Dr. Kenji Asano gazed out the window of his office at the Institute,
the last shafts of sun casting long shadows in the canyons below. It
was late Tuesday afternoon, and gales of December wind tunneled around
the skyscrapers of Tokyo, chilling the gray steel and glass. The blank
computer screens reflected back his smooth, trim face, his glum eyes.
Technology. It was divorcing man from all sensibility. What Kenji Asano
found himself wanting at that moment was not high-tech but high-touch,
to be seated on the _tatami _of his Tokyo teahouse, smelling the fresh
straw, gazing out over the manicured evergreen shrubs of his garden,
the clumps of leafless black bamboo. He recalled again the tea ceremony
in Kyoto and the sight of Tamara approaching down the stepping stones
of the "dewy path." She was a rare American, one who understood the
essence of _cha-no-yu_--inner power shows itself in outer restraint.
As he lit a Peace cigarette with a wooden match and continued to
examine the cheerless skyline of Tokyo, a thought flickered past--
Bodhidharma, the first Zen master, who had plucked away his eyelids to
prevent sleep as he meditated. That reflection led naturally to
ruminations on the master's disciple, Hui-ko, who sat _zazen _for days
in the snows outside Shao-lin monastery, then finally severed his own
arm and offered it to the master as testament of his devotion.
_Bushido_, the code of the samurai. Who today would cut off an arm to
prove determination? Or be Benkei at the Bridge, the servant who breaks
the rules of society and cudgels his own master to protect their
disguise and deceive their foes. That famous episode, he told himself,
would be his model. Sometimes _bushido _required you to circumvent
tradition and honor for the greater good.
What was happening in Japan? These days many thoughtful Japanese were
expressing open concern, even fear, over their country's rising
nationalism. Although high officials still couched their flag-waving in
coded language intended to elude foreign notice, many prominent voices
were now suggesting "it's wrong to think prewar Japan was all bad." The
latest school textbooks spoke glowingly of the country's Imperial
traditions. Encouraged by this jingoism, in truth veiled racism, many
superpatriots were beginning to emerge from obscurity. Now, with the
Imperial sword as symbol, the Japanese right was openly on the march.
Surely Noda had known it would happen, had counted on it.
He recalled the line by Yeats, "And what rough beast, its hour come
round at last . . ."
The "beast," Kenji Asano feared, had arisen in Japan. And its monstrous
head was none other than Matsuo Noda. Who could have suspected the dark
side of Noda's grand design or the extent of his determination?
Violence, money in the billions, and accomplices where they were least
suspected. Perhaps even inside MITI.
This last disturbing prospect had convinced Kenji Asano that the time
for operating within the rules was past. He had already taken a first
step, aided unwittingly by a bureaucrat of immense ambition within the
ministry. His first counterploy against Noda had bought time--how much
he didn't know-- but the next move must be decisive.
He glanced around his office, then at the MITI reports stacked high on
his desk. Benkei at the Bridge. For Kenji Asano only one course was
left. He would now have to use his own master, MITI, to destroy Matsuo
Noda.
His mind went back to the meeting at his MITI office Monday of the
previous week. Although he was on temporary assignment at the
Institute, he still checked in daily at the ministry. Filing into his
office at nine-thirty sharp had been the three men whose "consensus"
was crucial. The difficulty was, they must never know what he planned.
Michio Watanabe, International Trade Policy Bureau,
Trade Research Section: heavyset, early fifties, a professional
bureaucrat with powerful eyes and a permanent expression of skepticism.
He had been a close colleague of Noda's for decades.
Tanzan Kitano, Industrial Policy Bureau, International Enterprises
Section: gray hair tinged with silver, immaculate dresser, spoke five
languages. He had been in MITI over twenty years and had maintained the
same mistress for fifteen: a man respected for his long-range thinking.
Hiromu Ikeda, Industrial Technology Agency: late thirties, thrived on
expediency, doing the job no matter the consequences. Part of a hard
new breed, he was Japan's future. And MlTI was his future.
While the men moved toward the wide couch across from his desk, Kenji
Asano opened with offhand pleasantries, directed mainly toward
Watanabe, partly because he was eldest and partly to sound out his
mind-state. Next he welcomed Kitano with a few inquiries concerning his
wife and son, a transparent formality since he was known far and wide
to despise them both. Finally he greeted Ikeda and indicated the
meeting would be short, knowing the younger man liked to move directly
to matters at hand and regarded the usual preliminaries as an old-
fashioned waste of time.
Agenda: The American companies Matsuo Noda was acquiring. A proposition
had surfaced (in Japanese bureaucracies, all ideas are anonymous and
thus devoid of repercussions) that certain MITI personnel be put on
leave of absence to serve on the boards of those U.S. concerns. Given
the heavy participation of Japanese monies in Noda's American program,
perhaps a more formal monitoring mechanism would be helpful to head off
potential anxiety in Tokyo's financial community.
The idea, of course, was Kenji Asano's. He had first laid the
groundwork with a few oblique hints to several of Dai Nippon's major
institutional backers, particularly the Dai-Ichi Credit Corporation,
Ltd. That move had borne fruit. Within days they had begun wondering
aloud whether the ministry might wish to consider helping oversee
Noda's American investments. So far, so good. Now MITI itself had to be
convinced. This meeting would undoubtedly be the first of many,
resulting eventually in a consensus. Would the ministry go along?
Having set forth the topic, Kenji Asano surrendered the floor to
Watanabe, the senior man present--and therefore the one whose views, in
keeping with convention, would be listened to and applauded by everyone
else in the room whether they agreed or not.
"In my judgment, the original objectives of Matsuo Noda and Dai Nippon
are the most desirable means of maintaining the long-term security of
Japan," Watanabe declared. "It is in our strategic interest that he be
allowed to succeed. Which is why MITI should stay 'hands-off,' should
limit its participation to an advisory capacity, nothing more. Anything
further could well prove extremely counterproductive in our relations
with the United States. We do not need more friction."
"So deshoo, Watanabe-san." Kitano, the man second in seniority, nodded
after a moment's pause. "I totally concur with the basic aspects of the
viewpoint you have expressed." He was telling everybody he hadn't made
up his mind.
"I also support fully Watanabe-san's insightful summary of the relevant
issues." Ikeda spoke up, his honorifics far more polite than necessary,
a signal. "_Keredomo _(however) . . . it might possibly be prudent to
examine briefly the considerations advanced by those who differ with
this wise assessment in order that we may counter their concerns more
thoughtfully."
That was it. Kenji Asano had a head count. Watanabe was against sending
MITI personnel. Kitano was waffling. Hiromu Ikeda was foursquare and
hell-bent in favor of the idea. He had just announced it to the room.
Was Watanabe in league with Noda, willing to give him free rein? Was he
one of Noda's operatives inside the ministry? Or was he merely
advancing his own ideas, genuinely fearful an influx of MITI personnel
into the U.S. could precipitate a severe diplomatic flap?
On the other hand, why was Ikeda so in favor of having MITI move in on
Noda? The answer to that was hardly a puzzle. MITI's young prince of
ambition, Hiromu Ikeda, scented the possibility of grabbing a part of
Matsuo Noda's new American empire for his own. Handled skillfully, it
might well catapult him directly to vice minister inside a decade.
"Perhaps it would be useful to review once more the main elements of
the situation." Kitano knew he had the middle ground and thus was
offering to arbitrate. "The condition of America now is very troubling.
The question is, how can we best aid them, and ourselves. We in Japan
realize that a nation's true strength is ultimately not in armaments
but in the health of its economy, its industry. Yet the Americans, by
making themselves a military state, have paradoxically imperiled their
real security. How long can we continue to rely on an ally so blind to
the main threat to its own strategic well- being? Matsuo Noda is
correct. Our very safety may soon be imperiled. Something must be done.
The only question is how best to proceed."
"_So desu ne_." Watanabe pressed, realizing he would have to force his
point. "The Pentagon is, ironically, America's most insidious enemy.
Japan's greatest benefit from America's defense umbrella has not been
the billions we've saved on sterile arms; it has been the technical
manpower we have free to support competitive industries. But the price
has been the industrial decline of our foremost ally. This cannot, must
not, be permitted to continue." He paused. "Matsuo Noda, a man I've
known and respected for years, who guided this ministry to greatness,
should be allowed to assist the Americans rebuild their civilian sector
unhindered by us. If MITI involves itself at this time, the American
government may well grow alarmed and step in to stop him. Then their
industrial stagnation will merely accelerate."
"_So deshoo_," Ikeda finally spoke. "I agree. Unfortunately, however,
there are some who believe the task Noda-sama has undertaken cannot
succeed without direct MITI assistance. Again it is a matter of our own
security. The question has arisen concerning whether we should continue
to rely on the Americans to rescue their industrial base unassisted by
any formal direction. Of course I disagree with such pessimistic views,
but some would say we ourselves must now step forward and assume global
leadership in technology to prevent a vacuum from developing in the
Free World. By taking charge of America's floundering high-tech sector,
we could rescue it from continued mismanagement, while--incidentally--
satisfying our own R&D needs in a way that is extremely cost-
effective. However, this can only be achieved if we are in a position
to provide hands-on guidance. Which means direct MITI involvement." He
paused. "These opinions of course are not my own, merely ones I have
heard voiced. I am told, though it is difficult to comprehend, that
this viewpoint has
been entertained by Nakayama-sama of the Secretariat, and even
discussed in his weekly conference with the Parliamentary Vice
Minister."
The hand of fate! Asano exulted. Hiromu Ikeda has already done my work
for me. He's gone over everybody's head. He swallowed the idea like a
carp snapping a hovering dragonfly, then went off and peddled it to the
Vice Minister as though it were his own.
A man to watch out for in the future, he thought. But a perfect ally at
the moment.
Watanabe said nothing. His ancient face was in shock. Everybody
realized the meeting was over. It was clear Ikeda had trampled on
consensus and seniority in order to further his own fortunes.
"Watanabe-san, I think we all agree your understanding of the situation
is entirely proper," Kenji Asano said soothingly. "But solely in the
interest of continued theoretical discussion at some later time, it
might be prudent if all sections prepared a contingency list of staff,
fluent in English, who would be suitable for reassignment to an
American sector."
"It is always wise to cover contingencies, Asano-san," Watanabe said
dryly.
None of them realized it, of course, but Hiromu Ikeda's ambition could
well turn out to be the salvation of MITI itself. But for now, Asano
mused, that was something none of them needed to know.
Looking out the window at the freezing streets below, glimmering from
headlights and neon, Kenji Asano told himself that a dangerous game lay
ahead. Noda's first gambit had been countered, but there would be more.
What he needed was a preemptive strike.
He had made the plans for that strike, a play of pure, absolute genius.
The catch was, Tamara would have to cooperate.
With that thought he reached down and unlocked the top right-hand
drawer of his metal desk, then drew out a large red and blue envelope.
It was air express from a university address in California. As he
fingered the stripes along its side, he recalled how it had arrived
here at his office at The Institute for New Generation Computer
Technology while he'd been in Kyoto with Tamara.
Finally he opened it again and slipped out the contents.
Inside was a confidential memo on the old Nippon, Inc. letterhead,
unsigned but obviously authored by Matsuo Noda, a top-security document
that had been clocked in at a document station at Tsukuba Science City.
How had Allan Stern stumbled onto this? Had he stolen it? Picked it up
by accident? It was in Japanese, so how could he have sensed its real
import?
American ingenuity, he told himself, defied all understanding. The
memo, which outlined the timetable for a massive scenario, had been the
first step of a long path of discovery leading Kenji Asano to
indisputable proof of Matsuo Noda's real objective. Allan Stern must
have had this translated or somehow intuitively guessed Noda's plan.
And then . . . Allan Stem had tried to warn MITI. Why? Out of past
regard for Dr. Yoshida, former head of the Institute and a close
friend?
Stern reportedly had vanished the same day this envelope was
postmarked. Noda had acted, but not swiftly enough.
Who at MITI had been the original recipient of this memo? Maybe, he
thought, it no longer mattered. There was only one real way to stop Dai
Nippon. . . .
At that moment his phone buzzed. As he punched the button, his
flustered secretary announced that an in-flight call was waiting,
channeled through MITI's satellite security link. It was the president
of Dai Nippon, International.