by Robin Cook
“My comments are not intended to disparage the Yamaguchi-gumi in any way. We all have great respect for the Yamaguchi-gumi, perhaps even a bit of envy for your recent successes. But I take your response to mean that you, personally, were aware of the break-in. If that is the case, I must formally complain that you did not inform me of what you were doing nor ask me to help. We Yakuza have, over the years, adhered to this policy of cooperation to avoid turf wars, and I would like to be assured that in the future you will contact me if you have needs in the Kyoto area. I don’t mean this to be a serious confrontation, and I hope it isn’t. We just need to maintain respect between our organizations, as has been the case over the years among all the Yakuza.”
“We Yamaguchi have the utmost respect for the Aizukotetsu-kai,” Hiroshi said without changing his expression.
As a realist, Hisayuki knew that Hiroshi’s response skirted rather than faced the issue. There was no apology implied, but Hisayuki was content to take the response as the first step toward a solution. As close as Kobe and Kyoto were physically, it was imperative that the problem be recognized, and at least now it had been formally broached.
Moving on to the next issue—namely, the very real threat to the Aizukotetsu-kai portfolio from the Yamaguchi-gumi action—Hisayuki said, “If I may ask, why did you, as the oyabun of the Yamaguchi-gumi, want the lab books from the Kyoto University laboratory, and why did you help their owner and his family defect to America? Didn’t you realize it was against our government’s interests, meaning all our interests as Japanese citizens, and especially those citizens who have invested in the Japanese start-up company iPS Patent Japan?”
“Perhaps as Japanese citizens it could seem to be against our interests, but not as a Yakuza businessman struggling in a global economy. Money and effort should be directed where it will make the most money, not where a selfish, bureaucratic government like ours suggests. Our government is not for the Japanese people, despite what they say. It is for themselves, like most governments in today’s world. Look what happened here in Kobe in the earthquake in ’95. Who rescued the people and maintained order in the first terrible days? Was it the government? Hell, no. It was us, the Yamaguchi-gumi. The government only came in later when they suddenly realized it was a public-relations nightmare in the making.
“Why I gave the order to aid this Satoshi was because it had been a direct request from our New York City saiko-komon, Saboru Fukuda. Perhaps you know him. He was originally from Kyoto but moved here to Kobe to work the docks as a mere laborer but ended up joining the Yamaguchi family. We recognized his skills early in his career. He’s a very smart businessman, a good administrator, and an intuitive investor.”
“I don’t know him,” Hisayuki said with a shake of his head, hardly listening. He was taken aback by Hiroshi’s statement suggesting that as a Yakuza businessman, he was not patriotic. The Yakuza had always been patriotic. It was part of the unwritten contract the Yakuza had with the government.
“Not only has Fukuda-san tripled our take with our gambling operations in New York, he’s also been laundering the money onsite through shrewd investments with a clever New York placement agent. This placement agent is slick and has no fear of dirty money, which he most willingly uses as venture capital to fund medical and biotech start-up companies, which is his specialty. Usually it costs money to launder money, as you well know, but with him we’ve been seeing up to a forty percent increase in original value. So the revenue Fukuda-san returns here to Kobe is already clean. With such a track record I have come to support him one hundred percent. Whatever he asks for, I give him and do so with confidence, no questions asked. Perhaps as sister organizations we could introduce you to this placement agent.”
“As I said, I don’t know him,” Hisayuki said distractedly.
“Kyoto’s loss and Kobe’s gain,” Hiroshi said, as if a proud father. “Since I appointed him more than five years ago, he has been running the Yamaguchi-gumi operation in New York. He’s turned New York into our most profitable foreign branch. How is your New York branch doing, if I may ask?”
“Reasonably well,” Hisayuki said. Normally he would not have even acknowledged there was a New York City branch of his operation, much less tell how it was doing, but he was asking Hiroshi similarly confidential questions, and Hiroshi was answering. Hisayuki needed Hiroshi to keep talking, because he needed to find out if Hiroshi had any idea why his saiko-komon wanted Satoshi aided. As Hisayuki was trying to come up with the next question without giving away why he wanted to know, it all suddenly hit him, and once it did, he was amazed it had taken him so long to figure it out. The vice minister had to have been correct. The Yamaguchi, through their saiko-komon in New York, Saboru Fukuda, were investing in iPS USA, the start-up company the vice minister had spoken of. It had to be the explanation.
“If your operation in New York is only doing reasonably well,” Hiroshi continued, unaware of Hisayuki’s epiphany, “then why don’t we team up, merge our New York operations and share proceeds in proportion to our respective personnel roster. There should be more cooperation in these tough times between all Yakuza organizations, even here in Japan.”
Glancing briefly at his saiko-komon, Hisayuki wondered if he’d come to the same conclusion, and was eager to ask him once they got back into the car. Looking back at Hiroshi, who was still going on about the idea of their two organizations colluding, Hisayuki wondered if he dared to ask Hiroshi some direct question, like whether or not the Yamaguchi had any stock in iPS USA. He was worried that Hiroshi might come to a similar conclusion, that the Aizukotetsu-kai had a serious financial involvement with iPS Patent Japan, meaning that their respective Yakuza organizations were in direct financial conflict. Of course, Hisayuki didn’t know if the sizes of the investments were anywhere equivalent, but he didn’t think it would make that much difference. It was an awkward situation, since the two companies’ market values were inversely connected like a zero-sum game: If one were to go up, the other would invariably have to go down. Internecine Yakuza wars had been fought over circumstances even less definitively connected, and Hisayuki had the sudden fear that this was going to be a war as well. The Aizukotetsu-kai simply could not afford to lose what they had invested in iPS Patent Japan, nor could they simply pull out, since the company’s cash reserves were nil. “It will be a war,” Hisayuki found himself prophesying and already planning how to limit the collateral damage, and even possibly how to outsource the whole mess to New York City.
“So what do you think?” Hiroshi questioned. He had been continuing to talk up his suggestion of some kind of partnership between the Yamaguchi-gumi and the Aizukotetsu-kai, an idea Hisayuki dismissed out of hand since he knew that if that were to happen, Aizukotetsu-kai would be swallowed up by the Yamaguchi. The concept of partnership was one of the Yamaguchi-gumi’s main methods of expansion. “I tell you, Ishii-san,” Hiroshi went on when Hisayuki failed to respond immediately, “we all have to accept that the world as we knew it in our lifetime is rapidly changing, and we Yakuza have to change, too. The government is not going to leave us alone, like in the past, as evidenced by the anti-gang laws passed in ’92. It’s only going to get worse.”
“When I met with the vice minister just the other day, this issue came up.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said the laws that have been passed had been done so merely for political reasons, and that there was no intention of truly enforcing them.”
“And you believed him?”
“He said that if the government was serious about enforcement, they would have to pass something similar to the United States’ RICO Act, and they haven’t, and I know for certain that there isn’t anything in the works. So, yes, I believed him.”
“With all due respect, Ishii-san, I believe you are being much too trusting and even a bit naïve,” Hirsohi said, beginning a long monologue about his vision of the future with the Japanese government. “Soon the benign neglect that has characte
rized our relationship is going to change to become progressively more antagonistic. It stands to reason. Even today the government is envious of the money they believe that we, the Yakuza, are, from their perspective, sucking from the economy and paying little or no taxes on.”
As Hiroshi talked, Hisayuki became progressively more uncomfortable as a guest, and realized how easy it would be for the Yamaguchi-gumi to overwhelm the Aizukotetsu-kai, which he worried they might feel was appropriate if Hiroshi were to make the association between their conflicting investments in what was going to be a trillion-dollar industry.
Hisayuki allowed Hiroshi to continue his ranting about the government without offering any contradictions, such as the fact that the government needed the Yakuza. It was his sense and hope that if Hiroshi stayed on the issue of the government vs. the Yakuza, he’d be less likely to have any dangerous epiphanies.
“We Yakuza have to come together!” Hiroshi chimed like a politician on a soapbox, going back to his original issue of encouraging some sort of partnership between their two organizations. Hisayuki let him continue, even encouraging him a degree by nodding and smiling at appropriate times to give the impression that he was even considering the idea.
As Hiroshi droned on, Hisayuki thanked the gods that he’d paused at the beginning of the meeting and hadn’t started as he had initially planned—namely, to relate to Hiroshi what he had learned early that morning from Hideki Shimoda, his New York City saiko-komon . At nine-thirty he’d had a call from Hideki, who reported that as ordered, the threat to Kyoto University’s iPS patents had been significantly reduced because, as requested, Satoshi and his family had been eliminated. He’d been told that the hit on Satoshi had gone flawlessly and was certain to be interpreted as the natural death of an unidentified individual. The only problem, he’d been informed, was that the lab books had not been located.
Hisayuki breathed out with relief, thinking how close he’d come to disaster if he’d started the meeting with such a revelation. It surely would have had the opposite result of what he’d intended, as he never thought for a moment that Hiroshi was involved personally.
Suddenly Hiroshi stopped his soliloquy in mid-sentence. He’d seen Hisayuki’s sigh and took it as a reminder of his responsibilities as a host. “I’m sorry for carrying on so,” he said, rising to his feet and bowing slightly. “You must be hungry. I see that you have all finished your whiskey. It is time for our dinner and entertainment.” He gestured toward the table and the chef in his blindingly white outfit. “Please, let us have some food and more alcohol to celebrate our friendship.”
Hisayuki got to his feet with even more relief. He knew that once the sake, beer, and wine appeared and the dinner started, and whatever else Hiroshi had planned, there would be no more talk of business.
More than an hour later, as soon as it seemed socially appropriate, Hisayuki and Tadamasa excused themselves from what had become quite a party, citing that they were facing an hour-and-a-half drive back to Kyoto. Hiroshi had tried to talk them into staying the night at the hotel, but they had graciously declined, claiming that they needed to be in Kyoto for early-morning meetings.
Despite some concern, the departure was as smooth as the arrival, with no untoward incidents, and soon the three-car cavalcade was on the road north to Kyoto. Hisayuki had not said a word for a number of miles, going over everything Hiroshi has said. Tadamasa, knowing his place, remained equally silent.
“Well?” Hisayuki questioned suddenly. “What was your feeling about the meeting?”
“It went smoothly but does not bode well for the future.”
“My feelings exactly,” Hisayuki said, holding on to the strap above the rear window. He was gazing out at the dark countryside as it flashed by. All he could see were dim lights in the windows of farmers’ cottages; all he could hear was the muffled hum of his powerful sedan’s engine. “Did you get the sense that the Yamaguchi-gumi is invested in iPS USA?” He asked the question casually so as not to influence his adviser’s opinion.
“Most definitely! I was trying to think of a way to let you know, but then I was quite certain you already did. I think they are significantly involved by the way Fukazawa-san carried on about the placement agent his saiko-komon has found.”
“Tomorrow, have some of our analysts at the RRTW office try to learn what they can about the Yamaguchi-gumi involvement with iPS USA.”
“The problem is that the market value of iPS USA and iPS Patent Japan are inversely tied together.”
“Don’t I know,” Hisayuki murmured regretfully.
“There is going to be trouble over this.”
“I know that as well. We need time to prepare for the worst. The key thing in the short run is to keep Hiroshi in the dark as long as we can while we bolster the legitimacy iPS Patent Japan’s patents of iPS cells. Getting rid of Satoshi is good, but we need to get the missing lab books and destroy them.”
“The question is, of course, where are the lab books? As Satoshi didn’t have them on his person or at home, they must be in physical possession of iPS USA.”
“Call Hideki and tell him he needs to get ahold of Satoshi’s lab books if at all possible, but warn him that the Aizukotetsu-kai cannot appear to be involved.”
Tadamasa got out his cell phone and started to dial Hideki Shimoda.
Hisayuki looked back out at the darkened landscape and wondered if there was anything else he should communicate to his New York saiko-komon while Tadamasa had him on the line. He thought back to the conversation he’d had with the man that morning, remembering he’d said that Satoshi’s death had gone flawlessly and would be interpreted as a natural death of an unidentified individual. Hisayuki hoped that was going to be true, particularly the natural-death part, because if it were to be considered a murder and the Yamaguchi-gumi found out that the Aizukotetsu-kai were involved, there was a good chance a full-blown war would flare up almost immediately.
3
MARCH 25, 2010
THURSDAY, 7:44 a.m.
NEW YORK CITY
Laurie was the first out of the taxi at the corner of First Avenue and 30th Street. The building was as unattractive as ever: a 1960s relic with its blue tile and aluminum windows. It was ugly then and ugly now. But it looked familiar to her, as though she was coming home after a long trip away. As for her earlier nervousness about her professional competence, seeing the building made it worse. The workday was about to begin.
Turning back to the taxi, she watched Jack climb out after having paid the fare. He’d graciously offered to ride with her instead of using his beloved bike, which had recently changed to a Cannondale after his Trek had been mortally injured by a city bus that had run over it. Luckily, Jack was not on the bike at the time, but he had had to watch the tragedy from a few feet away.
“Well, we’re here,” Jack said, glancing at this watch. It was later than he liked. Actually, later than they were supposed to arrive, which was early enough to start the first autopsies of the day at seven-thirty. But no one started their cases at seven-thirty except Jack on normal days. The seven-thirty rule had been made by the chief, Dr. Harold Bingham, but as he’d aged, his insistence of the hated early start had faltered. As a result, most of the senior staff began when they wanted to, sometime after eight. Jack stuck with the early rule because it gave him the chance to choose his cases rather than wait for what was assigned to him, by the on-call medical examiner, one of whose tasks was to arrive before the others to go over the cases that had came in during the night, to decide which needed to have postmortems and who would do them. The main part of the on-call medical examiner’s job was to be available if one of the evening or night medical legal investigators, or MLIs, needed the backup of a forensic pathologist for a difficult case. It was a job Jack himself did for a week three or four times a year when his turn rolled around.
“I’m sorry we are late,” Laurie said, noticing Jack checking his watch. “I’ll do better in the future.” They were behind sche
dule because the handoff of JJ to Leticia had not gone as smoothly as Laurie had hoped. Every time she’d descended the stairs to where Jack was waiting at the front door, she’d think of something else and dash back up to the kitchen, where JJ and Leticia were dealing with oatmeal and pears, most of which, but not all, was being swallowed.
“No problem,” Jack said. “How do you feel?”
“As best as can be expected.”
“You are going to be fine,” Jack assured her.
Yeah, sure, Laurie said silently to herself. She followed him up the front steps and through the door. She entered the foyer with a sense of déjà vu. There was the same tired-looking sofa, with the same coffee table in front with a smattering of outdated magazines, some without covers. There were the same locked doors leading into the identification room and into the administrative offices of the chief medical examiner and the chief of staff.
Finally, there was the same reception counter guarded by Marlene Wilson, a kind African-American woman whose flawless complexion belied her years and whose attitude was always happy and welcoming.
“Dr. Montgomery!” Marlene exclaimed, catching sight of Laurie. “Welcome back,” she cried with obvious glee. Without a second’s hesitation, she slipped from her stool and came out from behind the desk to give Laurie a forceful hug. Laurie was initially taken aback by Marlene’s enthusiasm, but she quickly relaxed and let herself enjoy the warm welcome. It was a good thing, because Marlene’s reaction to seeing Laurie was to be repeated by just about everyone Laurie would encounter throughout the day.
Inside the ID room where relatives were confronted by photos of the dead or the body itself if they insisted, Laurie and Jack found Dr. Arnold Besserman, who’d been working at OCME for thirty-some-odd years. As it was his turn to be the on-call medical examiner, he was sitting at the old, dented metal ID desk, checking through the most recent arrivals. It was immediately obvious it had been a quiet night in the Big Apple, as there was only a short stack of case files for him to deal with.