Kenji Asano was a very complex human being--Western on the surface, but
with his own personality always glimmering through at the unexpected
moment. He seemed to capture the best of both worlds: the
forthrightness of an American and the intuitive self-confidence I've
come to think of as a hallmark of the East.
The Japanese are a subtle people, in the finest sense of the word, and
I normally feel slightly oafish in their land. I always know I'm
missing about three levels of the nuance in whatever's going on. By the
same token, a Japanese venturing into the West frequently seems to be
moving as though he were following the numbers on one of those old
Arthur Murray dance diagrams. The steps are precise and correct, but
there's no glide to it, no natural rhythm. Ken, I must say, had long
since gotten past that kind of awkwardness. His motions were fluid, his
reactions quick and natural. Also, he managed to achieve this while
retaining qualities that always reminded you he came from a culture
that was writing Kyoto romances and wearing perfumed silk when London
and Paris still had pigs in their garbage-strewn streets.
"Ken, you're a phenomenon." We were climbing into his blue Toyota
sports car, which he'd driven up from Tokyo. Low profile--the car and
the trip. "This play could blow up in your face."
Over our leisurely three-way breakfast in the hotel bar, he had given
me a reasonably detailed sketch of the situation, after which Tam
headed off in the DNI limo for her second day of appointments in the
robot labs. My honest reaction, despite the prickle of jealousy, was
instant liking of Asano. Furthermore, in the absence of anything
better, his scheme seemed worth a shot.
Now came the sword. A phone call established that Noda had no objection
to Ken's seeing it too, so we were set to head over to the Metallurgy
Lab together. Not a bad time for straight talk.
"I know it's a gamble, Matthew, but I'd like to think of it as repaying
my debt to America." He inserted his key in the ignition and started
the engine. "In a way I feel some personal responsibility for the
current condition of your technology."
Was he about to come clean on the subject of MITI's semiconductor
blitz?
"You know, I once heard you were the brains behind Japan's memory chip
takeover."
"Our strategy seemed prudent at the time." He sighed, then turned
around to begin backing out of the hotel parking lot. "If you're
planning for the long term, the sectors you focus on are obvious." He
paused to light a Peace, then crumpled the wooden match in his hand and
exhaled as he shifted into drive.
"And you play hardball."
"Otherwise why bother? I guess we had no idea the U.S. could be so
inept. We assumed your semiconductor people, like your baseball teams,
were major league."
He was right about that part. America fumbled away its lead by chasing
quick profits. While MITI was playing the only way it knew how. Long
term.
"I can't tell you how much I regret what's happened since," he
continued, glancing occasionally at the rows of research labs gliding
by on both sides of the roadway. "I now realize that a more cooperative
approach would have worked to everyone's
benefit. In the long run we each need the other. Now, it's going to
take plenty of cooperation to prevent the U.S. from becoming a back
office for Matsuo Noda."
"You really think a big MITI move will blow the whistle?"
"Matthew, the ministry is the closest thing Japan has to a strategic
deterrent. By exploiting it, I will become the Japanese Rosenberg in
the eyes of many, but if I can cause a worldwide scandal, perhaps
everyone here and in the U.S. will start thinking about the
implications of Noda's takeover."
"Friend, you're throwing your career in front of a train." I said it
with respect. "Matsuo Noda could eat us both for _hors d'oeuvres_."
"Us, maybe. But not MITI. At least not yet." He smiled. "You know, we
Japanese have a tradition of committing ritual suicide, _seppuku_, to
emphasize a principle. You might say I'm doing that, but it's only
professional _seppuku_. No unseemly knives or blood on the tatami."
"I understand now why Tam feels about you the way she does."
"Matthew." He spoke quietly. "I am here, you are there. I think she
needs someone she trusts, and you seem to be that person just now. Stay
by her."
"I'd like nothing better." And with that we lapsed into pensive
silence.
It took only about ten minutes for the drive over to the laboratory,
another structure that could have been a hangar for flying saucers.
Somehow the idea of viewing a sacred relic of Japan's imperial past in
this sci-fi setting was incongruous in the extreme, pure George Lucas.
We alighted in the executive parking lot and headed up the sidewalk
together. At the sealed entrance Ken showed his palm to the computer's
eye, a synthetic voice cleared us, and in we went. Waiting on the other
side was a senior staff man who greeted us at the first security check,
bowed, and motioned us to follow.
One area of the lab had been cordoned off, top security, with gun-
carrying guards posted about every ten feet. There were also about two
dozen plainclothes types wearing a white armband emblazoned with the
Imperial insignia. Seemed that nobody, but nobody, got close to the Sun
Goddess's sidearm without clearance from the top.