The Samurai Strategy Part 38

"Guaranteed." I raised my palm.

"Well, I've got a lot of work--"

"Shall we make it for seven?" I was handing her my card, address and number thereon. "The c.o.c.ktail hour?"

She was still glaring at Mori's office as she absently took it. "Well .

. . all right." She glanced back. "Seven."

"See you there."

. . . Jack O'Donnell's speech, to be delivered to the Senate that Tuesday, sort of slipped to the back of my mind. Maybe it shouldn't have. After getting back to his office that afternoon he dictated about three versions before he had it the way he wanted it. Friday morning he messengered a copy down to my office, and I can tell you it was a beauty. He'd got it all, and he'd got it right.

Later Friday, however, he received a phone call from Matsuo Noda. After the usual preliminaries, saying how much he'd enjoyed their meeting, Mr. Noda confided he was calling as a personal favor to the senator, since they'd hit it off so well the previous day. Turns out he'd just been talking to the CEOs of various j.a.panese outfits scheduled to set up manufacturing operations in some of the "rust-belt" mill towns in upstate New York. Here was the distressing development: seems they were all of a sudden taking another look at sunny Tennessee. The problem was, they were upset by the anti-j.a.panese tone a lot of New York publications were taking these days--j.a.pan bas.h.i.+ng in the Times editorial pages, things like that. Noda, however, felt all this was very shortsighted of those j.a.panese investors; and he wondered if Senator O'Donnell would like him to put in a word for the Empire State.

Pause. He hated to mention this, but people were even talking of closing certain j.a.panese-operated factories already in place, such as that big one in Elmira, Jack's hometown, and moving them south. But he thought threats such as that were very impolite and he was hoping he could find time to straighten the whole thing out.

Like I said, it would have been a h.e.l.l of a speech.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

That Sat.u.r.day turned out to be the day when winter descended abruptly and with rare vengeance. Remember we're only talking mid-December, still a dozen full shopping days till you know what, but it could have been the depths of January. After things kicked off with what seemed a foot of snow around three, the elements really started to unload.

Everything from sleet in historic proportions to a wind-chill that would have frosted the horns off a Bexar County billy goat.

While I waited for Tam, I battened down the garden, covered the outdoor furniture, and prudently provisioned the larder with a flagon of Remy antifreeze. Ben in the meantime was lumbering around downstairs, eyeing the snow-covered garden with an air of disgruntlement. The universe had turned unacceptable, something he never greeted with equanimity. I decided to try and divert his misery by hauling him up on the long Country French dining table and combing some of the knots out of his s.h.a.g. When that merely reinforced his overall gloom, however, I called it quits, located a consoling rawhide stick for him to gnaw, and poured a brandy. It was along about then, shortly after nightfall, that Tam finally appeared.

A cab with snow chains dropped her off (she'd come directly from the office, which Noda had just shut down for the weekend), and I helped her navigate the sleet-covered steps. I got the immediate sense that her first impression of my living quarters was unchanged from the old days. In spite of all the art, armor, and antiques, the place had a poignant rootlessness about it. Boys like toys; they just get more expensive as the bank account grows. Also, since she'd been in the man game long enough to spot a divorce-rebound case a mile off, she probably had me figured from the start: part of that army of emotional paraplegics in our f.e.c.kless day and age.

After the MITI twist, however, I suppose she was ready to consult with somebody concerning the direction things were headed. I warmly invited her downstairs to the sisal-carpeted den just off the garden and dumped some logs in the fireplace. Next I pulled out a few discs--Mendelssohn seemed about right for some reason--and offered to whip up a batch of margaritas. 'Twould be, I dared to hope, a long winter's eve. Alas, she said no thanks, a club soda and lime would do fine. Looked as if I would be working barehanded, without aid of that universal socializer, distilled spirit, so I rustled up a Perrier, then poured another snifter of brandy for myself.

Since she appeared exhausted, my first suggestion was she kick off her shoes and get comfortable. No argument.

After settling in, shoes off and feet to the fire, she announced she was ready to hear what I'd come up with.

Before an awkward silence could grow, I snapped open my briefcase.

"Dr. Richardson, in keeping with the ground rule that this is a formal business meeting, let me introduce my first agenda item." I flashed her my best smile, then pulled out the purloined page. "This is part of the paperwork Mori seems to have brought with her. I don't understand too well what it's all about, but my first impression is that somebody has decided to do some major tinkering with your program. Take a look at this and give me an opinion." I pa.s.sed it over.

She glanced down, then back at me. "Are you supposed to be bringing DNI doc.u.ments home?"

That was her first reaction, swear to G.o.d.

"Look, this just accidentally got in with some of my photocopies. All it is is a list of companies. And I didn't want to talk about it there in the office." I reached over and ran my finger down the string of firms, then to several columns of numbers off to the right. "The question is, what are these outfits suddenly doing on DNI's buy list?"

She studied it a second, looked around the room, and said exactly nothing.

"Doesn't that seem at all strange to you?" I finally spoke up. "As I understand the plan, you want to s.h.i.+ft more corporate funding into research in the companies you're buying into? I do have it right, don't I?"

She nodded.

"Okay, then you're with me so far. But take a look at this." I indicated the column of numbers. "That's the current research budget for these firms--it says so right up there on the top. Presumably these figures came out of the a.n.a.lytical setup down on eleven. Does anything about those figures seem out of line?"

She looked at it, her eyes widening, then narrowing.

"Well, I don't know what this sheet is all about." She glanced up.

"These companies aren't part of our buys."

"Got news for you. I think they just made the team." I pointed to the heading. "See that--'ACQUISITION SCHEDULE: REVISIONS.'"

When she said nothing, nada, I continued, "But you're right; they weren't on the original list. The reason being, I would surmise, that they didn't need any of this so-called management Rx you guys are supposed to be cooking up. Look at that one, and that one. Even I know enough to realize those outfits are operating with a real cash surplus right now, have plenty of R&D funding already, and hence are doing just fine, thank you. The figures, in fact, are right over there in that column on the right."

"Matt, we don't know what this is for."

"True, true. So let's just play pretend. And to make it fun, let me show you something else." I rummaged through my briefcase some more, finally extracting another paper. "I copied a corresponding page from the file on current buys."

I laid it alongside the first.

She picked up the second sheet, checked it over. "I helped compile this list."

"Then maybe you'll see what I'm saying? Format's the same. The only difference is, some of the dogs have been dropped and replaced by some very well run corporations."

"You're right about that. All high-tech, heavy research investment."

Progress? The first scale to fall from her eyes?

"Then let's play another round of this 'pretend' game. As I understand it, you and yours put together this original list of companies for one main reason: lousy management. But all of a sudden the outfits in the worst shape on list number one have disappeared on list number two.

Meaning, I would a.s.sume, that they're no longer part of the program, at least as it's laid out on this revised version Mori must have brought in from Tokyo."

"What are you trying to say?"

For chrissake, what did she think I was trying to say?

"Oh, nothing much, I suppose. Except that it looks to me like somebody's just knifed your program in the back. All of a sudden DNI's going to start buying outfits that already have good management, not to mention heavy research commitments. So what exactly is anybody supposed to be doing to help them along?" I paused. "Maybe a better question is, who removed those others, the ones now winging it on a hope and a prayer."

She laid down the two pages side by side and began to compare them in more detail, a finger here, a finger there. But strictly no comment.

Along about then Ben got up and checked out the sleet- covered garden, then lumbered back and plopped down beside us, clearly expecting a pat for diligence in the line of duty. She remarked that English sheepdogs always reminded her of a big flotaki rug. After that put-down she returned to the lists. I hoped the poor guy's sensitive ego wasn't mortally fractured.

Well, she announced finally, my so-called discovery didn't add up to much.

"Matt, I officially have no opinion about this. It could mean anything." She shrugged. "Maybe the new twist is to start with the companies that can benefit the most from coordination. Take on the easy job first where the payoff will be greatest. Save the tough ones for later."

"Oh, sure. Who knows? It could all be very innocent, right? I mean, for all we can tell, the moon might really be green cheese." I wondered what had gotten into her all of a sudden. It was plain as day what was happening. But instead of congratulating me on my sleuthing, she was turning obtuse.

"Tell me exactly how you got this sheet."