by Emma Lathen
Rick Iwamoto had been on the phone too.
“I’ve been talking with my office,” he began, “and they tell me the news blackout on MITI is about to end.”
Thatcher agreed that he had heard the same thing.
“Of course from my point of view that’s welcome,” Iwamoto continued, with a parade of frankness. “Now that the Lackawanna threat is a thing of the past, Shima can look forward again. Given the world economy, this is no time to sit still.”
“You assume that Lackawanna will not resurface?” Thatcher asked. “I realize that Kruger’s timing was dependent on the cabinet’s desire to project a new image.”
Iwamoto radiated confidence.
“That was just a fluke,” he announced. “Kruger was clever to recognize the moment, but it won’t occur again. On the contrary, it is now in everyone’s interest to shelve the entire proposal.”
Leaning forward, he embarked on an analysis of the political situation in Tokyo with the same single-minded intensily he had brought to his discussion with Len Ridgeway. There was no doubt that Noriko Iwamoto had a formidable ability to exclude from his mind everything irrelevant to the work at hand.
Chapter 11
Getting back to Lackawanna always invigorated Carl Kruger. After the ambiguities of Japan, the clank of machinery came as a relief.
Not that his office was anywhere near the assembly lines. Kruger worked in the usual comfort, and after an evening at home, his sense of priorities was restored. Japan would have to go on hold.
He was in for a nasty surprise.
“Hi, Sally. I’m back,” he announced.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Kruger,” she said. Nearby a telephone rang unanswered. “I think everything’s clear on your desk, but I’ll come along and see if you have any questions. Oh, and Mr. Alderman just called; he wants to see you soonest. . . .”
Every phone in the place seemed to be ringing. The one on his own desk was blinking frantically.
“What’s going on around here?” he demanded, snatching it up. “Yeah?”
“So you haven’t heard the bad news,” said his wife. “Everybody else has.”
“Shoot,” he ordered.
“It was all over the Morning show. Oh, they covered them selves by saying it was a rumor. But apparently there’s an article in the New York Times too. . .”
Bennet Alderman, like Sally and half the rest of the population, always switched on television before he brushed his teeth. So this morning he had taken the blow unprepared. Nobody had called Alderman to warn him. But there was an emergency to deal with, and Alderman swung into action. He reached the office an hour early.
“. . . absolutely no foundation in fact,” he was saying when Kruger sought him out. “That’s why Lackawanna doesn’t want to dignify the story with a comment.”
Shouldering the telephone, he raised two hands for silence when Kruger strode in. Then he resumed: “Well, naturally the Japanese authorities aren’t corroborating garbage like this. Look, all the parties agreed to change the negotiation format. That’s the only thing that happened—”
The telephone interrupted.
“You’re stringing a lot of coincidences together and coming up with nothing,” Alderman shot back. “Somebody got knocked off at MITI, which is somebody’s bad luck. That had absolutely nothing to do with Lackawanna’s talks with Yonezawa. . . . Sure I’m sure. . .”
Alderman went on for several minutes before he could get to Kruger. Even then he was almost curt.
“I’ve got a million calls to make, Carl,” he said. Then, shouting to make himself heard, he yelled: “Norma, hold everything for five minutes—unless Reuters gets back.”
He swiveled back, to find Kruger studying him. Flushing slightly, Alderman said: “Sorry, Carl, but I want to squelch this brushfire before it roars out of control.”
Kruger was wry. “After it’s all over the networks, don’t you think you’re a little late?”
Alderman shook his head. “No! They’re just saying that there are rumors in Tokyo about something rotten at MITI. No details, no sources—and above all, no footage. Garbled hearsay isn’t enough to keep a story hot. That’s how we should play it.”
“Okay,” said Kruger. “But I’m not going into hiding.
There’s too much I’ve got to do. And, Bennet, don’t forget that I’m used to doing my talking for myself. I can tell anybody that he’s full of bullshit.’’
Before Alderman could protest, Kruger continued nonchalantly: “Still, it’s kind of funny. Nothing got out over there, find now, all of a sudden, somebody plants a story. Doesn’t make much sense, does it?”
Alderman was thinking as he spoke. “You’re probably lumping to conclusions—about a deliberate leak. It’s more likely that some reporter got wind of what happened at MITI—or even at the airport. When there are that many people Involved, it’s pretty hard to keep things secret.”
“In other words”—Kruger cut in with offhand brutality— you don’t know any more than I do. Oh, well, what the hell. The Japanese authorities are probably digging into it.”
This produced a frown. Alderman leaned forward earnestly. “Carl, the Japanese authorities aren’t Lackawanna’s problem. Lousy publicity like this is. I want to tamp it down before somebody gets the idea of using Carl Kruger to win the Pulitzer Prize.”
Kruger suddenly lost interest. “Okay, you do your work. But don’t get overexcited. This isn’t anything to worry about. By tomorrow it’ll all blow over.”
At the door, he turned for a parting shot.
“But you don’t want to underestimate the Japanese authorities,” he said. “I know that I don’t.”
Alderman was still wondering exactly what Kruger meant when Norma announced Reuters.
“. . . the reason they don’t name sources in Tokyo is because there aren’t any,” he said when he belatedly remembered another call he should make. Reuters detained him for ten minutes. Then Bennet Alderman dialed Washington, D.C.
Kruger, meanwhile, was looking for Pamela Webb. In the last office on his rounds, he learned she was a quarter of a mile away, in a meeting of district managers.
“Hell no,” he said emphatically. “Don’t call her out. It’s nothing important. But tell her I’d like to see her when she gets back.”
Ironically, it was Don Hodiak who turned up to provide a sympathetic ear.
Returning from an early-morning inspection tour, he presented a glowing report. “Everything’s shipshape,” he said. “They’re finally getting a handle on the inventory over at Number Four. Things are looking up, Carl.”
Kruger and Hodiak had their differences, but Hodiak was never devious.
“I guess that means you don’t know that the shit has hit the fan,” Kruger said.
When Hodiak remained blank, Kruger went on to sketch in the details.
“Oh, Jesus!” said Hodiak unguardedly. Then he pulled himself together. “Look, you know my stand about the Midland deal. But now that’s on the back burner, I don’t see that gossip about Tokyo makes a helluva lot of difference to us here at Lackawanna.”
Kruger’s expression made him add hurriedly: “Not that it’s pleasant for you personally.”
But Kruger was not looking for special handling. “Hell, that doesn’t worry me at all,” he said stoutly. “Facts are what break bones, Don. I learned that early on.”
Hodiak did not know whether to believe him. Bravado was second nature to Carl Kruger, and so was carelessness about detail.
Hodiak proceeded cautiously. “Well, unless you’re feeling thin-skinned all of a sudden, I’d forget it. Hell, Carl, there have been stories about Lackawanna before. And in the end they didn’t make any difference. Talk is cheap.”
“That’s true as far as it goes,” said Kruger impatiently. “But this situation’s special.”
“It’s a lot less important. We’ve got to keep things in perspective around here.”
“You’ve got me there, Don. I’m getting as ba
d as Bennet. Loose talk on TV doesn’t matter one damn. This is just another little blip. Otherwise it’s full steam ahead.”
Before Hodiak could respond, Sally entered with the New York Times.
“You caught me red-handed,” said Kruger with a shamefaced grin. “I want to see how black they’re painting me.” What he saw was only the beginning.
By the time John Thatcher got back to the Sloan, Miss Corsa had a folder bulging with rumors about Kruger.
“You’d better arrange a conference call with the Creditors Committee,” Thatcher said. “And make it for this afternoon, when I’ve found out what’s going on.”
As he spoke, the homecoming parade began. One by one his immediate assistants appeared. Everett Gabler was the first to cross the wire.
“Any serious problems, Everett?” Thatcher inquired.
When Gabler reported that conditions throughout the Sloan were satisfactory, Thatcher knew that they were clearing the decks.
“Hi, John,” Charlie Trinkam hailed him. “You sure had fun and games in Japan!”
The research department also turned out to greet Thatcher. “Thanks for the memo, John,” said Walter Bowman. “Did anything else happen besides murder and bribery?”
Watching her plans for a productive morning crumble, Miss Corsa pursed her lips and departed.
“I know Kruger’s supposed to be a can-do kind of guy,” Charlie observed, starting the ball rolling, “but personally I don’t think shooting up MITI is the way to go.”
“Actually the victim had his head bashed in,” Thatcher corrected.
Gabler, normally a stickler for accuracy, waved aside this hairsplitting.
“It amounts to the same thing,” he said severely. “Just what did go on, John?”
After Thatcher had finished his account, there was a long silence.
“But, John, according to you there is not one single jot of evidence against Kruger,” Gabler said at last. “Any one of the parties to those hearings could be guilty.”
“They certainly all had motives,” Thatcher agreed. “But it’s obvious why the Japanese government prefers a foreign culprit.”
Walter Bowman, in his own way as much of an expert on the press as Bennet Alderman, was frowning. “Not just the Japanese. Everybody over here wants to hang him too.”
“You’ll have to fill me in. I’ve been out of touch for twenty-four hours,” Thatcher reminded them.
“That puts you behind the times,” Charlie Trinkam said. “Yesterday everybody was buzzing about MITI. Now, somehow, they’re all rehashing the old Lockheed scandal—another American company bribing the Japanese government.”
“The suggestion is that all Lackawanna’s international dealings could bear scrutiny,” Everett said.
“That sale to Australia came in the nick of time, didn’t it?” mused Walter Bowman. “One of the columnists mentioned it this morning.”
During the darkest days of the reorganization, a major hydroelectric installation in New South Wales had gone on line with Lackawanna generators.
“Kruger was shaking hands in Canberra just when Washington was voting on the bailout package,” Bowman continued.
Thatcher shifted impatiently. “And trumpets were provided by that PR man of his. I don’t understand this tidal wave of suspicion when there seems to be no supporting evidence.”
“Maybe it’s the price of being a personality,” Charlie suggested. “Kruger has made himself into a Hollywood star, and you know what happens when they get caught taking drugs or socking a traffic cop.”
Thatcher was still pursuing his own line of reasoning.
“Ordinarily I’d suspect there were some fragments of evidence insufficient to protect against a libel action. But if the Japanese government has any proof, why don’t they substantiate their case?”
Bowman never strayed far from essentials. “If this goes on much longer, it could hurt Lackawanna.”
Thatcher thought about all those calls from the Creditors
Committee. “So long as it hurts Lackawanna and not the repayment schedule.”
Charlie Trinkam and Walter Bowman were inclined to scoff at this possibility, but they were both born optimists. It was more reassuring when Everett Gabler delivered his verdict.
“I see no immediate cause for alarm, John,” he said soberly. “As long as the rumors are restricted to international dealings, Lackawanna’s chief operations are unthreatened.”
The restriction ended the next morning when a business weekly hit the stands.
Chapter 12
The cover boasted a vivid kaleidoscope of military hardware. Boldly plastered across one corner, the black-and-white legend asked: ANOTHER PENTAGON SCANDAL?
The text inside was less dramatic, but it was nonetheless lethal. Back to back were two articles. The first treated Kruger’s ill-fated trip to Japan. The second addressed DOD’s chronic problem with corruptible procurement officers. Even more damning, there was a boxed list of Lackawanna’s contracts with the Department of Defense. It was impossible to miss the connection.
All across the nation people were spurred to response.
In Seattle, a camera enthusiast busy processing the film from his summer vacation stared incredulously at one picture floating in the tray. When he had pressed the shutter release in Narita Airport, he had been unexpectedly jostled. Now he saw a thin slice of his intended subject at the left of the frame, while the field showed Carl Kruger at bay amid embassy personnel. When the lucky photographer returned home the next day, he was exultant.
“I’m not an amateur anymore, Marge. I just sold my first picture,” he announced. “Wait until I tell them at the Camera Club.”
In Ohio, a senator on a fence-mending trip reached impulsively for the phone, then withdrew his hand. If Carl wanted to talk, he knew the number. Under the circumstances, it was all too likely that Carl did not want to talk.
In New York, Leonard Solletti and John Thatcher were having their deferred luncheon.
“The creditors are all worried, John. A lot of them want you to call a meeting,” Solletti reported.
The time for optimism was past.
“I’m just as concerned as they are, but what good will a meeting be?” Thatcher replied. “Of course we have to keep a close eye on the situation, but there’s nothing we can do.”
“The place they should do something is Lackawanna.”
But in Pennsylvania, constructive suggestions for action were few and far between. Don Hodiak had overflowed to Kruger and to anyone else who would listen with despairing predictions and undefined threats. Bennet Alderman had been even less helpful, apparently unable to comprehend the magnitude of the disaster.
“This is a fine time for Benny to fold on me,” Kruger raged, “Instead of finding out who’s in back of this smear campaign, he babbles about releasing a denial.”
Pamela Webb had been a silent witness to the encounter,
“He’s probably shell-shocked,” she said wearily. “Bennet thinks he controls the press. When somebody else takes over, he goes to pieces.”
“And somebody sure has. They didn’t hop from a bribe at MITI to columns about Lockheed to a cover story on Lack awanna’s defense contracts just by accident. This is becoming an all-out attempt to destroy us.”
Pamela, close to exhaustion, struggled to be analytic. “That doesn’t make sense. Who could it be? Do you think the Japanese—”
“It’s too late for a lot of guesswork,” Kruger interrupted with a snap. “The important thing is to stop it in its tracks.”
“And how can you do that without knowing what’s going on?” she retorted, her voice brittle with tension.
Unlike Pamela, Kruger had fallen back on instinct.
“Sitting around here moaning won’t get us anywhere. It’s time to come out fighting. Everybody’s saying, ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s got to be fire.’ Well, the only fire around was in Tokyo. If I stamp that out, there’s nothing for the rest of this junk to ti
e into. I’m taking the next plane to Washington.”
As a result, Carl Kruger descended on the nation’s capital like a steam engine. For forty-eight hours he made his pitch at the White House, the Senate, the Pentagon. Between rousting out old friends and confronting new critics, he was hard at it from early breakfasts to midnight drinks. Throughout he was photographed, pelted with questions, and packaged for the evening news. Seemingly indifferent to the mob at his heels, he deliberately chose to forgo his usual broad smiles and airy waves. He was reminding everyone that in a fight for Lackawanna’s life, he could still deal out punishing blows.
So in Washington they watched and speculated.
In a very private club, in an even more private room, a small, wizened man crowed with jubilation.
“That takes care of the Kruger threat. I said we had to neutralize him before he got off the ground, and now it’s done. He can’t come riding in from left field anymore.”
His companions were worriers.
“Don’t leap to conclusions, Harvey,” said one of them.
What if there’s a backlash from this Tokyo business? There could be a sympathy vote out there.”
Harvey was exasperated. “Kruger’s knee-deep in murder and bribery. For God’s sake, people are saying that the embassy saved him from being arrested. They can’t run him for dogcatcher now.”
The second pessimist demurred. “Don’t get carried away. This could be a temporary glitch, Harvey. Kruger’s working
his tail off all over Washington; he could pull the fat out of the fire. If no hard news comes out of Tokyo, if Kruger gets a whopping big contract out of DOD, we’ll be back to square one. He could still gallop into the convention and upset the whole damned applecart.”
Harvey bared his teeth. “You want to bet?”
Five blocks away, other power brokers were huddling.
“Kruger’s got a can tied to his tail,” said the bald one. “He sure can’t help us now.”
“From long shot to albatross,” said a colleague. “Does anybody know what really happened in Tokyo?”