“I thought you said you didn't know anything about the Japanese.”
“I said I didn't know enough about them. That doesn't mean I haven't studied them. I knew one day I'd be asked to protect a Japanese. I wanted to be prepared.”
“And are you prepared?”
“I'll have to think about it.”
“You're afraid?”
Savage's pride made him tense. “Of what?”
“That you can be a comitatus but not a samurai?”
“Amae.”
Graham cocked his head. “I'm not familiar with the word.”
“It's Japanese. It means the compulsion to conform to a group.”
“Yes? And so? I'm puzzled.”
“Omote and ura. Public thoughts and private thoughts. A traditional Japanese never reveals what he truly believes. He always says what he thinks the group will accept.”
“I still don't-”
“The Japanese caste system, the absolute command of masters over retainers. In premodern times, the order was shogun to daimyo to samurai to farmer to merchant to untouchables, those who butchered animals or tanned hides. Apart from that hierarchy, the emperor existed with little power but great authority, the descendant of the Japanese gods. That rigid system was supposedly erased by the democratic reforms of the U.S. occupation. But it still persists.”
“My compliments.”
“What?”
“As usual, you've done your research.”
“Keep listening,” Savage said. “How am I supposed to protect a man who wants to conform to a group but won't tell me what he's thinking and who secretly believes he's better than his inferiors, which in this case is me? Add to that, the Japanese habit of avoiding favors because they impose an obligation to repay those favors in greater degree. And add to that, the Japanese habit of feeling mortally insulted whenever an underling assumes authority.”
“I still don't-”
“Everything you've taught me comes down to this-a protector must be both servant and master. A servant because I'm employed to defend. A master because I'm obligated to insist that my employer obey my instructions. A balance, you said. An artistry of give-and-take. Then tell me how I'm supposed to fulfill my obligation to a principal who won't reveal what he's thinking, who can't stand being obligated to an underling, and who won't take orders.”
“It's a dilemma. No doubt. I agree.”
“But you still recommend I accept this assignment?”
“For purposes of education.”
Savage glared at Graham and abruptly laughed. “You are a bastard.”
“Consider it a challenge. A broadening of your skills. You've succeeded so far-commendably. Nonetheless you haven't achieved your full potential. Ignorance is death. To become the best you must learn the most. And the samurai tradition offers the greatest opportunities. I suggest you immerse yourself much further in the culture of your principal.”
“Does the fee he offers make the effort-”
“The challenge?”
“-worthwhile?”
“You won't be disappointed. It more than compensates.”
“For?”
“Giri,” Graham said, surprising Savage by his mentor's knowledge of that essential Japanese word. “The burden of obligation to your master and to anyone who does you a favor. Even if the assignment's uneventful, my friend, you won't be bored.”
4
A dingy drizzle fell from a soot-colored sky. It sprayed off the greasy tarmac, forming a dirty mist that beaded against the dusty windows of LaGuardia Airport.
Savage sat in a crowded American Airlines concourse and watched a DC-10 approach an arrival dock. He periodically scanned the confusion of activity around him, on guard for potential danger, sensing none. Of course, an enemy skilled in surveillance would not allow himself to attract attention, so Savage remained alert.
“What's the principal's name?” he'd asked Graham.
“Muto Kamichi.”
The Japanese put their family name first, their given name last. The formal term of respect-san instead of “mister” -applied not to the family name but to the given name and came after the given name. Thus the principal would be addressed as Kamichi-san.
“He arrives in New York tomorrow,” Graham had added, “after going through Immigration and Customs in Dallas.”
“The purpose of his visit?” Graham had shrugged.
“Come on. Is he a businessman? A politician? What?” Graham shook his head. “Ura. Those private thoughts you so rightly noted the Japanese cherish. The principal prefers to keep his intentions to himself.”
Savage breathed out sharply. “That's exactly why I'm reluctant to take the job. If I don't know at least the general reason for his visit, how am I supposed to assess the risks he might face? A politician has to fear assassination, but a businessman's biggest worry is being kidnapped. Each risk requires a different defense.”
“Of course. But I've been assured that the threat potential is extremely low,” Graham said. “The principal is bringing his own security. One escort. Clearly if he were worried, he'd bring others. What he wants you to do is be his driver and stand in for his escort when the escort's sleeping. A simple assignment. Five days’ work. Ten thousand dollars in addition to my agent's fee.”
“For a driver? He's overpaying.”
“He insists on the best.”
“The escort?”
“His name is Akira.”
“Only one word?”
“He follows the practice I recommended to you and uses a pseudonym, so an enemy can't trace his public name to his private identity.”
“That's fine. But is he effective?”
“From all reports, extremely. Equivalent to you. Language won't be a problem, by the way. Both of them speak English fluently.”
Savage was only partially reassured. “Is it too much to hope that the principal's willing to confide in me enough to tell me beforehand where I'll be driving?”
“He's not unreasonable. And indeed you will be driving some distance.” Graham looked amused. “He's authorized me to give you this sealed envelope of instructions.”
5
The DC-10 reached the concourse. Its engines stopped shrieking. Friends and relatives hurried toward the arrival door, eager to meet their loved ones.
Savage assessed and dismissed them, studying observers on the sidelines.
Still no sign of a threat.
He moved toward the fringe of the waiting crowd. As usual, it took a frustrating minute for the docking to be completed. At once the empty ramp was filled with surging passengers.
Exuberant hugs of reunion. Kisses of affection.
Savage once again studied his surroundings. Everything seemed normal. He directed his attention toward the exit ramp.
Now came the test. His principal and his escort had flown first class. The extra fare meant not only bigger seats, anxious-to-please attendants, better meals, and unlimited free cocktails (which the escort should decline), but the privilege of entering and leaving the jet before the standard-fare customers.
Early boarding was a plus. Getting quickly through a possible danger in the crowd. But exiting early, facing a crowd and its unstudied risks, was a liability. A professional escort would insist that his principal wait until most passengers left the plane.
Avoid commotion. Maintain maximum order.
So Savage felt encouraged when he saw no Orientals among the Rolex-and-gold-bracelet, dressed-to-impress, first-class travelers, who marched past the crowd, their power briefcases clutched severely, their chins thrust high. Many wore expensive cowboy boots and Stetsons, to be expected since this DC-10 came from Dallas where an earlier 747 from Japan had landed. Evidently the Japanese passengers on the trans-Pacific 747 had either stayed in Dallas or taken connecting flights to cities other than New York.