In there."

  She was opening her handbag, reaching inside.

  Jim Bob, I was wanting to yell, this woman is neither "cute" nor"little." Above all, she is definitely not a "twat." You are now face-to-face with a world heavyweight ball-breaker. Who may be about to takethat Uzi you're so proud of and tie it around your scrofulous neck.This game is way over your head. Can't you see where it's headed?

  "Matt, what's she doing?" Tam bolted forward. . . .

  Sad to say, everybody was too late, including Henderson. By probably nomore than a second or so. I watched Jim Bob swing around his automatic. . . and then the lights went out. We heard the dull thunk of asilencer, followed by another, and next the sound of a chair crashingbackward, an Uzi clattering across the floor. It was indeed Dan-no-uraall over again, only this time the shogun's forces had just taken thefirst hit.

  But at least Henderson must have eluded Noda's gorillas. How'd he doit?

  Whatever had happened, he'd gotten the message. Suntory black. He'd hadEddie yank the master switch for the eleventh floor. He "blacked out"Dai Nippon.

  For what good it did. Not much, as things transpired. He'd only cut theoverheads. The computer must have had its own backup power, somecircuit that didn't run through the main utility room. The office wasnow eerily illuminated by CRT screens, still buying blue chips. Asusual, Noda had prepared for all eventualities.

  Gingerly we inched out onto the floor. Jim Bob was sprawled beside hisconsole in a spreading pool of blood. Maybe he was still alive. Maybenot. Tam reached down to check the pulse at his neck.

  "It's gone." She looked up, stunned.

  Who was next? More to the point, where the hell was Mori?

  Then we saw her, moving like a ghostly figure in a _No _play, glidingthrough the bizarre lime-colored light of the terminals. We watched asshe disappeared into Noda's office, trailed by the two dumbstruckguards.

  What a standoff, I reflected fleetingly. The would-be shogun versus theEmperor's number one fan. This time, though, the Imperial side ishopping mad and loaded for bear. Wonder who'll . . . ?

  There was, however, something more important to think about. The nextfew seconds could turn everything around. Thi
s was hardly the time forhistorical meditations. With deliberate haste we might even live longenough for some history of our own later.

  In the dim glow of the screens Tam grabbed Jim Bob's Uzi, and we bothdived for Noda's office. The door, happily, had just slammed shut.Since it was the kind that opened out, all we had to do was shove adesk against it and they were contained.

  Now, how much time did we have?

  "The mainframe." She was staring through the green shadows toward theglassed-in room that contained the massive NEC. "Matthew, we've got toshut it down somehow. That's the only way left to stop him."

  "Is there an on-off switch?" Who knew how you went about disconnectinga twenty-million-dollar supercomputer?

  "We're about to find out." She led the way.

  The entry door was glass, half-inch, and locked. Beyond it stood thestring of six-foot-high modules, off-white and octagonal, lined up likesquat soldiers on flooring elevated about six inches above thatoutside. The nerve center of Noda's empire rested there on itsplatform, silent and secure.

  "Tam, pass me that thing." I reached for the Uzi, turned it around, andrammed the steel butt against the glass. Then again. It just bouncedoff.

  "Harder."

  "Okay, but stand away."

  I hauled back and swing at it with all my might. With a sickeningcrunch the glass shattered inward, spewing shards across the icy tilesinside. An alarm went off somewhere out on the floor, but we justignored it. After I'd punched away a few hanging pieces, we stepped inand up.

  I handed back the Uzi. Now what?

  "It's freezing in here." She shivered from the cold, then pointed down."You know, all the wiring must be underneath this raised floor. There'sno way to even know where the power conduit is, let alone reach it."

  "Okay, guess we'll just have to start ripping . . ."

  My heart skipped a beat. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, Ifinally noticed what I should have seen immediately. Lying atop the bigcomputation module was a thin, four-foot- long bundle, swathed in silk.

  So there's where he decided to put it--in the one room that would alwaysbe locked. Or maybe he thought it should be kept in the most powerfullocation on the premises.

  I reached up and retrieved it, then pulled away the silk. The blade hadjust been freshly oiled, and it literally glistened in the dim light.It was every bit as razor-sharp as the day it had been consecratedeight hundred years ago at the zenith of samurai metallurgy.

  Guess Noda knew a prize when he saw it. And this _katana _wasdefinitely a one-of-a-kind piece--an Old Sword, _koto_, from the Sanjobranch of the Yamashiro school of swordsmiths, late Heian. Signed byMunechika, said to have fashioned samurai swords for the ShogunMinamoto Yoritomo himself, the man who destroyed the Imperial forces atDan-no-ura. No wonder Noda had treated it with special reverence.

  "Welcome." I held it up.

  "Why do you suppose he put it in here?" She was admiring it too.

  "You know, I think I understand. But it's the kind of thing that can'tbe explained in words."

  "Well, at least you've got it back again. Samson's hair. Are youpleased?"

  "Maybe Noda was trying to tell me something. Send a message. But nowI'm going to send one back."

  "Do you really think . . . ?" She was already ahead of

  me.

  "Guess we're about to find out." I bowed to the blade ritually, then tothe NEC's head-high main processor. "From the first shogun to thelast."

  This, I muttered silently, is for Amy. Her answer, Noda- san.

  The great masters of swordsmanship all will tell you something veryironic. If you train for years and years, all your

  moves eventually become instinctive; you literally no longer "know"what you are doing. You become oblivious of your mind, as unknowing,consciously, of technique as the day you started. Thus the greatestmasters and the rankest beginners actually share something verysimilar. Both are totally unaware of technique.

  Was I closer to the mindless beginner or the "no mind" master? Friends,that's one confession you'll need medieval torture to extract.

  I will, however, admit to thinking about which stroke to use. There areseveral that might have done the job. Of them all, though, the _kesa_seemed best for some reason. It slices diagonally, from the leftshoulder down and across to the right, and a swordsman pure in spiritcan literally bisect a man, slice him right in half.

  As the blade sang through the cold and struck with a ring true as abell, I felt nothing, thought nothing.

  The hexagonal computation unit standing in front of us wasn't halved,not even close, but it was severely disoriented. I felt a small tinglein my fingertips as the sword sailed through the outer steel casing andsevered its first layer of silicon neurons, sending forth a shower ofsparks.

  It wasn't dead, but then the sword had some backup. There is a longtradition in Japanese culture of cooperation, support from others. Forexample, in _seppuku_, the ritual disembowelment sometimes called_hara-kiri_, there is always a second participant who stands behind youand ceremonially lops off your head as your body topples forward. It isan honored assignment.

  My action may have been satisfying symbolically, but it wouldn't do thejob alone. Fortunately it didn't have to. There was one simple way todisengage Noda's electronic brain, now and forever. Tam didn't evenhesitate.

  For a second there it could have been the Fourth of July. An Uziblasting away in the dark is a marvel. I watched spellbound as sheemptied about twenty rounds into the processor bank as well as intoeverything else in sight, continuing until smoke started to pour out ofthe flooring below, followed by the crackle of electrical shorting.Then several storage modules began to arc, their high voltage mating inmidair. In moments Noda's NEC supercomputer was transformed into ashorting, sputtering junk heap.

  After that, electrical fires erupted down below, and the linoleumsquares beneath our feet proceeded to heat and buckle. Next, somethingflashed somewhere in the dark, and a stack of computer printouts lyingnext to the door burst into flame.

  Originally I'd planned to retrieve the blade, but then I reflected asecond and decided just to leave it. The sword in the supercomputer. Asix-figure gesture, maybe, but one worth every penny in satisfaction.Noda would definitely understand.

  By the time we made our way back through the shattered glass doorway,picking a path among the splinters, the fire was already spreading tothe main office.

  "Let's get out of here." Tam was still grasping the Uzi.

  "Not so fast." I reached for the grip. "You don't get to have all thefun. How do you operate this thing?"

  "Just pull there." She pointed, then raised the muzzle. "Careful. Youmight need that foot someday."

  I lifted it up and it coughed a burst of flame. The water cooleroutside my office exploded.

  "Uh, I think you have to be Chuck Norris to do it like that. On a scaleof one to ten, that round scores down in the fractions. Better aim."

  "Spoilsport." But I did. I took critical bead on a leering greenmonitor, squeezed, and felt a light kick from the metal stock. Outblinked one of the dying monster's eyes. Then I methodically took outhalf a dozen more workstations, just for the hell of it. Automaticweapons fire can be great therapy. Not to mention fun.

  "Okay for a beginner . . . Matt!" She was pointing at the desk ofNoda's secretary. A phone light had just flashed on. "He's calling inreinforcements."

  "Time to make our not-so-graceful exit."

  "Bring the automatic."

  "You've got it . . . and, uh, I'm a little embarrassed to ask you formoney, but would you mind grabbing your purse. We may need it."

  "You're now broke, right?" She dashed for her office.

  "So we're told." I was wrapping the Uzi in some computer printouts thathadn't yet caught fire. The place was really starting to blaze, thanksto all the paper. Smoke everywhere.

  While she was coming back, I decided to go over and kick

  the desk away from Noda's door. Sure it was a risk, but we couldn't lethim burn to d
eath. Or Mori. Besides, we were home free. With the NECsupercomputer blown to pieces, as well as Jim Bob, there was absolutelyno way Noda could cancel that stack of buy orders we'd seeded allaround the globe. Nothing could stop the bomb.

  As we made our way through security, we saw Mori coming out of theoffice, choking through the smoke and looking crazed as ever.Apparently the battle of Dan-no-ura, twentieth-century style, was stillraging. Then Noda appeared in the doorway behind her and just stoodthere surveying the blazing ruins of his empire. With his customarydiscipline, he appeared totally unperturbed by it all. Not her, though.She lunged for the remains of the computer room, now billowing smokeand tongues of fire. The last thing on her mind, apparently, was us.

  Which was just as well, because the second we hit the hallway we heardthe elevator chime. It had to be Noda's backup forces. Without a wordwe both ducked for the stairwell, and as the metal door slammed behindus, Tanaka and a host of armed DNI security guards poured off theelevator like gangbusters. Turns out there'd been a small army poiseddownstairs just in case.

  They could have the place, what was left of it. My last memory of thatoffice was a raging torrent of smoke and flame. Nothing remained. Thishad to be the grand finale for Dai Nippon and Matsuo Noda. The end._Finis_.

  Barring unforeseen developments.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  When we emerged into the lobby calmly as we could muster, fire engineswere racing up outside, cops were crowded around the elevators, andEddie was so frantic yelling about the holocaust up on eleven he didn'teven bother to say hello. We searched in vain for Henderson as weworked our way through the milling throng, headed for the pay phone inthe corner. Bill had to be somewhere; nobody else would have blackedout the DNI offices.

  My first thought, though, was that we needed to make tracks. Thebrouhaha to come would best be handled from the safety of a foreignshore. Fortunately in my pocket was just enough change for one call,and as luck would have it, our man was in.

  "Sure, Matt, no problem. But this is damned sudden."

  "Right now, Patrick. And hurry. Could be the perfect moment for anextended vacation. How about just sending the car around? Over onThird, near--"

  "That Japanese place you told me you work for?"

  "Worked for, Patrick. No more. Just got laid off."

  "Hell, I know where they are. It's all over the tube. I'm sitting hereright now watching Jack O'Donnell blow his stack at a press briefingdown in D.C. Wish you could see the guy. It's live on CNN. Is thisthing for real? What was that Dai Nippon outfit trying to do? Buy upevery--"

  Incredible. Henderson had really come through.

  "Patrick."

  "Yeah."

  "Fill you in on all the details over a drink someday. Right now,though, we could really use Charlie and the car ASAP. We'll be waitingoutside."

  "We?"

  I looked at the smoke-smeared woman standing beside me. "Truthfully,I'm hoping for some company."

  Tam smiled, then reached out and took my hand. Not a word about"strictly business."

  "Okay, Matt, Charlie just walked in. I'll send him straight on over."

  "Thanks a million. Owe you a big one."

  As we moved on out through the revolving doors, we finally spottedHenderson, wearing his gray topcoat and mingled in among the crowd onthe sidewalk. The lowest of low profiles. For a second I almost didn'trecognize the man. He looked a wreck, standing there shading his eyesand squinting up. Then I followed his gaze and realized smoke waspouring out of the windows on eleven. Seems we'd demolished a littleexterior plate glass, too, along with everything else.

  "Bill." I signaled. "Over here."

  "Walton, thank God." He waved and pushed our way. "I was worried stiffyou two might still be up there. What in hell happened? Did you justblow up--"

  "Long story. There was a small war, a new one and an old one. But how'dyou get here? Noda said he was having your place watched. A couple of--"

  "Yeah, I saw those two apes. They were in my lobby in handcuffs, beinggrilled by New York's Finest when I came through. Our doorman figuredthey were casing us for a robbery and called the cops. What's Nodathink--I live in a fucking tent? I pay for top security, friend. Thebest."

  "Anyway, nice work with the lights. Much appreciated. The bad news is,you might want to get out of town for a while. Maybe go skiingsomeplace. The whole thing fell apart. Noda just brought in a whole newload of funding."

  "Hell, I figured that out the minute I saw the Times lying thereoutside my door. Only one place the market could be getting this kindof dough. Tokyo pension funds. So I went back in and called Jack."

  "You made the right move, tipping him off."

  "Maybe he can get trading shut down. Stop it somehow."

  "We stopped it ourselves," Tam interjected, then indicated the paperbundle in her hands, black metal stock protruding out of one corner.

  "God Almighty." He stared around at the policemen racing by, walkie-talkies chattering. "Where's Jim Bob? I got a good mind to--"

  "Your hotshot screwed us, Bill. Noda got to him and bought him off."

  "I figured that out too. Little fucker." He grimaced. "Guess I trainedhim too well."

  "He didn't deserve his payoff. Somebody'd better hustle a medic upthere fast."

  "Let them take care of it." He thumbed at the firemen piling off theirtrucks, then bent over and pecked Tam on the cheek. "Well, Professor,it's been short and sweet. Keep 'em honest." He reached for my hand."Walton, you know how I hate to travel on short notice, but consideringthe situation . . . St. Moritz might be nice for a while."

  "Drink some Pear William for us."

  "Will do. Best of luck."

  "Same to you." I watched him flip up the collar on his coat as heturned. "Oh, by the way, Bill, one last thing."

  "Yeah?" He glanced back.

  "Want a little insider information?"

  "Wouldn't dream of listening." He returned like a shot.

  "Might not be a bad idea to short every high-tech stock DNI currentlyholds. There's a finite possibility all hell's going to break loose atthe opening tomorrow."

  "What's the story?" He was all ears.

  Tam turned to me. "Are you finally going to explain what that scam withJim Bob was all about?"

  "Well, now there's some time. What I did was sucker him into postingbuy orders for an additional five percent of every company on your killlist."

  "I'm well aware of that." She just continued to stare.

  "Which means that when the SEC reports those holdings, it'll triggerthe new provisions their majority stockholder-- with whose power ofattorney I acted with full legal authority--voted last week."

  "Which was?"

  "It's a little like what's being called a 'tin parachute' these days,the latest twist on the antitakeover 'poison pill.'"

  "Isn't that where managements have their boards vote that a hostilebuyout will trigger big disbursements of a company's assets to the rankand file? What's that got to do with . . . ?"

  "That's the play. Great takeover defense, by the way."

  "But Noda had already taken those companies over." She frowned,puzzling.

  "Right. Obviously, nobody's supposed to institute one _after _atakeover, but that's what Dai Nippon voted to do last Wednesday andThursday for every company it owns. The way it's set up now, if themajority stockholder in any of those companies, which just happens tobe DNI, acquires another four percent or more, all that stockholder'sstock is automatically disbursed to the employees."

  "Just like that?"

  "Fully legal. Like a 'tin parachute.'"

  "But what will . . . ?"

  "Let me finish. In my version there're some strings attached. The moneycan't be used to just go out and buy Toyotas. I arranged it so that allthe stock will be held in escrow for ten years and used as collateralfor loans specially earmarked to finance expansion and R and D. Inother words the employees are about to become those companies' new bankpartner."

  "What in holy hell are you ta
lking about?" Henderson appeared to havejust entered shock. His bloodshot eyes were like saucers. "Noda's pieceof those high-tech outfits is just going to be given to the troops,then locked up as security for new financing?"

  "Bill, try and think of it as a different kind of 'restructuring,' thatgrand new corporate scam. But instead of the standard rip-off wheremanagers entrench themselves by loading up a company with debt andbribing their shareholders with the money, I turned the whole thingupside down. Gave the control of those companies to their workers,who'll now have a stake in dividends and profits."

  "Walton, you idiot. Stock prices for those outfits are going tonosedive the second news of this hits the Street. It'll scare theinstitutions shitless. I've never heard anything so crazy."

  "Who knows what'll happen? Let the 'supply side' economists try andfigure it out. My guess is we're about to find out if anybody herestill believes in the working man. In any case it can't make thingsworse, and it should be great fun to watch. At least American industryis about to be owned by the people who punch the time clocks. Maybeworking for ourselves instead of investment bankers will help thingsget rolling again."

  "I don't believe you did this." Tam fell against me laughing. "Do yourealize what it really means? Noda's totally destroyed. He'll have tosell off that new portfolio of blue chips just to have enough profit tocover the claims of his original Eight-Hundred-Year-Fund investors.After this, no Japanese money manager is going to give him a yen. He'shistory."

  "_Bushido_. When you break the rules, things like that can happen."

  "Jesus, I'm not going to screw around short selling. I'm just gonnaload up on puts before the opening tomorrow. You oughta do the same,Walton. When the Street gets wind of this and all those stocks crater,you could clear millions." Bill headed briskly up the avenue.

  "Stay well." We watched him disappear into the crowd, then startedsearching for Charlie Morgan and the car.

  Incidentally, the recipient of that phone call wasn't really namedPatrick. Since there are laws about smuggling firearms in and out ofcountries, and we damned well were going to take along the Uzi, itseems only right to give him a pseudonym. His charter outfit, whichworks out of that hangar off to the side of the majors at Kennedy,keeps a Lear that can make the Caribbean in one hop if it's not toofull. He even picks you up in a limo, his come-on for the carriagetrade.

  About ten minutes later we saw Charlie working the Rolls around all thefire engines double-parked on Third and waving for us.

  "Good to see you again, Matt." He glanced back as we settled in."Christ, you two look terrible. Were you up there?"

  "Just left."

  "Must have been a hell of a fire from the looks of it." He hit the gasand made a right turn. "Where to? Straight down Fifth to your place?"

  "One quick stop first. Over on West Seventy-eighth."

  "The West Side? In this traffic? Come on, Matt. I still haven't hadlunch."

  "Just cut through Central Park. Should be a snap."

  While he and Tam waited outside the West Side "Free School, I went into try and kidnap Amy. It wasn't easy. I finally explained to Ms.Winters that my daughter's Christmas vacation had merely been delayed alittle this year, but better late than never. After some haggling, westruck a deal on homework. Then, in a limo piled high with schoolbooks, class projects, lunch boxes, and a black Israeli Uzi, we headeddowntown.

  "Dad, you've gone nuts." My only offspring was in heaven.

  "Honey, we're going to snorkel for two weeks solid. Think you can standthe old man for that long?"

  "Can we have a Christmas tree? You promised."

  "I'll cut it myself."

  "And a Christmas party too?"

  "Might have to call it something else, but I suppose we can give it atry. If you keep up on the homework." I looked at her, failing as usualto understand the movements of her mind. "Sweetie, why do you want tothrow a party? This is supposed to be a vacation."

  "Dad, really. Don't you remember that neat boy from Sweden whoseparents have that house across the bay? He was teaching me windsurfinglast summer. He's in junior year now, but if he's there, we've got tohave a party. Don't you understand?"

  "Guess we'll have a party."

  What can you do? Nobody said you're supposed to win them all.

  Bad news, or maybe it was good news, travels with amazing speed in thisday and age. The late edition of the Tuesday New York Post found itsway to the Caribbean on an evening flight, and since it took us a whileto get out of town, it actually reached the Virgin Islands shortlybefore we did. However, since we flew directly into St. Croix insteadof the main island of St. Thomas, we missed the delivery.

  As it happened, though, an old acquaintance was passing the house thatnight on a personal mission, and he was kind enough to drop off RupertMurdoch's Tuesday contribution to journalism.

  The time was around ten P.M. Amy was sound asleep, conked out fromtwilight windsurfing, and Tam and I were working on a pitcher ofplanter's punch by the pool when there came the sound of honking outfront. I went in and unlocked the entry, then peeked out to see who itwas. The red, white, and blue jeep belonged to none other than ArtieWilson, dressed to the nines.

  "Walton, my man, you done gone and got yourself famous." He grinnedwith delight, then threw a rolled-up newspaper toward the door. "Toleyou it'd be yo' ass."

  "Artie, what in hell. Turn that thing off and come in for a drink.Somebody I want you to meet."

  "Hey, late for a reception at that new place down the beach. Think allthem hot New York divorcees jus' come down here for nothing butsunshine an' vitamin D? Gotta keep the tourists satisfied." He revvedhis engine and began backing out of the drive. "Tomorrow, maybe, Fedsain't nailed yo' honkie butt by then."

  With which enigmatic pronouncement he sped into the humid night.

  I picked up the bundle, then snapped on the yard lights and strolledback out where Tam was sitting, still wearing her pool robe. What wasArtie talking about?

  As I settled down beside her and unrolled the paper, staring back at usfrom the front page were two very familiar faces.

  "Off one of my book jackets," she said. "I never much cared for it."

  "Mine's from their photo morgue, during some takeover circus."

  Guess we should have been keeping closer tabs on the news. Seems thatMatsuo Noda, president of Dai Nippon, Int., had held a press conferencemid-afternoon Tuesday to refute all the misinformation being spread bySenator Jack O'Donnell. As he claimed, it was actually two Americans,former employees of DNI, who had been responsible for Dai Nippon'ssecret hostile takeover of the U.S.'s largest corporations. He madethis point to dispute Senator O'Donnell's assertion that they had beenthe ones who'd stopped it. (See photo, page 1.) He went on to apologizefor what apparently had been a severe communications mix-up within DNI,which brought about this unauthorized action, and he was pleased toreport he personally had taken steps to terminate the buy-up this verymorning, as of 11:53 A.M.

  Run that whopper by Jack's subcommittee, Noda-san.

  There was more. Seems the body of an unidentified male--young,Caucasian, and badly burned--had been recovered by firemen on theeleventh floor of DNI's offices. Noda had no idea who this person was,perhaps a misfortunate prowler. . . .

  "Matt, look!" She was pointing at a paragraph on the lower half of thepage.

  There'd been a second casualty, although not as serious. The well-knownJapanese financial commentator Akira Mori had been borne, unconscious,from the premises. Acute smoke inhalation. As of press time she was inintensive care at Mt. Sinai Hospital.

  "We saw her come out of the office. It was pretty smoky by then, buthow could . . . ?"

  The answer followed. Firemen reportedly had discovered her in thecomputer room near the mainframe's burned-out storage banks.Speculation was she had been attempting to save the hard disks, thevital DNI files.

  "Mori wasn't trying to save anything." Tam tossed down the paper. "Shewanted to make sure all the disks were destroyed.

  T
o protect the Emperor from a scandal over Noda's sword hoax."

  "Another victim for the Imperial sword." I looked up at the starry sky,a mosaic of silver and black as the Milky Way floated above us. Thenight air was symphonic with the sound of crickets. "How many more?"

  Then she retrieved the _Post_ and we finished the item. After Noda'sprepared statement there'd been a Q&A--during which he reaffirmed hisintention to use all available means to block Senator O'Donnell'ssubpoena of DNI's remaining records, an action he declared confiscatoryand groundless. Privileged information, etc.

  He did, however, manage to wrap things up on a forward- looking note.Today's unfortunate, indeed tragic, accidental fire should beunderstood as merely a momentary setback. Nothing that had happenedwould in any way diminish his program of capital infusion and open-market acquisition in America's high-tech sector. Wall Street need notworry; Senator O'Donnell's "harassment" notwithstanding, Dai Nippon'smoney was here to stay. We were now partners. His grand new alliance,Nipponica, would shape the world to come.

  "That's what he thinks." She laughed. "Wait till he wakes up tomorrowand discovers he just donated all his high-tech acquisitions to theiremployees. Don't think that fits the big strategy. One thing, though,America's overpaid, golf-playing senior executives could have some wildand woolly board meetings ahead."

  "Life's full of surprises." I pulled her over and slipped my armaround.

  "And the biggest one for me, this week at least, has been you." Sheturned and kissed me softly on the mouth, then again. My heart skipped.

  Whereupon she abruptly rose and dove headfirst into the pool. Withouther suit.

  Looked to be a second chance coming up this year, for us all.

  AFTERWORD

  Contemporary tales of technology and economics engage a moving target,which means they must necessarily include an element of forecasting.Inventing the world to come is always more an art than a science, andthe results can never be precise. Trends, however, do have a way ofcontinuing. Sometimes, in fact, you look into the crystal ball and hopewhat you see never happens. This fable is offered in that spirit.

  Those who have critiqued this manuscript all or in part include agent,editors, and friends. Special thanks are due, in alphabetical order, toVirginia Barber, Susan and Norman Feinstein, Joanna Field, Linda Grey,Joyce Hawley, Fred Klein, and, perhaps most importantly, Gary Prideaux,who introduced this writer to the magic of Japan two decades ago.Others who were kind enough to offer suggestions include N. R.Kleinfield, Pamela McCorduck, Ellen Solomon, Anna Stern, Karen Sunde,Christopher Martin, Eric Allison, Susan Stoller, Michael Cavallo,Makiko and Kazuyoshi Morikawa, Jim Piper, Tim Richards, Paul Bove, EricBove, Charles Gordon, Janet Miller, David Palmer, Arthur Blatt, andMalcolm Bosse. If this story succeeds in any measure, it is because ofthem. Its faults are the author's alone.

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