The Samurai Strategy Part 41

"Credibility. And low profile for MITI's grab. By sending you out to meet the victims, they've thrown the hounds off the scent. Dr. Save- American-Industry has come to help. You're so G.o.ddam clean, Tam.

Impeccable credentials. You're gold to those guys." I was set to give her a blast, but I decided to try keeping the lid on for once. "Maybe a better question than why they chose you is why you went for it. How did they brainwash you?"

"n.o.body brainwashed me. I still think Noda's being straight. He can think in global terms. That's a rarity."

"And how about this Asano character? You sure gave me the message to back off when I questioned his intentions."

"Maybe I've been thinking with something besides my head." She sighed and leaned back. "But then, maybe not. I have no reason to believe he'd mislead me."

"Look, I don't know anything about the situation. But I respectfully suggest you ought to reflect on that possibility." I looked at her. "By the way, I seem to remember you said there was something else about the list that struck you as odd."

"It has to do with the kind of research being done by those new firms on the list. A pattern." She paused.

"What pattern?"

"I'd rather not say just yet. Until I'm sure. It's probably just my imagination."

Something snapped inside me about then. Anger. Tam Richardson, I was rapidly concluding, was being used by those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. And as best I could tell, this idealistic woman couldn't let herself believe it. The situation royally p.i.s.sed me off. Even more when I also suspected this Asano operator had somehow been playing fast and loose with her heartstrings. I decided then and there I wasn't going to let them get away with it.

A strange psychology takes hold of you when you sense you've been temporarily outflanked; I think it's that primal human response somebody once dubbed flight or fight. You realize you've got two choices: you can either stand your ground, or you can make a run for the sidelines. So what to do about Dai Nippon and Noda and Mori and Asano? Right then and there I made a tactical decision. I decided that-- like the caveman facing the saber-toothed tiger--the best defense would be to try and make the beast back off.

More to the point, it wasn't merely Tam that was imperiled. Maybe Henderson's suspicions were right; maybe this was the handshake that turned into a karate flip, the beginning of World War II, Part B. So I figured I owed it to myself and everybody else to at least uncover the truth.

No ent.i.ty, I've always believed, is unstoppable, no matter how ma.s.sive.

There's always a soft underbelly somewhere. After a while any big organization gets c.o.c.ky and makes a blunder. Sometimes, in fact, you can lure them into it. I concluded there was only one way to go, head- to-head with Dai Nippon. You want peaches, you shake the tree.

"Okay, you've got your theories, I've got mine. But for both our sakes, I think it's time we moved on them."

"What do you mean?" She looked up.

"I suggest we start with a little information gathering." I turned on the hot water again, nice and noisy, then continued. "What do you say we go up and take a little private look around the offices."

"Tonight?"

"What better time. Weather alert, right? n.o.body's there. It's perfect.

We can fast-talk the security, get in, and check the place over."

"And where, exactly, do you propose we look?" She examined me skeptically. "I'm there every day."

"How about that new office Mori commandeered for herself. I think we ought to poke around and see what she's got. Maybe try and locate the rest of that doc.u.ment, if nothing else."

"I'm not sure we ought to be doing anything quite that drastic, at least not just yet."

"I didn't claim it was approved by Amy Vanderbilt. I just say we ought to give it a shot. If we don't look into this, who will? Maybe we'll find something to explain the so-called pattern you think you see."

"Matt, for all I know, that may be nothing more than a coincidence. If Noda found out we'd done something like this, the whole ball game would be over."

"That's the chance we take. Let's just see what we can come up with, okay? Personally, I'm beginning to think Noda and your pal Asano are both world-cla.s.s con artists." I poured a little more cognac for us both. "But whoever's right, we should at least try to find out. Who knows? What if it's becoming a MITI show now, for some purpose neither of us can imagine?"

"All right." She looked apprehensive for a second, only a second, and then her eyes hardened. "You know, Noda and Mori claim I'm Fujiwara ...

on my mother's side naturally." She laughed. "And you know something else? I feel in my bones that it's true. I believe it. I'm j.a.panese, Matthew, and I'm proud of that."

I glanced over at a set of samurai armor stationed just outside the bathroom door, glistening enameled steel. '"Tell you the truth, I'm second to n.o.body when it comes to admiring j.a.pan's ethic and their guts. But I tend to draw the line at 'master race' talk. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't object too strenuously if they did manage to beat us in a fair contest. h.e.l.l, we won round one and they were remarkably sporting about it. But what I want is to make sure round two is fought on level ground. No inventing new rules, no rabbit punches or below- the-belt stuff. That's all I ask."

"How about showing me some of those swords you claim you collect?" She came out with it, just like that.

"My pleasure. Like nothing better."

Besides, it seemed a good time for a change of pace. I straightened up and headed for the back parlor upstairs, then around the corner to the sword room, its door now fully repaired from the strange break-in. I fished out the key and snapped open the lock.

Funny thing, but walking around fully dressed / had started feeling out of place. Maybe it is merely a state of mind.

All right now, where to start? This was a crucial moment. My first impulse was to go all the way to gold, that marvelous _katana _dating from the early Kamakura, or even before, said to have come from the forge of the Shogun Yoritomo Minamoto's personal swordsmith. But wait a minute. After that, what? Maybe the absolute tops should be saved for a more auspicious moment. That sword was, to my mind, an almost sacred work. Maybe instead we ought to start with something a little offbeat, then gradually work up to the best and sharpest.

The obvious choice, in fact, was a piece I considered a real curiosity, racked there on the left, top slot. As I lifted it off and slipped it out of its scabbard, the metal glistened like a mirror, reminding me how long it's been since I'd oiled and pampered my playthings.

"I'm afraid nothing here was handed down by the Sun G.o.ddess." I was coming back down the stairs a little unsteadily, like a half-drunk samurai. "But this one's kind of like the old style, at least the metallurgy is. Unusual. Heavy on copper and tin. In a way almost closer to bronze than steel."

Then I proceeded to point out a few interesting features--the nice curve of the face line, the burl grain, the Shinto deities on the elliptical _tsuba_ hand guard, that kind of thing-- taking care to keep it out of the d.a.m.ned bubbles. I was starting to get wound up, as all enthusiasts do with a captive audience, when she tactfully cut me off.

"How's the handle attached, or the grip, or whatever it's called?"

"That's the hilt, the _tsuka_. Held on with a little wooden peg stuck through a hole in the metal. Here, let me show you." I had a small bra.s.s punch on my key ring that was specially designed to push it out.

"Under the grip there's a wrapping of silk braid, and then a layer of the belly skin of a stingray, to protect the steel. But you just remove this peg and the whole ensemble slides right off." I removed the handle and laid it on the sink. "Now you can see the untempered end of the sword, the tang or _nakago _as it's called." I pa.s.sed the weapon to her, blunt end first. "That's where a swordsmith engraved his signature, his t.i.tle, the place it was forged. So you always should check. On a really important piece, there may be cutting tests noted there. Like maybe they tried out the blade on a criminal or two just to see if it worked. Quality control."

"G.o.d." She shuddered. "Really?"

"Licensed testers did it and certified it in gold engraving on the nakago. Some of the ones upstairs have it. But this one's an ubu, virgin." I watched her turn it in the dim light. "Careful now. That edge is very sharp."

"How can you tell if it's really old?"

"Lots of ways. The grain, the signature, and then too a good one should have some rust there on the _nakago_, black not red."

She held it up a second and examined it.

"Virgin, huh? No signature?" She had a funny, almost embarra.s.sed, expression on her face.

"Correct. But like I said, this one's not--"

"Then who was 'Nihon Steelworks: Nagoya'? Somebody you bought it from?"

"Anybody ever tell you you've got a crummy sense of humor." I wasn't smiling as I reached to take it back. Her crack annoyed me and I'm afraid I showed it. Some things you don't kid around about. "That's a modern foundry that turns out c.r.a.ppy--"

"Don't get testy. I'm only reading. Right there." She pointed to some very faint English engraved into the metal.

"_Christ_!"

I grabbed it back and held it under the light to look. No mistaking.

There it was, plain as could be.