Yoshokawa was amused. "More than five percent of Tokyo is still zoned for agriculture," said Yoshokawa. "The high price of land is not due merely to market forces. It is partially artificial. There are vested interests who want land prices driven up, even if it means the average sarariman can no longer afford to buy a house in the city and has to commute for three hours every day. There is a substantial political element in the land equation."
Fitzduane was silent. Most Japanese probably worked their guts out to achieve some extraordinary economic results, but much of the wealth which should accrue to the individual as a result was being siphoned off. He closed his eyes. He could almost see the web of politicians and organized crime feeding off the nation. It was a situation far from unique to Japan, but the scale of it in that country was frightening. And those who had access to such wealth and power would not give it up lightly.
He realized that the Namakas were not acting just on their own. They were part of a corrupt but extremely powerful structure — and most of it was invisible. Tatemae and honne, the public image and the private reality.
Chifune had explained it to him on the plane. "Loosely expressed," said Chifune, "tatemae is the public façade, the official position or party line. Honne, which literally means ‘honest voice,’ is the private reality. Tatemae and honne work together. Too much honne would create friction and could destroy the harmony of the group. Tatemae is the polite friction which smoothes the way. In Japan, if the truth is likely to be hurtful or destructive, tatemae will always be preferred. It is often thought by Westerners that tatemae is hypocrisy or dishonesty. It really is not. It is a social convention understood by all Japanese. It is a problem only for gaijin.
So who and what was he really up against? Whom could he really trust?
"Yoshokawa-san," he said, "do you really think Gamma can make a difference, or are the forces against you just too entrenched?"
Yoshokawa looked across and smiled somewhat wearily. "I have to believe we can," he said, "with a little help."
* * * * *
They approached the very center of Tokyo.
Fitzduane expected a high-rise hotel abutting on a crowded city-center street, but the Fairmont was a surprise. The architecture was unspectacular — it had a postwar utilitarian feel about it and had obviously been extended upward — but the location was superb. It was set well back from the road, with a park in front, and it was just outside the grounds of the ImperialPalace. Trees and flowers were everywhere. He caught a glimpse of water. It was the palace moat.
"The Americans did such a good job of bombing Tokyo," said Yoshokawa, "that there was a serious shortage of accommodation. The Fairmont was built and equipped not long after the war, primarily to house American officers — so the beds are the right size for you oversized gaijin." He smiled. "I think you'll like it. It has what you asked for — character. Whatever that is."
"It is something you have, Yoshokawa-san," said Fitzduane, taking his time with his words.
Yoshokawa smiled slightly and gave a slight bow in acknowledgment. Through his police connections, he had read the account of Fitzduane's adventures in Switzerland and was beginning to see why the man had been successful. The man had a sensitivity, a warmth. Unlike so many gaijin who were overly aggressive in tone and style, he understood the fundamental importance of ninjo — human feelings. He had a quick sense of humor and he was a good listener. Though he was a big man, he did not appear to be physically dangerous in any way, though the evidence said otherwise. If anything, his manner was gentle.
Yoshokawa was recognized instantly. Though his company was not as large as Sony, it had a similar profile and Yoshokawa was widely considered to be responsible for a great deal of its postwar success. He was a public figure and he regularly appeared in the media. For him to drive a guest personally to the hotel was an honor. There was much bowing and smiling. Fitzduane basked in the reflected glory. It was quite fun. He was whisked up to his room. Some packages had arrived for him by courier from the Irish Embassy and had been placed at the end of his bed.
They ran through the arrangements again in the privacy of Fitzduane's hotel room before Yoshokawa departed. They had considered having Fitzduane permanently based in Yoshokawa's home, but had decided it would not be appropriate. It was too far out and it could well restrict the Namakas if they were going to make a move. The Fairmont was, so to speak, neutral ground. And bait should be visible.
The following day, Yoshokawa would contact the Namakas and try to arrange a meeting. Meanwhile, Fitzduane would settle in, and later that afternoon meet Superintendent Adachi. He would be discreetly guarded at all times by two detectives — he nodded at two men who had just joined them — who would be stationed in a room next to his. Chifune would appear on Monday to act as interpreter. Fortunately, Adachi spoke excellent English.
"Will the detectives guarding me normally speak English?" said Fitzduane. There was a staccato burst of Japanese from Yoshokawa. The two men looked embarrassed, and so did Yoshokawa. There was a momentary silence, which Fitzduane broke.
"Yoshokawa-san," he said. "Could you tell these gentlemen that they should follow me, but not restrict my movements? And could you add that I am deeply sorry that I speak no Japanese, but I feel quite confident that I am in good hands? The reputation of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department is legendary."
One of the detectives, a Sergeant Oga, looked visibly pleased at these comments, and Fitzduane realized that whatever the case about speaking English, the man understood it. That was progress. Meanwhile Yoshokawa translated, and as he finished speaking, Sergeant Oga spoke and both men bowed deeply. Yoshokawa looked visibly relieved. Wa — harmony — had been restored.
"Sergeant Oga and Detective Reido," said Yoshokawa, "much appreciate your thoughtful words and say that it is an honor to serve you, Colonel Fitzduane-san. Sergeant Oga-san says that he does speak English but he is out of practice."
Yoshokawa left a few minutes later and Fitzduane returned to his room, poured himself a glass of sake from the mini-bar, and unpacked. Through his window he could see the tops of trees and the curved roof of the Nippon Budokan. It was hard to believe he was in the center of Tokyo. The gray sky looked just like Ireland, though it was not actually raining. In the distance, he could see an airship.
He turned to the parcels delivered from the Irish Embassy. They had traveled over in the diplomatic bag. One of the smaller packages held a cuff designed to be strapped around the forearm with built-in Velcro binding. Sewn into the semirigid cloth of the cuff were two sheathed throwing knives made out of a dense plastic which would not be picked up by a metal detector. The blades were weighted with inset ceramic pieces to give perfect throwing balance. Fitzduane had learned to throw a knife two decades earlier when a soldier in the Congo. The most important thing was the ability to gauge distance, though a certain knack did not hurt. Fitzduane had the knack.