Conspiracy (17 page)

 

"Alex Glass wants to have dinner with me this evening," General Ozawa said to Sato. "I came to your office as soon as he called. I didn't want to tell you on the phone."

"That was smart," Sato said. "Did he tell you why?"

"To talk about the tornado preparedness of our self-defense forces, so he can do a story."

"Did you believe him?" Sato asked skeptically.

Ozawa shook his head. "Not for a minute."

"What did you say?"

"My schedule's tight. I said I would check and call him back."

Sato lit a cigarette, leaned back in his plush leather chair, and exhaled with his eyes closed while he thought about what to do. So far Alex Glass and his huge ego had unwittingly been a boon. His articles had helped Sato move from being an obscure fringe political figure to a serious candidate to challenge Prime Minister Nakamura in December. The irony of that didn't escape Sato. From what he knew of Glass's personal views, he was probably appalled by the idea of a rearmed Japan. But that didn't stop the reporter from helping to achieve that result if it served his professional advancement.

The question for Sato was how could he keep using Glass to his advantage, to lead the young and naive American reporter into writing additional articles that would enhance Sato's chances in December.

An idea popped into his head, and he opened his eyes, leaning forward. "Have dinner with him," Sato said. "The message I want you to get across is how strong and organized the civil defense forces are at the present time. Make the point that if I am elected and the legal restraints on rearmament are removed, as they've been in Germany, in a matter of months we will have a fully operational regular army to assist the United States in responding to any threats to world peace initiated by provocateurs in Beijing or elsewhere. Can you deliver that message?"

"Very forcefully," Ozawa replied.

As the general got up and started to leave the office, Sato began to see a downside to the interview. From his research on Glass, Sato knew that he'd had an affair with Taylor Ferrari, Boyd's campaign manager, when she had been in Kyoto for a global-warming conference a few years ago. That meant Glass might be funneling her information, even if it was not sufficiently substantiated to put in the newspaper. It was a minefield.

"There is one other thing," he said, "old friend."

Ozawa turned and moved back to the desk.

"For all of us, sake sometimes loosens the tongue."

Ozawa knew what Sato was telling him, and he tried to conceal his shame. As much as he hated to admit it, Sato was right, of course. Often at long dinners he tended to drink too much, and he sometimes said things that he later regretted.

"I understand," he said, looking down at the floor. "At this dinner there won't be a problem."

* * *

"So you see," General Ozawa said, slurring his words, "once we are permitted to rearm..." He stopped in mid-sentence, trying desperately to remember the message that Sato had wanted him to give to Glass, but after three and a half hours, while course after course of the magnificent
kaiseke
meal kept appearing, with the sake flowing like water, his mind and senses were failing him.

Trying to appear sympathetic and helpful, Alex looked across the table at the general. "You'll be able to assist the United States keeping the peace in Asia. Is that what you mean?"

Alex watched Ozawa nod in relief. He too was happy, because at long last he had finished talking about the use of the civil defense forces in dealing with earthquakes and other natural disasters. Alex was anxious to move on to the topic that interested him far more. Plus, his legs were killing him from sitting on the floor. His mind was foggy with alcohol, but compared with Ozawa, he was clear and alert.

Alex had used every trick he could think of to limit his own intake of alcohol. He had tried to give the appearance of drinking, raising the cup to his lips frequently, while taking only small sips. He had spilled out his sake twice into a water glass when Ozawa had gone to the bathroom, and refilled the cup with water. Ozawa showed no restraint at all. When the kimono-clad waitress refilled the cups, Ozawa didn't notice or care that she put much less in Alex's cup. What Ozawa cared about was that his own cup be filled to the top. Still, Alex wasn't used to the potent drink. He was struggling to concentrate, while he realized he was fading fast.

The waitress served pieces of green melon, the final course, and departed unobtrusively.

"I think my articles in the
New York Times
have helped Sato-san. Do you agree?"

"Sato shares that view as well."

"Is there anything else I can do to help with his program?"

Ozawa picked up his cup of sake and slurped. "Right now he doesn't need any more help."

"But suppose Senator Boyd is elected in the United States. That could be a problem."

Slouching over, Ozawa laughed. "It will never happen."

Alex looked dubious. "The polls say Boyd is winning."

"He won't even be in the race at the end."

Gulping hard, Alex decided it was time to play his trump card. "You think the American who met with Sato-mm in Buenos Aires is powerful enough to make that happen?"

Ozawa sat up with a start. He rubbed his cloudy, glazed eyes, trying to achieve some clarity and focus. "How did you know about the meeting in Argentina?"

Alex took a deep breath.
Play it carefully,
he told himself.
We 're at the key point. Even soused, Ozawa can't be underestimated.
"Sato-san told me in one of our private interviews," Alex said in a negligent voice. "How else could I possibly know?"

Ozawa thought about what Glass had said. The American had a point. If Sato hadn't told him, he couldn't possibly know. Ozawa grunted his acquiescence.

Relieved that Ozawa seemed satisfied, Alex pressed on. "It's amazing that Sato-.van found the American."

"Never underestimate Sato-san," Ozawa said with pride. "His research department is the best in the world."

Not wanting to appear too anxious, Alex paused to eat a piece of the incredibly sweet melon. "You think the American is dependable?"

"Without question. He flew from Washington to Buenos Aires when Sato-san asked him to come. Did you know that his father had been an American missionary in China, and he himself was born there in 1942?"

Alex shook his head, letting Ozawa talk.

"Yes, it's true. When Mao's thugs took over, they let all of the missionaries go back to the United States or to Taiwan but six of them. His father and five others were executed in November 1949. So he has a great desire for revenge."

"I didn't know that. Oh, what's his name? Sato-ran told me, but I can't remember." He shrugged. "Too much sake, I guess."

Glass's words brought the general up short. Sato had refused to tell Ozawa the name of the American he had recruited in Buenos Aires. Could he possibly have shared that name with Glass? That didn't make sense. Nothing was making sense now. He needed time to sleep and to think.

"I don't remember his name," Ozawa said with a sharp edge that Alex had not heard before. "And I think we should go home."

As Alex walked out of the room to pay the restaurant bill, he was elated at how much information he had gotten from Ozawa. As soon as he got home, he'd call the airlines to book a flight to Buenos Aires tomorrow. With the help of somebody in the
Times's
bureau office there, he'd find a way to get access to the Alvear guest list for August 28. That was how he'd obtain the name of the American whom Sato had recruited to work with him. Then he could write his article—guaranteed to make headlines all across the country.

When Glass returned to the table, he found Ozawa leaning back, propped against the wall, sound asleep in a drunken stupor. The proprietor of the restaurant, a woman clad in a dark blue kimono with white flowers, bowed and told Alex that he should go and not to worry about his guest. "I will take care of the general," she said. So Alex stopped at the door for his shoes and departed.

He headed home on his Kawasaki, roaring through the deserted streets of Tokyo. Suddenly, Alex's elation of a few minutes ago gave way to fear. When Ozawa sobered up, he would realize that Alex had duped him to obtain sensitive information.

Glass cut a sharp right, changing his plans. As a precaution, he would go to his office before going home. There he would write up what he had learned tonight. He would leave it in his desk in an envelope with Taylor's name on the front, just in case anything happened to him. She would know what to do with it.
I'm probably being paranoid,
he thought.

 

 

 

Chapter 13

 

"I know you don't want to be involved in the Boyd investigation," Cady told Doerr, "but I'm now at the point where you have no choice."

They were closeted in Doerr's office in the U.S. Courthouse.

"Why, what's happened?"

"I may be convening a grand jury in a couple of days."

Doerr shrugged. "I told you, I have full confidence in you. Handle it the way you would any other case."

"Wrong," Cady said emphatically. "It's not like any other case. I'm not swinging on this one alone."

Doerr looked insulted. "I would never do that to you."

"Right," Cady said. "No way."

Doerr sighed. "Okay. Give me a summary, but keep it short. I'm due over at the mayor's office to talk about crime statistics."

In staccato sentences, Cady summarized what he had done so far. "My conclusion," he said, "is that I have a case, but I won't convene a grand jury until I get additional evidence. Azziz must have committed other crimes. Somebody could have easily blackmailed him with the threat of disclosure."

"Agreed."

Doerr got up from his desk and reached for his jacket, signifying that the meeting was over.

"There's one more issue," Cady said.

Doerr looked over warily. He knew what was coming next. "Yeah?"

"What do we do about McDermott?"

Very uncomfortable, Doerr said, "What do you mean?"

"He or someone working to reelect the president may have initiated this. Even if he wasn't the one, he may be in it up to his eyeballs. You ever heard of John Mitchell?"

"Don't you think that might have crossed my mind?"

"Well, what do we do?"

Doerr snarled. "Since you managed to drag me into this, that's my call to make. I want to think about it."

* * *

Taylor couldn't get past Cady's secretary on the phone. She heard him calling in the background, "Tell her to come down at eleven o'clock. I can't see her until then."

He's not going to be easy to deal with,
she decided as she headed along the corridor to Harrison's office.

"Where are you on the new transaction for Fujimura?" she asked him.

"I think you'll be happy."

"Nothing will make me happy today."

"That I can't help, but you should know that my team of associates made it back from Houston last night after working all weekend. We developed a game plan around midnight." He tossed her a spiral-bound document resting on his desk entitled, "Plan of Attack for Project Blue Light."

"Tomorrow at dawn," he said, "we put four units into the air, each one with three lawyers and two paralegals. Each unit will have two plants to investigate in the next two weeks. On week three, they write it all up. Week four you and I get to review it and add our two cents."

"How close will you be to these units during the first two weeks?"

"I'm off for Philly today on another transaction, but you don't have to worry. I'll get a phone call every evening from each unit. They've each got a precise time to call in. Nobody leaves one plant and moves to another until I sign off. You like it?"

She nodded.

"You should." He laughed. "I just saved your ass with Fujimura."

"Let me run your plan of attack by him," Taylor said, "with you on the phone."

Harrison started to fiddle with a plastic cigarette while his secretary tried to reach Fujimura in Los Angeles. "How'd you make out with the good senator at St. Michaels?" he asked.

As she described the bottom line of her conversation along the water on Saturday, she watched Harrison's expression change from interest to bewilderment. At the end he was shaking his head in doubt. "With all due respect," Harrison said, "given what's at stake, you're a little out of your league, dealing with this yourself. And I am too. You should get help from Ken or one of the people in his white-collar-criminal group."

"I suggested that to the senator. He insisted that I handle it myself."

"Not a smart move."

Her sour face showed that she agreed with him. Nevertheless, she said, "I've been involved in several criminal investigations. You've done some yourself over the years. It's not rocket science. For now I'll do it the way the senator wants. If things get dicier I'll talk to Ken. You got a better idea?"

Harrison shook his head. "I suppose you have to respect Boyd's decision. Let's face it, he has the most to lose. When do you see Cady next?"

"Eleven o'clock this morning. My goal is to find out what evidence he has. I'll repeat for him what the senator told me about the Mill Valley transaction. Offer to give him a statement from the senator under oath and try to persuade him to drop the investigation."