East is East

by Emma Lathen

  “I’ve been trying to get you since five o’clock,” he explained.

  “Something unexpected came up. Gene, or I would have gotten in touch with you earlier,” Thatcher said briefly. He was curious to learn the reason for the late-night urgency.

  “The pot beginning to boil?” Fleming suggested cheerfully. “I figured something must be up when Noriko iwamoto called, inviting us both to play golf tomorrow. He’s the head honcho at Shima, and I could practically hear the tom-toms beating.”

  Was this the contact that Arai was so eager to forestall?

  Thatcher had no intention of being rushed into a hasty review of the situation over the phone. “I probably should meet with Shima, but not before I’ve had a chance to talk with you.”

  “Absolutely.” Fleming was way ahead of him. “I rejected the offer of their limo. If I drive, we’ll have well over an hour to ourselves. At the very least.”

  Thatcher found himself grateful for the urban sprawl that was forcing Japan’s golf courses into the hinterland.

  “Good. I have a fair amount to tell you.”

  Chapter 4

  In spite of early stirrings the next morning by every member of the Lackawanna camp, the Japanese were at work before them. Tomaheko Matsuda began his day at a conference with his cabinet minister, in which he had no difficulty deciphering the high-minded sentiments uttered. When a hearing threatened to become a confrontation between two great trading companies, the utmost sensitivity was required. But the ministry must also remember that Carl Kruger, a good friend of the Japanese government, had earned the right to the utmost consideration.

  As a result, Matsuda was outraged, when he returned to his office, to learn that a vice-president of Lackawanna was being entertained by Mr. Ushiba.

  “How did this happen?” he demanded.

  The receptionist had already washed her hands of the entire affair. Foreigners were not supposed to wander casually into MITI, and she had never received instructions for such eccentricity.

  “. . . and then Mr. Ushiba passed and insisted that it was improper to keep Mr. Hodiak here.” Her sniff at this point spoke volumes. “He introduced himself and invited Mr. Hodiak to his office.”

  The minister’s utmost consideration, Matsuda knew all too well, did not mean a lowly clerk. There was only one way to retrieve the situation.

  “Tell Ushiba that I will receive Mr. Hodiak immediately,” he thundered, “and summon an interpreter.”

  When Ushiba appeared with Hodiak in tow, Matsuda was presented with further cause for embarrassment. Ushiba was pelting his guest with English phrases so halting and freakish that Matsuda winced. Breaking right through his subordinate’s babbling, he jerked the conversation into Japanese.

  Unfortunately it was normal procedure for Mr. Ushiba to report.

  “I have explained to Mr. Hodiak that my synopsis of the MR application will be ready for distribution on Wednesday,” he said proudly. “There remains only a final analysis of the latest Midland Research figures added by Miss Webb and a review of these new schedules Mr. Hodiak is offering.”

  By now Matsuda bitterly regretted his failure to transfer Ushiba months before. The clerk was prattling as if MR’s past finances had any significance, ignoring the one element worthy of discussion.

  “New schedules?” Matsuda queried.

  “That’s right,” Hodiak said. “At our last meeting you expressed reservations about the distribution of Lackawanna products. So we’ve arrived at an agreement with Yonezawa that spells it all out.”

  “The material will, of course, be entered into the record, but there was no need to add to your no doubt busy schedule by coming here today. We would have been pleased to handle this at our next meeting.”

  The implied rebuke passed over Hodiak’s head. “Just making sure you’ve got enough time to give it the once-over,” he replied.

  Matsuda had raised the question of distribution in order to give Shima Trading Company its opportunity to criticize. The last thing he wanted was to have the issue resolved before Wednesday’s open meeting.

  “That is extremely considerate of Lackawanna, and I only regret that you have suffered personal inconvenience.”

  “No trouble,” Hodiak said gruffly.

  In spite of the casual approach, Hodiak’s next words confirmed Matsuda’s growing suspicion that he was dealing with a crafty player.

  “Just let me know what else we can do. If any areas of our proposal give you trouble, I figure we can knock them off, one by one.”

  They were now at complete cross-purposes. While Hodiak only wanted some clue to Fumitoshi Arai’s sudden edginess, Matsuda saw an obvious attempt to limit his freedom of action. If he said there were no problems, the statement could be used against him. If he admitted doubts, Hodiak would promptly try to short-circuit Shima’s input to these hearings.

  As he pondered, Matsuda’s eye fell on Mr. Ushiba, projecting birdlike interest in the proceedings.

  “We appreciate your offer, but as Mr. Ushiba has explained, our final review will not be complete until Wednesday. It is impossible to say what arguments may be raised at that time.”

  Hodiak had never hoped for direct information. But the more he lingered, the greater the possibility that Matsuda might let something fall.

  To Ushiba, however, Matsuda’s words constituted an invitation to join the discussion.

  “All necessary files have been forwarded to my attention,” he said earnestly, “with the sole exception of your own, Mr. Secretary. I have hesitated to interrupt your study of these documents, but it would be most helpful at this juncture if they could be incorporated into my final draft.”

  The constraints imposed by the presence of an outsider prevented Matsuda from annihilating his subordinate with a look of fire. The idiot was actually taking these remarks at face value. Thank God only a foreigner was witnessing this absurdity.

  “Yes, yes.”

  Hastily Matsuda reached for a folder on the desk, shoveled several loose sheets into its bulging cover, and handed it over.

  “And now we will not keep you from your important work any further, Mr. Ushiba,” he said.

  But Mr. Ushiba proved unexpectedly useful. By taking an elaborate leave of Hodiak, he created the dynamics of departure, on which Matsuda was swift to capitalize.

  “It was good of you to allow us to impose on your time, Mr. Hodiak,” he said.

  When Hodiak had finally been levered out of the office, Tomaheko Matsuda was as wary of Lackawanna as any minister could wish.

  The other meeting scheduled that morning would have shocked everybody at MITI, from Matsuda down to the receptionist.

  Pamela Webb knew nothing about the individual she was going to meet, beyond his credentials. Stanley Zaretski was reputed to be the star U.S. official for American companies with designs on Japan. The embassy in Tokyo struggled with the balance of power in Asia, nuclear armaments in the Pacific, and the life expectancy of the Japanese cabinet. The commercial attaché, who operated out of Osaka, engineered things like the surprising success of Pepperidge Farm cookies.

  In person, Stan Zaretski was certainly welcoming. Genially bellowing for coffee, he simultaneously offered a chair and took one appreciative glance. Then, in a move that would have paralyzed Matsuda with embarrassment, he commented:

  “No wonder you get so much coverage in the business weeklies. They’ve never had such photogenic material.”

  Pamela was far too experienced to mistake this for an overture. Zaretski was signaling the lines along which he wished to conduct their discussion.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” she semaphored back.

  She, too, had been making a visual inspection. God had given Zaretski the build of a football player, with a bull neck, massive shoulders, and a barrel chest. The rumpled shirt and open tie were his own contributions.

  By the time the inevitable foam cups arrived, they were on first-name terms, but Zaretski was still feeling his way.

 
“I like your boss’s touch,” he remarked. “Eight weeks ago, when he sprang this on us, I thought he might have missed the boat. But this turns out to be perfect timing.”

  One small piece of information deserves another. Pamela instantly acknowledged that she knew the rules of the game.

  “Eight weeks ago! I wish to God Carl wouldn’t play things so close to the chest. He opened up to us forty-eight hours before we caught the plane.”

  “He was absolutely right,” Zaretski said decisively. “Kruger’s always been a favorite here. If there’d been rumors that he was planning to bulldoze his way onto the local market, at least some of the press could have started backtracking. Instead he just descends from the clouds.”

  Pamela shook her head. “It’s a little more complicated than that, Stan. As well you know,” she retorted.

  “Sure, but that’s the way it looks to the outside world.”

  He was agreeing to more than her statement. They were both now established as knowledgeable, worldly equals, with the understanding that they were operating on his turf. Guidelines in place, Zaretski got down to business.

  “So what’s up, Pamela?” he asked, quirking his heavy eyebrows. “Why the sudden rush to Osaka?”

  “Yonezawa has started to get fidgety, and we don’t know why. They practically kidnapped the man from the Sloan when they found out he was working with Shima on some project in Alaska.”

  “They kidnapped Gene Fleming?” Zaretski repeated blankly.

  “Who’s Gene Fleming? I’m talking about John Thatcher.”

  In New York the man from the Sloan might be called Thatcher, but in Tokyo he was definitely called Fleming. When this snarl had finally been untangled, Zaretski scrubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

  “Let me get this straight. Thatcher is representing Lackawanna’s creditors at your MITI meeting, then he goes to Alaska to finalize this pulp deal of Shima’s.”

  “That’s right.”

  Pamela watched the slow birth of a smile on Zaretski’s battered features. She could almost hear the wheels turning as he factored this information into some equation unknown to her.

  “It would be a great ploy,” he said at last. “Everybody would be off the hook.”

  “Would you like to enlarge on that to a simple country girl?” she asked sweetly.

  Zaretski grinned. “Look, Arai and Kruger have worked things so that on the surface, it’s to almost everybody’s advantage to go along with them.”

  “Not to Shima’s,” she pointed out. “Or any other Japanese heavy-electrical producer.”

  “Naturally. I’m talking about the government boys. Now, in spite of their current problems, they’re just as leery as ever about letting foreign competition into the country. They’ve maintained a balance here between the industries that are genuinely competitive worldwide and the ones that need protection in the home market. Everybody’s afraid Kruger would he the thin end of the wedge for a pack of foreign invaders.”

  This was nothing new for Pamela. “We all realize that it’s just a temporary political scandal that’s giving Lackawanna any government tolerance.”

  “From their point of view, it would be wonderful to get the reputation for cooperation without having it cost them a plug nickel.”

  Now she was hanging on every word. “Go on,” she urged.

  “What if an American institution blew the whistle?”

  “You mean the creditors?”

  Zaretski leaned back, his muscular wrists locked behind his neck. “It would be beautiful,” he crooned. “Look at the script they’d have. Total helpfulness by the Japanese government, eager participation by Yonezawa, enthusiastic endorsement by the media. And then, boom! The whole thing crumbles because the creditors won’t support the deal. That way, Tokyo can tell Washington it’s not their fault it got blown out of the water.”

  The frown that had been etching fine lines on Pamela’s brow disappeared.

  “Restrain your enthusiasm,” she advised. “There’s just one little problem—it won’t wash.”

  “You and I are pretty sure about that. But if I were Shima, it sure as hell would be worth the old college try. And if I were Yonezawa, I’d want to know all about this guy from the Sloan, particularly when that bank is already making waves.”

  That was enough to bring her bolt upright.

  “This is some backyard you’ve got, Stan. It’s more like a minefield. Don’t tell me the Sloan has screwed up?”

  “No way. Japanese investment abroad is growing every day. To the surprise of some of their banks, it’s the Americans who are picking up the big bucks. That’s bad enough, but the double whammy is provided by our own little Gene Fleming.”

  “Somehow I thought we’d get back to him,” she murmured.

  But Zaretski was now serious. “You’ve got to understand that over here, the ideal world is split into two parts. In the first, everybody is pure Japanese. In the second, everybody is pure non-Japanese. There are no crossovers, no half-breeds. They still get real shook up when a foreigner takes on Japanese coloration. From the start Fleming was connected to the grid, and these days the connections have multiplied. Besides all that, he’s bilingual.”

  “So are lots of people,” she protested. “The place is filled with European kids studying Japanese.”

  “They don’t count. The Japanese are used to Westerners trying to go native. Would-be Buddhists are just comic. But Gene makes no bones about being an American. He looks like one, he acts like one. The trouble is that after fifteen minutes, he can seduce them into forgetting it. And this in a country where people are physically startled by fluent Japanese coming out of a white face.”

  Trying to maintain her footing, Pamela fell back on what she knew.

  “Fleming must be doing something right.”

  “Enough to make people sit up and take notice. I’ll bet Mr. Arai thinks Gene is some kind of mutant. That would explain why he wanted a real quick gander at the big boss from New York.”

  “Well, if that’s all it is,” she reasoned, “he should get reassured on Wednesday. Thatcher’s role is just a formality.”

  Pamela had what she had come for; Zaretski was still waiting for his quid pro quo.

  “Why don’t you catch a later train and stay for lunch, Pamela?” he suggested.

  Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Someplace quiet and out of the way?” she said in mock innocence.

  “Like hell!” he retorted cheerfully. “We’ll go where all the local commercial types hang out. I want to see their jaws drop.”

  Pamela exploded into a gale of laughter.

  “One of my favorite occupations.”

  Chapter 5

  John Thatcher’s day also began early.

  “My sole connection with Carl Kruger’s deal will be the delivery of my affidavit,” he explained to Gene Fleming as they were trying to break out of Tokyo’s cluttered streets. “The only reason I’m representing the creditors is that I was coming here anyway for the Alaska pulp venture. But it was a mistake not to bring you into the picture beforehand.”

  Fleming did not share the defensiveness of so many overseas managers. His position was too strong.

  “That doesn’t make any difference. But I can see why Shima wants to play golf with us. They’ve got a hell of a lot at stake.”

  “Presumably so does Yonezawa. At least that is how I interpret Mr. Arai’s sudden invitation to lunch yesterday.”

  Fleming whistled appreciatively.

  “So the old man is coming down from the mountain. You know Arai’s become pretty much of a recluse the last couple of years.”

  “Perhaps he’s husbanding his strength,” Thatcher suggested.

  “You mean because of the frail appearance? Don’t you believe it!” Fleming snorted. “Arai looked that way twenty years ago. Personally I think he does it for effect. The Japanese may not go in for press conferences, but they’ve got their own brand of image creation. Arai likes to play the invisible man most
of the time. Then, whenever he does emerge, he packs a hell of a wallop. Tell me, was he using a cane yesterday?”

  Thatcher was intrigued by the question. “No, he was not.”

  “Wait until the trade reception tomorrow night. He’ll be the elder statesman incarnate,” Fleming prophesied.

  “I’ll look forward to it. In the meantime, what should I know about Shima?”

  “They’re being shafted. This deal has been set up so that Yonezawa and Lackawanna get all the profits while Shima does the paying. For the life of me, I don’t know if Kruger has been very clever or just plain lucky.”

  “In what respect?”

  “In choosing his partner. Arai is the only one who would dare pull something this raw. He must have been planning it for months, waiting for just the right moment to strike. And of course he came up with a format that gives him a fighting chance of success.”

  Thatcher understood the nature of the timing. “You’re referring to Recruit, aren’t you?”

  Fleming had to delay his answer until a fleet of eight-wheelers thundered past them.

  “Yes; no one in the government wants to interfere,” he said in the ensuing quiet. “A lot of Shima’s friends are lying low.”

  “And Kruger’s done a good job with the publicity, judging from the magazine covers I saw at the airport.”

  Fleming grinned. “He’s pretty damned colorful to Japanese eyes. And this personality treatment of a business executive is new to them. I saw one story on what he likes to eat. The net result is that he’s on his way to canonization by the media.”

  “Surely that can’t be decisive.”

  “Not by a long shot,” Fleming said energetically. “But Kruger’s come flitting in here at a time of turmoil that’s bigger than Recruit. Everybody’s uptight about how to keep the country booming. There’s a national debate going on. Some of them want to open up the economy, some of them want to seal the doors tighter than ever. But they’re all scared at the prospect of Japan losing ground. Korea, Taiwan, Malaysia—you name it. They’re all threats. Yonezawa’s trying to sell Kruger as one way to keep Japan competitive.”