The Samurai Strategy

by Thomas Hoover

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  That Saturday turned out to be the day when winter descended abruptlyand with rare vengeance. Remember we're only talking mid-December,still a dozen full shopping days till you know what, but it could havebeen the depths of January. After things kicked off with what seemed afoot of snow around three, the elements really started to unload.Everything from sleet in historic proportions to a wind-chill thatwould have frosted the horns off a Bexar County billy goat.

  While I waited for Tam, I battened down the garden, covered the outdoorfurniture, and prudently provisioned the larder with a flagon of Remyantifreeze. Ben in the meantime was lumbering around downstairs, eyeingthe snow-covered garden with an air of disgruntlement. The universe hadturned unacceptable, something he never greeted with equanimity. Idecided to try and divert his misery by hauling him up on the longCountry French dining table and combing some of the knots out of hisshag. When that merely reinforced his overall gloom, however, I calledit quits, located a consoling rawhide stick for him to gnaw, and poureda brandy. It was along about then, shortly after nightfall, that Tamfinally appeared.

  A cab with snow chains dropped her off (she'd come directly from theoffice, which Noda had just shut down for the weekend), and I helpedher navigate the sleet-covered steps. I got the immediate sense thather first impression of my living quarters was unchanged from the olddays. In spite of all the art, armor, and antiques, the place had apoignant rootlessness about it. Boys like toys; they just get moreexpensive as the bank account grows. Also, since she'd been in the mangame long enough to spot a divorce-rebound case a mile off, sheprobably had me figured from the start: part of that army of emotionalparaplegics in our feckless day and age.

  After the MITI twist, however, I suppose she was ready to consult withsomebody concerning the direction things were headed. I warmly invitedher downstairs to the sisal-carpeted den just off the garden and dumpedsome logs in the fireplace. Next I pulled out a few discs--Mendelssohnseemed about right for some reason--and offered to whip up a batch ofmargaritas. 'Twould be, I dared to hope, a long winter's eve. Alas, shesaid no thanks, a club soda and lime would do fine. Looked as if Iwould be working barehanded, without aid of that universal socializer,distilled spirit, so I rustled up a Perrier, then poured anothersnifter of brandy for myself.

  Since she appeared exhausted, my first suggestion was she kick off hershoes and get comfortable. No argument.

  After settling in, shoes off and feet to the fire, she announced shewas ready to hear what I'd come up with.

  Before an awkward silence could grow, I snapped open my briefcase.

  "Dr. Richardson, in keeping with the ground rule that this is a formalbusiness meeting, let me introduce my first agenda item." I flashed hermy best smile, then pulled out the purloined page. "This is part of thepaperwork Mori seems to have brought with her. I don't understand toowell what it's all about, but my first impression is that somebody hasdecided to do some major tinkering with your program. Take a look atthis and give me an opinion." I passed it over.

  She glanced down, then back at me. "Are you supposed to be bringing DNIdocuments home?"

  That was her first reaction, swear to God.

  "Look, this just accidentally got in with some of my photocopies. Allit is is a list of companies. And I didn't want to talk about it therein the office." I reached over and ran my finger down the string offirms, then to several columns of numbers off to the right. "Thequestion is, what are these outfits suddenly doing on DNI's buy list?"

  She studied it a second, looked around the room, and said exactlynothing.

  "Doesn't that seem at all strange to you?" I finally spoke up. "As Iunderstand the plan, you want to shift more corporate funding intoresearch in the companies you're buying into? I do have it right, don'tI?"

  She nodded.

  "Okay, then you're with me so far. But take a look at this." Iindicated the column of numbers. "That's the current research budgetfor these firms--it says so right up there on the top. Presumably thesefigures came out of the analytical setup down on eleven. Does anythingabout those figures seem out of line?"

  She looked at it, her eyes widening, then narrowing.

  "Well, I don't know what this sheet is all about." She glanced up."These companies aren't part of our buys."

  "Got news for you. I think they just made the team." I pointed to theheading. "See that--'ACQUISITION SCHEDULE: REVISIONS.'"

  When she said nothing, nada, I continued, "But you're right; theyweren't on the original list. The reason being, I would surmise, thatthey didn't need any of this so-called management Rx you guys aresupposed to be cooking up. Look at that one, and that one. Even I knowenough to realize those outfits are operating with a real cash surplusright now, have plenty of R&D funding already, and hence are doing justfine, thank you. The figures, in fact, are right over there in thatcolumn on the right."

  "Matt, we don't know what this is for."

  "True, true. So let's just play pretend. And to make it fun, let meshow you something else." I rummaged through my briefcase some more,finally extracting another paper. "I copied a corresponding page fromthe file on current buys."

  I laid it alongside the first.

  She picked up the second sheet, checked it over. "I helped compile thislist."

  "Then maybe you'll see what I'm saying? Format's the same. The onlydifference is, some of the dogs have been dropped and replaced by somevery well run corporations."

  "You're right about that. All high-tech, heavy research investment."

  Progress? The first scale to fall from her eyes?

  "Then let's play another round of this 'pretend' game. As I understandit, you and yours put together this original list of companies for onemain reason: lousy management. But all of a sudden the outfits in theworst shape on list number one have disappeared on list number two.Meaning, I would assume, that they're no longer part of the program, atleast as it's laid out on this revised version Mori must have broughtin from Tokyo."

  "What are you trying to say?"

  For chrissake, what did she think I was trying to say?

  "Oh, nothing much, I suppose. Except that it looks to me likesomebody's just knifed your program in the back. All of a sudden DNI'sgoing to start buying outfits that already have good management, not tomention heavy research commitments. So what exactly is anybody supposedto be doing to help them along?" I paused. "Maybe a better question is,who removed those others, the ones now winging it on a hope and aprayer."

  She laid down the two pages side by side and began to compare them inmore detail, a finger here, a finger there. But strictly no comment.

  Along about then Ben got up and checked out the sleet- covered garden,then lumbered back and plopped down beside us, clearly expecting a patfor diligence in the line of duty. She remarked that English sheepdogsalways reminded her of a big flotaki rug. After that put-down shereturned to the lists. I hoped the poor guy's sensitive ego wasn'tmortally fractured.

  Well, she announced finally, my so-called discovery didn't add up tomuch.

  "Matt, I officially have no opinion about this. It could meananything." She shrugged. "Maybe the new twist is to start with thecompanies that can benefit the most from coordination. Take on the easyjob first where the payoff will be greatest. Save the tough ones forlater."

  "Oh, sure. Who knows? It could all be very innocent, right? I mean, forall we can tell, the moon might really be green cheese." I wonderedwhat had gotten into her all of a sudden. It was plain as day what washappening. But instead of congratulating me on my sleuthing, she wasturning obtuse.

  "Tell me exactly how you got this sheet."

  "Like I said, more or less by accident." I told her the story again. "Iwas about to chuck it, then I took a second to mull it over. That'swhen I got to wondering why the numbers seemed so inconsistent. Nextthing I noticed was the new list of players. All of a sudden theheavens opened. A vision." I got up to freshen my brandy, then cameback. She was still sitting there, maybe too exhaust
ed to thinkstraight. "But I take it you don't believe my little epiphany meansanything?"

  "Since I don't know what it means, I'm not going to engage in a lot ofuninformed 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 moredocuments out of the office. There's a reason for all the security."

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

  "I think some fresh air would be nice." She rose to her feet, locatedher shoes, and strolled over to look out at the garden. The sleet andsnow 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 anythingmore inside the house.

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

  Anyway, she gave me the cool-it sign, then calmly started putting onher coat. Astounded by the possible dimensions of human mistrust, I dugout a sweater from behind the couch and opened the door. She was stillnursing that damned designer water.

  Ben snapped to alertness and galloped to the door, whereupon heconfronted the weather. His strategic decision, executed with lightningspeed, was to switch into his patented "zone defense" surveillance modeagainst backyard trespassers, which required staying inside where itwas warm. I gave him a pat, freshened his water bowl, and followed herout into the snow.

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

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

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

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

  "How many pages?"

  "Probably half a dozen or so."

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

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

  "I think your episode suggests at least two things." She took back thepage. "The first one is, this is part of a much larger document."

  "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?" Shepaused. "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 leftthis on purpose?"

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

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

  "All right, let's just say that's a possibility for now. But what we doknow 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 everintended to be. I say we either play their way or cut and run. We startgetting too nosy and we could end up on the wrong end of one of thoseUzis."

  "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. Thefire 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?" Thequartet Opus 44, No. 1, was enveloping us, both violins emerging out ofthe shadows.

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

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

  "How're we doing for warmth?" I propped the poker against the side ofthe mantel, then reached over and touched her tangled hair lightly withmy 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 downto my place in the islands and monitor the apocalypse off the satellitedish? Watch MITI eat America."

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

  The fire snapped and startled Ben, who glanced up, checked out thesleet-covered garden, then grimly resumed his snooze. She reached overand gave him a pat. The first time. "You know, I can't believe MITI isbehind 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 haveheard of him."

  I lay there for a moment listening to the quartet, my memory registersrunning a quick sort. Then it came to me. Kenji Asano was the MITI guyHenderson said had masterminded Japan's rape of the U.S. semiconductorindustry.

  "You actually know him?"

  "Sure do." She smiled. "Very well."

  Shit. I didn't really need to hear this. "That sounds like a littlemore than a professional acquaintance." I looked at her forconfirmation.

  "A little."

  Okay, I thought. Guess we're getting down to the straight story here.Press on. "Well, I have some news you may not like. This Asano geniuspersonally engineered the destruction of the U.S. industry in RAMchips. Probably the most devastating sneak attack on America sincePearl Harbor."

  She stiffened. "Who told you that?"

  "Let's just say I heard it. So what's this guy doing all of a suddensaving U.S. high-tech industry? He's already cost this country tens ofthousands of jobs and literally billions of dollars."

  "I don't believe it. I know Ken. Sure, he works for MITI, but his jobis overseeing Japan's own research in supercomputers. He's very proudof their progress."

  Oops. I swirled my snifter. "Whatever you say. If that's really true,then excuse me. I take it all back."

  She looked up--probably not believing my diplomatic reversal--and watchedas I casually slipped my arm around her waist. I couldn't tell if shewanted it to happen or not.

  Thinking I might have some momentum going, I reached back and pulled acouple of wide cushions off the couch, stationed them by the fire, theneased us both against them. I tried to do it with naturalness, finesse.

  It wasn't happening.

  "Matthew, underneath all that unnecessary bluster, which is just as Iremember, you're still a half-decent guy, which I also remember. But Idon't really think this is a good idea." She looked at me, her facehighlighted in the orange glow of the embers.

  "I hope it's not because you have other commitments." I heard my voiceharden. "Like maybe in Japan."

  "I'm just a little distracted tonight, that's all." She watched as Itrailed a finger around the hard tip of a nipple beneath h
er shirt.Gently she moved my hand away. "Don't start."

  "Maybe I can at least get a rain check." I retired from the field.

  "Possibly." She smiled, then gave me a telling glance. "A while ago yousaid something about another place."

  My soundproof chamber?

  "Right." I rose. "We're always open around here for travelers on afrosty night." I helped her up. "And for this evening's specialintroductory offer, there's a hot tub down the hall. Why don't you letme fill it, and you can unwind those muscles for a while, Japanese-style or California-style or whatever. Do you good."

  She looked me over a second, then smiled. "Lots of nice, loud runningwater?"

  "Exactly."

  Off we went to the Italian-marble bathroom there off the downstairsbedroom. I'd installed that little indulgence for Joanna back duringhappier times; these days I used it as the world's largest laundryhamper--ripping it out would have cost a fortune. Jo's revenge, I calledthe thing.

  She marched in, took a look about the room, which had one of those bigtubs trimmed in redwood, and said it reminded her of a place near Ise.She did at least have the discretion to omit the circumstances of thatoccasion.

  What happened next sort of shook my cool, my being a good Texas lapsed-Baptist. You see, I'd never bought into the nudity-is-wholesome ethicof the Age of Aquarius. Passed me right by. I mean, where's the fun inlife without a little forbidden fruit? But Tam just began shucking herclothes. Everything. Kept going till she'd even doffed her little beigeknickers, piling everything one piece at a time in a neat heap on thecounter. Just like that. While bold corporate raider Matt Walton stoodthere in terminal astonishment, grasping the edge of the sink as if itwere a life preserver. My nonchalance was an Oscar-winning performance.

  Now in the attire God gave her, she calmly inquired if I had any bubblebath.

  "Well, ah, sure, I mean, I suppose so, probably somewhere around here.If not, there's probably a box of Tide in the basement." I gropedblindly in the cabinet and my hand fell upon a pink bottle whose labelread "Mr. Bubble." What's this? Then I realized it must be some sudsstashed there by Amy. Bet she saw somebody soaking on TV and concludedthat's the way grown-up women behaved. My God, it's in their genes.

  Then I turned around.

  Tell you one thing, Dr. Tamara Richardson was still in great

  shape. All of her. Was she pulling a tease number on me, or just doingwhat comes naturally? Sad to say, I fear it was the latter. I guessshe'd somehow internalized this Japanese idea that nudity is no bigdeal.

  "Tam"--I finally found my voice--"you're something else. I know you'resmart, and I'm beginning to remember you never were all that retiring.How about refreshing me on a few of the other things I seem to haveforgot."

  "I think I wanted to be a boy." She laughed as she sampled the waterwith her toe. "I thought they had all the fun." Now she was pouring ina test portion of Amy's Mr. Bubble. "Then I found out girls could doanything boys could, but usually better. So I stopped worrying aboutit." She stepped in.

  "Easy. You're talking to an unreconstructed male chauvinist."

  "What else is new? You all are at heart. At least you have the decencyto admit it." She dumped in the remainder of the pink gunk. Willsomebody please tell me why women, all women, go for that stuff? Anexaggeration, you say? Ever see one turn it down?

  "Hey, I'm trying to deprogram myself, but it's uphill work." I watchedas a perfectly formed breast disappeared beneath the foam. "I tend tobe old-fashioned."

  "I recall all too well."

  "Well, give me a chance." I leaned back against the sink. "You know,this striptease isn't helping repress my primal male instincts a wholeheck of a lot."

  "Matt, for somebody who's supposed to be an expert on Japan, you'veunderstood very little about us."

  "Us?"

  "You know. I'm half and half." She flashed me a Mona Lisa smile as shewas wrapping her hair in a towel. I found myself thinking that at leastshe shaves her underarms, a minor concession to conventional propriety.

  "Well, so what. I'm an equal-opportunity seductionist. That is, when Iget the opportunity."

  "Not making much headway tonight, I fear." Another tricky smile. Shewas starting to drive me distracted.

  "Thought you'd never notice."

  "Matt, you're an emotional basket case. I've seen plenty." She lookedme over sympathetically. "Sorry, but I've got enough problems of myvery own. You'll have to manage your own salvation."

  "Could be you're just deceived by my sensitive nature." I leanedagainst the counter, playing peek-a-boo with a tan nipple now half-concealed in the bubbles. "Mistaking it for brain damage."

  "Uh, uh." She shook her head in the negative. "I read your genderpretty well."

  I was beginning to get a little annoyed. Who needed this? "Tell youwhat, Dr. Richardson, for all my putative failings, I do happen topossess a modest allotment of native wit. And my male intuition tellsme your dance card is full right now. That same right-brain perceptionalso suggests it has something to do with this MlTl honcho Asano."

  "So?"

  "So that upsets me for a couple of reasons, only one of which willprobably be of any interest to you. I don't think you have an entirelyopen mind on the possibility MITI or somebody may be about to try andnail this country to the wall. Because if you admitted that, you wouldalso have to admit something you apparently find distasteful to concedeabout your Prince Charming." I watched her eyes grow sad. "Stop me if Icross the line from preaching to meddling--to use a little expressionfrom my youth."

  "Matthew, you've just ceased being nice." She looked down. "What do youdo if you think you trust somebody and then you find out maybe thattrust is . . . misplaced?"

  "Old Ecclesiasticus, back in Bible times, told us, 'In the time ofadversity, consider.' As advice goes, that's still probably sound valuefor the dollar. Like for example, you might want to back off and do alittle thinking on whether Noda and his crowd have been using you, andme for that matter, like a couple of patsies."

  When she said nothing, I pressed on. "I walk into the office yesterday,the first thing I hear about is some MITI connection, then tonight Ihear about your MITI connection, and it's starting to sound like thesame tune. Like maybe these guys have been playing you like a violin."

  "But why me?"

  "Credibility. And low profile for MITI's grab. By sending you out tomeet the victims, they've thrown the hounds off the scent. Dr. Save-American-Industry has come to help. You're so goddam clean, Tam.Impeccable credentials. You're gold to those guys." I was set to giveher a blast, but I decided to try keeping the lid on for once. "Maybe abetter question than why they chose you is why you went for it. How didthey brainwash you?"

  "Nobody brainwashed me. I still think Noda's being straight. He canthink in global terms. That's a rarity."

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

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

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

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

  "What pattern?"

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

  Something snapped inside me about then. Anger. Tam Richardson, I wasrapidly concluding, was being used by those bastards. And as best Icould tell, this idealistic woman couldn't let herself believe it. Thesituation royally pissed me off. Even more when I also suspected thisAsano operator had somehow been playing fast and loose with herheartstrings. I decided then and there I wasn't going to let them getaway with it.

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

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

  No entity, I've always believed, is unstoppable, no matter how massive.There's always a soft underbelly somewhere. After a while any bigorganization gets cocky and makes a blunder. Sometimes, in fact, youcan 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 onthe hot water again, nice and noisy, then continued. "What do you saywe go up and take a little private look around the offices."

  "Tonight?"

  "What better time. Weather alert, right? Nobody'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 meskeptically. "I'm there every day."

  "How about that new office Mori commandeered for herself. I think weought to poke around and see what she's got. Maybe try and locate therest of that document, if nothing else."

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

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

  "Matt, for all I know, that may be nothing more than a coincidence. IfNoda found out we'd done something like this, the whole ball game wouldbe 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 areboth world-class con artists." I poured a little more cognac for usboth. "But whoever's right, we should at least try to find out. Whoknows? What if it's becoming a MITI show now, for some purpose neitherof us can imagine?"

  "All right." She looked apprehensive for a second, only a second, andthen her eyes hardened. "You know, Noda and Mori claim I'm Fujiwara ...on my mother's side naturally." She laughed. "And you know somethingelse? I feel in my bones that it's true. I believe it. I'm Japanese,Matthew, and I'm proud of that."

  I glanced over at a set of samurai armor stationed just outside thebathroom door, glistening enameled steel. '"Tell you the truth, I'msecond to nobody when it comes to admiring Japan's ethic and theirguts. But I tend to draw the line at 'master race' talk. As a matter offact, I wouldn't object too strenuously if they did manage to beat usin a fair contest. Hell, we won round one and they were remarkablysporting about it. But what I want is to make sure round two is foughton 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?" Shecame out with it, just like that.

  "My pleasure. Like nothing better."

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

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

  All right now, where to start? This was a crucial moment. My firstimpulse was to go all the way to gold, that marvelous _katana _datingfrom the early Kamakura, or even before, said to have come from theforge of the Shogun Yoritomo Minamoto's personal swordsmith. But wait aminute. After that, what? Maybe the absolute tops should be saved for amore auspicious moment. That sword was, to my mind, an almost sacredwork. 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 itout of its scabbard, the metal glistened like a mirror, reminding mehow long it's been since I'd oiled and pampered my playthings.

  "I'm afraid nothing here was handed down by the Sun Goddess." I wascoming back down the stairs a little unsteadily, like a half-drunksamurai. "But this one's kind of like the old style, at least themetallurgy is. Unusual. Heavy on copper and tin. In a way almost closerto bronze than steel."

  Then I proceeded to point out a few interesting features--the nice curveof 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 ofthe damned bubbles. I was starting to get wound up, as all enthusiastsdo 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 stuckthrough a hole in the metal. Here, let me show you." I had a smallbrass 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 ofthe belly skin of a stingray, to protect the steel. But you just removethis peg and the whole ensemble slides right off." I removed the handleand laid it on the sink. "Now you can see the untempered end of thesword, the tang or _nakago _as it's called." I passed the weapon toher, blunt end first. "That's where a swordsmith engraved hissignature, his title, the place it was forged. So you always shouldcheck. On a really important piece, there may be cutting tests notedthere. Like maybe they tried out the blade on a criminal or two just tosee if it worked. Quality control."

  "God." She shuddered. "Really?"

  "Licensed testers did it and certified it in gold engraving on thenakago. 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. Thatedge 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 shouldhave 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 embarrassed,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'tsmiling as I reached to take it back. Her crack annoyed me and I'mafraid I showed it. Some things you don't kid around about. "That's amodern foundry that turns out crappy--"

  "Don't get testy. I'm only reading. Right there." She pointed to somevery 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.

  That's when I finally realized the thing was a copy. A goddam replicaof the original. Okay, a remarkably good one, but a fake nonetheless.

  How did this get in my closet?

  Could somebody have broken in and . . . ?

  Suddenly it hit me. The robbery. Whoever had lifted my records musthave also pulled a switcheroo on this _katana_, leaving this piece ofNagoya junk and disguising the deed by replacing the original grip andtsuba hand guard. I'd been too loaded to notice.

  I wanted to crack the goddam fraud over my knee like in the movies, butyou don't do that with a samurai sword, even a phony modern one. Soinstead I flung it down on Jo's Italian-marble floor and headed backupstairs to check
the others. What in hell had happened? Had theycleaned me out after all. My God, thousands . . .

  I began yanking down swords, starting with the aforementionedcenterpiece of the collection, scrutinizing them in the light. Butafter about half a dozen proved to be all right, I started calmingdown. Nothing else seemed to have been touched. Well, what the heck, Ithought. It wasn't exactly a crippling loss. Finally I grew a littleashamed of myself and sheepishly wandered back down, collecting theringer off the floor.

  "Tam, I'm sorry. Somebody broke in a while back, and they must havestuck this fraud in my collection. It's not the one I thought it was."

  "Sure." She just looked at me, with some sympathy. "Matthew, it's allright. Really. Lots of people own replicas of art. I have a few printsmyself. It's not a crime." She touched my hand. "Don't worry. Itdoesn't matter--"

  "You--" I bit my tongue to squelch the unpleasant word forming on mylips, stomped back upstairs, and returned with a real sword. Then Igave my lecture all over again, dwelling on every insignificant detail.I was going to bore the woman till she cried uncle. Finally Isucceeded.

  "Okay, you win. I apologize." She leaned back in the bubbles. "Youreally love this hardware, don't you?"

  "Tam, I love the samurai ideals. I admire craftsmanship. I reverecourage. The guys who made and used these blades had it all. If I'mgoing to collect art, why not something that inspires me."

  She just looked at me and nodded. I think she really understood.

  "Then let's make a pact, Matt, you and me." She finally spoke up."We'll face Dai Nippon or MITI or whomever honorably. And we'll keepthem honest."

  "Samurai." I smiled. "Lineage to lineage. And may the best . . . personwin."

  I returned the sword and locked up, then lounged in the bedroom andchatted through the open door while she finished her soak. It didn'tseem proper to lug a chair into the bath, and there was something tooundignified about perching atop the loo. Why, I kept wondering, hadsomebody taken such elaborate pains to lift a single antique and planta fake? So I wouldn't miss it? But why bother?

  Finally she got into a robe and came out, whereupon we went downstairsand proceeded to put away more brandy, sleet slamming against thewindows. That was when she refreshed my recollections of her earlylife, the peripatetic half-breed army brat. I think, truth be told, shewas currently about as adrift as I was. She was too wary to admit it; Iwas too incapable of touching my own fractured emotions. So we talkedaround things, saying everything except that maybe we needed somebody.All the while the storm outside continued to rage. But once again I wasfeeling those stirrings that I'd kept on ice for way too long.

  Alas, though, it had to end. About one A.M. we geared up. She retrievedher coat; I banked the fire; and we straggled out into the sleet. Afterfinally managing a cab, we headed uptown. We'd agreed on the rules; nowwe were off to face the beast.