The Samurai Strategy Part 39

"Like I said, more or less by accident." I told her the story again. "I was about to chuck it, then I took a second to mull it over. That's when I got to wondering why the numbers seemed so inconsistent. Next thing I noticed was the new list of players. All of a sudden the heavens opened. A vision." I got up to freshen my brandy, then came back. She was still sitting there, maybe too exhausted to think straight. "But I take it you don't believe my little epiphany means anything?"

"Since I don't know what it means, I'm not going to engage in a lot of uninformed speculation."

Good Christ, I thought, what's happened to all her reputed brilliance?

"You know," she went on, "I don't think you should be taking any more doc.u.ments out of the office. There's a reason for all the security."

"Hey, back off. I just have boundless curiosity." I still couldn't fathom her lack of interest . . . no, make that hostility. "Look, I don't claim to understand how birds fly, how fish swim, or how this whole d.a.m.ned picture fits together. However, my new, albeit uninformed, observation is that Noda and Company are not exactly giving us the fine print on their scenario. Exhibit A: this strange new list."

"I think some fresh air would be nice." She rose to her feet, located her shoes, and strolled over to look out at the garden. The sleet and snow was about a foot and a half deep. "Why don't we go into the back?"

"What?" I stumbled to my feet. "Do you have any idea . . ."

She looked at me a bit funny, then made some hand signals.

Huh?

Finally I realized she was telling me she didn't want to say anything more inside the house.

Talk about paranoid! Suddenly the reason for all her hemming and hawing over my little theft came clear. She actually thought we might be bugged! Get serious, lady.

Anyway, she gave me the cool-it sign, then calmly started putting on her coat. Astounded by the possible dimensions of human mistrust, I dug out a sweater from behind the couch and opened the door. She was still nursing that d.a.m.ned designer water.

Ben snapped to alertness and galloped to the door, whereupon he confronted the weather. His strategic decision, executed with lightning speed, was to switch into his patented "zone defense" surveillance mode against backyard trespa.s.sers, which required staying inside where it was warm. I gave him a pat, freshened his water bowl, and followed her out into the snow.

There was a brief lull in the weather. The sky glowed red from all the streetlights, at least what you could see of it through the surrounding brownstones and the leafless ailanthus tree at the back. I looked around as Ben gave the fence one last survey, then plopped down and settled his chin onto his paws with a grunt.

Tam, I suppose, had finally concluded I wasn't pulling some kind of loyalty check for Noda, so that was when she opened the real can of worms.

"How long was she making copies? I mean, you were standing right behind her."

"Mori? I don't know. Less than a minute." I examined her, a trifle puzzled. "Why?"

"How many pages?"

"Probably half a dozen or so."

She just stood there a moment, gazing up at the sky, then she went back inside, stepping around Ben, and returned with the sheet. "Did you notice this?" She pointed to the upper right-hand corner.

I took it and strained in the faint light from the back windows. "It says '129/147.'" I looked up. "You think that means . . . ?"

"I think your episode suggests at least two things." She took back the page. "The first one is, this is part of a much larger doc.u.ment."

"With you so far. A hundred and forty-seven pages. And the second?"

"You said she only made half a dozen copies, then overlooked this?" She paused. "Don't you think Akira Mori can count?"

At that moment the snowy night grew silent as a tomb.

"What are you suggesting?" I finally blurted it out. "That she left this on purpose?"

"Maybe. But I don't have the slightest idea why."

"Christ, you have a very mistrusting mind." I slogged on through the snow for a few steps, then turned back. "I'm convinced it was accidental."

"All right, let's just say that's a possibility for now. But what we do know for sure is we'd better get our hands on the rest of this."

"Hey, don't look at me. I'm already in this scam deeper than I ever intended to be. I say we either play their way or cut and run. We start getting too nosy and we could end up on the wrong end of one of those Uzis."

"Matt, there's something else I noticed about the list. It's ominous."

"Care to elaborate?" I kicked at the snow.

"Well, not out here. I'm freezing." She pulled her coat a bit tighter.

"Is there someplace inside where we can talk?"

"I've got an idea. But let's warm up first." I led the way back in. The fire had died a bit, so she settled on the floor next to the hearth, the smooth contours of her cheeks golden in the flickering light.

"Sure you won't have a brandy after all. To combat the chill?" The quartet Opus 44, No. 1, was enveloping us, both violins emerging out of the shadows.

She looked up and smiled. "Maybe it would be nice."

I fetched it, slid onto the floor next to her, and stretched to stir the coals. Ben sauntered over to keep me honest, plunked down, and was immediately out like a light.

"How're we doing for warmth?" I propped the poker against the side of the mantel, then reached over and touched her tangled hair lightly with my fingertips. To my everlasting surprise, she leaned next to me.

"Much better."

"Maybe we should both bail out right now. Tonight. Why not just go down to my place in the islands and monitor the apocalypse off the satellite dish? Watch MITI eat America."

Was I joking? Only partially. Down home we have a saying about folks with a certain . . . _je ne sais quoi_. They'd do to ride the river with. In my book Tam was definitely one of the riders.

The fire snapped and startled Ben, who glanced up, checked out the sleet-covered garden, then grimly resumed his snooze. She reached over and gave him a pat. The first time. "You know, I can't believe MITI is behind all this. I know at least one MITI person myself."

"You know somebody in MITI?" I was a trifle taken aback. "Who?"

She stared at the fire. "His name is Kenji Asano. You wouldn't have heard of him."

I lay there for a moment listening to the quartet, my memory registers running a quick sort. Then it came to me. Kenji Asano was the MITI guy Henderson said had masterminded j.a.pan's rape of the U.S. semiconductor industry.

"You actually know him?"

"Sure do." She smiled. "Very well."

s.h.i.t. I didn't really need to hear this. "That sounds like a little more than a professional acquaintance." I looked at her for confirmation.

"A little."

Okay, I thought. Guess we're getting down to the straight story here.