Michael Crichton - Rising Sun

by Rising Sun [lit]

  "But Arthur— "

  "Just tell him."

  "I will, Arthur," the younger man said, smoothing his tie. He lowered his voice. "But the board may balk at raising you above six when company earnings are down so much— "

  "We're not talking about earnings," Greiman said. "We're talking about compensation. It has nothing to do with earnings. The board has to match current compensation levels for chief executives. If Roger can't bring the board into line on this, I'm going to cancel the March meeting and ask for changes. You tell him that.'

  "Okay, I will, Arthur, but— "

  "Just do it. Call me tonight."

  "Right, Arthur."

  They shook hands. The younger man walked off unhappily. The receptionist said, "Mr. Greiman, these gentlemen— "

  Greiman turned to us. Connor said, "Mr. Greiman, we'd like to speak to you for a minute about MicroCon." And he turned slightly aside, and showed his badge.

  Greiman exploded in rage. "Oh, for Christ's sake. Not again. This is goddamned harassment."

  "Harassment?"

  "What would you call it? I've had senatorial staffers here, I've had the F.B.I. here. Now I have the L.A. police? We're not criminals. We own a company and we have the right to sell it. Where is Louis?"

  The receptionist said, "Mr. Enders is coming."

  Connor said calmly, "Mr. Greiman, I'm sorry to disturb you. We have only one question. It'll just take a minute."

  Greiman glowered. "What's your question?"

  "How many bidders were there for MicroCon?"

  "That's none of your business," he said. "Anyway, our agreement with Akai stipulates that we can't discuss the sale publicly in any way."

  Connor said, "Was there more than one bidder?"

  "Look, you have questions, you talk to Enders. I'm busy." He turned to the woman with blueprints. "Beverly? What have you got for me?"

  "I have a revised layout for the boardroom, Mr. Greiman, and tile samples for the washroom. A very nice gray I think you'll like."

  "Good, good." He led her down the hallway away from us.

  Connor watched them go, and then abruptly turned toward the elevator. "Come on, kōhai. Let's get some fresh air."

  ☼

  "Why does it matter if there were other bidders?" I said, when we were back in the car.

  "It goes back to the original question we had," Connor said. "Who wants to embarrass Nakamoto? We know the sale of MicroCon has strategic significance. That's why Congress is upset. But that almost certainly means other parties are upset, too."

  "In Japan?"

  "Exactly."

  "Who will know that?"

  "Akai."

  The Japanese receptionist tittered when she saw Connor's badge. Connor said, "We would like to see Mr. Yoshida." Yoshida was the head of the company.

  "One moment, please." She got up and hurried away, almost running.

  Akai Ceramics was located on the fifth floor of a bland office-block in El Segundo. The decor was spare and industrial-looking. From the reception area, we could see into a large space, which was not partitioned: lots of metal desks and people at the phones. The soft click of word processors.

  I looked at the office. "Pretty bare."

  "All business," Connor said, nodding. "In Japan, ostentation is frowned on. It means you are not serious. When old Mr. Matsushita was the head of the third biggest company in Japan, he still took the regular commercial jet between his head offices in Osaka and Tokyo. He was the head of a fifty-billion-dollar company. But no private jets for him."

  As we waited, I looked at the people working at the desks. A handful were Japanese. Most were Caucasian. Everyone wore blue suits. There were almost no women.

  "In Japan," Connor said, "if a company is doing poorly, the first thing that happens is the executives cut their own salaries. They feel responsible for the success of the company, and they expect their own fortunes to rise and fall as the company succeeds or fails."

  The woman came back, and sat at her desk without speaking. Almost immediately, a Japanese man wearing a blue suit came toward us. He had gray hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and a solemn manner. He said, "Good morning. I am Mr. Yoshida."

  Connor made the introductions. We all bowed and exchanged business cards. Mr. Yoshida took each card with both hands, bowing each time, formally. We did the same. I noticed that Connor did not speak Japanese to him.

  Yoshida led us to his office. It had windows looking toward the airport. The furnishings were austere.

  "Would you like coffee, or tea?"

  "No, thank you," Connor said. "We are here in an official capacity."

  "I understand." He gestured for us to sit down.

  "We would like to talk to you about the purchase of MicroCon."

  "Ah, yes. A troubling matter. But I am not aware that it should involve the police."

  "Perhaps it doesn't," Connor said. "Can you tell us about the sale, or is the agreement sealed?"

  Mr. Yoshida looked surprised. "Sealed? Not at all. It is all very open, and has been from the beginning. We were approached by Mr. Kobayashi, representing Darley-Higgins in Tokyo, in September of last year. That was the first we learned the company was for sale. Frankly, we were surprised that it would be offered. We began negotiations in early October. The negotiating teams had the basis of a rough agreement by mid-November. We proceeded to the final stage of negotiations. But then the Congress raised objections, on November sixteenth."

  Connor said, "You said you were surprised that the company would be offered for sale?"

  "Yes. Certainly."

  "Why is that?"

  Mr. Yoshida spread his hands on his desk and spoke slowly. "We understood that MicroCon was a government-owned company. It had been financed in part by funds from the American government. Thirteen percent of capitalization, if I remember. In Japan, that would make it a government-owned company. So naturally we were cautious to enter into negotiations. We do not want to offend. But we received assurance from our representatives in Washington there would be no objection to the purchase."

  "I see."

  "But now there are difficulties, as we feared. I think now we make a cause for Americans. In Washington, some people are upset. We do not wish this."

  "You didn't expect Washington would make objections?"

  Mr. Yoshida gave a diffident shrug. "The two countries are different. In Japan we know what to expect. Here, there is always an individual who may have another opinion, and speak it. But Akai Ceramics does not wish a high profile. It is awkward now."

  Connor nodded sympathetically. "It sounds as if you want to withdraw."

  "Many in the home office criticize me, for not knowing what would happen. But I tell them, it is impossible to know. Washington has no firm policy. It changes every day, according to the politics." He smiled and added. "Or, I would say, that is how it seems to us."

  "But you expect the sale to go forward?"

  "This I cannot say. Perhaps the criticism from Washington will be too much. And you know the Tokyo government wants to be friends with America. They give pressure on business, not to make purchases that will upset America. Rockefeller Center and Universal Studios, these purchases that make criticism for us. We are told to be yōjinbukai. It means . . ."

  "Discreet," Connor said.

  "Careful. Yes. Wary." He looked at Connor. "You speak Japanese?"

  "A little."

  Yoshida nodded. For a moment he seemed to consider switching to Japanese, but did not. "We wish to have friendly relations," he said. "These criticisms of us, we feel they are not fair. The Darley-Higgins company has many financial difficulties. Perhaps bad management, perhaps some other reason. I cannot say. But that is not our fault. We are not responsible for that. And we did not seek MicroCon. It was offered to us. Now we are criticized for trying to help." He sighed.

  Outside, a big jet took off from the airport. The windows rattled.

  Connor said, "And the other bidders for MicroCon? When did th
ey drop out?"

  Mr. Yoshida frowned. "There were no other bidders. The company was privately offered. Darley-Higgins did not wish to make known their financial difficulties. So we cooperated with them. But now . . . the press makes many distortions about us. We feel very . . . kizu tsuita. Wounded?"

  "Yes."

  He shrugged. "That is how we feel. I hope you understand my poor English."

  There was a pause. In fact, for the next minute or so, nobody said anything. Connor sat facing Yoshida. I sat beside Connor. Another jet took off, and the windows vibrated again. Still nobody spoke. Yoshida gave a long sigh. Connor nodded. Yoshida shifted in his chair, and folded his hands over his belly. Connor sighed, and grunted. Yoshida sighed. Both men seemed to be entirely focused. Something was taking place, but I was not clear what. I decided it must be this unspoken intuition.

  Finally, Yoshida said, "Captain, I wish no misunderstanding. Akai Ceramics is an honorable company. We have no part in any . . . complications that have occurred. Our position is difficult. But I will assist you in whatever way I can."

  Connor said, "I am grateful."

  "Not at all."

  Then Yoshida stood up. Connor stood up. I stood up. We all bowed, and then we all shook hands.

  "Please do not hesitate to contact me again, if I can be of assistance."

  "Thank you," Connor said.

  Yoshida led us to the door to his office. We bowed again, and he opened the door.

  Outside was a fresh-faced American man in his forties. I recognized him at once. He was the blond man who had been in the car with Senator Rowe the night before. The man who hadn't introduced himself.

  "Ah, Richmond-san," Yoshida said. "Very good luck you are here. These gentlemen are just asking about MicroCon baishū." He turned to us. "Perhaps you will like to talk to Mr. Richmond. His English is much better than mine. He can give you many more details you may wish to know."

  "Bob Richmond. Myers, Lawson, and Richmond." His handshake was firm. He was suntanned, and looked as though he played a lot of tennis. He smiled cheerfully. "Small world, isn't it?"

  Connor and I introduced ourselves. I said, "Did Senator Rowe get back all right?"

  "Oh yes," Richmond said. "Thanks for your help." He smiled. "I hate to think how he's feeling this morning. But I guess it's not the first time." He shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet, like a tennis player waiting for a serve. He looked slightly concerned. "I must say, you two are the last people I ever expected to see here. Is there anything I should know about? I represent Akai in the MicroCon negotiations."

  "No," Connor said mildly. "We're just getting general background."

  "Is this to do with what happened at Nakamoto last night?"

  Connor said, "Not really. Just background."

  "If you like, we can talk in the conference room."

  "Unfortunately," Connor said, "we're late for an appointment. But perhaps we can talk later."

  "You bet," Richmond said. "Happy to. I'll be back in my office in about an hour." He gave us his card.

  "That's fine," Connor said.

  But Richmond still seemed worried. He walked with us to the elevator. "Mr. Yoshida is from the old school," he said. "I'm sure he was polite. But I can tell you he is furious about what happened with this MicroCon thing. He's taking a lot of heat from Akai Tokyo. And it's very unfair. He really was sandbagged by Washington. He got assurances there would be no objection to the sale, and then Morton pulled the rug out from under him."

  Connor said, "Is that what happened?"

  "No question about it," Richmond said. "I don't know what Johnny Morton's problem is, but he came right out of left field on this. We made all the proper filings. CFIUS registered no objection until long after the negotiations were concluded. You can't do business like this. I just hope John sees the light, and lets this thing go through. Because at the moment it looks pretty racist."

  "Racist? Really?"

  "Sure. It's exactly like the Fairchild case. Remember that one? Fujitsu tries to buy Fairchild Semiconductor in eighty-six, but Congress blocks the sale, saying it's against national security. Congress doesn't want Fairchild sold to a foreign company. Couple of years later Fairchild is going to be sold to a French company, and this time there's not a peep from Congress. Apparently, it's okay to sell to a foreign company — just not a Japanese company. I'd say that's racist policy, pure and simple." We came to the elevator. "Anyway, call me. I'll make myself available."

  "Thank you," Connor said.

  We got on the elevator. The doors closed.

  "Asshole," Connor said.

  ☼

  I was driving north toward the Wilshire exit, to meet Senator Morton. I said, "Why is he an asshole?"

  "Bob Richmond was the assistant trade negotiator for Japan under Amanda Marden until last year. He was privy to all the strategy meetings of the American government. One year later, he turns around and starts working for the Japanese. Who now pay him five hundred thousand a year plus bonuses to close this deal. And he's worth it, because he knows everything there is to know."

  "Is that legal?"

  "Sure. It's standard procedure. They all do it. If Richmond worked for a high-tech company like Microsoft, he'd have to sign an agreement that he wouldn't work for a competing company for five years. Because you shouldn't be able to peddle trade secrets to the opposition. But our government has easier rules."

  "Why is he an asshole?"

  "This racist stuff." Connor snorted. "He knows better. Richmond knows exactly what happened with the Fairchild sale. And it had nothing to do with racism."

  "No?"

  "And there's another thing Richmond knows: the Japanese are the most racist people on earth."

  "They are?"

  "Absolutely. In fact, when the Japanese diplomats— "

  The car phone rang. I pushed the speaker button and said, "Lieutenant Smith."

  Over the speaker, a man said, "Jesus, finally. Where the hell have you guys been? I want to get to sleep."

  I recognized the voice: Fred Hoffmann, the watch commander from the night before.

  Connor said, "Thanks for getting back to us, Fred."

  "What is it you wanted?"

  "Well, I'm curious," Connor said, "about the Nakamoto calls you got last night."

  "You and everybody else in this town," Hoffmann said. "I got half the department on my ass about this. Jim Olson is practically camping on my desk, going through the paperwork. Even though it was all routine at the time."

  "If you'd just review what happened . . ."

  "Sure. First thing, I got the transmittal from metro. That was the original phone-in. Metro wasn't sure what it meant, because the caller had an Asian accent and sounded confused. Or maybe on drugs. He kept talking about 'problems with the disposition of the body.' They couldn't get it clear what he was talking about. Anyway, I dispatched a black and white about eight-thirty. Then when they confirmed a homicide, I assigned Tom Graham and Roddy Merino — for which I got all kinds of shit later."

  "Uh-huh."

  "But what the hell, they were up on the roster next. You know we're supposed to stay in strict rotation for detective assignments. To avoid the appearance of special treatment. That's policy. I was just following it."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Anyway. Then Graham calls in at nine o'clock, and reports there's trouble at the scene, and there is a request for the Special Services liaison. Again, I check the list. Pete Smith is the SSO on call. So I give Graham his number at home. And I guess he called you, Pete."

  "Yes," I said. "He did."

  "All right," Connor said. "What happened after that?"

  "About two minutes after Graham calls, maybe nine oh-five, I get a call from somebody with an accent. I would say it sounds like an Asian accent, but I don't know for sure. And the guy says that on behalf of Nakamoto he is requesting Captain Connor be assigned to the case."

  "The caller didn't identify himself?"

  "Sure he
did. I made him identify himself. And I wrote down the name. Koichi Nishi."

  "And he was from Nakamoto?"

  "That's what he said," Hoffmann said. "I'm just sitting there, working the phone, what the hell do I know. I mean, this morning Nakamoto is formally protesting the fact that Connor was assigned to the case and saying they have nobody named Koichi Nishi employed by them. They're claiming it's all a fabrication. But let me tell you, somebody called me. I'm not making it up."

  "I'm sure you're not," Connor said. "You say the caller had an accent?"

  "Yeah. His English was pretty good, you know, almost hip, but there was a definite accent. The only thing I thought was funny was that he seemed to know a hell of a lot about you.

  "Oh?"

  "Yeah. First thing he says to me, do I know your phone number or should he give it to me. I say I know the number. I'm thinking, I don't need some Japanese to tell me the phone numbers of people on the force. Then he says, you know, Captain Connor doesn't always answer his phone. Be sure to send somebody down there to pick him up."

  "Interesting," Connor said.

  "So I called Pete Smith, and told him to swing by and pick you up. And that's all I knew. I mean, this is all in the context of some political problem they're having at Nakamoto. I knew Graham was unhappy. I figured other people were unhappy, too. And everybody knows Connor has special relationships with the community, so I put it through. And now there is all this shit coming down. Fucking beats me."

  "Tell me about the shit," Connor said.

  "It starts maybe eleven o'clock last night, when the chief called me about Graham. Why did I assign Graham. I tell him why. But he's still not happy. Then right at the end of my watch, maybe five a.m., there is the business about how Connor got brought in. How did it happen, why did it happen. And now there's a story in the Times and this whole thing about racism by the police. I don't know which way to turn here. I keep explaining I did the routine thing. By the book. Nobody is buying that. But it's true."

  "I'm sure it is," Connor said. "Just one more thing, Fred. Did you ever listen to the original metro call?"

  "Damn right I did. I heard it about an hour ago. Why?"