by Ashton, Hugh
“Yes, it’s called leverage, or margins.”
“These guys are crazy!” exclaimed Kim. “If I started to run my gambling businesses that way, I’d be bankrupt in no time at all. Why did no-one tell me about all this crazy shit before?”
“Well, they do have regulations, you know. It’s not quite a casino.” Sharpe wasn’t quite sure of that last – actually, at times, the financial services industry seemed to him to be less like a set of bankers than a casino, merrily gambling with other people’s money.
“Oh, regulations.” Kim didn’t seem too dismayed by this, though. “Anyway, tell me again what you’d like me to do, exactly.”
“First, the money you offered me earlier for finding Dr Katsuyama?”
“Yes?”
“I’d like to use some of that to help set up the company. Rent office space, pay for the electronic data feeds, and so on.”
“No problem. It’s yours whenever you want it. I told you that the other day, and I meant it.”
“Thanks. And there’s a requirement that we have a capital adequacy to cover the amount that we’re gambling. Will you help there?”
“As long as I’m allowed to put my money in there for you to gamble with at some stage in the proceedings.”
“We were expecting you to do that,” said Sharpe.
“How long is this going to take to set up?”
“I am pretty sure it’s going to take at least a month and I don’t want to start until I’ve finished my contract with the bank where I’m working at the moment, in any case. We need to get the license and so on, arrange for a building lease, and so on. And there’s one more thing. I have friends who are going to be involved in this and they’re going to have to give notice to the place where they’re working now that they’re going to leave. One of them wants to make a lot of money for his sister, who he says is ill and needs an operation. Anyway, they want to meet you to put their minds at rest.”
“Sure thing. Where do you want to have the meeting? I don’t think it’s a good idea to have it at your place.”
Sharpe was getting used to Kim’s paranoia. Truth to tell, it was more than a little contagious. “All right, let’s meet somewhere neutral.”
“I own a very discreet club,” said Kim. “It may not be entirely neutral, but I can promise you it’s private.”
“Sounds good.” Kim passed a card over with the name and address of the club on it. The telephone number on the card was a mobile number.
“When do you want to meet? Tomorrow night at eight?” asked Kim.
“That sounds fine. I’ll have to check with my friends, and if it’s not all right, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, expect us at eight. Four people.”
“Fine. Now I suggest you go back. Wait a moment.” He spoke to the driver and the car pulled over and stopped by the side of the road. The driver spoke into a mobile phone, and after a few minutes, another car drew up.
“Get in there, and keep your head down as they take you in,” said Kim. That way it will be a different car coming back, and with luck, they’ll never know you went out at all. Try and be careful when you come round tomorrow night. Try to make sure that no-one’s following you, if you can manage it.”
-o-
The next night saw Sharpe and Mieko, together with Vishal and Meema, threading their way through the back streets of Shimbashi, south of Tokyo station.
“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” asked Vishal.
“I know what the address is, anyway,” replied Sharpe. Since Tokyo streets, for the most part, suffer from being unnamed, the only sure way to find out the location of a place is by looking at a map, preferably on a computer, which can translate the apparently random district and building numbers into a meaningful location. Sharpe had typed the address into his computer and had printed out the Googled result.
“There you are,” said Mieko, pointing to a tiny dimly lit white-on-purple sign advertising the existence of the club on the sixth floor. This was another thing about Tokyo – the place you wanted to get to hardly ever seemed to be on the ground floor once you’d found the building.
“I was expecting something discreet, but not quite this private,” complained Sharpe as they staggered up the steep and badly lit stairs, the lift being marked as “out of order”. “I doubt if they get any casual passing trade,” he puffed. Damn, he was more out of shape than he thought.
At the door, identified only by a small sign, Sharpe spoke his name into an intercom system. Almost immediately they heard the sound of locks and bolts being undone, and the door was opened by a small middle-aged lady clad in kimono – the mama-san who managed the place. She seemed slightly taken aback by the sight of Meema – presumably non-Japanese females were infrequent customers, but she recovered her poise quickly and led them to a corner table, where Kim was sitting in solitary splendour.
“Glad you could all make it,” he said, rising, and shaking hands all round as Sharpe introduced everyone. Unlike the mama-san, who now brought them hot towels to wipe their hands and faces, he didn’t seem at all put out by Meema. “And what will you have to eat and drink?” he asked.
Mieko and Meema chose soft drinks, but Vishal and Sharpe, after only a little pressing, accepted small glasses of neat single malt Scotch whisky in Vishal’s case, and a 20-year-old Havana rum in Sharpe’s. Much to Sharpe’s surprise, Kim himself seemed to be drinking orange juice. “Bad for my image as a big bold gangster, I know,” he said, smiling. “But actually, I can’t stand the taste of most alcohol, and in any case I have a very weak head for these things, so the few alcoholic drinks that I do like tend to knock me out very quickly.”
The menu seemed to be mainly Korean food, so Sharpe suggested that Kim order on their behalf, trusting that there would be nothing too weird and wonderful making its way onto their plates.
While they were waiting, Sharpe once again summarised the position as he saw it, and waited for comments from the others.
“You’re being serious about bringing down the North Korean government?” asked Vishal. “It really doesn’t seem like a lot of money to be spending to make such a big change.”
Kim smiled. “I explained to our friend here,” gesturing towards Sharpe, “that you really shouldn’t try to judge North Korea by Western, or even Indian, standards.”
“So what is the money to be used for, then?” asked Vishal. “Are you going to be planting bombs?”
“We’re thinking of bribes rather than bombs,” replied Kim. “It’s all a question of where to apply the lever. If you know the right places, you can do a lot of shifting with very little in the way of force and not much money. But there will be a few bombs, aimed against things, not against people. Mainly for effect and the bangs and flashes than to cause any actual damage.”
“Don’t you think it’s going to be a bit more complicated than just causing some chaos and hoping the people will rise up?” asked Meema.
“No, I don’t think it’s going to be a bit more complicated than that,” replied Kim. “I think it’s going to be a lot more complicated. But there are enough good people in the South, and a lot of Korean people like myself living in Japan and America, who will help us once they see which way the wind is starting to blow, and that will make things easier.”
“I have another question,” said Meema. “How on earth is the South going to absorb the cost of absorbing the North? Germany had a bad enough time, and East Germany was a real land of luxury compared to the DPRK.”
“That’s a difficult one, I admit,” said Kim. “But the plans I have don’t include immediate reunification. Eventually, of course, I want it to come about, but it’s not a top priority as far as I am concerned. Yes, a North without the Kim dynasty in charge would be a complete basket case, and the country would have to rely on international aid for some time, but it wouldn’t be exclusively the South’s responsibility.”
“But you’re not planning to put yourself into the Presidential Palace, or whatever it
’s called?” asked Vishal.
Kim chuckled. “Dear me, there’s no way that I’d want to live there. I’ve been on what you might call the wrong side of the law for so long, I’ve almost forgotten how to do things on the right side.”
“So are you being absolutely sure that you’re the right person to be doing this?” shot back Vishal. “Are the people of North Korea going to be grateful for their liberation at the hands of a common criminal?”
The atmosphere turned noticeably cooler. Kim put down his drink and glared at Vishal. From a corner of the room behind Vishal, a large figure appeared, and placed a heavy paw-like hand on Vishal’s shoulder. Meema and Mieko froze, and Sharpe, worried for his friend, shifted forward in his seat to speak to Kim. Only Vishal seemed oblivious of the situation, taking a sip of his drink, and grinning, almost impudently, at Kim.
Much to Sharpe’s surprise, Kim continued to glare at Vishal before changing his expression to a grin.
“You have balls, I tell you. Pak here,” he jerked his head at the bouncer behind Vishal, who now relaxed his grip, “could break every bone in your body, and those of all your friends here before you had time to even think of calling for help. And no-one would find the pieces afterwards or even dream of asking any questions. It takes a very brave man to say something like you just did. Either very brave, or very stupid. And I don’t believe you’re stupid.” He extended his hand towards Vishal. Vishal put down his glass and took the proffered hand. When his hand was finally released, Vishal massaged it ruefully with the other.
“Do I make my point?” asked Kim. Vishal nodded. “Good. Please remember that I am not a common criminal. I am a very uncommon criminal. I am first and foremost a patriot, and I want what’s best for my country and its people. The fact that I work on the side of the law where most people fear to go is simply a way for me to make more money and to make it faster to achieve my goals. Understood?” Vishal nodded again. “Good. Now let us have no more foolishness about how I have made my money in the past, but let’s concentrate on how you are going to help me make more money in the future to achieve my ends. Let me ask a few questions about you and what you do now and what you propose to do.”
Sharpe let out his breath, with the realisation that he had been holding it for what seemed like hours. Meema and Mieko also relaxed visibly as Kim proceeded to ask Vishal and Meema courteously about the roles they would play in the new brokerage, displaying what seemed to be an almost complete lack of knowledge about the currency exchange business and the workings of the financial services industry, but a shrewd appreciation of the role of IT in business. Sharpe wondered idly what sort of computer systems Kim used to run his pachinko empire.
“So what exactly is your role going to be in all of this?” Vishal asked Kim.
“A customer,” said Kim. “Very little more than that.”
“But your money will be backing us, right?”
“Yes, if it’s really necessary. I’m certainly prepared to provide some of the money for you to do the job properly, but it won’t be my money by the time you declare it to the authorities,” he pointed out. “I intend to keep a very low profile indeed on all of this.”
“You’re really going to trust us with all that money, and the money you’re going to invest with us?” asked Meema.
“Indeed I am,” replied Kim. “If your friend hasn’t already told you,” he nodded at Sharpe, “I have very extreme ways of showing my displeasure towards people who cross me. Mr Sharpe knows all about that.”
Three pairs of eyes turned towards Sharpe, but he ducked his face into his glass, and refused to acknowledge the unspoken question.
“I would strongly advise you to keep tight hold of that money and not run away with it,” added Kim. His tone was as casual as if he’d been discussing what they were going to order as snacks to go with their next drinks. “Of course, if my son-in-law’s invention does not work as expected and you lose the money honestly, then there is no way that I can feel angry, is there?”
The questions back and forth continued, with increasing trust and goodwill on both sides, it seemed, and then drifted into small talk. It became obvious to Sharpe that his role in all of this was going to be bigger than he had originally expected – it wasn’t just a question of renting some office space and sitting back watching the others do the work. It looked as though he was going to have to co-ordinate the whole setting up of the project and make sure that everything ran smoothly. Despite his hopes that it wasn’t going to be too much work to get things rolling, it now appeared that it wasn’t going to be all fun and games as far as he was concerned, at any rate.
He sipped his drink, and listened to Vishal, who now seemed to have accepted Kim at his word, explaining some of the intricacies of the Indian caste system.
-oOo-
Chapter 9: Tokyo
The “M&M Trading” currency brokerage seemed destined to be a success. All four partners were actively involved in making the business work efficiently, and Kim had been as good as his word about sending on the money he’d promised to Sharpe for finding Katsuyama. This had arrived as bundles of cash, and now sat in a bank account. Sharpe had arranged to rent office space in a new building in a business park on the western outskirts of Tokyo. It was the other side of town, and a long way from their houses, but was on a reasonably direct train route, and came quite cheap, as the result of an initiative to move businesses into the suburbs. The main reason for choosing the office was that it came with a high-speed fibre-optic Internet link already in place, which made life a lot easier. Meema pointed out, however, that they were going to need a lot of voice lines and some sort of telephone exchange, or at any rate, some way of placing and receiving many calls at once.
“We’ll do it as voice over IP,” suggested Vishal, referring to the technology of using the Internet to make phone calls. “But we will be needing a few more traditional outside lines, too, as backup, I am thinking. Kenneth-san, it is your job to be asking the telephone company men to install at least four lines here as fast as they possibly can be doing it. It will be my job to be talking to my friends who are making these software telephone exchanges for the Internet phones and arranging for delivery and installation.”
So Sharpe, aided by Mieko, cajoled and pleaded with NTT, the Japanese telephone company, to install six more lines into the building (he’d added two more to Vishal’s original estimate for safety). After being told three times by different sales staff at NTT that the job could never be done in that particular building, he eventually managed to speak to a senior installation manager, who promised him that the work would be carried out within six weeks. He was about to explode over the phone and consign the whole of the Japanese telephone system to eternal damnation, but Mieko calmed him down, and he spent the rest of the afternoon fuming at the inefficiency of telephone companies in general and NTT in particular.
Much to his surprise, the NTT engineers arrived the next day and had completed the work within three hours. That’s Japan all over, he told himself. First they tell you a thing is impossible, then tell you it’s difficult, then they come along and do it perfectly in next to no time.
It had also been Sharpe’s job to negotiate with the companies providing the market data feeds. He’d had enough experience in his consultancy with the Tokyo banks to be able to hold his own with the vendors, and to work his way through the long and complex contracts they provided, as well as fending off the constant offers of extra services for which he could see no possible need.
-o-
There had been a discussion about the name of the trading firm – Sharpe had rejected the use of his existing business, “Sharpe Practice”, as the name, as he didn’t want to draw undue attention to himself, and “M&M Trading”, referring to Mieko and Meema, was the name that they’d all eventually agreed on, “even if it does make us sound a bit like a chocolate factory”, as Vishal pointed out. Although Vishal’s bank had been surprised to learn that he and Meema were to depart at t
he same time, they were used to a high rate of staff turnover, and Vishal seemed to have no doubt that, should he want to work there again, he could go back to his old position or, failing that, he could find a similar position at another financial institution. Of course, Sharpe thought to himself, if this venture succeeded as planned, there would be no need for Vishal to work for anyone other than himself ever again.
Vishal had worked hard to set up the complex network equipment necessary to use the data feeds efficiently and securely, in addition to sorting out the up-to-the-minute Internet phone system provided by one of his friends in Tokyo’s rapidly growing Indian IT community. Sharpe was always impressed by the way that the Indians who’d come to work for the international banks in Tokyo had very soon established a reputation for being smart – they’d already set up an international school in the eastern suburbs of Tokyo where small children were taught in at least three languages – Hindi, English and Japanese – and recited their seventeen times table as happily as English or Japanese children recited their five times table.
Japanese TV programs featured these “wonder children” on a fairly regular basis, without ever questioning the reason for their being in Japan in the first place – the failure, for whatever reason, of the Japanese educational process to produce IT specialists of a truly international standard.
By the time Vishal had finished installing the phone system and had his friends making it work as he wanted, Sharpe was impressed. A small central computer was linked to the telephone lines entering the building and to the fibre Internet connection, and by using a control program on their computers, Meema and the rest of them could talk instantly to any one of a number of other brokers round the world whose numbers were stored in a central directory, connect many lines together in a conference call, re-route calls around the planet at almost no cost, or so it seemed, and perform many other tricks with the telephone system.
Sharpe was amazed by what could be done, and he was even more astounded when Vishal presented him with the bill for the telephone exchange computer and the programming done by his friends.
