starving. There was no other choice. He had to sell the last item of value they owned.
The purchaser of the major's katana was not short of compassion and, by the standards of the time, paid generously for the blade. The exchange and the amount paid caught the attention of Fumio Namaka. Undersized and limping, he tended to be either ignored or dismissed as insignificant, and, as such, he was an ideal scout.
The brothers had been searching for a worthy target for several days. The soldier's generosity toward the destitute major clinched their choice of victim. He had paid not in restricted military scrip, which could only be used in designated locations, but in U.S. dollars , greenbacks – in 1949 the hardest, strongest, most desirable currency in the world.
Kei Namaka, skinny but tall for his age, and still, despite the hunger, reasonably fit and strong, followed the major home through the back streets and when he stopped to relieve himself in a deserted section, hit him with a rock.
The major fell to the ground as Fumio limped up. The two brothers looked at each other, and then Fumio cut the unconscious man's throat with some broken glass. They had agreed in advance that there would be no witnesses. They had owned a knife but had to sell it to buy food. The broken glass did the job adequately but was slow. It was also messy. The brothers did not mind. They now had more money than they had ever seen before in their lives.
Suddenly, the Namaka brothers did not just have enough money to buy food; they had capital. It was not much, but it was a beginning. They were no longer looking at bare survival. They could plan. And Fumio, crippled and physically less gifted than his brother, was a natural planner. He was gifted with a strategic sense, a decided cunning, and a talent for manipulating his fellows. In short, he had brains.
When they returned to their shelter with a little boiled rice and some sake to celebrate, they found that their mother was dead.
Over the decades they had evolved into the Namaka Corporation, a vast corporate network of interlocking companies whose interests had spanned the length and breadth of Japan, most of the developed world, and much of the third world.
The core operational group of the Namaka Corporation was not the Torishimariyakukai – Board of Directors – which was really about public image and strategic alliances and was kept well away from detail. The real planning and decisions were made by the more conveniently named General Affairs Department, or Somu Bu.
The Somu Bu had served the Namaka brothers well. Nearly three decades after its creation, it now consisted of Kei and Fumio and six handpicked, seasoned buchos – department heads – of unquestioned loyalty.
In the typical corporate world, a bucho would not have vice-presidential status, but in the case of the Namaka Corporation there were obvious security implications, which dictated a tighter vertical structure.
The guarded, soundproofed, and electronically swept meeting room of the Somu Bu of the Namaka Corporation was decidedly luxurious.
Eight overstuffed handmade tan leather executive armchairs were placed around a boardroom table made from a single piece of handworked wood. Each chair was embossed with the Namaka crest in gold. The chairs at either end of the table were even larger and more luxurious, with deeper padding and higher headrests. The walls were covered in silk. Some of Kei Namaka's vast collection of antique Japanese swords and Western weapons from the same periods were in illuminated glass cases on the walls. Underfoot, the carpet was thick and soft.
The six buchos rose to their feet and bowed deeply as the Namaka brothers entered. Bows in Japan come in three grades: the informal, the formal, and the slow, deep, right-down-to-the-waist kind known as saikeirei, used for the Emperor and the less democratic yakuza bosses.
The bows delivered to the Namaka brothers were of the saikeirei class. Japan's entire society was based on ranking, and the brothers were not known for their democratic approach to discipline.
Kei entered the room first through the special padded double doors which led directly to the luxurious office the brothers shared.
Fumio followed, at a respectful distance, limping and supported by a stick. He had not aged as well as his brother. His hair had gone completely silver and he looked as if he could easily have been in his mid-sixties. But his age gave him a dignity and gravitas that was not unhelpful.
Kei sat down first, and Fumio followed some seconds later. All the buchos now too their seats. Kei called the meeting to order formally and then looked at Fumio. The younger brother ran it, but always gave the appearance of deferring to the chairman. This was the first formal meeting since the murder of the kuromaku. Kei had been attending secret talks in North Korea when the event had occurred, and had only recently returned.
'The first item,' said Fumio, 'concerns the death of Hodamasensei. His passing means that we have lost our most influential friend. The manner of his passing gives some cause for concern.' He stood up and bowed his head in silence, and all the others followed suit.
After several minutes, he sat down. The mention of Hodama was enough to get everyone's attention. The sensei had been the behind-the-scenes fixer for the Namaka brothers and had helped to give them a charmed life with the authorities and the competition over the last three decades.
His untimely death was proving a disaster.
The kuromaku had been an unparalleled protector but had been jealous of his power and influence, and now there was no obvious candidate to replace him. Despite his age, he had not nominated a successor. Because of his age and his sensitivity on that matter, the Namakas had not pushed the subject.
The Namaka brothers' position had been that of two men in a sturdy boat in a shark-infested sea, with Hodama representing the security of the boat. Now that boat had been arbitrarily removed and they had been dumped unceremoniously into unfriendly waters to swim with the sharks. It was going to take a period of adjustment.
There was also the matter of the Hodama's killers' methodology. After the sensei, who was next for the cooking pot? The assassins were efficient, brutal, and did not seem to be deterred by the status of the victim. These were disconcerting thoughts.
'It would be helpful,' said Kei to the gathering, 'for the corporation if your thoughts on the current implication of the passing of Hodama- sensei could be prepared.'
The assembled buchos bowed their head respectfully in acknowledgment. They knew exactly what the chairman wanted. He was asking for a detailed paper and proposals on the full consequences of the Hodama affair. The procedure was known as ringi seido. It referred to a circulated written proposal which would be signed by the assembled team but only after a great deal of informal and behind-the-scenes discussion, known as nemawashi – literally, ‘binding the roots.’
The ringi seido system could be slow and bureaucratic. At the Namaka Corporation, particularly in the General Affairs department, the system had been refined to an art.
'Next item,' said Kei. He was wearing a Savile Row – tailored dark-blue pinstripe suit and a handmade silk shirt. His tie was regimental. His hair, though streaked with gray, was still full and he wore it brushed straight back, the wings meeting behind his head. He had a high forehead, a strong nose, and firm, regular features. He looked every inch the chairman of the board. Fumio was very proud of him.
'Our obligation in Ireland, Kaicho- san,' said Fumio, with the appropriate honorifics. Privately, his brother was called by his first name. In public, the formalities were always followed. There were no fewer than seven different ways to address different social ranks. It was an area where foreigners – even if they spoke Japanese, a rare occurrence – normally fell down. Well, what could you expect? No gaijin could ever really understand Japan.
One of the buchos, Toshiro Kitano, Vice President for General Affairs, cleared his throat. He was a slight, studious-looking man with thinning hair in his late fifties; he reminded some people of a priest or monk. There was an ascetic, spiritual quality about him. It was not entirely misleading, since he was a martial arts master – a field in which the spiritual was regarded as at least as important as the physical.
Kitano's role in the group was security. Within the ethos of the Namaka culture, that had less to do with conventional industrial security than with the direct application of force against those who opposed the wishes of
