by Rory Pralte
“I’m there all week. I have many meetings. But I need to talk to your President about this matter. When is he there?”
Bill Blatch looked at his wallchart for meetings at Hanover. Michael was there for the first two days only then he was in London and then back to California. Maybe if this German’s technology was of interest Michael could fit him in during the early afternoon of the second day. He had thirty minutes free.
“Look, Herr Krabbe. I suggest you and I meet on the first day. Say at 3.15, if you can make it. We can discuss your ideas and propositions and then if Mr Shoner can meet with you it may be possible the day after. Of course, it will depend if we are interested in the technology. We get many approaches due to our leadership in being able to sell to the Japanese.” Bill Blatch was switching onto his autopilot selling mode.
“Alright, we will meet at 3.15pm. Where is your stand at the Messe?”
“Confirmed Herr Krabbe, 3.15. We have a private office suite on the roof of Halle Three. It is number 3.3.23. We will see you there at 3.15. Thank you.” Bill Blatch put down the phone.
The blond German did the same at the other end of the line and smiled to himself.
TOKYO - JAPAN
Patrick had set his alarm radio in the hotel room, following his telephone call from Kiwakura, for 6.30am. He wanted to be in good shape for the meeting; wide awake, alert, to the best advantage. It was not necessary. Following the telephone call he tossed and turned in the bed, churning over in his mind why they wanted to bring the meeting forward. With his experience of dealing with these bastards he could not think it was to his benefit, whatever Kiwakura said. Surely they did not have any other hold over him, like the video. Were they going to try to play any other dirty tricks? His mind ran riot. What could they do? Get the girl to say he had injured her? Surely not.
He put on the side light. He flipped through the T.V. channels. Only CNN News available. He adjusted the volume. How on earth could the Americans have 24-hour news? Talk about making something out of nothing.
He thought about Anne. God, he wished he hadn’t been so dumb with the girl set-up the other night. He hoped to Christ she hadn’t had a video delivered to her and if she had, he hoped she’d just dump it and reject the implications, as they’d discussed. He thought about ringing. It was mid evening in the U.K. What’s the point? Better to wait until after his meeting at 7.30. If he had any good news he’d ring Anne and wake her, if not he’d wait until after 10 U.K. time, that would be about 6pm in Japan, and find out what happened with the video.
He got out of bed and sat on the chair by the television. What a stupid station, he thought. No football results. Just American football and basketball and ice hockey crap.
He checked the small kettle for water, rose, filled it up in the bathroom and plugged it in. He put coffee in the cup then decided on tea, returned to the bathroom and tipped the dry brown powder into the basin. Returning to the kettle he undid a teabag and drowned it with the boiling water. Jiggling the string up and down, he slowly darkened the liquid in the cup until it bore some resemblance to English tea.
Good old English tea from a pot. He felt quite homesick. He glanced at his watch; 5.15. Still too early for breakfast. He wandered over to the door to the room and peered out of the security eyehole. It gave him a distorted view of the corridor but he could see newspapers outside some of the doors. He unbolted the door, opened it and bent down to pick up his copy of the Japanese Times in English.
After 30 minutes fitfully reading his paper, he decided to shower, dress and go down for some breakfast. The hot jets of the shower made him feel better, warmer, more comfortable and by ten past six he was dressed and descending in the lift to the restaurant. Few people were already eating. He looked about the mostly empty restaurant. Mostly people who had to catch the seven o’clock bus to Narita Airport. Hopefully soon he could be on his way home. Hopefully with something to show from the trip. He would soon know.
The breakfast was a serve-yourself buffet except that the waiter brought coffee or tea to the table and the obligatory glass of water, always, without fail.
He went to the buffet, poured himself a large orange juice and returned it to his table. Back at the buffet again he reviewed the options. Lifting one stainless steel lid from its bowl revealed a steaming, bright yellow mass of scrambled egg, solid in the middle. Another lid lifted revealed slightly greasy streaky bacon. He picked a helping of the best from both dishes and, together with a plate with two pieces of toast, returned to the table and slowly ate a leisurely breakfast. All the time his mind was whirring at full speed, turning and examining his ideas of what could happen at the meeting. By 6.40 Patrick had finished breakfast. He looked out of the front door of the hotel. It was a fine morning. Perhaps a walk for a couple of blocks would be a good idea. But first he approached the assistant manager; it was the same man Patrick had spoken to about the girl. The manager rose.
“Mr Chase, how can I help?”
“Harada-San,” Patrick felt slightly uncomfortable. “Harada-San, I must apologise for the unfortunate incident I spoke to you about the other morning. It was some colleagues playing games.”
Harada-San bowed slightly.
“However, I have an important meeting here in the hotel at 7.30 this morning and would like to use a room in the business centre. Is this possible?”
Kazumi Harada beckoned for Patrick to sit down and, as soon as the Englishman was seated, he himself sat down and unlocked the drawer in the middle of his desk, then withdrew a large, leather-bound diary with gold Japanese lettering embossed on the front.
“Let me see,” Harada’s forefinger flipped the pages then ran down a column on the right-hand page. “How long will your meeting be Mr. Chase? Officially the business centre is not open until 8.30 and all rooms are booked today, but if your meeting can finish by 8.15 I will have a room opened up for you. Is that OK?”
“Fine,” replied Patrick.
“It will be the room on the right-hand side,” and Kazumi Harada continued. “Do you want any coffee or water brought in?”
“Just water,” replied Patrick, then he rose, shook Harada’s hand and turned towards the entrance to the hotel. He would walk two or three blocks. The morning was clear and sunny, still a little cold, but it was going to be another nice day in Tokyo, he hoped!
Meanwhile, Jumbo Kiwakura was awake and finishing his Japanese breakfast in his flat in the outskirts of Tokyo. His wife of many years, who attended him still in the slowly disappearing fashion of the traditional Japanese wife, was quietly moving about their small home dressed in a Kimono and traditional Japanese sandals. In ten minutes his taxi would arrive to take him to the Squire Hotel. He had in his pocket a letter of agreement, hastily prepared on the word processor at Skymar’s Japanese office earlier the same morning, together with a company cheque, written on the Fuji Bank and signed by Kiwakura, for $350,000. Kiwakura ate his rice, noodles, vegetables and egg. He had been home for just one hour. His wife never asked where he had been. Just as it should be, thought Kiwakura, unlike the younger Japanese where the women were gradually becoming more and more westernised and less and less understanding of the male dominant society that had been Japan’s backbone for generations.
Michael Shoner had slept, however. After Kiwakura had left he’d had one more Scotch, phoned Jeanette again in London and confirmed that he’d decided to settle the matter with Patrick and that once Kiwakura had confirmed this, he would catch his scheduled flight to Hanover, through Frankfurt. If there was any problem he’d be going straight back to California however, and would let Jeanette know so she could join him there. He briefly enquired how the Hanover visits were set.
“Well. We’ve got some good visits set up. Bill says you should be able to conclude with Mitsui and I.B.M. on Monday and probably H.P. on Tuesday.”
Michael put down the phone. He noticed his hand was shaking slightly. He tho
ught about taking a sleeping pill but, on reflection, poured himself one more Scotch. He was tired. He was still very annoyed. But he felt slightly relieved. He had to get these threats off his back. Stop thinking about it, he said to himself. He finished his Scotch, went through to the bedroom, lay on the bed and within ten minutes was asleep.
*
In Frankfurt a German, like many others who decide at the last moment to go to the Hanover Messe in March, was frantically trying to find accommodation for three nights; the night prior to the Messe starting and the next two nights. Eventually, by using the Hanover Cebit Messe accommodation bureau, he found a room in a private house about thirty minutes from the Cebit Messe , ten minutes walking and then twenty minutes on the trams that take the majority of people to and from the exhibition each day, a model of German efficient organisation.
Later that day he visited a shop in one of the streets running parallel from the front of Hanover Bahnhof, housing strip clubs and the houses full of German prostitutes as well as some unsavoury-looking bars and restaurants. But the shop he visited did not work in these entertainment trades but ostensibly sold all types of electronic goods; although, if you knew the owners and had the right contacts, almost anything could be purchased at a price.
*
Patrick Chase had walked more than two blocks from the Squire Hotel in Tokyo. He looked at his watch, it was 7.15. Time to head back. Across the road from him was the Meijo Shrine. He had visited it before, during a lull between business meetings which became increasingly hard to fill for the regular overseas traveller. He walked quite briskly back to the hotel. The sun was fighting to get its rays in between the medium-height buildings in this area of Tokyo and as he turned the corner from shade he was immediately warmed and lit by the rays. What a difference the weather makes, he thought. Within ten minutes he was in the foyer of his hotel. He looked around. No sign of Kiwakura or Michael. Patrick went over to the Assistant Manager’s desk but Kazumi Harada was not present, so he checked the door of the room set aside in the business centre. It was open and a carafe of water, four tumblers and an ashtray were set neatly on the table with four chairs, two facing two on either side of the table. As he turned, shutting the door, he saw Kiwakura enter the hotel alone.
“Bloody hell,” Patrick muttered under his breath. “That bastard was told Michael must be here. What are they up to now?” Kiwakura caught sight of Patrick as he walked towards him. Kiwakura’s hand was outstretched and Patrick shook it briefly. He was almost obliged to.
“Where is Shoner? I told you he has to be here.” Patrick was brusque in his question.
“Mr Chase, I have come here today to try to settle with you. Are we going to talk here or can we find a private corner? Please listen to what I have to say.”
“Over here,” said Patrick and ushered Kiwakura through the foyer and into the room reserved for them. Kiwakura took a chair around the back of the table, facing the door. Patrick closed the door and sat down facing the Japanese. Kiwakura took two sheets of paper from his briefcase. Patrick could see the Skymar headed notepaper together with a number of itemised paragraphs on the first page.
Jumbo Kiwakura cleared his throat, sat squarely and upright in his chair with his hands clasped lightly on the table in front of him, partly covering the sheets of headed notepaper.
“Mr Chase, I have discussed your proposals once more with Michael Shoner. Subject to certain conditions and without admission of any faults on our side, we have decided to try to settle this matter. Firstly, Michael has asked me to personally apologise to you regarding the clumsy and inappropriate action that occurred over the girl. Sufficient to say that the matter is, in any event, forgotten and the evidence destroyed.”
Patrick was uneasy. This sounded like the softening up before the crunch. He interrupted Kiwakura’s easy and well-prepared flow of words.
“Are you saying that your threats are withdrawn concerning this matter?” and Patrick added quietly, “Not that it was of any real consequence, it just proved the type of methods you would use and how low you would stoop.”
Kiwakura stiffened slightly. He was trying to do a real soft-selling job here and was overstepping his remit saying that the matter was wholly forgotten. It wasn’t. It would be if he could get Chase to settle. Otherwise he was sure Michael would use any way to sort the matter out.
“Yes, Mr Chase; may I call you Patrick? This matter is forgotten. As a settlement of your dispute we are prepared to meet your demands in full, except for your request for royalty payments, on the full understanding that all threats made by you are withdrawn, against both Skymar and Michael Shoner.”
Patrick was beginning to get excited. He hoped it did not show. He swallowed. “I have stated my terms to you previously. They are not negotiable. As for threats, I think that is a strange word to use. Let me assure you that if you agree to my terms then the licensing you have already done, illegally, will be legalised and both of us can get on with our business and our lives.”
“That is exactly what I wanted to hear Mr Chase.” Kiwakura unfolded his hands, and slid the two typed sheets to Patrick across the table, turning them so Patrick could read them. Patrick’s head bowed slightly as he held the sheets and read the contents. He looked up and stared straight into Kiwakura’s eyes.
“I hope you won’t mind if I read this through once more.” The two pages were quite short and simple. In return for $350,000 to be paid to Patrick’s company, Patrick - on behalf of his company - granted Skymar “unfettered right” to the products they had licensed and agreed that there were no claims against Skymar or Michael Shoner and that all threats of action of whatever sort were completely withdrawn, for all time.
Strange that end paragraph, thought Patrick. However there was no mention of royalties. What should he do? Frankly, if he could get $350,000 it was more than he had ever thought Michael would settle for. Maybe those licences they wrote were for much more than I knew,he thought. He raised his head again and with feigned relaxation handed the papers back to the Japanese.
“Let us explore this proposed settlement more carefully. Firstly there is no mention of royalties. That is part of my offer, so why not? Secondly this payment, when and how will I get it ?”
He sat back in his chair. Kiwakura leant forward. Earnest-looking, very plausible, Patrick thought, don’t get too excited.
“Mr Chase, Patrick, firstly we cannot entertain royalties as we are signing an agreement which confirms that neither party has any claims on the other in future. Our lawyers have assured us that we cannot sign such an agreement if there are ongoing liabilities. This is a legal position we cannot argue. Also on the point, and now I am speaking to you off the record, if any proposal were forthcoming involving royalties, Michael would not have sanctioned a cash payment of anything like $350,000. I think you know that, Mr Chase. Secondly, the payment,” and Kiwakura again undid his briefcase and placed in front of Patrick a cheque drawn on the Skymar Japan account, now signed by both Kiwakura and Michael Shoner with the comforting Fuji Bank logo and header on the top. But the most comforting sight for Patrick was his own company’s name as the payee.
“This cheque will pass to you immediately we sign the documents,” Kiwakura continued.
Patrick deliberated. “And if it doesn’t clear? You could take the signed agreement and cancel the cheque. Then I’d be back chasing you for what was rightfully mine and you’d be telling the world there’s no problem over the licences and showing them the signed agreement to back it up. Come on!”
Both men looked at each other.
There was silence.
Patrick spoke first.
“Two questions. First, if - and I say if - I were to agree on behalf of the company to this settlement, we have to incorporate a clause that if the payment made by cheque number so and so etc. does not clear first time with our bank, the agreement is void.”
Kiwakura re
plied immediately, “OK.”
Patrick’s thoughts raced again. This is too easy. I really must have underestimated my position. He was totally unaware of the real reason for settlement.
“Your second question?” Kiwakura seemed anxious.
“I must speak to my investors to get their approval or rejection.” Patrick had no need of this but he had to play for time, not to seem too eager. It worried him that a conclusion seemed imminent; he was elated inside but still wary. He looked at his watch, it was 8.05am. The time in London was now twelve midnight. He spoke to Kiwakura.
“I can reach them now. It will take ten minutes or so.”
Again Kiwakura responded. “Please do that, Mr Chase, and we can then both conclude this matter, I hope.”
Patrick nodded,then he left the room.
He went straight to the lifts, up to his room, opened the door, closed it behind him and did a little dance of glee. Jesus, he thought, this is going to come good after all. He was grinning from ear to ear. He sat on the edge of the bed, put his hands to his face, clasping and shaking them. He was nearly in tears of joy. He looked at himself in the mirror, grinning and shaking his head in triumph. He rose, made himself think seriously, blinked his eyes and set his face into a serious expression. He breathed deeply then gave a very large sigh. He had been gone from the meeting room for five minutes. Leave it another five, or six or seven. He paced his room, counting out the seconds. After twelve minutes that seemed like an eternity, he returned to the business centre room. Kiwakura looked up as he entered. Patrick drew a short sharp breath as he turned and closed the door, steadying himself as he turned to face Kiwakura.
Patrick sat and, folding his arms on the table, almost blurted out, “I have spoken to our lead investor. You will appreciate he was asleep so it took a little longer than I thought. The position is that I am empowered to make the final decision. Subject to the addition of the clause I have stated, I am prepared to accept settlement under the terms of your draft. This is on the basis of it being concluded now. If there is a need for another legal document to be drafted, provided it says exactly the same, then I am prepared to conclude that at a later date.”