Mr. Suzuki passed the lacquer bento boxes around the table. “These bento are from our organic food cooperative in Nagano prefecture,” Ms. Yamada-san said. “We work with the local farmers there.”
Following Ms. Yamada’s lead, Alison lifted the highly polished lid off of the bento box. Artfully arranged inside was a selection of steamed bamboo shoots, red beans, vinegared fish filets, marinated ginger root, vegetable tempura and a host of other foods Alison couldn’t identify. A pair of lacquered ohashi chopsticks were tucked in the side of the bento.
Alison felt her stomach growling. Had anyone else heard? Beautiful as the bento presentation was to look at, Alison was ready to chow down.
Watching Ms. Yamada’s graceful use of ohashi, Alison struggled with the chopsticks and dropped a few items en route to her mouth. She quickly scooped up the wayward morsels and hoped no one noticed.
“Would you like a fork?” Ms. Yamada asked.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” Alison felt like a less-evolved being, one step removed from grunting and eating with her fingers.
Ms. Yamada quizzed Alison about her work at Save-A-Tree, her opinions about Japan, the problems the American environmentalists were having with the EPA. Between mouthfuls, Alison did most of the talking while Mr. Suzuki sat smiling and nodding his head. Ms. Yamada shot rapid-fire questions, which Alison deftly answered. So far, so good.
When they were finished with their box lunches, the office assistant brought in a tray with steaming cups of tea that gave off a smoky aroma. Yamada nodded at Suzuki, and he and the assistant cleared the box lunches and left the room.
“You came here to learn about what we do, Ms. Crane. What can I tell you about Green Space?”
Showtime. The spotlight was on Alison to dazzle Yamada with her expertise and ooze professional confidence, all while not breaking a sweat. If everything went according to plan, she could parlay a casual lunch meeting into a job offer. A yen-paying job offer. Stranger things had been known to happen.
Feigning calm, Alison took a sip from her teacup but quickly set it back down after the screeching hot liquid seared her tongue. Yamada-san was drinking the tea, no problem. Maybe she didn’t have normal pain receptors. Alison wanted to ask for an ice cube, but she smiled instead. “I’ve read lots of articles about Green Space. Environmental activism seems unusual here in Japan.”
“News articles?” Ms. Yamada smiled, a controlled mirthless grin. “The news media does not understand the good work we do. You saw the guards outside?” Alison nodded. “Someone threw a bottle bomb into our office. And the reporters call us the crazy ones…” The muscles of Ms. Yamada’s jaw repeatedly clenched then relaxed, as if she were chewing on granite.
During her time at Save-A-Tree, Alison had encountered numerous hostile detractors who wished they’d go away, but never had there been a bomb threat. Clearly, Alison needed to do more research on Green Space.
Ms. Yamada continued. “We are focusing on Iriomote Island near Okinawa. There is a bed of coral in that area, the only coral of its type in the world. And the developer — the Tropic Reef Development company — is planning a resort community that would completely destroy the coral.”
“So you’re trying to stop the development?” said Alison.
“The surrounding land is a national park. Tropic Reef can’t go forward without the cooperation of the government.”
“Good news for your side,” said Alison.
Ms. Yamada shrugged. “The government is in favor of the project. They think it will stimulate economic growth.”
“What about the local community?” asked Alison.
“The Okinawans are tired of their land being sacrificed by the Japanese government. But Tropic Reef is well-connected. When we speak up against the development, we get threatened, criticized in the press.”
Alison tried her tea again. It had cooled down. “I’m familiar with that kind of smear tactic. At Save-A-Tree we’d bring attention to American companies’ bad environmental practices in other parts of the world. Didn’t make us many friends.”
“Tropic Reef is developing resorts all across Asia. What they’re planning would be an environmental disaster.”
“It’s frustrating when you can see the destruction about to happen, but you can’t stop it.”
“Sometimes we can make trouble.” Yamada smiled and covered her mouth with a hand. “When we learn that a Japanese company is planning an activity in Asia that is bad for the environment, we set up offices.”
“Offices in the local country? So Green Space is an unexpected watchdog to make sure they do the right thing no matter where they go. Shrewd move.”
“Yes, but again, the Japanese government has not been supportive of our work.”
“I know what you mean. The American government is slow to prosecute U.S. companies who dump toxic waste offshore.”
“In our case, the Japanese government gives the business advance warning that Green Space is planning to open in a particular territory.”
“No kidding?”
“It gives the business a chance to create negative publicity about us and make it hard for us to find what you call grass-roots support.”
“But how does the government know your plans in advance? It’s like they’re tapping your phones.”
Ms. Yamada shook her head. “It’s the banks.”
“Banks?” Alison didn’t see a connection. She hoped Yamada-san wouldn’t think she was slow on the uptake. No one wanted to hire a nitwit.
“Yes. When we open a new office abroad and send funds, the banks have to report our currency transfers to the Ministry of Finance. And there are a lot of people in powerful positions who are not our supporters.”
“So when you transfer money to fund your new overseas office, the government knows where you’re about to strike, and they alert the local businesses?”
“It is a challenge for us.” Ms. Yamada poured more tea for Alison, leaving her own cup empty. Alison remembered what Charles had said, that the Japanese considered it rude and piggish to pour their own drinks. Alison lifted the tea pot and refilled Ms. Yamada’s cup.
“Sumimasen.” Ms. Yamada tipped her head in thanks.
Thinking of Charles gave Alison a flash of inspiration. He could be the linchpin she needed to seal the deal. “Ms. Yamada. Yamada-san. I have an idea that might help you with your funding problems. You should talk to my fiancé.”
“Your fiancé?”
So what if Alison improvised a little with her story. A dollop of wishful thinking with a dash of yeast. She and Charles had talked about marriage. Granted, she’d done most of the talking. But hopefully Charles would cooperate.
“His name is Charles. He works with an investment bank — Morgan Sachs’ Tokyo office — and he’s a financial whiz.”
“Morgan Sachs?” Yamada-san waved her hand in front of her face as if she were fanning herself. “They are much too big for a small organization like ours.”
“Charles says the bank often transfers funds in ways that aren’t immediately apparent. For the clients’ financial privacy. Of course, it’s all legal.”
Ms. Yamada set down her cup. “Of course.”
Alison pulled her notepad from her bag and jotted down Charles’ number. “Charles Gordon. He can tell you all the details. The best time to reach him is after the market has closed, about five o’clock.”
Ms. Yamada took the slip of paper and put it in her bag without looking at it. “Thank you, Ms. Crane.”
“Please call me Alison.”
“Domo arigato, Alison.”
Alison saw her chance to go for the close. If she could only convince Yamada-san that Green Space needed an environmental lawyer. That they needed her. “Yamada-san, when you open an office in another country, what are the legal restrictions on Green Space?”
“Legal restrictions?”
“In the States, nonprofits are highly regulated when it comes to sending funds to a foreign country. The money has to
be used strictly for charitable purposes. Sometimes the receiving organization has to be approved by the U.S. government.”
“Things are quite different in Asia.”
“We had a project in Asia — we tried to send money to an environmental group in Burma that was protesting against logging in virgin forests. It was a legal nightmare because, for Americans, Burma is an embargoed country, like Cuba and North Korea.”
“I had no idea.” Yamada-san crossed her arms and sat back in her chair.
Alison could feel Yamada drifting away. Along with her chance at a job. Japanese people thought that Americans were pushy. Time for Alison to push. “Did you know a nonprofit can face criminal penalties for sending funds offshore? If the arrangement isn’t vetted and airtight. We lawyers are kept busy.”
Time to nail it, Crane. Alison cocked her head to the side, as if the notion had only now occurred to her. “You know, Yamada-san, I was thinking. Maybe I could work with Green Space to explore some of the legal issues involved in your international expansion. Environmental treaties and—”
Ms. Yamada covered her mouth with her hand as she laughed, an ever-so-polite girlish giggle. “Ms. Crane, our little foundation is not nearly as sophisticated as you think. We don’t have so many difficult laws.”
“Oh.” Alison’s chances of snagging a job with Green Space were looking as endangered as the spotted owl.
“Our biggest challenge — other than the government interference — is finding the right local partners in other countries,” Yamada said.
Alison nodded. Despite her growing disappointment, she tried to stay focused. “So, how do you find your partners?”
“We are doing what we can to reach out across borders. One problem is that our website is in Japanese. Very few people can read it.”
“I hadn’t thought about that.”
“We’re creating an English-language website so that the international community can learn about us.”
Ms. Yamada toyed with her rings. Her nonstop fidgeting was making Alison feel even more jittery. “Ms. Crane. There is a way you could help us. But I don’t know if you would be interested.”
“Sure, I’d love to help.” Alison shifted in her chair at the prospect of employment. “What is it you need?”
“The company we hired to design the English site is a bit slow. And frankly, they don’t understand the world of environmental issues the way you and I do.”
“Yes, our world is often not understood by outsiders.” Lay it on thick, Crane.
“So what I would like to ask is, can you help us with our English website? You do use computers.”
“Computers? Why, yes, of course. All the time. No problem.” Alison hoped Ms. Yamada couldn’t read her bad poker face.
“Good. What we need isn’t too complicated. Mainly links to articles online about groups doing environmental work in Asia. Do you think you could do that?” Ms. Yamada looked at Alison.
“I’d be glad to,” Alison said. “And maybe later we could talk about a regular job with—”
“It will be tremendously helpful for Green Space. I’ll have Suzuki give you the background material you need.”
“It sounds really exciting, Yamada-san.” Not quite a job, but a foot in the door. “Can I ask you about your timing? When do you need the information from me?” Alison didn’t want to mention that she needed time to find a computer and figure out how to get online from Tokyo before she could even think about beginning her internet research.
Ms. Yamada absentmindedly tapped a mabe pearl ring against her teacup. “Oh, I should think one month. Does that sound all right?”
“One month is fine.” She was screwed. Charles would never let her use his computer. How would she get online?
“It will be a big help for Green Space.” Ms. Yamada adjusted the rings on her fingers as she leaned in closer and smiled. “Now, tell me about this fiancé of yours.” Her eyes shined with the rapt attention of a hungry lioness spotting its prey.
Alison swallowed her tea. “Charles? He got transferred to the Tokyo office. For two years. He asked me to come with him, so here I am.” Except that he hadn’t asked her. In fact, he had discouraged her. But here she was anyway.
“Wonderful! How did you meet?”
Yamada’s eyes still held that gleam. “We met at a party through a mutual friend. That was three years ago, and we’ve been together ever since.”
“How nice. My parents have given up on my ever getting married. They say I’m too picky.” Ms. Yamada laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.
“There certainly is no point in being with someone you don’t really love. No point at all.” Alison drank some more tea as if to wash away the irony of her own words.
Ms. Yamada’s cell phone beeped. She answered and carried on a terse conversation, her iron jaw muscles twitching. While on the phone, Ms. Yamada bowed as if the caller could see her. Old habits die hard.
Ms. Yamada hung up her phone and turned her attention to Alison. “I’m so sorry, but I must go.” Yamada reached into her Vuitton case and took out a thick envelope which she handed to Alison. “An advance payment for your work.”
Alison gawked at the thickness and heft of the envelope. How much money was that? They hadn’t discussed fees. Hell, Alison would do the research for free. And maybe she really shouldn’t take the money, especially since she didn’t know if she was capable of performing the internet research Ms. Yamada wanted. Alison had, undoubtedly, overstated her proficiency with computers.
What would Emily Post say was the right etiquette in the situation? Should she take the money, the desperately needed money, or would it be impolite to refuse when offered in Japan? Exigency trumped manners. “Thank you, Yamada-san. Let me give you a receipt.”
Ms. Yamada shook her head. “I don’t need a receipt. We can’t be a visa sponsor, so let this just be our understanding.” Ms. Yamada closed her briefcase.
“Thank you, Yamada-san. I understand.”
Ms. Yamada rose from the table. “I’m sure we will have a chance to speak again soon.” She bowed, gathered her attaché and coat and pressed a buzzer on the wall. Mr. Suzuki materialized.
“Suzuki-san, Ms. Crane is going to be helping us with our English website. Make sure she gets the information she needs.” Ms. Yamada turned back to Alison. “Goodbye, Ms. Crane. Alison. It was my pleasure.”
“The pleasure was all mine. I hope that—” Alison said as the door shut in her face.
“She is very busy,” Mr. Suzuki explained.
Escorting Alison toward the front door, Mr. Suzuki paused in the hallway. “Yamada-san wanted me to give you information about our website. Have you seen it?”
“No,” Alison mumbled. Visiting a website to prep for a meeting? The thought hadn’t even occurred to Alison. Green Space was certain to see her for the net neophyte she was. The envelope of money weighed heavy in Alison’s bag.
“The website is bilingual Japanese and English, but we need to add more English. One moment.” Mr. Suzuki scurried back to an assistant’s desk, and the assistant wrote on a piece of paper.
Handing the paper to Alison, Mr. Suzuki said, “This is the internet address for our English website and the phone number for Green Net, our electronic bulletin board. You might need to use it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Suzuki.” Electronic bulletin board? What was he talking about? She was in so over her head.
Suzuki gave Alison a brochure in Japanese. “We are translating these materials into English. They should be ready next week.”
“Great. Would you send me a copy when they’re done? I don’t have any business cards — any meishi — but here’s my home address.” Alison reached into her bag for a pen and paper.
“What is your email? I can email the brochure when it is finished.”
“Email. Of course. I just got a new account on World NetLink, so —” Alison plumbed her brain trying to remember the user name she’d selected when she’d signed up for the s
ervice before heading for Japan. “My user name is TokyoAli. A-L-I. All one word. I think.” Alison hadn’t planned on using her email address and hadn’t parked it in long-term memory. She was off to a stellar start in impressing Green Space with her computer savvy. “I’m sorry, Suzuki-san, I’m not sure. But I’ll call you when—”
“World NetLink. I will finger you and find your address. Please one moment.” Suzuki trotted off again.
Did he say he’d finger her? Sounded obscene.
Suzuki returned with a computer printout. “You are from San Francisco. I visited there once. Golden Gate Bridge.”
“But how did you know I’m from San Francisco?”
“When I fingered you. World NetLink’s server computer gives me information. Please check your email, Miss Alison-san. I will send our pamphlet.”
“World NetLink’s computer?”
Suzuki clasped his hands together. “Thank you for your coming to our office. I am glad you will be helping us with our website. Goodbye.” Suzuki bowed low while Alison put on her shoes and exited.
Outside the Green Space office, Alison was relieved to see that the mob was gone and the street was quiet. She nodded at the security guards still posted outside.
Green Space must have some powerful enemies to warrant all of the protection. But it came with the territory when you were fighting the good fight.
5
Sitting on the living room floor, Alison pulled the money from the envelope Yamada-san had given her, held the thick wad of crisp 10,000-yen notes up to her nose and inhaled. Nothing like the sweet aroma of fresh paper money. And lots of it.
Unlike Charles, who could translate the world’s currencies as fluently as he could translate Japanese, Alison didn’t have a knack for understanding the value of yen. Japan’s currency came in such a confusing assortment of denominations. There were the annoyingly useless one-yen coins, so insignificant that no one bothered to pick one up if they dropped it on the street. The massive 500-yen coins that weighed down your purse like lead shot. The 10,000-yen notes were the only type of cash that you could get from Japan’s ATM machines.
Tokyo Firewall: a novel of international suspense Page 3
