by Emma Lathen
“There’s still lingering bewilderment. Because no matter how you slice it, the stakes just weren’t high enough then for murder.”
Thatcher could think of one other factor. “That is tenable only if the suspects identified entirely with their companies.”
“So? Arai is Yonezawa. And the same could be said about Kruger and Lackawanna.”
“But not about everybody. Which brings us to Bennet Alderman and the latest developments about him.”
Thatcher went on to explain Carl Kruger’s growing suspicions.
“. . . and Alderman’s dirty tricks are outside normal corporate practice. He compiled a dossier on Hodiak’s personal life that infuriated Kruger. I don’t know what was in it, but it seems to have included dirt on Mrs. Hodiak. Then he’s been trying to get Pamela Webb dismissed for a long time. But Kruger has just learned that Alderman went behind his back in an attempt to enlist Mrs. Kruger in this campaign.”
“He must be everybody’s little friend,” Gene remarked.
“There’s more. The political polls that alerted Kruger were discovered by Pamela Webb, which has inspired a full-scale vendetta against her. Even worse, there was another row with Kruger this morning. As Alderman stormed out, Hodiak overheard him saying Kruger couldn’t fire him because he had plenty on Kruger.”
Gene Fleming’s imagination was fired. “My God, that could be anything from a convivial weekend to seeing Kruger shoot Matsuda.”
At the moment, Thatcher was more interested in Bennet Alderman than in the sins of his employer.
“Alderman has devoted years of his life to making Kruger his entry ticket to the White House. If anybody tries to take that ticket away from him, he’s ready to attack without compunction. Now, what would his reaction be if an insignificant Japanese clerk suddenly became an obstacle?”
Fleming nodded. “I see your point. In his case, the stakes might be so high he’d flake out. And if Alderman lost his head, he could have Ushiba’s corpse on his hands before he knew it. Was that physically possible?”
“As Alderman and Ali Khan did not know the afternoon session had been rescheduled, they arrived early. While Khan was working with the staff to prepare for his lecture, Aiderman was out of everybody’s sight.”
Gene Fleming was trying to put himself in Alderman’s shoes, but the exercise was too much for him.
“If I had gotten away with killing Ushiba,” he said doubtfully, “I sure as hell wouldn’t risk that attack on Matsuda. Not when it puts me front and center as a suspect.”
Thatcher promptly demolished this reasoning.
“Only because things went wrong. If Alderman had slipped back to his room and a dead Matsuda had been discovered at seven o’clock in the morning, the field would have been wide open.”
But Fleming had now become a devil’s advocate.
“Not after Alderman had just threatened to choke the truth out of Matsuda.”
“In a public place with witnesses,” Thatcher said dryly. “That, if anything, placed him with those who wanted Matsuda to speak—as opposed to someone determined to silence him permanently.”
His back to the wall, Fleming was prepared to concede some merit to Thatcher’s argument. “And the Japanese would love it,” he pointed out. “Because it gives them an American not only reacting with violence but doing so for selfish reasons. It would confirm their gut instincts.”
“And what about your instincts?” Thatcher asked, genuinely curious.
“Maybe they’ve brainwashed me, but I feel the same way. In fact, there’s only one Japanese I could begin to see as the killer.”
“Iwamoto?”
“Hell, no! I’m talking about Mr. Arai. He didn’t get where he is by being submissive to group loyalties. Oh, he’s lived down his past, and he’s bright enough to affect a super-Japanese personal life. On state occasions you see pictures of him in a kimono, surrounded by his descendants. The older he gets, the better it looks.”
Thatcher was not convinced. “Are you serious?”
“I admit that I have a tendency to see Arai’s fine hand behind too much,” Fleming replied. “Bennet Alderman makes a more plausible murderer. He had a lot to lose, he’s half crazy on the subject, and he was right at the scene of the crime. What’s more, now that he’s declared war on Kruger, Hodiak, and Pamela Webb, it won’t be just the Japanese who favor that solution.”
But Gene Fleming had forgotten that Japanese xenophobia had been superseded by Japanese self-interest. In Tokyo a report was being made to select members of the Diet.
“Mr. Matsuda claims he was shot by an unknown assailant. He strongly suspects the Americans.”
“That is no longer satisfactory,” Minister Sato said severely. “It may even be counterproductive. We are now dealing with an internal problem.”
The opposition papers were suffering an embarrassment of riches. Half the front pages covered the Matsuda shooting, while the other half were devoted to the judgment against Shima.
“The United States government,” said one legislator sourly, “has clearly left the ultimate decision to us. And in view of their strong feelings about export violations, this can only mean they do not wish to figure in these headlines.”
A more optimistic note was sounded across the table.
“The opposition, however, may have made a serious mistake. They are giving so much publicity to Shima that a strong step against the company by us could have a very positive effect.”
Sato turned accusingly to the bearer of bad tidings. “Has this not been made clear to Mr. Matsuda?” he demanded.
“It is difficult to persuade a man whose doctors permit only fragmentary visits,” the emissary apologized. “In addition, I am told that Secretary Matsuda appears deeply suspicious of the overtures made to him.”
“He’s suspicious!” The minister was affronted. “It is Secretary Matsuda who has been taking bribes, not us.”
Unfortunately this reminded everyone that the Recruit scandal was the ultimate source of current pressures.
“Yes, yes,” they chorused hastily. “But it is only natural that Mr. Matsuda should seek some assurance as to the future if he admits his past errors.”
Like so many politicians, Sato required unimpeachable ethical standards from the senior civil service.
“There can be no question of a public future,” he announced grandly.
The emissary had been biding his time until this moment. “Naturally not,” he agreed gravely. “However, it did occur to me that under these unique circumstances, an arrangement with the private sector might meet the needs of all parties.”
Everyone instantly began to calculate which executive office Yonezawa might be willing to contribute to the commonweal. As no answer could be forthcoming in the absence of Mr. Arai, there was a general disinclination to pursue the topic.
“That is a possibility,” said Sato dismissively. “To a certain extent we face the same problem with Shima. The action we take against the company cannot be permanently crippling. When, then, can we plan for them to return to business as usual?”
That was exactly what Len Ridgeway wanted to know.
“Well?” demanded the familiar voice from Anchorage. “The penalty was just against the subsidiary.”
Thatcher explained about the second shoe. “Gene Fleming says it’s impossible to predict what action the Japanese government will take. If the Prime Minister were to criticize the Shima Trading Company in one of his upcoming public addresses, then Iwamoto would be expected to resign with a handful of his officers.”
Ridgeway had no intention of starting again with a new, and probably nervous, group of Shima executives.
“And when is all this supposed to happen?”
Thatcher’s reply was cold comfort.
“There’s no telling. I know you like the deal, Len,” he continued, “but I wouldn’t wait more than ten days. These things can drag on for quite a while.”
They already had, as far as Pamela Webb
was concerned.
“Hello,” said Ali Khan, when she reached Birmingham. “The car’s just outside.”
Oh, Lord, who needs another long face? she said to herself. But clearly a pep talk was needed. She began cautiously. “This is turning into a real endurance test.”
Khan was not as docile as he had once been. “It’s turning into a nightmare,” he replied sharply. “If I’d known what I was letting myself in for, I would never have gotten mixed up with Lackawanna. Murder and attempted murder are more than I bargained for.”
His self-pity stung her. “Try thinking about others for a change!”
She regretted the outburst instantly. Khan withdrew into offended silence until they reached his car.
“Look, I’m sorry I bit your head off,” Pamela said at the first red light. “But you’ve got to understand that it’s really been a pressure cooker in London.”
He kept his eyes fixed on the road. “Tell me exactly what happened,” he said, reversing their usual roles.
Pamela had always known this might happen. When she first met him, Ali was a raw young genius with everything to learn. Now he was a key figure in a high-stakes business.
“I’ve got to know what’s going on,” he told her. “Otherwise there’s no way I can make plans for the future.”
“It isn’t as negative as you may think,” she said.
“Let me be the judge of that.”
As dispassionately as she could, she described the events leading up to the attempt on Matsuda’s life.
“Christ!” he said when she finished.
“Ali, Matsuda wasn’t actually killed. They’re saying he’ll probably recover soon enough to come up for the demonstration.”
“Ah, yes, the demonstration,” he said bleakly. “That’s still going on, is it? And is Bennet Alderman going to be free to attend too?”
In her dealings with Khan, Pamela had come to understand some, but not all, of his thought processes.
“Yes, Bennet will probably be here,” she said flatly.
“Once more into the breach,” he muttered.
“All we’re going to do is concentrate on getting the sale to Yonezawa finalized,” she said patiently. “When that’s done, we can lean back and brood about everything that’s happened. But doing it now is just a distraction. And God knows, we’ve had enough distractions already.”
“If you say so,” he said, creating another pool of silence.
When Khan pulled into MR’s parking lot, he switched off the ignition but remained sitting. Through the windshield, he studied his creation as if he had never seen it before. MR occupied a small, undistinguished compound.
“Doesn’t look like much, does it?” he said reflectively.
“It’s what’s inside that counts,” she said with matching detachment. “Carl realized that, and so will the Japanese.”
“Maybe,” he said dubiously. Then, in an abrupt mood change, he shook himself and clambered out of the car.
“Was it your idea to come up early, or did Kruger send you?” he demanded when he joined her.
Khan was both proud and touchy. Without Pamela as intermediary, his relationship with Kruger would have been strained. Her skills did not desert her now.
“Nobody’s trying to boss you around,” she said, concealing weariness. “The only reason I’m here is to make sure that all the right preparations are in place. This is our last chance, and time is running out.”
“I think time has already run out.”
“Don’t talk like that,” she said. “Just be realistic. If we can pull this off, we’ll be home free. Once the sale is well and truly made, the Japanese will close the book on what happened in Tokyo.”
“Murder and bribes?” he countered stubbornly.
“They’ve covered up worse and lived happily ever after,” she insisted. “And once Carl gets what he wants, things at Lackawanna will simmer down too. You called it a nightmare. Well, nightmares end.”
“For Hodiak and Alderman too?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen to them,” Pamela said unhappily.
Alderman’s fate was being decided at that very moment.
“This is the kiss of death as far as I’m concerned,” a bald congressman declared in Senator Will Trowbridge’s office. “For all we know, they’ve arrested Alderman by now.”
The lawyer from Alexandria had checked with London before setting forth.
“Not yet. They don’t have enough of a case.”
“Who cares?” demanded the Texan in the corner. “The point is, he got caught at whatever he was doing.”
In this group, there was no more unforgivable sin.
“He got caught at more than that,” Sam reported. “Apparently Kruger’s wise to Benny’s moonlighting.”
The others looked at Sam with interest.
“Did Alderman tell you this?” Trowbridge asked.
“No.”
The single syllable was damning. Their inside man was no longer a reliable conduit of information.
“Then how did you hear about it? We don’t have anyone else planted.”
“No, but Kruger’s ordered a search of Alderman’s files, and the news is going through Lackawanna like wildfire. One thing that Bennet never learned is that it doesn’t pay to make enemies when you don’t have to.”
Baldie was growing impatient with trivia. “Then the decision about Alderman has been made for us. His usefulness is over. I’m surprised he hasn’t been thrown out on his ear.”
“That wouldn’t look so hot right now,” the Texan reasoned. “I suppose Kruger’ll hold off until they’re all back from England. Then he’ll dump Alderman good and hard.”
Sam, also eager to attack the important part of the agenda, shrugged.
“Look, Alderman’s not important, and he never has been. The question is, do we forget about Kruger?”
Senator Trowbridge’s only personal knowledge of Carl Kruger stemmed from the forty-eight-hour descent on Washington.
“He may look good on paper, but I wasn’t all that impressed when I met him. Besides, wherever he goes, bodies start hitting the floor.”
“You don’t want to be fooled by the clean-cut act,” Sam cautioned. “The guy knows how to counterpunch. I admit I thought he was down for good before, and look how he handled Shima. He might pull it off again.”
Very few things still had the ability to outrage Trowbridge, but being asked to hurl himself into a meat chopper was one of them.
“You’ve got to be kidding. Going anywhere near Kruger is too risky.”
The Texan agreed. Sad, but resigned, he said: “It’s a shame. We won’t find anybody else with that recognition value.”
Unlike everybody else in the room, Sam was not protecting a political fiefdom. His role in these councils was that of impartial analyst, espousing no cause but giving due weight to every factor. He routinely took every side of an argument.
“That recognition simply means everybody knows about Kruger,” he pointed out. “And what they know these days isn’t going to do us a hell of a lot of good.”
“Not to mention that he’s got that blonde with him wherever he goes,” Trowbridge grumbled, becoming more negative by the moment.
The Texan prided himself on keeping up with the times. “Nobody cares about that anymore if it’s handled right. Kruger could square things by marrying her. No, what bothers me is Alderman.”
“But we’ve settled that. We’re cutting him off,” Trowbridge insisted.
“Yeah, but he can still spell trouble. We don’t have any idea what he was up to. Of course I don’t know him,” the Texan said, reminding the others that they were responsible for bringing Alderman into the fold, “but you all say he’s got big ambitions. He could have been cutting a deal of his own with the Japs. Maybe he wanted to get his hands on some of those big bucks in Tokyo.”
Trowbridge stiffened. “Come on! I figure he got overeager. Benny was hot to bring Kruger b
ack a hero. So he stepped out of line trying to make it a sure thing. God knows what he got involved in, but he wouldn’t set up for himself.”
“Why not? That’s what he was doing with Kruger.” The soft drawl continued with unimpeachable logic. “For Chris-sake, Will, we didn’t tell him to start running around, meeting Japs at midnight—with or without a gun.”
Like so many other Olympians looking down at the activities of mortals, Senator Trowbridge had never thought to see himself on that lowly plane. The possibility that Bennet Alderman had been no more loyal to him than to Carl Kruger was hard to swallow.
“I don’t see it,” he said stubbornly. “Benny was real shook up when Paul’s crowd started that smear campaign. He lost his head completely.”
Noting this reaction, Sam smiled thinly.
“Nonetheless it’s a valid point, Will. Kruger could be hit by some of Alderman’s dirt at any time. It would be silly to take a chance like that.”
“Then thank God we did it my way. I was never crazy about a dark horse in the first place. But if we’d approached Kruger directly, pulling out would cost us. Now nobody outside this room has to know. . . .”
As Trowbridge continued shoring up his self-esteem, the Texan picked up a pad and drew a thick black line through the name of Carl Kruger.
Chapter 28
The postponement of the MR hearings had left most of its cast in a state of suspended animation, but John Thatcher was pleased to find his own extra time in London being exploited for worthwhile ends. Toby Lemieux was not only systematically canvassing possible Japanese acquisitions; he had injected the Thatcher presence into several all-British negotiations.
Gene Fleming responded to this challenge with a last-minute coup of his own. Like a magician producing a rabbit out of the hat, he dangled the French representative to the IFMA.
“But why?” Thatcher asked, upon being informed of the appointment.
Motorcycles, he was told, were only one facet of Raoul Thibault’s activities.
“These days he’s the biggest wholesaler of china in France.”
“So naturally he knows every manufacturer in the country?”
Fleming was smug. “Including a small family firm that’s run out of descendants.”
