East is East

by Emma Lathen

  Thinking back to Tokyo, Thatcher realized that nothing had changed. When Lackawanna presented financials to MITI, Ali left the room. When Ali unfurled his projector, Kruger walked.

  “I’m surprised they ever got off the ground.”

  “You can thank Carl’s refusal to be diverted from his goal. He actually read those recommendations from Cambridge and agreed to fund MR for a month while the experts took a look. Then he came back with an offer to buy MR’s stock and give Ali a very handsome five-year contract. So the investors back in Birmingham actually made a profit, and Ali had found himself a backer.”

  Gene Fleming had seen other backyard operations taken over by giant, soulless corporations.

  “He’d found a little more than that. It must have been a shock when Lackawanna sent its troops over.”

  “Ali’s pretty good at refusing to be diverted too. In fact, Pamela Webb was quite funny describing his amazed pleasure when she started giving him bigger labs and a crowd of technicians and computer people to do a lot of his dog work.”

  It was just as well that Ali Khan had been receptive, Thatcher reflected. Once Carl Kruger had set up a schedule, it was unlikely that the cool, efficient Miss Webb would have allowed Ali to waste time on dog work even if he had wanted to.

  “This must have been quite early in her career,” he observed.

  “That’s right. Her first assignment was to overhaul the financial controls at Lackawanna U.K., and while she was at it, she set some up at MR. Since then she’s climbed to the top at Lackawanna.” Lemieux paused to smile with deliberate provocation. “Now her time is far too valuable for that little charade this week. She brought a Korean in here—to meet MR’s bankers, she said.”

  This was news to Thatcher. “But Kruger is still hoping to break into the Japanese market. It’s scarcely the ideal time for covert negotiations with a Korean.”

  “Covert!” Lemieux snorted. “Pamela would have had to meet him at the changing of the guard to be any more public. At least five different persons have told me they saw her lunching with Kwai Dong.”

  Kruger’s tactics were now clear to everyone, but Gene Fleming had the keenest appreciation of their impact where it counted.

  “Oh, that’s very nice,” he said approvingly. “Kruger made it possible for Arai to invoke the national interest.”

  “Why do they keep telling us Kruger doesn’t know anything about Japan?” Thatcher asked the world at large. “He seems to be much more sophisticated about their political situation than we’ve been led to believe.”

  Fleming was a notorious bottom-line man. “Even if he isn’t, he’s got the right instincts. So it boils down to the same thing.”

  “Pamela Webb even took Kwai Dong up to Birmingham,” Lemieux continued his tale. “Ali must really be enjoying this. By now every big company that turned him down knows he’s become a prize on the international market.”

  Thatcher agreed that it was only human to relish that kind of triumph. “It was hard to tell how he felt in Tokyo. He stayed in the background except when he expanded to the Japanese experts.”

  “Would you like a shot at Ali without the Lackawanna people?” Lemieux suggested. “He’s coming south for a symposium at Cambridge today, and I’m having a quick drink with him.”

  “You still keep up with him?”

  Lemieux’s smile was almost a smirk. “Thanks to me, Ali invests a portion of his salary. I was so appalled at his attitude to money when he sold MR that I read him a lecture.”

  Fleming knew all about high-spending young rock stars and sports figures. “You mean he wanted to go on a spree?”

  “Quite the contrary. He was planning to shove the proceeds into his current account and forget about them. Thank heavens he’s become a little more normal—he doesn’t work every single waking moment. But basically he’s a very frugal young man.”

  Any bystander watching from afar that morning as Ali Khan departed for Cambridge would have been inclined to endorse this assessment. Unlike the rest of Midland Research’s senior staff, Ali did not live in a modern development within easy distance of the company. He had chosen a longer commute and more traditional housing. Seen from the road, his small, out-of-the-way dwelling was unpretentious, to say the least. England is filled with workmen’s cottages, originally two-up and two-down, that have been enlarged and modernized into choice residences. Ali’s home had been subjected to no such process. It was only in the rear that the raison d’être for his establishment became apparent. Here, a scruffy, patchy lawn sloped down to the river. From boyhood Ali had been an enthusiastic member of the Birmingham Rowing Club. Still a loyal participant, he was no longer dependent on communal facilities. His modern boathouse with its professional shell was worth more than the rest of the property.

  To Ali it all made sense. He was prepared to put time and money into the few things he really cared about. Everything else suffered from benign neglect. His ancient, battered car was a disgrace to the number-one parking slot at Midland Research. His cleaning woman had long since relaxed her efforts to the point where they were almost nonexistent. Fortunately Ali’s meals were not the solitary outings of most bachelors. When he ate dinner in downtown Birmingham, he did so at his father’s modest Pakistani restaurant. When he wanted grander surroundings, he could drive out to the new gourmet establishment over which his sister and brother-in-law presided.

  Like the restaurants of Birmingham, Cambridge University was filled with familiar faces. Ali was hailed before he had finished signing the register.

  “Ali!”

  “Geoffrey!”

  They had known each other since grammar school.

  “I was back home visiting my people two weeks ago, Ali. And when I tried to call you, they told me you were in Tokyo, of all places!”

  Geoffrey’s booming tones carried to the far corners of the room, and Ali could have hugged him.

  “The Japanese are interested in some of our developments.”

  At these magic words, a circle formed around Ali, composed of fellow toilers in his field.

  “The steel industry!” a young woman exclaimed. “Did you hear that, Victor?”

  As Ali was careful to tell them, his work was attracting the attention of more than one industrial power.

  “Koreans too?”

  “They’re just displaying interest. Nothing has been decided yet.”

  “That doesn’t matter. With two of them in the field, you’ve got an international auction under way.”

  “I suppose so,” Ali agreed.

  He was more forthcoming after arriving to meet the Sloan contingent.

  “Koreans, Japanese—what’s the difference? They’re all a bunch of outsiders.”

  Lemieux was reproving. “That’s what you said when Kruger made his offer, and you haven’t regretted that, have you?”

  “It’s not the same thing,” Ali said stubbornly. “Lackawanna has never interfered. They’re an electrical company. They didn’t have anybody in my field. But these big trading companies all have armies of electronics and computer people. They’ll send over some big brother who thinks he knows more about my research than I do.”

  Fleming was appalled at how little Ali had noticed in Tokyo. “That’s crazy,” he protested. “Yonezawa is willing to throw half the Japanese industrial community into convulsions in order to get your work. Believe me, they know you’re ahead of them.”

  Ali shrugged. “All I can do is wait and see. But I keep reminding myself that there’s just a year to go on my contract. Anybody bugs me too much, and I’m gone after that.”

  Thatcher could see how this unexpected sensitivity might create land mines for Mr. Arai.

  In the meantime, Ali had handed over to Lemieux a list of stock trades, which was greeted with grave approval.

  “You’re beginning to get the hang of it, my boy. I’ll put in your orders for market opening tomorrow. On the whole, you’ve done very well for yourself these past couple of years.”

/>   “I suppose so.”

  This indifference grated.

  “Don’t you care?”

  “Of course I do. That’s why I’m doing it. But you said I needed financial advice,” Ali defended himself. “I figure I’ve done my part and the rest is up to you.”

  “We could have handled this on the phone,” Lemieux said. “But I suppose you had to come to London to meet with your Lackawanna people.”

  “No, I’m not seeing them until tomorrow night. I had to drop by Colmer & Bradshaw to tell them we were finding a new supplier.”

  “And you couldn’t resist doing that in person?” Lemieux said severely.

  Ali’s teeth showed white in a broad smile. “It was worth the trip.”

  Lemieux explained the private joke. “Colmer & Bradshaw turned Ali down when he was looking for backing.”

  Ali was still delighted with his day’s activities.

  “When I left Cambridge for MR, nobody talked about the risks I was willing to take,” he told them. “Instead I was reminded of the superiority of academic research. You should have heard them today. All they could talk about was the money. And I drove them wild when I played the innocent who didn’t really care as long as I had perfect freedom to do my thing. They were explaining to me the value of having the Japanese and the Koreans bidding against each other.”

  “I can see how you might enjoy that, but Colmer & Bradshaw is a different matter.”

  Ali remained unrepentant. “I gave them quite a show too. I acted as if I didn’t remember a thing from the past, not when I was so busy with the present.”

  “You can’t hold these grudges forever.”

  “Maybe not,” Ali said merrily. “But when an opportunity to draw blood comes along, you can’t expect me to let it pass by.”

  Late that evening Ali slipped into the back booth of his father’s restaurant, where he was strategically placed for the convenience of any family member who could snatch a few moments from work. As always, his mother was the first to arrive, with inquires about his trip to Cambridge.

  “Nobody’s right on my heels, that’s the important thing,” Ali reported. “Incidentally, I ran into Geoffrey Osborne. You remember him, Mum. He went to university with me, and we used to come in here at night.”

  Within minutes he was regretting his mention of Geoffrey. Under his mother’s merciless cross-examination he admitted that there was not only a Mrs. Osborne but two little Osbornes.

  “And look at you,” she accused. “Just wasting your time.”

  Her husband’s arrival took most of the fire out of her.

  “Ali’s not wasting his time. He’ll have a fine position when he does start a family. Be satisfied with one wedding at a time.”

  Thereafter the conversation veered to Ali’s younger sister, who had first startled her family by training as a veterinarian and had now found a young man with whom she proposed to exploit the adoring pet owners of Kensington.

  “Smart,” said Papa approvingly.

  “Too far away!” wailed Mum.

  Chapter 20

  As Fleming had reported, the lobby of London’s newest deluxe caravanserai was filled with Japanese briskly going about their business.

  “Some of them are your old friends,” Gene pointed out. “The Yonezawa people have the biggest suite in the place. And Matsuda moved into the MITI quarters today.”

  Here, as at the embassy in Tokyo, many people had greeted Fleming. Now he slipped off to have a word with a passerby. When he came back, he was grinning.

  “Matsuda is here all right, but so are a pack of cops. Two of them are right behind him wherever he goes.”

  “So we can look forward to having them with us at MR.”

  “More than that. They’ll be parading around the trade show tomorrow night.” Fleming evinced a certain admiration. “You’ve got to hand it to Matsuda. He’s really hanging in there.”

  The dynamics were familiar to Thatcher. “In fact, Matsuda is in the same position as Kruger was. If he agrees to disappear, he’s afraid the decision will go by default.”

  “It’s bigger than that. Now, with this Shima mess, the government is trying to cast itself as the exposer of corrupt practices. So it’s no longer worth Matsuda’s while to do whatever they want to keep things quiet. To protect himself, he figures he has to write his own lines.”

  Thatcher nodded. “What about your friend Rick Iwamoto? Is he going to be present? I gather he isn’t staying at Tudor House.”

  “Of course he’ll be coming,” said Fleming, shocked at any other suggestion.

  Fleming, Thatcher noticed, made a sharp distinction between Matsuda and Iwamoto. The employee was seen as a pawn; the industrialist was recognized as a power in his own right.

  “At least there’s one stabilizing factor,” Thatcher remarked. “With Tokyo waiting for the U.S. decision on the export violation, we should complete the MR hearings before the Japanese take any punitive action.”

  “Yes, and with any luck, Shima will get through the Midland rally as well.”

  Before Thatcher could reply, a parting in the crowd revealed Carl Kruger and Don Hodiak sitting resignedly in a corner, with the look of men waiting for female companions. Kruger wasted no time on niceties.

  “Hello, Thatcher. Do you know that they’ve sent Matsuda over? How do you like that? They kick me out of the country, and they let him manage important business.”

  The opportunity was too good for Hodiak to miss. “Well, Carl, I warned you that doing business with them was going to have a lot of new wrinkles.” He went on to expand his theme. “At least they’re keeping him on a tight rein.”

  “I hear Matsuda has police watchdogs with him,” Thatcher agreed.

  “And some pretty high-powered ones. You remember that inspector who questioned us at MITI? They’ve sent him over too. He stays in the background, but you see him keeping an eye on things.”

  Kruger admitted that the situation was unusual but, with bulldog tenacity, claimed that the only important thing was that MITI was here. Before he could press his point, Mrs. Carl Kruger, in a whirl of chiffon, joined them, beaming her way through the introductions.

  “I absolutely insisted Carl take tonight off,” she announced. “I know what it will be like once the avalanche starts.”

  “Well, honey, you’re the one who wanted to come along,” Kruger said good-naturedly. “Don’t blame me if you’re bored.”

  “Two of those suitcases I brought are empty,” she replied on a note of triumph, “and I intend to fill them.”

  There is much to be said for a shopping lady, Thatcher decided. Armed with the Kruger credit cards, Audrey would be no problem to her companions.

  She might have been reading his thoughts. “And I gave Margaret Bentwood a ring. So I’ll be out of Carl’s hair tomorrow night too.”

  She was still prattling when Thatcher saw her eyes narrow in critical appraisal. Turning, he found that Pamela Webb was approaching. For a moment he wondered if they were all about to be plunged into embarrassment.

  He discovered that he was doing Audrey an injustice.

  “Pamela,” she announced with vehemence, “I like that outfit.”

  The outfit was a dashing red jacket atop harem pants, with a long silk scarf floating in the breeze.

  “You should wear that kind of thing more often,” Audrey continued judiciously. “All those grays and blues of yours are so blah!”

  “If I wore this outfit to the office, we’d all be in the National Enquirer,” Pamela teased.

  It seemed to Thatcher that she was straying perilously close to dangerous ground, but if so, she was quick to retreat.

  “Carl, did you know that Arai has been here for two days?”

  “You too?” Audrey protested. “Oh, I know this bunch”—a sweeping gesture encompassed the male contingent—”likes to pretend that work is more fun than fun. But, Pamela, women have more sense.”

  As Pamela greeted this sally with a giggle, That
cher concluded that the ladies were too skilled for a mere man to understand. One thing, however, was clear. They were both determined to create a holiday spirit, and Pamela underlined this intention by linking her arm through Hodiak’s.

  “Isn’t it time for us to leave, Don? When does the curtain go up?” Turning to Thatcher, she amplified. “We’re all on our way to the ballet.”

  “Are you a ballet fan?” he inquired.

  “Far from it,” she disclaimed. “This is my first time. Don’s the one who never misses a performance.”

  Smiling, Hodiak assured her she was in for a treat.

  “Yes, it’s time we all got going,” Kruger agreed, picking up his wife’s stole.

  They began drifting toward the point where Thatcher and Fleming would peel off, when fate brought them directly into the path of a party emerging from an elevator.

  At its head was Tomaheko Matsuda. Behind him was a considerable entourage. To Thatcher’s eye the MITI aides were indistinguishable from the police escort.

  Kruger nodded abruptly and would have passed on, but Matsuda launched into courtesies that embroiled them all in a string of introductions.

  “. . . and Mr. Fleming too. I hope we will have the pleasure of seeing you all at the trade show.”

  With Matsuda donning the mantle of official host, it was now impossible to avoid expressions of anticipation. Settled firmly on his heels, Matsuda then responded with similar high hopes for his trip to Birmingham.

  “As you see, I have brought with me a full complement of technical advisers,” he said with a wave, “so that the excellences which I am unqualified to understand may be properly appreciated.”

  Unfortunately Matsuda was inspired to conclude with expressions of regret for the necessary curtailment of the proceedings in Tokyo.

  “The nerve of that bastard!” Kruger fumed as soon as they were out of earshot. “Where the hell does he get off talking about unavoidable discontinuities? He gets me branded as a criminal, and then he acts as if he’s above the battle.”

  For once Gene Fleming’s explication of Japanese attitudes was ill-timed.