The call was routed to a governmental agency in the heart of the Kasumigaseki district in Tokyo, then to an administrative assistant in the Prime Minister's Office. The aide asked Matsukawa his name, advised his boss, then put the call through to Prime Minister Koyama.
Matsukawa instantly recognized the unmistakable rasping voice of the man many Japanese felt was the strongest leader they had had in years. Outmaneuvering his opponents, Koyama had jockeyed to be at the right place to eventually ascend to the supreme position after the demise of the Liberal Democratic Party. The resulting political calamity had rocked Japan and caused many scars and strained relationships, but the crafty politician had waited patiently and emerged unscathed from the fracas.
Genshiro Koyama had received a degree in engineering from Japan's elite Tokyo University, then attended Harvard, where he took a master of business administration.
The sometimes caustic Prime Minister was a loner who rarely showed any emotion in public. Trim and always impeccably groomed, Koyama was capable of conversing freely in English. He firmly believed in maintaining his proficiency in English so that he would not embarrass himself in front of world leaders. Koyama seldom used his native language unless he was speaking with one of his closest aides or a member of his family.
"Ah, Matsukawa-san," the Prime Minister began slowly. "It is good to hear from you."
Tadashi Matsukawa exchanged pleasantries and steeled himself for the conversation. The Prime Minister had a well-deserved reputation for being blunt.
"Ambassador Hagura called me and mentioned that he had been in contact with you."
"That's correct."
"I understand," Matsukawa went on with a guise of nonchalance, "that you have been invited to a meeting with the President."
"Correction. I was summoned like a subordinate."
Taken aback, Matsukawa cautiously proceeded. "I sense that our breach in friendly relations with the Americans is rapidly widening, especially after the terrorist attacks."
"The terrorists from both countries," Koyama said curtly, "are making things more difficult for everyone."
"I know," Matsukawa replied glumly, "and it's very sad that the attacks are destroying the rapport we share with the Americans."
"Are you using secure-link?" Koyama asked while he opened the locked drawer in his desk.
"Yes."
Matsukawa learned the hard way not to leave anything to chance where sensitive communications were concerned. The top-of-the-line Magnavox satellite system was equipped with a secure-voice capability.
"I have recently been involved," the Prime Minister paused to spread his notes on the table, "in a number of meetings and discussions concerning the immediate and long-range planning for our country."
Tadashi Matsukawa perceived a dramatic change taking place in Tokyo. He could tell by the subtle difference in Koyama's voice that the politicians, bureaucrats, business leaders, and academics were awakening to the fact that they had to face up to the Americans — or become accustomed to being subservient to the powers in Washington.
"We are rushing toward the waterfall," Koyama continued in his raspy voice, "and we have to do something bold or we're going to be swept over the brink. Japan, unfortunately, is on a direct collision course with the United States."
Matsukawa gripped the phone. Was his government finally going to cleanse itself of the last stains of guilt about World War II? Was the Prime Minister finally going to break the shackles and confront the Americans?
Pressing the call button for his aide, Matsukawa reached for his fountain pen next to the console.
Yoshio Okura quietly entered the communications center and Matsukawa handed him a note. Okura nodded and hurried to tell the flight crew to have the corporate jet standing by for a flight to Los Angeles.
"This morning," Genshiro Koyama continued, "I met with the chairman of Keidanren."
Matsukawa was well acquainted with the man who headed Japan's most powerful business federation. Chihiro Yamashita always made any negotiation with the Americans as difficult and time consuming as possible. He generally succeeded in wearing down the U. S. business representatives until they collapsed.
"He implored me," the Prime Minister confided, "to stand up to the Americans and restore sovereignty and honor to our nation."
Matsukawa knew the core of the problems with Washington centered around the weakened American military and Japan's growing military capability. The key issue to the Japanese was the ongoing dispute over the constitutionality of the Self-Defense Forces and the fear that Japan would be left to defend herself if the U. S. failed to protect the islands if they were invaded. Most Japanese citizens simply didn't trust the fickle Americans to stand by what they promised.
Koyama sounded very troubled. "Yamashita reminded me about Nakasone and Takeshita. Especially about how they had been highly visible and outspoken advocates of dramatically increasing Japan's military capability."
Prime Minister Yasuhiro Nakasone had enraged many U. S. citizens by saying that America's intellectual level was lower than Japan's because America had too many blacks, Mexicans, and Puerto Ricans.
In 1988 Takeshita spoke to a group of cadets, telling them that Japan would need a defense force equal to its vast economic power. The message was clear: Japan had to become a global military power in order to protect her future.
"I've always believed that Nakasone and Takeshita were right," Matsukawa interjected. "We need to be able to defend ourselves, regardless of the potential enemy. At this period in time, we can't depend on the shrinking U. S. military."
"You are precisely correct," the Prime Minister confided.
Matsukawa was thrilled by what Koyama was saying. Indeed, the Chinese were flexing their muscles and filling the Asian power void. They had significantly increased their military budget, and Beijing was rapidly spreading her tentacles in many directions. Along with Matsukawa, most Japanese were afraid that the Chinese were going to envelop them if they didn't prepare to defend themselves.
The other wild card was North Korea, which already had produced enough plutonium to manufacture five nuclear bombs, and Pyongyang had successfully tested a ballistic missile capable of reaching Japan. The avowedly belligerent regime was slowly destroying the delicate balance of power in East Asia.
The Prime Minister sighed. "We're one of the richest nations on earth, Matsukawa-san, but we've left our soft underbellies exposed. Considering our growing differences with the U. S., we're going to have to expand our military even more rapidly than we have in the past three and a half years."
"I agree with you and Yamashita-san," Matsukawa declared and forged ahead with his proposal to begin preparations to confront the Americans. "In my estimation, it would be wise to convene the gurupu. We have to be totally committed or our efforts will be diluted."
"That suggestion has been made," the Prime Minister replied with a trace of hesitation in his coarse voice, "and plans are being made as we speak. Advise me when you will be returning to Tokyo."
Matsukawa smiled to himself. "I'll be leaving shortly." He checked the local time on a wall clock. "And I'll notify you when I arrive."
The Prime Minister spoke slowly. "It is time for Japan to rise and seek her destiny."
Chapter 10
When Susan, Steve, and Theresa arrived at the tiny cottage, Mrs. Sakoguchi was sitting in a porch swing, fanning herself. She rose and walked toward the car as the trio got out.
While Theresa introduced everyone, Steve surveyed the premises and spotted Mrs. Sakoguchi's granddaughter. The youngster was sitting on the ground near a small vegetable garden, digging a trench with a child-size spade. Behind her, in the midst of various pieces of discarded junk, sat a rusted and faded Chevrolet Malibu. A man who was sprawled under the car stuck his head out to examine the strangers, then returned to his work.