Conspiracy (8 page)

* * *

Alex Glass was exhilarated as he sat at his desk in the
New York Times's
bureau office on the twentieth floor of a high-rise in the center of Tokyo, staring at the television set that was blasting out analyses of the Sato interview by Japanese commentators. In the seven years he had been in Tokyo as a reporter for the
Times,
Glass had been looking for the big, big story that he could ride to fame and fortune the way Woodward and Bernstein had at the
Washington Post
with Watergate.

Six years ago he had thought he had it with the global-warming conference in Kyoto, but nobody back home cared very much if increased temperatures eroded their quality of life. For Glass, the only good that came out of the Kyoto conference was the four-week affair he had had with that dish Taylor Ferrari, a member of the American delegation. It had been the first and only time Glass was in love, but not enough to consider giving up his great job in Tokyo and moving back to Washington. Though Taylor had studied Japanese in college, he knew that there was no way she would ever live here. He never even broached the question with her. It wouldn't have worked anyhow. She was seven years older, and he doubted that she was in love with him.
So what?
The sex was great, and she was fun to be with.

That was six years ago. Now he was on the verge of a Pulitzer. The rise of Yahiro Sato and the growth of Japanese militarism was a huge story—the largest involving the United States and Japan since the 1945 surrender. Here was the horse that Glass could ride, and that was precisely what he was doing. A month ago he pleaded for authorization from Steve Terry, the
Times
bureau chief in Tokyo, to do a lengthy three-part series on Sato. Research for that had gotten him squarely in the middle of Sato's organization, and established him as an expert. He was also the messenger sounding alarms for Washington.

Portions of the series were being widely quoted. Alex was now a celebrity. Last week a CNN reporter referred to him as one of the top foreign journalists in Tokyo; "What Glass writes can't be brushed aside," the reporter said. And the series was only the beginning. Now Terry was telling him to provide daily coverage on Sato. Glass was thrilled that he had picked the right horse in this race.

Alex turned off the television set and his computer, grabbed his motorcycle helmet, and rode down in the elevator. He needed to relax for a couple of hours over dinner in one of the clubs in the Roppongi. After that he'd come back and work some more—if he couldn't entice some young beauty into his bed first.

Alex had another reason for feeling good. Besides garnering a Pulitzer, at long last he'd gain the respect of Martin Glass. Then old Dad wouldn't think he was a worthless, lazy dilettante because he had refused to go to work in the family auto-parts business back in Seattle.

Stop kidding yourself
, he thought as he put on his helmet while walking toward his Kawasaki.
Old Dad will never be proud of me, no matter what I do, unless and until I join Glass Auto Parts. "The Crystal-clear Supplier."

When he had spent time with Taylor she had told him, "Stop being such an ass. It's time you gave up the family guilt horseshit."

For Alex that was easier said than done. He had something to prove to his father. He would do it with his in-depth coverage of Yahiro Sato and the rise of Japanese militarism.

 

 

 

Chapter 5

 

Taylor looked at the computer screen in her office at Blank, Porter, and Harrison and winced. "Ah, damn. Not now." She reread the e-mail message.

 

I have a new transaction to discuss with you. Can you meet me for breakfast tomorrow at the Four Seasons in Washington at eight
a.m.?

Kenzo Fujimura.

 

At any other time she would have liked nothing better than to hear from him. Fujimura, a prominent Japanese lawyer whom Taylor had met at the Kyoto global-warming conference, had become a friend and the source of most of her law work, as he funneled American projects to her for his largest Japanese clients in the energy sector, particularly M. H. Heavy Industries, which was buying energy-related companies in the United States. The relationship was mutually beneficial. She knew the energy area from her years as a congressional staffer, and she could draw on the specialized expertise of other lawyers in the 160-person firm—depending upon the project. The trouble was that Fujimura always demanded her own personal involvement. This email was just what she didn't need right now. Not after a sleepless night spent tossing and turning about the information Coop had delivered to her yesterday.

She hit the intercom. "Kathy, reply to Fujimura's e-mail. Tell him I'll be there. I'm going down to Philip Harrison's office."

As she walked along the hardwood corridor lined with rich Oriental carpets, Taylor thought again about Coop's information. She made up her mind that she wouldn't sit around and wait for the senator to go down in flames. If in fact a criminal investigation was under way, she wanted to stop it. The trouble was that she didn't have any decent contacts at a high level in the U.S. attorney's office.
Oh, well.
She'd worry about that later. For now, she'd better try to cajole Harrison to take on Fujimura's new project. If she succeeded, she could limit her role to cameo appearances, and it would not detract from her work on the campaign.

Seeing that Harrison was on the phone, Taylor stopped to chat with Doris, his secretary. Once he spotted her through the open doorway, he waved her in to sit and wait while he finished his call. It was a typical Harrison performance. He was on the speakerphone with investment bankers and lawyers in New York. A step ahead of everyone else, he was spinning out a complex approach for the financial reorganization of an electric utility that the other members of his client's team knew was right if they could only understand it. As he spoke, he paced back and forth from his desk to the bookcases over a strip of worn carpet and fiddled with a plastic object that resembled a cigarette—one of twenty that his wife, Celia, had given the irritable and restless Harrison to avoid having him drive her crazy when he decided two years ago to stop smoking.

As always, the office was devoid of papers. Unlike mere mortals, Harrison, who had degrees in theoretical mathematics and law from Oxford as well as a photographic memory, had no need for the reassurance of having stacks piled up in his office, like most lawyers. Instead he had models of sailboats—his latest in a string of long passions, including chess, astronomy, and Greek tragedies that he read in the original language. Anyone else would simply be sailing boats, but Harrison had to design them as well, intrigued by the scientific concepts that permitted a sailboat to maximize its speed. Articles in the
Washington Post
had covered the boat he would be building to race in one of the top world-class competitions.

Others in the firm viewed Harrison as eccentric and minimized their contact with him. But not Taylor. Not only did he often work with her on projects that Fujimura funneled to her, but he was responsible for her coming as a partner to the firm. After hearing about her work at the Kyoto global-warming conference from some of his energy clients, Harrison had flown to Japan and made Taylor an offer that was too good to turn down and return to her job as Senator Boyd's chief of staff after the Kyoto conference ended. It wasn't the money that did it. He had told her in his usual blunt manner, "I have clients who want to build power plants that don't burn fossil fuels, but can't because of permitting and other environmental issues. If you believe in the cause, come with us and help them get the job done. If you don't, then stop pontificating about it."

The phone conversation ended. He stuck the plastic cigarette in his mouth, sat down behind his desk, put up his feet, and looked at her. There were no greetings. It was the gruff Harrison's way of saying, "What do you want?"

Sitting in front of his desk as usual, Taylor noticed the holes in the soles of his shoes. He was in need of a haircut, but she knew that would be cured soon, because Doris scheduled them for him every four to six weeks in order to ensure that he maintained a good image for his clients.

"I received an e-mail from Fujimura," Taylor said, speaking rapidly, which she always did with the restless Harrison to keep his attention. "He has another transaction for us. Any chance you can take charge?"

"How big and what's the timing?"

"I'll know tomorrow. I'm having breakfast with him."

"For you, anything, my beleaguered friend."

"Do I look or sound that bad?"

"Both."

Without asking, Doris brought in two large mugs filled with black coffee and handed one to each of them.
This man does not need caffeine,
Taylor thought.

Harrison took a gulp of coffee. "How's the campaign going?"

"Don't ask. I've got big troubles."

"You want to talk about it?"

She sighed. "I suppose so."

"That bad?"

"Wait till you hear."

She had no hesitation talking to Harrison. From the time she had hooked up with Senator Boyd for the campaign, she regularly sought the lawyer's advice. He had been an informal mentor since he had lured her to the firm, and he had never betrayed a confidence. Besides, it was Harrison who had persuaded Don Blank, the managing partner, to keep Taylor on with half pay during the campaign.

She reported to Harrison what Cooper had told her in the park yesterday.

In typical Harrison fashion, he cut her off in the middle of a sentence. "You're right. You do have trouble. Big trouble."

"What do you make of it?"

"Can I be brutally honest?"

"Could you be any other way?"

A faint smile appeared on his face. "My guess is that somewhere along the way of an otherwise illustrious career, your marvelous senator may have committed a transgression, either big or small. Probably in California. But at any rate, somebody found out what Boyd did, and they're threatening to disclose it."

"Where does Dawson of the
LA. Times
fit in?"

"Boyd's transgression probably took place in Napa Valley. They're manipulating Dawson to turn up the pressure on Boyd. It's easy to use the press that way."

"Why do you assume the senator did something wrong?"

"Good point. But it doesn't matter if he's guilty or not. If the mere fact of this investigation is disclosed now, he'll never get elected. Enough people will believe there must be something to it."

"The ultimate dirty trick by McDermott and his stooges, like Pug Thompson." She was raising her voice in anger. "More damaging than stealing documents from the Democratic National Committee headquarters in Watergate, like the—"

"Which backfired on Nixon."

"But not until after he was reelected."

"Let's take it one step at a time. First we have to find out if there really is an investigation. Dawson's source could be passing misinformation."

"Agreed. Any ideas?"

"How well do you know Jim Doerr?"

"Barely. I met him twice at bar dinners and once at a benefit for the Washington Symphony."

"You want me to talk to him for you?"

She was delighted. "I'd love it."

"I know him from the Metropolitan Club. He owes me because I asked clients to make calls for him when he was trying to be A.G."

After Harrison arranged a lunch meeting with Doerr, he turned back to Taylor. "I want to tell you something as a friend."

She tensed up. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Probably not. A couple of members of the management committee came to see me yesterday. They said that your billable hours are way below what they expected under the fifty-percent arrangement."

"What'd you say?"

"I tried to defend you, but law firms aren't kind and gentle places these days. You know that."

* * *

Waiting for Harrison to return from lunch, Taylor sat at her desk trying to read the briefs in the Jeffersonville Power case that had been filed with the Mississippi Supreme Court. The case was scheduled for argument in Jackson in December after the election.

But she couldn't concentrate. The news Coop had given her yesterday was disquieting, and the charge was wrong. It had to be wrong. She had known the senator for so many years. He would never have committed a crime.

She well remembered the first time she had met him. It was at a hearing in Napa, California. She was a young lawyer in the governor's energy office, assigned to travel around the state and take testimony from industrial and consumer groups about what should be done to create a fair and reasonable system for energy use and supply. He was the spokesman for the California Wine Growers and Vintners Association, which wanted to ensure that its energy needs were being supplied at a reasonable cost.

Expecting a contentious session with Boyd—which was what she had encountered when other industry representatives appeared and tore into the governor's policy, which they viewed as favoring consumers who had more votes—Taylor was pleasantly surprised. Boyd was polite and mild mannered. He answered all of her questions in a forthright manner, taking a broad view that all interests in the state had to be satisfied, not merely those of his association. He didn't surrender his own position, but without being patronizing he tried to educate her, to persuade her why he was right, always looking squarely at her. In his words, she found principle, not merely self-interest.