by Morris West
‘Did Tanaka make his big announcement?’
‘He made it; but not in a big way. In fact, he was almost casual about it: “Your Excellency understands, of course, that we are not selling noodles on a street corner. What we promise in terms of funding and expertise we can deliver the moment we have agreed documents.” It was just the right note, understated but impressive.’
‘And the Ambassador?’
‘He was very frank. He was not yet sure of a number of positions. He recognised the need to define them swiftly. Your friend Vannikov is obviously a powerful voice … By the way, he heartily approves the idea of a press office in Bangkok, provided he and you control it.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that, too, as well as your suggestion to use Marta Boysen. I myself had a long talk with her today. We’ve just finished, as a matter of fact. It was a very frank discussion. It had to be, because we are involved with each other on a personal basis as well as in business. She gave me a full and truthful answer to all the questions I asked. I also explained to her our concerns about her friend Max Wylie.’
‘And your conclusion, Gil?’
‘I believe she is a loyal servant of the enterprise and should be treated as such. Our personal relationship, which was somewhat damaged, has now been fully restored.’
‘That’s very good news. I hope you are going to stay with us, Gil. We have great need of you.’
‘Let’s wait until I’ve talked with Tanaka.’
‘I know he wants you as much as I do; though he may not say it in the same words. He is ill. We know that. He has always been a closed man, hard to know, but these days he is even more difficult. The defection of his biggest financial colleagues has left him very isolated. Unfortunately, that is the one thing he will not discuss with a gaijin like me. In any case, I must leave the decision to you.’
I thanked him for his call and told him I prized his frankness. It was not an idle compliment. I was beginning to see more in him than a stuffy Baltic trader with a taste for handsome young men. I was beginning to get very tired of clannish politics and words that changed colour like chameleons. Marta smoothed out the furrows on my forehead with the tips of her fingers and chided me softly.
‘I’m afraid of the dark man I see sometimes behind your eyes, the man who knows too much and trusts too little. We must be happy now, Gil. We must.’
The chirping cricket voice reiterated the warning: ‘On ne badine pas avec l’amour,’ don’t trifle with love; you may not get another chance to enjoy it.
Punctual as always, Tanaka telephoned at five thirty. He was still in his company mode, brusque and peremptory. Even his commendation had the same imperious ring to it.
‘You did well for us, Gil. Both the Russians and we ourselves were amazed at how well the ground was prepared. I was impressed with Vannikov. He has much respect for you. The Ambassador was surprised, I think, to find us so well advanced. He has promised to put pressure on Moscow for a speedy resolution on basic issues. Now, let’s talk about you …’
‘Before we come to me, let’s talk about Marta Boysen.’
‘I thought Carl Leibig had settled all that.’
‘Not quite. You told me you wanted her cleared or discharged before we left for Nara. I undertook that responsibility. I have spent several hours today questioning her about all the recent events which I discussed with you. I discovered that there had been a whole series of misunderstandings and one untruth which arose out of a promise to Miko not to repeat an injudicious piece of gossip. My personal relationship with her has been restored. I can recommend wholeheartedly that she be retained as a loyal member of the group.’
‘Good.’ Tanaka gave an audible sigh of relief. ‘I cannot cope with women’s chatter. I shut my ears and hope it will go away. Now, let’s get back to our affairs. I need you. Are you prepared to stay with the project?’
‘Subject to certain conditions, yes.’
‘Name them.’
‘That if a press office is set up, Vannikov and I be directly responsible for it. Any staff take directions from us.’
‘Agreed.’
‘That I take over the personal direction of Marta Boysen’s work.’
‘If the lady raises no objections – and I am sure Leibig will have none – then why not?’
‘In other words, you agree.’
‘I agree.’
‘Finally, I am tired of complaining to you about non-disclosure of matters essential to my functioning. You must know that I cannot tolerate any surprises. I must know everything, including the names and identities of your new investors. I must also have at least an outline picture of your present relationship with your colleagues in the keiretsu. I know these are heavy demands, which require a high degree of trust in my integrity. If you feel that the risk is too great, just tell me. I’ll retire without a murmur and we can still be friends.’
‘No, Gil!’ His voice was sombre. ‘If you quit now, we can never be friends again.’
‘Between friends there has to be trust.’
‘There has also to be respect for those things which cannot be shared, our history, our ancestors, our private gods, even our women – my Miko, your Marta. You cannot take over every room in my house, Gil.’
‘And you have to give me enough information to work with, Kenji.’
‘I offer that; not all at once, but as you need it, when you need it.’
‘I have to judge that moment, not you.’
‘You’re driving a very hard bargain, Gil.’
‘Would it be simpler if I put a figure on it? You tell me nothing but you pay me three million dollars? You tell me something and the amount is reduced? You know that’s not the issue.’
‘I know.’
‘So let me spell it for you, friend to friend. When I come to you and say: “For this meeting I have to know this, for this reason,” will you tell me?’
‘What if the telling damages me?’
‘Then you say so. We reason about it.’
‘And if we disagree?’
‘I am free to leave. You, as principal, conduct your own business without me. That’s the bottom line.’
There was a longish silence then, curt as bedamned, he answered: ‘We have a deal. You will be picked up at your hotel at eight tomorrow morning and driven to the heliport. Bring your woman with you. I’m bringing mine. Nara is a beautiful place in autumn. Carl Leibig is not sufficiently grateful to the ancestors who bought the land for him. Until tomorrow, Gil. And thank you.’
As suddenly as it had begun, it was ended, like a kendo contest. The clatter of bamboo staves was suddenly silenced. The combatants were bowing to each other across the floor. I turned to see Marta walking naked out of the bathroom, towelling her damp hair.
‘I know that was Tanaka, but I didn’t understand a word of what you were saying.’
I told her the bottom line and promised to explain the rest between sunset and sunrise. She did not seem too eager to hear it. She was content with her own new certainties. She could hardly conceive the deep, black gulf which separated me from my friend, Kenji Tanaka.
Eight
The flight to Nara was a carefully staged exercise to impress the Soviet clients. Tanaka’s people had arranged the transport: a procession of limousines to the heliport at Haneda domestic airport, a brisk division of the guests into two parties, a ceremonious welcome aboard the two helicopters, a fifty-minute flight, south along the coast and then a short leg inland to Nara, the ancient capital of Japan.
Our party was a gallery of familiar faces: Leino the Finn, Forster the Swiss banker, Boris Vannikov, Marta and myself. The second flight carried Tanaka, Miko, Vannikov’s assistant, the Political Attaché from the Soviet embassy and two men I had not seen before, one Oriental, the other European. I was told that Carl Leibig and his staff would be waiting to welcome us to the estate.
As we flew in low over the city, I was amazed at the extent of urban encroachment on this once rural environment, f
ull of ancient relics, temples, pagodas and imperial estates. On the other hand, I was vastly impressed that Carl Leibig’s company had managed to retain so much of its valuable holding: fifty acres of greensward and woodland with a nine-hole golf course, a nature park for the Nara deer and a small colony of traditional guest houses, grouped about a central clubhouse and convention hall.
Here Carl Leibig himself took over. We were dispersed in golf-carts, each national group diplomatically separated from the other, the couplings, if any, left to the group-leader to determine. Each guest house was beautifully furnished and – a blessing in the sudden autumn chills – equipped with its own central heating, hot water service and bath chamber. There was a well-stocked liquor cupboard, a flower arrangement, toiletries, a cotton yukata for inside wear and a padded one for outside. The golf-cart with two sets of clubs was parked outside. There was a welcoming gift for each guest: for Marta, a wood-block print of a carp and iris by Koho, for me an antique sword-hilt, nestling on a silk pad in a lacquer box. Carl Leibig’s card to me said, simply: ‘I am happy you are here. I am happy Marta is with you.’
There was also a folder full of information. We would hold our first formal meeting from noon until one. There would be a brief introductory address, followed by a general discussion. We would lunch, buffet style, seating ourselves as we chose. The afternoon would be spent in informal discussions, either on the golf course, strolling about the grounds or meeting privately in our lodgings. Cocktails would be served at six, dinner at seven. The whole of the first day was intended as a sociable prelude to the heavy schedule of the next one, when a series of specialised committees would begin at nine and finish at five. It was hoped that before we left Nara we would have identified areas of early agreement and problem issues which we hoped could be resolved in Bangkok.
There was a note from Carl Leibig attached to my schedule:
At the noon meeting I shall make a very brief address of welcome on behalf of Tanaka and myself. Then we would like you to take over and explain how you propose to work as mediator. We know that your own preference is for a mode of friendly informality. We feel also that at general meetings you should act, if not as chairman, at least as a moderator, keeping the whole show under control. There are four people to whom you have not been introduced. I have marked them on your guest list. Tanaka will supply basic biographical information.
By the time I had looked over the papers, Marta had unpacked and was going through her own folder. She drew me to her, kissed me and said: ‘I have to say, schatzi, I find all this rather daunting.’
‘You mustn’t. You’ve been through this sort of convention a hundred times. People mill around, sniffing the air, picking up tag-ends of talk. After a while, they settle down to normal business.’
‘But this business isn’t normal, Gil. It isn’t an academic exercise. It’s billions in money and the fate of a great nation.’
To which you can contribute, yes. For which you can, in no sense, be responsible.’
‘I wish I could feel as secure as you.’
‘I’m not secure, my love. I’m relaxed. I’m in the game, but I’m the referee, not a player.
‘And what am I?’
‘A player; but it’s the referee’s job to look after the players, and I’ll be keeping a very watchful eye on you.’ I kissed her and held her close. ‘If people ask you questions you don’t want to answer, or you don’t know how to answer, say just that. If they try to press you, tell ’em as politely as you can to go fly a kite.’
‘It all sounds vaguely sinister.’
‘With everything that’s at stake, it has to be sinister; but you’ll cope. Now, grab your briefcase and let’s go. The performance starts in fifteen minutes.’
In the foyer of the conference hall Kenji Tanaka was waiting with Miko and the two new members of his entourage. He introduced them in English: Mr Domenico Cubeddu of the Palermitan Banking Corporation, and Mr Hoshino, president of the Pacific Littoral Development Group. Cubeddu was Sicilian from the soles of his shiny shoes to his smiling lips and his jet-black eyes. Hoshino, in spite of his Japanese name, had the look of a Korean, which made him very odd company for an old-line patrician like Tanaka. After the Japanese invasion, many Koreans had settled in Japan. Some of them had become rich. None had achieved full acceptance into Japanese society. I asked myself whether these two represented the full spread of a four billion dollar investment fund or whether they were just mannequins used to dress the window of the store. My guess was that any enquiries would reveal a whole network of corporate titles and alliances and very little hard information. So, being a polite fellow, I asked whether there were any other languages in which they felt comfortable. Surprise, surprise, Mr Cubeddu had French, Spanish, and Portuguese. Mr Hoshino had Mandarin, Cantonese, Korean and Japanese, which were more than enough to be going on with.
Then Boris Vannikov arrived with his assistant Tanya, a dark-haired Armenian with a model’s figure, a Madonna smile and bright, shrewd eyes. Her Japanese was good, if formal, and her English came with the standard American accent. The political officer was a squat, smiling Georgian whose name was Lavrenti Ardaziani. He said he spoke only Russian and Georgian, which I did not believe for a moment. However, it was very clear where his interest lay.
‘I’m supposed to be a watchdog over Boris. But he’s already a political aberrant and beyond cure. In fact, I want to see some of your investment go to my homeland. Have you ever been to Georgia?’
I told him I had not only been there, but I had stayed a summer with my father in Tbilisi, learning the language and studying the folklore. Later, my company had published a textbook on the modern Georgian language and an English translation of the works of two Georgian poets killed in the Stalinist purges. For good measure, I quoted him a couplet from one of them, Titsian Tabidze, and wrote it in Mkhedrule script on a page of his notebook. He was impressed, as I had intended he should be. Georgians – with some notable exceptions, like Beria and Stalin – are generally open-hearted and convivial folk. I hoped I had made a friend. However, as a political officer – they are more difficult to read than poets – he might just as easily have been recording me as a very well-trained subversive.
In the far corner, Boris was in cheerful talk with Marta and Miko. I noted with a small pang of jealousy how happily the two women were responding to each other and were playing Boris Vannikov like a trout in a quiet pool. He, too, was enjoying the game; and the Armenian Madonna clearly was not. He looked better this morning, relaxed and rested. He had said to me on the flight: Thank God, we’re beginning! I cannot build my life on ifs and maybes. I’m glad Lavrenti’s coming. He’s not a bad fellow – for a Georgian!’
Tanaka, I noticed, was in close talk with the two newcomers. His demeanour with them cast doubt on my notion that they were simply front men. A moment later he signalled me to join them. He introduced me with a slightly forced joke.
‘Gentlemen, I want you to know that you can rely on Gil, both for accurate rendition of a discussion and an informed opinion on any issue. He does not expect you to agree with him. He and I have differed sharply on many issues; but I have learned to listen carefully and think hard about what he tells me. If you have problems, you may express them freely.’
Both men smiled and bowed. Then, without warning, Mr Hoshino launched into a torrent of Korean, in which he asked me to explain the separate functions of the Soviet representatives. All the time he was speaking his eyes were locked with mine to discern any flicker of doubt or uncertainty. When I gave him the answer with equal fluency, he bowed and said in English: ‘Thank you, Mr Langton. I understand now why Mr Tanaka has so much confidence in you.’
I told him then, in Korean, that I was sure I could repose the same confidence in him and any of his colleagues whom it might be my later pleasure to meet. I pointed out that all parties in the deal, including the Soviets, were working at risk and in areas of great uncertainty. Therefore, mutual confidence was very important.
He agreed, with less elaboration, that it was.
Mr Cubeddu watched the exchange with a certain puzzlement, then asked me in English to explain what was going on. I told him his colleague was testing my qualifications as a linguist, and that people had the same curiosity about the accomplishment as they had about card tricks and sleight-of-hand. He gave a thin smile and a dismissive shrug. He said that money talk was the same in all languages. Which seemed to end that line of conversation.
Kenji Tanaka asked blandly whether there was anything else they needed to know. They told him they had more than enough to digest and drifted away towards the conference room. I turned to Tanaka.
‘I wish you wouldn’t stage these little comedies. They make me feel like a performing seal.’
‘It was necessary. They had to prove what I had told them. They are hard-heads, those two. They represent very hard money.’
‘I need to know a lot more about them than you’ve told me, Kenji.’
‘No.’ He was very emphatic about it. ‘They are here only to display their house flags and give aid and comfort to our Soviet friends. In Bangkok you will be more fully informed. I must say, Gil, you handled them very well. I could see they were impressed.’
‘I’d have done better with a little warning.’
‘I doubt it.’ Kenji Tanaka gave me a reluctant grin. ‘Surprise is the essence of the test. You would have made a good swordsman, Gil. You’re very quick on your feet.’
I had no answer for that. I was irritated with him; but I could not afford the luxury of telling him so. It was right on noon, time to get the show on the road.
The meeting itself began more smoothly than I expected. Carl Leibig’s speech of welcome was felicitous. He spoke in English, which was the easiest currency for the whole group. Tanya translated the speech into Russian for the benefit of the political officer. Leibig side-stepped very adroitly the dark pools of history and talked of opportunities for constructive co-operation between private commercial corporations and whatever new trading entities emerged in the industry and agriculture of the Soviet Union. This was in no sense a bargaining session, but an exploratory meeting to discuss the documents which had been submitted at the request of Moscow.