“Tricks? You and your slang. Should we speak Japanese, so I can have the upper hand?”
“I didn’t come to banter. We need to talk business.”
“At a reception? And violate our protocol? The Russians would be offended.” He shot a look around the patio, and so did I, but I didn’t see Kharchenko anywhere. “Come now, Mr. Foley. Let us teach our new trading partners how to enjoy the spoils of true market economy, or at least, the part that a few can savor.” His voice was tinged with sarcasm as he clamped a hand on Foley’s shoulder, looked around as if afraid of eavesdroppers, and spoke in a stage whisper: “In Russia, the workers used to say of the nomenklatura, ‘They preach water-”‘
‘“And drink wine,’” I said, remembering our conversation on Yagamata’s boat.
“Precisely. Could not the same be said of American and Japanese politicians? Mr. Foley, you cannot abolish class distinction with either communism or capitalism.” With that, Yagamata drained his champagne glass and signaled a passing waiter for another.
“Under any system, Matsuo, you would be in it for yourself,” Foley said.
The laughter rattled in Yagamata’s throat. “And who would not be? In the old Soviet Union, was there ever a butcher, a doctor, or a shopkeeper not tainted by gryazny, the pursuit of profit? Was there ever a Party Secretary who did not relish his seaside dacha, his access to pleasures of the West? There is a Russian epithet that expresses the people’s disgust with their officials.” Yagamata thought a moment and said something in halting Russian that made Foley smile. It was not a pretty sight.
Foley turned toward me and translated, “Let him live on his salary.”
“Precisely,” Yagamata said. “Communism failed because it was based on principles contradictory to human nature. Japan succeeds because it is based squarely on the principles of competition, profit, growth, exploitation of markets and resources. Your own country founders because it cannot decide whether it is a welfare state or an industrial power. As for Russia, it is nothing but a decrepit third world country. Mr. Lassiter, do you know why Russian watches are the best in the world?”
“Sure, they’re the fastest.”
Yagamata chuckled. “Perhaps in the free market, the quality of the products will improve. To survive, they will Westernize. Did you see that Pravda held a fund-raiser, just as public television does here? No longer subsidized, the newspaper raffled off rugs and washing machines. What would Lenin say?”
Foley shrugged, and Yagamata concentrated on me. “As Mr. Foley knows, Pravda means truth and Izvestia means news. Unfortunately-”
“There was never any news in the Truth or truth in the News,” Foley added.
“Ah, you two have heard all my jokes.”
Yagamata was still chuckling at the stolen punch line when Foley grabbed his forearm and jerked him close. “This time, Matsuo, you’ve gone too far.” Yagamata’s smile froze in place. “You can’t steal all the fucking art from the Baltic to the Pacific.”
Yagamata pulled away. His face was white with anger. He smoothed the sleeve of his tuxedo. “And why not?”
“You’re raping the country, Matsuo,” Foley said.
“Stealing state property was the national pastime under the communists. I have merely raised it to an art form.” He laughed again. “Art form. That is a pun, is it not?”
“Where’s Kharchenko?” I asked.
Yagamata frowned. “Ah, the business with the girl. Perhaps your Yankee sense of manhood compels you to seek revenge. Those of you raised on John Wayne movies have such an outdated sense of chivalry. Instead, you should have the good sense to be thankful that you were spared. For that, I might add, you should thank me.”
“You’re out of your mind.” I turned to Foley. “Did you hear this? He just admitted-”
“I heard him. Look, Matsuo, it’s over. Everything’s changed. You’ve exceeded your authority. Langley thinks you’re out of control, and I’m under orders to take possession of the new shipment. Everything’s going back to Mother Russia, including Kharchenko. You’ll be paid for your trouble, and paid well. If you refuse to cooperate, you’ll be charged with conspiracy, racketeering, smuggling, and about a hundred other things the boys in Washington will lose a lot of sleep thinking up.”
Yagamata blinked twice, his eyes darting from Foley to me and back again. “And my personal collection?”
“Anything you’ve taken for yourself you can keep. It’ll be written off.”
“Including my new Matisse, of course. Girl with Tulips. I have coveted it for years. The girl is Jeanne Vaderin, and-”
“Yeah, yeah, including your new Matisse. You know, you’re really a little over the top about the art, Matsuo. It affects your judgment.”
Yagamata wasn’t listening. “And the works by Faberge, of course. I must keep the Trans-Siberian Railway Egg of 1900.”
“Yeah, the eggs, the paintings, whatever you’ve skimmed off before selling to your buddies in Kyoto. Christ, we’re talking about international politics here and you’re concerned with a few pieces of art?”
“Aren’t you?” Yagamata asked.
“I don’t give two shits about the art.”
“Then you are a fool.”
Foley shook his head. “Okay, I’m an ugly American, a declasse barbarian. Happy? Now, do you want the money or do I start reading you your rights?”
Yagamata seemed to think about it. “How much? How much for my trouble?”
“Fifty million.”
This time Yagamata didn’t blink. “I could make a hundred times that by selling the art.”
“You could get a hundred years in the can. I’ll use the forfeiture laws to confiscate every asset you have, right down to the last tin of caviar.”
Across the patio, a woman’s laugh tinkled like wind chimes on a balcony. “What is the timing of such an arrangement?” Yagamata asked.
“First, I take delivery of the shipment. Within twenty-four hours, you’ll be paid.”
“Are you authorized to make such an offer?”
“From the highest possible authority.”
“How do I know…”
“Have I ever breached a commitment to you?”
Yagamata shook his head. “No. You are consistently dishonorable and therefore immensely trustworthy. You always eschew principle and reward venality.”
“So what’s it going to be? We don’t have all night.”
“Ah, the well-known impatience of the Americans.” Yagamata tried to put some midwestern corn pone into his voice. “Let’s cut to the chase. What’s the bottom line? Is it a done deal, baby?”
“Matsuo, you’re getting on my nerves.”
“All right. I agree to your terms. What are the logistics?”
“Give me the location of the shipment. I’ll provide tractor-trailers. We’ll use your workers. We’ll start tomorrow at 0900. Fair enough?”
“Oh, perfectly fair. Unfortunately, however, I have no idea where the shipment is.”
Foley appeared stunned. “Why not?”
“It is not yet under my control. Kharchenko will release it to me after he has been paid and the goods repackaged to resemble cartons of pottery from Peru. As you can imagine, my outlay is many millions of dollars. Ordinarily, I would wire the funds to the Swiss accounts of Kharchenko and various Russian functionaries who made all this possible. Obviously, I do not intend to make the payment if you are going to appropriate the property.”
“You’re telling me you don’t follow the goods once they’re offloaded. You don’t know the warehouse Kharchenko uses. You don’t place agents along their route, bribe the drivers-”
“It’s not my concern. He always delivers when promised.”
Foley was incensed at Yagamata’s lack of professionalism. “Have you gone soft?”
Yagamata reached for a blini from a passing tray and dipped it in sour cream. “Maybe so, or maybe I just enjoy waking up each morning. You don’t play both sides of the Volga with Mr. Kharchenko.”
“I’ll deal with him,” Foley said, anger in his voice.
