Rising Sun: A Novel (42 page)

The basic message was that America had lost its economic competitiveness, and that we had to get it back.

“It’s time for all of us to pull together,” Morton said, on the monitor. “Everyone from our politicians in Washington, to our leaders of business and labor, to our teachers and children, to all of us in our homes. We need to pay our bills as we go, and cut the government deficit. We need to increase savings. To improve our roads and education. We need a government policy of energy conservation—for our environment, for our children’s lungs, and for our global competitiveness.”

The camera moved close to the senator’s face, for his closing remarks.

“There are some who say that we are entering a new era
of global business,” he said. “They say it no longer matters where companies are located, or where things are made. That ideas of national economies are old-fashioned and out of date. To those people, I say—Japan doesn’t think so. Germany doesn’t think so. The most successful countries in the world today maintain strong national policies for energy conservation, for the control of imports, for promotion of exports. They nourish their industries, protecting them against unfair competition from abroad. Business and government work together to look after their own people and their jobs. And those countries are doing better than America, because those economic policies reflect the real world. Their policies work. Ours don’t. We do not live in an ideal world, and until we do, America had better face the truth. We had better build our own brand of hard-nosed economic nationalism. We had better take care of Americans. Because nobody else will.

“I want to make it clear: the industrial giants of Japan and Germany are not the cause of our problems. Those countries are challenging America with new realities—and it is up to us to face those realities, and meet their economic challenge head on. If we do so, our great country will enter an era of unparalleled prosperity. But if we continue as we are, mouthing the ancient platitudes of a free market economy, disaster awaits us. The choice is ours. Join me in choosing to meet the new realities—and to make a better economic future for the American people.”

The screen went blank.

Morton sat back. “When does this run?”

“It’ll start in nine weeks. Test run in Chicago and the Twin Cities, associated focus groups, any modifications, then the national break in July.”

“Long after MicroCon …”

“Oh, yes.”

“Okay, good. Go with it.”

Woodson took the tape, and left the room. Morton turned to us. “Well? What can I do for you?”

Connor waited until the door had closed. Then he said, “Senator, you can tell us about Cheryl Austin.”

* * *

There was a pause. Morton looked at each of us. A blank expression came over his face. “Cheryl Austin?”

“Yes, Senator.”

“I’m not sure that I know who—”

“Yes, Senator,” Connor said. And he handed Morton a watch. It was a woman’s gold Rolex.

“Where did you get this?” Morton said. His voice was low now, icy.

A woman knocked on the door. “Six minutes, Senator.” She closed the door.

“Where did you get this?” he repeated.

“Don’t you know?” Connor said. “You haven’t even looked at the back. At the inscription.”

“
Where did you get this
?”

“Senator, we’d like you to talk to us about her.” He took a glassine bag from his pocket, and set it on the table next to Morton. It contained a pair of women’s black panties.

“I have nothing to say to you gentlemen,” Morton said. “Nothing at all.”

Connor took a videotape from his pocket, and set it next to the senator. “This is a tape from one of five different cameras which recorded the incident on the forty-sixth floor. The tape has been altered, but it was still possible to extract an image that shows who the person with Cheryl Austin was.”

“I have nothing to say,” Morton said. “Tapes can be edited and changed and then changed again. It doesn’t mean anything. This is all lies and baseless allegation.”

“I’m sorry, Senator,” Connor said.

Morton stood up and began to pace. “I want to impress upon you gentlemen the severity of the charges that you are considering. Tapes can be altered. These particular tapes have been in the custody of a Japanese corporation which, it could be argued, has a wish to exert influence over me. Whatever they may or may not show, I assure you they will not stand up to scrutiny. The public will clearly see this as an attempt to blacken the name of one of the few Americans
willing to speak up against the Japanese threat. And as far as I am concerned, you two are pawns in the hands of foreign powers. You don’t understand the consequences of your actions. You are making damaging allegations without proof. You have no witnesses to anything that may allegedly have happened. In fact, I would even say—”

“Senator.” Connor’s voice was soft but insistent. “Before you go any farther, and say anything you may regret, would you look down at the studio? There’s somebody there you need to see.”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Just look, Senator. If you would, please.”

Snorting angrily, Morton strode to the window and looked down at the studio. I looked too. I saw the reporters swiveling in their chairs, laughing and joking with each other as they waited to ask questions. I saw the moderator, adjusting his tie and clipping on his mike. I saw a workman wiping the shiny sign that said
NEWSMAKERS.
And in the corner, standing right where we had told him to stand, I saw a familiar figure with his hands in his pockets, looking up at us.

Eddie Sakamura.

Of course Connor had put it all together. When he opened the door to my living room and saw my daughter sitting on the floor, playing with her Tinkertoys with Eddie Sakamura, he hadn’t even blinked. He just said, “Hello, Eddie. I was wondering how long it’d take you to get here.”

“I’ve been here all day,” Eddie said. He sounded put out. “You guys. Never come here. I wait and wait. Have a peanut butter jelly sandwich with Shelly. You have nice girl, Lieutenant. Cute girl.”

“Eddie is funny,” my daughter said. “He smokes, Daddy.”

“I see that,” I said. I felt slow and stupid. I was still trying to understand.

My daughter came over and held her arms up. “Pick me up, Daddy.” I picked her up.

“Very nice girl,” Eddie said. “We made a windmill. See?” He spun the spokes of the Tinkertoy. “Works.”

I said, “I thought you were dead.”

“Me?” He laughed. “No. Never dead. Tanaka dead. Mess hell out of my car, too.” He shrugged. “I have bad luck with Ferraris.”

“So does Tanaka,” Connor said.

I said, “Tanaka?”

Michelle said, “Daddy, can I watch Cinderella?”

“Not right now,” I said. “Why was Tanaka in the car?”

“Panicky guy,” Eddie said. “Very nervous guy. Maybe guilty, too. Must have got scared, I don’t know for sure.”

Connor said, “You and Tanaka took the tapes.”

“Yes. Sure. Right after. Ishiguro says to Tanaka: Get the tapes. So Tanaka gets them. Sure. But I know Tanaka, so I go along. Tanaka takes them to some lab.”

Connor nodded. “And who went to the Imperial Arms?”

“I know Ishiguro sends some men, to clean up. I don’t know who.”

“And you went to the restaurant.”

“Sure, yes. Then I went to the party. Rod’s party. No problem.”

“And what about the tapes, Eddie?”

“I told you. Tanaka takes them. I don’t know where. He’s gone. He works for Ishiguro. For Nakamoto.”

“I understand,” Connor said. “But he didn’t take all the tapes, did he.”

Eddie gave a crooked grin. “Hey.”

“You kept some?”

“No. Just one. Just a mistake, you know. In my pocket.” He smiled.

Michelle said, “Daddy, can I watch Disney channel?”

“Sure,” I said. I put her down. “Elaine will help you.”

My daughter went away. Connor kept talking to Eddie. Slowly the sequence of events came out. Tanaka had gone off with the tapes, and at some point in the evening, apparently realized that one was missing. He figured it out, Eddie said, and he came back to Eddie’s house to collect the missing tape. He had interrupted Eddie with the girls. He had demanded the tape.

“I don’t know for sure, but after I talk to you, I figure they set me up. We have a big argument.”

“And then the police came. Graham came.”

Eddie nodded slowly. “Tanaka-san shit a brick. Hey! He’s unhappy Japanese man.”

“So you made him tell you everything …”

“Oh yeah, Captain. He tells me very fast—”

“And in return you told him where the missing tape was.”

“Sure. In my car. I give him the keys. So he can unlock it. He has the keys.”

Tanaka had gone into the garage to get the tape. The
patrolmen downstairs ordered him to halt. He started the car and drove off.

“I watch him go, John. Drives like shit.”

So it had been Tanaka who was driving the car when it hit the embankment. It was Tanaka who had burned to death. Eddie explained that he hid in the shrubbery behind the swimming pool and waited until everybody left.

“Cold as shit out there,” he said.

I said to Connor, “You knew all this?”

“I suspected. The reports of the crash said that the body was badly burned, and that even the glasses had melted.”

Eddie said, “Hey, I don’t wear glasses.”

“Exactly,” Connor said. “Even so, I asked Graham to check, the next day. He never found any glasses in Eddie’s house. So it couldn’t have been Eddie in the car. The next day, when we went to Eddie’s house, I had the patrolmen check the license plates on all the cars parked on the street. Sure enough: there was a yellow Toyota sedan, a short distance up the road, registered to Akira Tanaka.”

“Hey, pretty good,” Eddie said. “Smart.”

I said, “Where were you, all this time?”

“At Jasmine’s house. Very nice house.”

“Who’s Jasmine?”

“Redhead number. Very nice woman. Got a Jacuzzi, too.”

“But why did you come here?”

Connor said to me, “He had to. You have his passport.”

“Right,” Eddie said. “And me, I have your business card. You give me. Home address and phone. I need my passport, Lieutenant. I got to go now. So I come here, and wait. And holy shit, all the reporters. Cameras. Everything. So I stay low, play with Shelly.” He lit a cigarette, turned nervously. “So. What do you say, Lieutenant? How about you give me my passport?
Netsutuku.
No harm done. I’m dead anyway. Okay?”

“Not just yet,” Connor said.

“Come on, John.”

“Eddie, you have to do a little job first.”

“Hey. What job? I got to go, Captain.”

“Just one job, Eddie.”

Morton took a deep breath, and turned away from the studio window. I had to admire his self-control. He seemed completely calm. “It appears,” he said, “that my options at this moment are somewhat reduced.”

“Yes, Senator,” Connor said.

He sighed. “You know it was an accident. It really was.”

Connor nodded sympathetically.

“I don’t know what it was about her,” Morton said. “She was beautiful, of course, but it wasn’t … it wasn’t that. I only met her a short time ago. Four, five months ago. I thought she was a nice girl. Texas girl, sweet. But it was … one of those things. It just happened. She had this way of getting under your skin. It was crazy. Unexpected. I started to think about her all the time. I couldn’t … she would call me, when I was on a trip. She would find out when I was on a trip, somehow. And pretty soon, I couldn’t tell her to stay away. I couldn’t. She always seemed to have money, always had a plane ticket. She was crazy. Sometimes, she would make me so
mad.
It was like my … I don’t know. Demon. Everything changed when she was around. Crazy. I had to stop seeing her. And eventually I had the feeling she was paid for. Someone was paying her. Someone knew all about her. And me. So I had to stop it. Bob told me. Hell, everybody in the office told me. I couldn’t. Finally I did. It was over. But when I came to that reception, there she was. Shit.” He shook his head. “It just happened. What a mess.”

The girl stuck her head in the door. “Two minutes, Senator. They’re asking for you downstairs if you’re ready.”

Morton said to us, “I’d like to do this first.”

“Of course,” Connor said.

His self-possession was extraordinary. Senator Morton conducted a televised interview with three reporters for half an hour, without a trace of tension or discomfort. He
smiled, cracked jokes, bantered with the reporters. It was as if he had no problems at all.

At one point he said, “Yes, it’s true that the British and the Dutch both have larger investments in America than the Japanese. But we can’t ignore the reality of targeted, adversarial trade as practiced by Japan—where business and government make a planned attack on some segment of the American economy. The British and Dutch don’t operate that way. We haven’t lost basic industries to those countries. But we’ve lost many to Japan. That is a real difference—and that’s the reason for concern.”

He added, “And, of course, if we want to buy a Dutch or English company, we can. But we can’t buy a Japanese company.”