At the mention of anyone with a connection to his company, Shiroyama imagined how, in his absence, the police must have probed and pried into their business. Because of the risk management system they had installed last autumn, Hinode’s firewalls were now stronger than that of other companies, which no doubt had raised the ire of the police.
“So you say you went along a path in the mountains with the perpetrators and they led you to the road. Did the perpetrators clearly state that they were releasing you before they left you and fled?”
“Yes, they did.”
“Did they say why they were releasing you?”
“No.”
“You couldn’t see because of the blindfold, but right after the two men took off running, you heard the sound of a car starting on the road, correct? If that’s the case, you could say that releasing you at dawn today was part of their plan, too.”
There was no way for Shiroyama to speculate, but he was keenly aware that the police seemed to find the circumstances of his release suspicious. But then again, he assumed that such a healthy dose of skepticism from the police was a normal reaction when the victim of an extensive abduction plot returned two days later, unharmed. Besides, seeing as how he had decided to give into the criminals’ demands, he had no other choice but to reply according to their instructions. And so he repeated to himself, Yes, the criminals took off without giving a reason for releasing their hostage. As long as he, the victim, maintained this as his testimony, the police should have no reason to dispute his words, at least for the time being.
After a long pause, the investigator started questioning him again. “By the way, did the perpetrators say why they had abducted and unlawfully confined you?”
“No.”
The investigator increased his pressure. “Did they make any specific demands for money?”
The answer could be only yes or no. Shiroyama instinctively decided that it would seem unnatural for him to take his time responding, so he replied, “Yes, they did.”
“How much did they ask for?”
“Six hundred million.”
“Did they give instructions about how to deliver the money?”
“They said they would be in touch . . . I’m sorry, but I can’t help but worry about what’s happening at my company. Please let me see one of my employees so that I can confirm this hasn’t affected our business. I can talk to you more after that.”
Shiroyama attempted to deflect any further questioning as he scanned the thoughts racing through his mind, sparked by what he had just said. He wondered if it was really the right decision to follow the criminals’ instructions and tell the police that the demand was six hundred million and that the criminals would be in touch with delivery instructions. The facts would soon be reported in the media, which would indicate to the criminals that Hinode was moving things along according to their demands. But was there any guarantee that this would indeed remedy the whole situation? Unfortunately that was nowhere to be found.
And yet, Shiroyama felt he had no other options. He had been able to console himself somewhat that for now there was no alternative other than to do as the criminals said—in order to avoid giving any worse of an impression to the police and the media, in order to assess the future moves of the criminals, and in order to buy the time he needed to formulate a plan of action for the company.
Led in by investigators shortly before nine in the morning was none other than Seigo Kurata, who appeared with sunken, bloodshot eyes. He wore the same suit and tie that Shiroyama had seen him in on Friday night, and was carrying two cloth-wrapped bundles and a garment bag with a suit inside.
“We are so thankful for your assistance. I’ve brought over a change of clothes prepared by President Shiroyama’s wife.” Kurata gave a gracious bow to the investigators and then turned to Shiroyama, bowing even more deeply. “I cannot imagine the strain you’ve been through. I am so relieved that you are safe.”
Shiroyama automatically rose from his chair and bowed in return. “As you can see I am fine. I am sorry to have caused so much concern.”
With the investigators’ attention focused on them, Kurata straightened up and let his eyes—besieged by both relief and anguish—rest for a fleeting, clandestine moment on Shiroyama’s face. Shiroyama returned his gaze, conveying as best he could with only a look—I understand.
Shiroyama did not even have to imagine how Kurata felt, what went through his mind, and what his concerns were when he learned that Shiroyama had been abducted. Zenzo Tamaru, the advisor to the Okada Association, with whom Hinode had reached a settlement to sever all ties two years ago, had suddenly reappeared this year and had relentlessly hounded Hinode to purchase land meant for a mountain resort in the forests of Gunma Prefecture, and Kurata had been the one to bear the full brunt of these talks, adamantly refusing. Shiroyama had deliberated the issue repeatedly during his captivity, wondering if it were possibly related, but at the same time he denied it could be, assuming that the Okada Association, now firmly rooted in the political and business world, would hardly resort to such violent threats. However, between thinking of the photo of his niece and now seeing Kurata’s expression, he struggled to maintain his composure as he began to wonder anew if this could in fact have to do with the resort property in Gunma Prefecture. For his part, Kurata still seemed to possess enough equanimity to behave discreetly before the investigators, for he now held both of Shiroyama’s hands in his and uttered in an emotive voice, “You must have been so worried! Everyone in your family is fine. Business is moving along as usual, and the orders have been coming in just fine this morning, so there’s no need to worry.”
“I see. Thank you, thank you so much,” Shiroyama also answered in a discreet manner, but the tears that brimmed in his eyes were genuine.
“Well then, you can change now.” Prompted by the investigator, Kurata began to unwrap the cloth bundle. The investigators made no motion to leave their seats, their eyes fixed upon the contents of the parcel. Kurata first handed Shiroyama a toothbrush, a razor, soap, a towel, a comb, and other sundry toiletries and said, “Perhaps you’d like to wash your face first.”
One of the investigators immediately stood up and said, “The lavatory is this way.” Shiroyama, it would seem, would be going in with an investigator watching over him. At this point Shiroyama finally realized that the police were trying to keep him from meeting with his employee alone.
But as soon as he entered the bathroom, Shiroyama understood why their precautions weren’t so unreasonable. Inside the portable toothbrush case was a piece of paper folded to fit its exact size. Tucking the paper furtively into his left palm, Shiroyama finished brushing his teeth before moving on to shaving his beard. Then he went into one of the stalls where he unfolded the paper in his hand and saw the rows of tiny letters jotted in ballpoint pen on the thin, B5-size Japanese paper.
At the top of the note were the words, ATTN: President Shiroyama. It was signed by Kotani, who was their representative from the risk management company.
During your interview with the police, please bear the following points in mind:
Express your willingness to cooperate fully with the investigation.
In exchange, vehemently request that they prevent any information from leaking to the media.
In the event we must comply with the criminals’ monetary demands, regardless of their true intentions, be sure to give the impression that it is the company that is the blackmail target. Were the company to pay off a threat against an individual, it could be construed as a breach of trust.
At this point in time, when we cannot predict future developments, it is best to avoid giving detailed testimony during your first formal interview.
Please dispose of this paper once you have read it.
In the margin of the text was a message written in Kurata’s handwriting: No confirmation of O.’s involvement in
the case. But chances high they will take advantage of the situation. Please take heed. Even if the perpetrators were not connected to Okada, the results were the same. Shiroyama determined as much.
Shiroyama flushed the note along with some toilet paper, and exited the stall. Then, he washed his face, and once he had combed his seemingly greyer hair, which still stood on end, he became more or less presentable, despite looking like a different person from two and a half days earlier.
Next, Shiroyama returned to the same room and changed clothes in front of the investigators. His humiliation and patience had reached the limit, but thanks to the amount of tension he felt, by the time he had slid his arms through the sleeves of his brand-new dress shirt, Shiroyama had enough presence of mind to arrange administrative concerns in their appropriate order in his head. As he buttoned his shirt, he dictated a series of messages to Kurata.
“First, please send a fax to every branch and sales office, factory, and affiliated company apologizing for the trouble and telling them the president has returned safely, and so on. Then, before the end of the day, send a letter of apology under my name to shareholders and clients. Please have the executives and the branch and sales office managers divide amongst themselves and apologize in person at the headquarters and branch offices of our larger distributors. By the way, what is the status of the press conference we will hold as a company?”
“I wanted to see how you were doing first, but we’ve planned it for 10 a.m.”
“Please tell them I’ll be ready to hold my own press conference by the end of the day tomorrow. Make sure every division proceeds with their regular business without delay, and that they provide a report. The board meeting might have to be delayed, but I would like to hold a meeting during the day today with just the managing and executive directors working at the main office, so please set that up. And please let my secretary Ms. Nozaki know that if it gets too late she doesn’t need to wait for me.”
“I understand.”
“And, my family—tell them I might be home a little late . . .”
“I will. Please don’t worry about it.”
Shiroyama put on a fresh tie and slipped on his jacket. Having cleaned up, he wasn’t entirely back to himself, but he did finally feel able to take control of the vagaries of his emotions over the past three hours. The clothing Shiroyama had taken off would be seized and examined for residue, and an investigator filled out a form: “One white dress shirt, one wool vest,” and so on. His briefcase was also taken away so that it could be tested for fingerprints, and then he was asked to write out his name and address and add a thumbprint to the form. He saw that under the column Submitter’s Preference for Item Handling, someone had already written, Please return.
“Okay then, let’s go.” At this signal, the investigators escorted Shiroyama out of the room. Kurata shouted from behind Shiroyama, “There are cameras out there!” and as soon as he stepped outside the glass doors at the front entrance, the media descended on him. Television crews and newspaper reporters had surrounded the area around the covered driveway. The police department staff made an effort to hold them back, but it made no difference whatsoever from Shiroyama’s point of view. For a few seconds Shiroyama stood before the sea of people surging toward him, stunned and frozen, as he looked at each and every anonymous face, male and female. At first he couldn’t understand what they wanted, but when he heard Kurata murmur, “It’s TV, bow to them,” at last he snapped back to himself.
Shiroyama managed to bow once to the press corps, and then he climbed into the waiting car as prompted by the investigators, but just before the door closed he finally registered what some of the cries were. “How do you feel right now?” “What were you thinking about while you were being held?” “What is your opinion about Hinode Beer being targeted?”
How I feel right now, what I thought about while being held, my opinion about Hinode Beer being targeted . . . ?
Thinking that he had become confused all over again, Shiroyama buried himself in the backseat of the car and hung his head. The only thing he was sure about was that the situation in which he now found himself would not be so different if he were the culprit, and he had the vague realization that the reality he had been thrown into—the press corps before him just a part of it—was far from what he had imagined during his kidnapping.
根来史彰 Fumiaki Negoro
The early edition of every evening newspaper featured a full-banner headline, in huge print that leaped off the front page. Toho News had decided on hinode beer president freed after fifty-six hours, adding a vertical headline that read, late-night abduction and confinement, and running a panoramic photo of Shiroyama’s residence that stretched across four columns. When the early editions came out, every paper merely reiterated the substance of the press conference verbatim, so the battle had yet to commence; nevertheless, articles and photos related to the Hinode incident were set to dominate the front page and the majority of the Metro page for the second and third editions, as well as most of the final fourth edition.
The time was now just before ten in the morning. Every television monitor on the news room floor flickered with the ongoing report from the commercial broadcasting company. Against the roaring whir of a helicopter, a shrill female reporter shouted, “The car with President Shiroyama inside has just passed the Sagamiko Interchange. In about forty minutes they will arrive at Omori Police Department, where the Investigation Headquarters is located!”
Tabe, leading the coverage as slot editor, hung up the direct line to the MPD kisha club and barked out orders. “Next press conference at twelve noon! Layout! Keep two columns open on the front page. We’ll insert a document. Okamura, how are we doing with the expert comments? Negoro! I want another piece for the Metro page. What have you got?”
“A chronological history of corporate terrorism, a profile of the president, remarks about the president from other industry figures, previous arrests in incidents involving abduction and unlawful confinement, a list of lawsuits involving Hinode Beer, the commercial environment of the beer industry, Hinode’s new product launch that occurred on the day of the incident, the corporate image of Hinode Beer judged by its popularity among new recruits . . .” Negoro randomly cataloged the possibilities as he leafed through the stack of drafts on his desk with his left hand. His right hand held the phone, a call with a reporter at their Hachioji branch that he had placed on hold, while one eye was still on the computer screen, where he had been taking notes.
“Let me see the drafts of that profile of the president and the remarks about him,” Tabe said.
Negoro grabbed the article with his left hand and passed it to a reporter nearby, saying, “Give this to the slot,” before returning to his call. “Sorry about that, please go on.”
The reporter on the other end of the line continued. “. . . So, the talk of a land purchase came up in early 1940—apparently they signed a memorandum with the landowner—but in 1943 the whole thing was suddenly withdrawn, so the landowner filed a lawsuit. They later settled out of court, but I bet Hinode ended up paying them a little something. Anyway, that’s the story.”
The wall clock in the Metro section read 9:55 a.m. A half hour left before the deadline for the second edition.
Negoro typed up brief notes as he listened. Lawsuit #10: Saitama prefecture. Land purchase memo for a factory, 1940. Fully withdrawn, 1943. Landowner sues, settles out of court. * Segregated buraku community. Still hard feelings?
The reporter from Hachioji had previously worked out of the Urawa branch. He had called in after hearing about the local lawsuit from more than half a century ago by sheer chance from an acquaintance, someone from Saitama prefecture involved with the Buraku Liberation League who had seen a report about the Hinode president’s abduction and unlawful confinement on television. “It’s probably not a story worth digging up after all this time, but I’ll keep you posted just in c
ase,” he said, and the short call from Hachioji ended there.
A legal altercation with a landowner involving a factory-site acquisition. Residents of a segregated buraku community revolting under threat of losing their tenant land. Condemnation.
Negoro took a few seconds to ruminate upon the key elements of this freshly delivered news item. The truth was, if he were to pick apart every single problem stemming from the ordinary enterprises of any company, plenty of issues would come up, and the likelihood of a connection between an incident from before the war and the present-day Hinode was small. But whether or not he understood its significance, this counted as information. Negoro’s hands moved automatically as he saved the notes he had just taken in the file with the rest of the related lawsuits.
No sooner was the draft he had just passed to the slot back on his desk than Tabe yelled, “We’ll go with the profile on the president. Cut it down to fifty lines!”
“Yes,” Negoro raised a hand and replied, but when he looked around for the reserve reporter who had written said draft, the guy was nowhere to be found. Reluctantly, he grabbed the draft that had come back and started to make corrections himself when the television above his head blared out, “The Hinode Beer press conference seems to be starting. We’ll switch over to our live coverage at Hinode’s main office!”
Negoro’s hand paused as he looked up. The screen showed two executives from Hinode Beer standing before several microphones and bowing so deeply that their foreheads almost touched the desk. One of them, a slim man with a tuft of gray hair at the crown of his head like a woodpecker, read from a script with eyes downcast. “I am Vice President Sei’ichi Shirai. I am grateful to the members of the media for gathering here today,” he began. “On the evening of March twenty-fourth, under unexpected circumstances, Kyosuke Shiroyama, the president and CEO of our company, was abducted from outside of his home and held in confinement by unknown persons, but fortunately today we received word from the police early this morning that Shiroyama was unharmed and had been taken into protective custody in Yamanashi Prefecture. At this time, words cannot express our deepest apologies for the grave concern we have caused our shareholders, our clients and customers, and of course the public as well. To be embroiled in such a bewildering incident, as a company we feel nothing but confusion and embarrassment, but we are hoping for swift progress with the investigation and that the perpetrators will be soon be apprehended.”
Lady Joker, Volume 1 Page 41
