The Saracen Incident

by Jack Bowie

The decor changed abruptly as they reached the landing at the top of the stairs. Instead of the bright reds and yellows prominent downstairs, the second floor was lighted in soft blues. The atmosphere was one of quiet contemplation rather than noisy conversation. Greystone was sure that very few Washington gaigin ever saw this part of the restaurant.

  He removed his shoes at the landing, placing them in cubby-holed shelves built into the side wall, and proceeded with the hostess down a long tatami-covered hall. On his left, male and female voices came from behind shoji screens hiding what Greystone guessed were small private dining areas. Between the doorways, original ukiyo-e woodcuts hung unprotected on the walls.

  At the end of the hall the hostess opened a slightly larger screen and again bowed. Greystone entered the room to find his business partner and two colleagues sitting on the raised tatami floor behind a richly lacquered low black table. The screen slid shut behind him as he approached the table and he turned automatically to see if she had entered. Just as quickly he realized his error; it was impolite for him to divert his attention from his host. He looked back to see a slight upturn at the corners of Hajima’s mouth. Another point for his colleague.

  “Hajima-san,” Greystone said as he bowed deliberately. “Ohayo gozaimas.”

  “Good evening to you, Robert.”

  An impeccably dressed man rose from behind the table. Akira Hajima was Managing Director of Research for Takagawa Communications, the telecommunications manufacturing arm of Takagawa Industries. He was tall for a Japanese, almost six feet with the body of a wrestler: thick neck, broad powerful shoulders, slim waist and hips. Unmarried, he was completely dedicated to his company. His dark eyes glowed with an intensity born from past business battles; battles that had left their mark in the chiseled lines on his otherwise smooth face.

  Hajima bowed slightly, then motioned to his side. “I have asked two of my colleagues to join us,” he continued. “I hope you don’t mind. This is Mr. Mashitomi, and Mr. Kitari. They are researchers from our Palo Alto facility. Being younger they have a much better grasp of both your language and advanced technology.” Hajima smiled pleasantly and the three bowed again.

  Greystone returned the bows. “Of course not, Hajima-san. I am very pleased to meet your associates.”

  He could not help but smile at Hajima’s justification. Fluency in English was an obsession in Japan, and Hajima’s English, or more accurately American, was nearly perfect. He had no need of a translator.

  The irony was that through ignorance and stubbornness, America had brought the world to its knees and forced business to be conducted in its language. No country had ever before exerted such an influence on world trade. Greystone hoped this would not be his country’s sole historical contribution.

  Nor had Hajima any need for technical experts. He was well versed in the technology of communications, perhaps better than Greystone, and was not about to be led astray by the American manager. Most likely the associates were either bodyguards, a part of Hajima’s normal entourage to protect him from the dangers of American life, or subordinates, brought to the meeting as a teaching opportunity. Either way, they would have little contribution to the affairs of the evening.

  “Michiko is quite beautiful isn’t she?” Hajima casually asked as they knelt at the table.

  “Yes, very attractive,” Greystone replied, angry he had let his attention waver from the evening’s business.

  “Perhaps if you wish to come another time, I could arrange to have her stay.”

  “I could not ask such a favor of you,” Greystone said appropriately. He quickly tried to move onto a new subject. “This is truly a remarkable location, Hajima-san. Who would have thought of finding such a beautiful oasis in the center of our capital? I thank you for the opportunity to meet here.”

  “Think nothing of it. It is my way of thanking you for the opportunity you have presented to us.”

  “Oh no, the pleasure is ours to be working together with such a forward-thinking company. But, you must let me reciprocate at our next meeting. I shall pick an appropriate location in our Virginia countryside. I’m sure you will find it very pleasing.”

  “Thank you, Robert. It will be my pleasure.” Hajima smiled openly and nodded to Mashitomi. The subordinate reached for a small ceramic flask sitting on the table, poured its steaming contents into four shallow cups, then offered the sake to each of the diners.

  “Compai,” Hajima said.

  “Compai,” Greystone replied.

  Chapter 23

  Washington, D.C.

  Thursday, 7:15 p.m.

  GREYSTONE FELT THE sting on the back of his throat as he swallowed the hot, thick liquid. He had to be careful. He had quickly learned that his business partner had an outrageous tolerance for alcohol. Undoubtedly another well-practiced negotiation tactic.

  “It is good to see you again, Robert,” Hajima continued. “I always enjoy dealing with someone that appreciates the subtlety of conversation.”

  Greystone accepted the compliment with a slight nod. “We have much to discuss my friend, but first I am anxious to know what delights you have planned for us.”

  “I am afraid you will be disappointed, Robert. This is a simple restaurant without the glamour of your fine establishments. But perhaps you will find it interesting no less.”

  Hajima understated the matter, of course. They began with a steaming bowl of mizu soup, rich in the taste and aroma of Japanese stock. Their palettes cleansed, young kimono-clad women placed trays of delicate vegetable tempura before them. Greystone carefully mixed his watenabe horseradish in his dipping bowl then feasted on the delicate apposition of the crisp fried batter around the soft, sweet vegetable centers.

  So far the dinner had been very palatable.

  As they were finishing the tempura a man whom Greystone assumed to be the chef appeared displaying a large, live shellfish.

  “This is a langostino, Robert,” Hajima explained.

  “It looks like a lobster.”

  The Japanese smiled. “Yes, it does. But we are not blessed with lobster in Japan and must make do with this poor creature. Still, in my country it is considered quite a delicacy.”

  “I hope we do not eat it like this!” Greystone’s face had a smile but there was an unmistakable seriousness in his tone.

  “Of course not, my friend. The chef honors us by showing how fresh the animal is. He will now go into the kitchen and prepare it.”

  About ten minutes later the chef reappeared and placed a large platter in the center of the table. Lying on the dish was the creature much as it had appeared earlier. The Japanese immediately took up their chopsticks and began to poke at the head of the animal. Greystone withheld his shock when the langostino, obviously still alive, responded by moving its long, slender tentacles against the attacking probes.

  Upon closer examination, he determined the method of preparation. The creature had been cut cleanly into thirds: a head, a middle, and a tail. The middle section of the shell, which apparently held most of the meat, had been emptied and the meat inside cut into small cubes. These pieces had then been meticulously piled back on the plate, between the head and tail, in a shape resembling the original body. The preparation had taken place so rapidly that the head of the creature had not yet succumbed to its demise.

  “Robert,” Hajima said, interrupting Greystone’s observations, “as our guest, you must take the first bite. It is quite delicious.” The trio halted their probing and watched as the gaigin contemplated the test.

  Greystone resolutely positioned his chopsticks in his hand and reached toward the plate. He had recently come to enjoy sushi—in small doses—but raw sashimiwas still more than his stomach could handle. A variety of condiments had been placed around the table and he recognized them as his savior.He bravely selected a piece of the langostino, dipped it into the most pungent sauce he could recognize, and placed it in his mouth. A few quick chews and he forced his throat to swallow the slimy meat.

&nb
sp; “Excellent,” he proclaimed, only slightly white from the experience.

  “Hai!” was the unanimous reply, and the Japanese enthusiastically attacked the remains of the unfortunate creature. Luckily they were distracted by their delight over the meal and paid little attention to the infrequent sampling by their guest.

  The meal wound down and the table was thankfully cleared of all animal remains. Left in their place was a crystal decanter of Suntory scotch. Mashitomi poured drinks for the four.

  “To good health and prosperous times,” Hajima toasted.

  Greystone noted the opening with relief. His knees, tucked under his body for the dinner, were screaming in pain. The dinner formalities over, he pushed himself back from the table and stretched his legs. It was time to get to work.

  “And to a mutually beneficial relationship,” Greystone replied after emptying his glass. But there was no movement from the Japanese to refill the glasses.

  “Yes, our relationship,” Hajima replied quietly. A somber countenance fell over his face. “We were quite concerned when we heard of the death of Mr. Keane, Robert. Reports in the press have suggested there is much instability in your company at this time.”

  The topic had hung over dinner like a Damocles sword. It had only been a matter of time before Hajima would broach it. The sensational nature of Keane’s death must have sent tremors through Takagawa’s executive suite, and Hajima would have borne the brunt of their wrath. Greystone had to assure his colleague that their activities would continue, and with enough assurances so Hajima could save face with his bosses. But he also knew he couldn’t lie; many times before Hajima had proven his intelligence network was frighteningly efficient.

  “You know better than to believe everything you read in our newspapers, Akira.” He tried to produce a warm, friendly smile. “Management is in firm control. Julius Flitterman has taken Charles’ position as President. He is a very capable man, as I’m sure you know. And he has named me to Chief Operating Officer. We are taking the transition very seriously and would do nothing to endanger our shareholder’s investments. Or those of our partners.”

  “That is very comforting to hear. We are, of course, familiar with Mr. Flitterman. He has an exemplary reputation. You understand that Takagawa must evaluate the impact the adverse publicity surrounding Mr. Keane’s death will have on our investment. My management is, as you say, rather conservative.”

  “I understand. Let me assure you that our plans remain on track. I discussed them with Julius only yesterday. While Charles’ death was unfortunate, you must see that it opens the way for a more rapid achievement of all of our objectives. Charles and I differed on how best to move Theater forward. I am now in a position to see that nothing stands in our way. We will meet all of our commitments to Takagawa.”

  He had delivered the pledge with every ounce of his strength, never letting his eyes stray from Hajima’s. Now all he could do was hold his breath and wait for the result. Would the sword fall or recede back into its scabbard?

  After what seemed to be hours, Hajima slowly reached for his glass. “Then we shall toast to our coming success,” Hajima replied.

  Mashitomi again filled their glasses and shouts of “Compai” were exchanged. The complication had been successfully addressed. At least for the moment.

  “Our progress so far seems quite good, my friend,” Greystone finally said. “Our prototypes appear to meet all of the initial specifications.”

  “Yes,” Hajima replied, his relaxed voice reflecting a return to comfortable territory. “Our laboratory has made significant progress. We have assigned many of our best researchers to the project. Still, we have much to learn in bringing such efforts to market. How I envy the drive of entrepreneurism in your country. Such dealings would be impossible in the bureaucratic processes of Japan. Perhaps we can learn some of these ways in our joint venture.”

  “Perhaps, Hajima-san. Perhaps.” Greystone had no confidence in Hajima’s desire to be entrepreneurial. He wanted access to the international arms market and partnering was the only way to do it. The field was complex: strewn with national tariffs, regulations and non-proliferation agreements. Too many possibilities of failure in the constantly shifting sands of policy and legislation. Hajima was betting Theater’s, and Greystone’s, political contacts could help Takagawa navigate that minefield.

  Hajima’s promise to his management was guaranteed success. The Japanese executive didn’t care how the market share was achieved, as long as he was able to distance himself from the details. Greystone, on the other hand, needed Takagawa for their money and resources. He couldn’t get any US firm to make a bet on the proposed changes in regulations. They were too busy trying to keep Wall Street happy for the next quarter. So he and Hajima had formed the pact. For their mutual benefit. Both were taking huge risks, but the rewards for both men were even greater.

  “Please tell us about your testimony at the Senate hearing,” Hajima then asked. “Did the presentation go well?”

  “Very well, my friend. I believe we are making progress in bringing the details of the Bill in line with our thinking.” He decided not to bring up the private meeting with Potterfield. It was a valuable card to be played at another time.

  “I am glad to hear this, Robert. We are impressed with your influence in these areas.”

  Greystone felt the dynamic of the meeting shift. It was time to execute his agenda. He pulled a sheath of papers from his pocket. “I have brought information on developments at Hawthorne Systems. They are investigating new technologies for encryption and key distribution. They may be of value to your engineers.”

  Hajima took the papers and quickly handed them to Kitari as if they were covered in poison. Hajima felt such matters were below his station. He would soon change his mind. “Yes, I’m sure we will find them interesting. Your contacts are quite extensive, Robert.”

  “As are yours, Hajima-san. It is only through sharing this information that we will be able to achieve our desired result is it not?” The Japanese bowed slightly in affirmation. Having prepared the moment, Greystone steeled himself for his thrust. “It has come to my attention, my friend, that there may be some problem in achieving the required spatial resolution from the new GPS locators. Will this be a problem in the production units?” He had seen copies of the status reports only that morning. How convenient that Takagawa had recently upgraded their internal Internet infrastructure.

  Hajima failed to completely shield his surprise. Taking a moment to calm himself, he turned to Kitari and spoke in curt, rapid Japanese. The exchange was brief and punctuated by numerous bows of deference by the subordinate.

  “My associates assure me that the problem has been isolated and updates will be made to the chips within the month. There will be no compromise of either quality or schedule, Robert. I promise you.”

  Greystone nodded politely. “Of course. I knew it would be so.”

  The leak had caused Hajima to lose face this evening, whether or not he was even aware of the problem. He was a powerful man and would undoubtedly take out his anger on his subordinates. It would not be an easy night for Mashitomi and Kitari.

  Greystone let the silence hang in the air for a few moments then picked up the decanter and filled the glasses. “To our mutual success then. Compai!”

  “Compai!” returned the Takagawa team.

  The glasses were emptied and returned to the table. Hajima rose first, quickly followed by Kitari then Mashitomi. Greystone slowly moved his legs. He hoped they would still be able to support him as he stood up. They complained with stabs of pain, but held and he joined the trio of Japanese as they made their way down the quiet hall.

  When he took his shoes from the cabinet he noticed a piece of paper laying inside one of them. It was the restaurant’s business card. Turning the card over he found “Michiko, 202-555-6952” in small, precise handwriting.

  Chapter 24

  Takagawa Communications, Crystal City, VA

  Fri
day, 8:00 a.m.

  CRYSTAL CITY, VIRGINIA is neither a city nor made of sparkling translucent glass. At best it is an aging urban neighborhood built around the metro stop of the same name. It lies southwest of the District of Columbia in Arlington County, Virginia, bordered on the east by the Potomac River, on the north by Interstate 395, and on the south by Reagan National Airport.

  Takagawa Communications’ US headquarters occupied the top five floors of a ten-story brick and glass office building in Crystal City. The building was one of the many corporate offices, urban apartments, hotels and shops populating the neighborhood. But this was only the visible part of the city. Crystal City was like the apocryphal iceberg, with an extensive network of concourses, restaurants and shopping malls below street level. Once considered the future of urban environments, it was now an example of a failed experiment, but still a dynamic component of the federal metropolis.

  Today, Crystal City was best-known as the epicenter of the “beltway-bandits”: a very popular, and frighteningly accurate, neologism for the cabal of Northern Virginia consulting and defense contractors that grazed inside the beltway—Interstate 495, D.C.’s circumferential highway—and fed exclusively at the government trough.

  When forced to reduce internal headcount as part of never-ending, and typically misdirected, congressional budget-cutting strategies, the federal bureaucrats had simply taken their allotted monies and given it to third parties to get their work done. There was never a lack of commercial organizations immediately willing to provide the necessary services. Services that were carefully designed not to solve the presented problem, but simply to get the next, larger, follow-on contract.

  The tenth-floor office of Takagawa Communication’s CEO was starkly impersonal: bland white walls; a mass-produced desk covered with stacks of manila folders; mass-produced bookcases sagging from reference and business volumes; and a mass-produced sofa and chairs into which visitors and staff could sit uncomfortably. Two 18th-century woodcut prints and a meticulously-trimmed white pine bonsai provided the only reminders of the occupant’s true home.