East is East Page 2
Anthony Melville, from Canada, Head of the International Olympic Committee, the IOC.
Characters only in East is East
Gene Fleming, Sloan leader in Japan.
Leonard Solletti, Secretary and general dogs body for the Lackawanna’s Creditors Committee.
Carl Kriger, Head of Lackawanna in its turnaround.
Bennet Alderman, Lackawanna PR man.
Don Hodiak, 60 year old Lackawanna production expert.
Pamela Webb, young attractive Lackawanna CFO and closest confidante of Carl Kruger.
Tomaheko Matsuda, MITI lead on Midland Research application.
Fumitoshi Arai, Head of Yonezawa Trading Company.
Mr. Ushiba, Matsuda’s subordinate at MITI.
Stanley Zaretski, star US Embassy official for American companies trying to do business in Japan.
Noriko “Rick” Iwamoto, Shima’s lead man.
Police Inspector Hayakawa.
Mr. Watanabe of Izuma Bank.
Yasuhiro Kawate, head of Shima US.
Fred Reese, EVP of Shima US.
Len Ridgeway head of RR&H, Alaska pipeline, paper pulp, and other products company.
Emma Lathen Political Mysteries
As R. B. Dominic
31. Murder Sunny Side Up 1968. Agriculture.
32. Murder in High Place 1969. Overseas Travelers.
33. There is No Justice 1971. Supreme Court.
34. Epitaph for a Lobbyist 1974. Lobbyists.
35. Murder Out of Commission 1976. Nuke Plants.
36. The Attending Physician 1980. Health Care.
37. Unexpected Developments 1983. Military.
Tom Walker Mysteries
Patricia Highsmith Style
Deaver Brown, Author
01. 18. Football, Superbowl & Business
02. Abduct. Sexual Misconduct.
03. Body. Planned Eliminations for Money.
04. Comfortable. Avoiding Consequences.
05. Death. Wrong Place at the Wrong Time.
06. Enthusiast. Opportunity Murder.
07. Fraud. Taking Your Chances.
08. Greed. Heirs Who Know Better.
09. Heat. Heir Arrogance.
10. Island. Startup.
A similarly popular Simply Media mystery series.
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Emma Lathen and Tom Walker
are about money and emotion.
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Chapter 1
Wall Street has always been a workplace with a high incidence of occupational hazards, and these days the perils range from OPEC to computer viruses to the Chicago Board of Trade. Eternal vigilance is the price of survival, let alone success.
John Putnam Thatcher, executive vice-president of the Sloan Guaranty Trust, knew this better than most. Even so, there were moments when he felt that his sharp-eyed staff was verging on paranoia. This sunny morning in July was proving to be a case in point.
“We have just heard that you are planning to go to Japan,” said Everett Gabler sternly. A senior man in every sense of the word, he set uncomfortably high standards for himself and for everybody unfortunate enough to be within reach.
Charlie Trinkam, Thatcher’s second in command, was cast in a different mold, but today he, too, sounded censorious. “God, John, with currencies on this roller coaster, is now the time for you to take off?”
“My trip to Alaska has been scheduled for some time,” Thatcher defended himself. “I am merely prefacing it with two and a half days in Tokyo.”
But Gabler did not budge, and Thatcher’s secretary, a zealous guardian of Thatcher’s time, was nodding grave approval.
There was no doubt in Thatcher’s mind what was really troubling all of them. This morning’s mail had included the current issue of the Journal of the American Bankers Association, together with the news that the Sloan Guaranty Trust, once the third-largest bank in the world, had been nosed out of the money by some behemoths in Tokyo. His subordinates, for all practical purposes, were accusing him of fraternizing with the enemy.
Thatcher, who usually found it wise to deal with palace revolts as they arose, pushed aside a memorandum.
“Let’s take a break for fifteen minutes or so, Miss Corsa,” he suggested.
Gabler barely waited for the door to close before continuing his indictment. “No doubt this is George’s doing,” he complained. “Having just completed his own Pacific tour, he now wishes to dispatch you.”
A specialist himself, Gabler tended to undervalue generalists. George Lancer, the Sloan’s chairman of the board, was also its statesman-in-residence. He was the one who testified before Congress and attended the international conferences, while John Thatcher took care of the hands-on banking.
“In spite of the fact,” Gabler continued inexorably, “that Japan is almost the one area where the Sloan is in no danger of encountering default or problem loans.”
“The danger,” Charlie interrupted, “is that they come here and buy the store out from under us.”
The Japanese miracle being what it was, yen-holders could well be prowling Exchange Place in search of tempting banks and skyscrapers to devour.
“George is not taking your defeatist attitude,” said Thatcher, injecting a reproachful note of his own. “Instead he’s convinced we should step up our efforts to sell the services of SloanCorp in Japan.”
There was a respectful silence. The Tokyo branch of the Sloan’s Investment-banking arm was a relatively recent undertaking, but already it had produced gratifying results. On Thatcher’s trip to Anchorage, he would be overseeing the union of Japanese and American money in a joint venture arranged by the Sloan.
“In principle that is certainly desirable,” Gabler hedged.
Trinkam was quicker off the mark. “It’s the timing I don’t get. Why is George so hot to have you eating sushi right now?”
Thatcher’s reply was commendably brief.
“Recruit.”
The Recruit scandal enveloping Japan had gone from strength to strength. It had begun when an ambitious entrepreneur had transformed his start-up company into a commercial giant overnight. Along the way there had been handouts in many forms to many elected officials. By rights the story should have caused a momentary sensation, then died away. But the combination of a newspaper intoxicated with investigative reporting and a crusading public prosecutor had created a nonstop uproar. The disclosures had reached higher and higher into the seats of the mighty, until cabinet members awaited arrest and prime ministers trembled.
“But that’s been going on for over two years,” Charlie protested. “Sure, the research department sends us memos about what will happen to the Nikkei Average if the government falls. But beyond having the Treasury auction killed dead, where does the Sloan come in?”
Thatcher examined his subordinates over his fingertips as he did his best for the absent George. “Japan has been run for forty years by a coalition of the big business interests and the conservative politicians in the form of the Liberal Democratic Party. It’s not really a political party, however, so much as a vast aggregate with many internal factions. Until now a scandal has merely meant that one faction had to step down. But this Recruit pressure has been so unrelenting that, for the first time, it’s conceivable that a fall could involve the entire apparatus of the LDP.”
Everett always grew restive when someone else gave the lecture. “Surely the possibility of such a crisis has abated, John,” he reasoned. “The LDP seems to have weathered the storm and achieved some kind of equilibrium.”
“At at price,” Thatcher rejoined. “The establishment figures are walking warily, reluctant to do the kind of favors for each other that were commonplace a short time ago. Georg
e feels there’s a window of opportunity for the Sloan, not only to consolidate its position in Japan, but to make substantial gains.”
No proposition could have been more appealing. Years of taking it on the chin from Nomura Securities and Sumitomo Trust made most red-blooded American bankers itch to hit back. Even Everett Gabler was not immune.
“Mmm,” he said with a splendid facade of dispassion. “No one can deny the benefits to the Sloan if that were possible.”
“Score one for George,” murmured Charlie.
Everett ignored this provocation. “That is precisely why we have opened an office in Tokyo. And there, the Sloan is very ably represented by a man who speaks the language and has had years of experience in a notoriously difficult business environment.”
Tributes to colleagues did not fall lightly from Gabler’s lips, even to the ones many miles distant. Both Charlie and Thatcher recognized this accolade for what it was worth.
“And therefore Gene Fleming is surely the ideal person to direct the Sloan’s efforts,” Gabler concluded ringingly.
“On the whole, I agree with you,” Thatcher said, feeling as if he were seconding a nomination. “In fact, that’s what I told George.”
Charlie already knew George had won. “And I’ll bet he had a snappy comeback for that one.”
“He thinks that with the Japanese emphasis on status, someone senior to Fleming should set the initial tone,” Thatcher reported dutifully. “He wants to send a signal of our degree of commitment. For all I know, he may be right.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” Trinkam warned. “When I was over there last year, the emphasis was on the bottom line. It’s still money that talks.”
He might be diverted, but no power on earth could deflect Everett Gabler.
“I am sure both you and George have gained many insights as visitors to Japan, but Fleming has been living with Recruit since its inception,” he said, turning like a compass needle to his own magnetic north. “He is the one who really understands the situation there, and he’s the person whose opinion is worth hearing.”
Thatcher could not have been more sympathetic.
“But, Everett,” he said mildly, “this is all Fleming’s idea.”
When Thatcher began canceling several appointments, he was reminded that world travelers are routinely asked to perform minor chores. Often it is a duty-free bottle of perfume for Aunt Sally, but sometimes it takes more elevated forms.
“All right, we’ll scrub lunch on Monday and make it the nineteenth instead. Is the Lawyers Club okay?” Leonard Solletti began, before pausing thoughtfully. Then: “Say, are you going to be in Tokyo on Wednesday too?”
“I am due at an embassy reception that evening,” Thatcher replied, hoping this would scotch whatever suggestion was coming.
But it was not to be.
“Oh, this would take place during office hours,” Solletti said instantly. “Carl called me from Japan yesterday, asking if anybody from the committee was going to be over there.”
Carl was head of Lackawanna Electric Industries, and the committee in question was composed of Lackawanna’s creditors. Thatcher was chairman of the committee; Solletti was its secretary and general dogsbody.
“Why in the world does he want one of us in Tokyo?” grumbled Thatcher, reluctantly jotting himself a note.
“It’s for the creditors’ authorization to sell that R&D outfit in England. You must remember, you all approved at our last meeting.”
“Of course I remember, but it’s a minor transaction. I was planning to mail the affidavit.”
The sale might be minor, but it involved interests that were fully worthy of the Sloan’s attention. Since the turn of the century, Lackawanna had been synonymous with electricity all over the world. Whenever a shaft turned, an element heated, an electromagnetic field appeared, or a humble sixty-watt bulb lit up, Lackawanna was, more often than not, integral to the process. With manufacturing capability in Europe and South America as well as twenty states, its reach embraced sophisticated equipment for rockets, sleek appliances for the home, heavyweight generators for industry, and the street lighting of Idaho Falls. The rise of Lackawanna had been the stuff of history; its fall had been chronicled by Barrons and CNN. The flabby giant, burdened by out-of-date facilities, inefficient management, ancient labor regulations, and the firm conviction that Lackawanna was immortal, had staggered into bankruptcy and precipitated a national convulsion.
When Carl Kruger had been handpicked to lead the salvage operation, hopes had not run high. Against all odds, however, he had succeeded. Subsidiaries disappeared, antiquated plants closed, labor practices changed, and executives, as well as hourly employees, took home pink slips. Within three years, Lackawanna was out of intensive care. By the end of the fourth year, Lackawanna was again a force to be reckoned with, and Carl Kruger had become a national hero.
There were, however, still plenty of matters to occupy Lackawanna’s creditors.
“At our last meeting,” Thatcher recalled in a puzzled tone, “we agreed they should offer early retirement to one thousand workers in Terre Haute and Akron, while we insisted they delay installation of that new information system. Offhand, either of those items is worth more of Kruger’s time than this sale of Midland Research.”
“Nonetheless you gave him the go-ahead.”
“We were delighted to,” Thatcher admitted without hesitation. “Any R&D operation eats up a fair amount of money every year. But Kruger always claimed that if we let him nurse MR along, he could recover his costs, and he was right. I am merely surprised that he’s handling it in person.”
Solletti lowered his voice conspiratorially. “If you ask me, Carl is up to something.”
“He almost always is,” Thatcher rejoined, bracing himself for the familiar litany.
Leonard Solletti’s gift for meticulous attention to detail made him the ideal man for his job. Under his magic touch, compliance with endless legal formalities occurred on time, mountains of paperwork moved smoothly through the system, and the lowliest creditor knew what was going on. But these same talents made dealing with Carl Kruger a penance. Solletti had so often been affronted by Kruger’s airy dismissal of red tape and his blithe disregard for time-honored methods that Solletti was now chronically dismayed by everything Kruger did.
“Sometimes Carl seems to forget that he’s the bankrupt and we’re the creditors,” he began. “He just steams ahead, making decisions and expecting automatic concurrence when we don’t really know what’s going on. Approving this sale may have been a big mistake.”
Thatcher appreciated prudence as much as the next man, but there is not absolute safety in an imperfect world.
“On paper it looked as if Kruger is simply getting his investment back with a modest profit,” he pointed out.
“Ah ha! But I heard last week that Midland Research has produced a dynamite advance in industrial robotics. And that,” Solletti concluded, “means that it’s worth more than Carl is selling it for.”
“Then he’s getting something besides money,” said Thatcher, remaining calm. “Say what you like about him, Carl doesn’t run around making free gifts to purchasers of his property.”
“Of course he’s getting something—and without bothering to inform the creditors. Once again he’s taken the bit between his teeth and is planning some slapdash move that should be studied by us with a good deal of time and care.”
Thatcher knew time had been a luxury that Lackawanna could not afford.
“It’s precisely because Kruger isn’t hidebound that he’s made so much progress these past few years. I admit he tends to ignore the rulebook, but he gets results. Who are we to complain?”
Solletti was disappointed.
“At the very least he should have consulted us,” he insisted.
“With his track record, Carl knows that the creditors are willing to give him all the latitude he wants.”
Solletti was not a lawyer for nothing.
“It wouldn’t surprise me at all,” Thatcher confessed. “But you will bear in mind, Leonard, that we are far more interested in getting our money back than in litigation. Or even in trying to run Lackawanna.”
Solletti still saw trouble ahead.
“Carl not only went to Japan himself; he took his production vice-president and his chief financial officer. He’s planning something big.”
“It certainly sounds like it,” Thatcher agreed.
“I can’t make out what he’s up to.”
By this time Thatcher thought that he did. Nobody had ever claimed that George Lancer was endowed with superhuman vision. When a window of opportunity opens, quite a few people are apt to notice.
“Well, I am scarcely in a position to find fault. Unless I miss my guess, Carl Kruger is on the same errand as I am. No doubt I will discover the details in Tokyo.”
“Then I’ll let Carl know you’re coming?”
“Yes. After all, what harm can it do?” Thatcher reasoned. “Whatever Carl has in mind will require the sanction of the Japanese government. If he gets it, he can go ahead with his plans. If he doesn’t, he can sell MR for more money.”
This well-meant attempt at reassurance missed the mark.
“And when it’s all over, he’ll let us know what he’s done,” said Solletti, stiff with disapproval.
“You can always make space for these details in the agenda for our next meeting,” Thatcher suggested with a straight face.
But playfulness did not exist in Solletti’s scheme of things.
“That would be completely irregular,” he protested. “It would be tantamount to recognizing that the disclosure came a month after the approval.”
“Of course, of course. What can I have been thinking of?”
It was all beyond Solletti, but he could identify parallel lines.
“You’re both zeroing in on Japan at exactly the same time, and I don’t see why.”
Thatcher was unwilling to do more for him than for the staff of the Sloan.