several years-a situation that the Asian currency crisis has only worsened. He half expects to see executives dropping past the window.
Avi ventures to ask about various tunnels and other stupefyingly vast engineering projects that he happens to have noticed around Tokyo and whether Goto Engineering had anything to do with them. This at least gets the patriarch to glance up momentarily from his wine list, but the son handles the inquiries, allowing as how, yes, their company did play a small part in those endeavors. Randy figures that it's not the easiest thing in the world to engage a personal friend of the late General of the Army Douglas MacArthur in polite chitchat; it's not like you can ask him if he caught the latest episode of
At this point Randy's paranoia finally kicks in: is it possible that Goto-sama bought the whole restaurant out for the evening, just to get a little privacy? Were the two minions just aides with unusually bulky briefcases, or were they security, sweeping the place for surveillance devices? Again, subtext-wise, the message seems to be that Randy and Avi are not to worry their pretty, young little heads about these things. Goto Dengo is seated underneath a can light in the ceiling. His hair stands perpendicularly out from his head, a bristling stand of normal vectors, radiating halogenically. He has a formidable number of scars on his face and his hands, and Randy suddenly realizes that he must have been in the war. Which should've been perfectly obvious considering his age.
Goto Dengo inquires about how Randy and Avi got into their current lines of work, and how they formed their partnership. This is a reasonable question, but it forces them to explain the entire concept of fantasy role- playing games. If Randy had known this would happen, he would have thrown himself bodily through a window instead of taking a seat. But Goto Dengo takes it pretty calmly and instantly cross-correlates it to late-breaking developments in the Nipponese game industry, which has been doing this gradual paradigm shift from arcade to role-playing games with actual narratives; by the time he's finished he makes them feel not like lightweight nerds but like visionary geniuses who were ten years ahead of their time. This more or less obligates Avi (who is taking conversational point) to ask Goto Dengo how he got into
Dinner arrives; and so everyone has to eat for a bit, and to thank Goto-sama for his excellent recommendation. Avi gets a bit reckless and asks the old man if he might regale them with some reminiscences about Douglas MacArthur. He grins, as if some secret has been ferreted out of him, and says, 'I met the General in the Philippines.' Just like that, he's jujitsued the topic of conversation around to what everyone actually wants to talk about. Randy's pulse and respiration ratchet up by a good twenty-five percent and all of his senses become more acute, almost as if his ears have popped again, and he loses his appetite. Everyone else seems to be sitting up a bit straighter too, shifting in their chairs slightly. 'Did you spend much time in that country?' Avi asks.
'Oh, yes. Much time. A hundred years,' says Goto Dengo, with a rather frosty grin. He pauses, giving everyone a chance to get good and uneasy, and then continues, 'My son tells me that you want to dig a grave there.'
'A hole,' Randy ventures, after much uncomfortableness.
'Excuse me. My English is rusty,' says Goto Dengo, none too convincingly.
Avi says, 'What we have in mind would be a major excavation by our standards. But probably not by yours.'
Goto Dengo chuckles. 'That all depends on the circumstances. Permits. Transportation issues. The Crypt was a big excavation, but it was easy, because the sultan was supporting it.'
'I must emphasize that the work we are considering is still in a very early planning phase,' Avi says. 'I regret to say I can't give you good information about the logistical issues.'
Goto Dengo comes this close to rolling his eyes. 'I understand,' he says with a dismissive wave of the hand. 'We will not talk about these things this evening.'
This produces a really awkward pause, while Randy and Avi ask themselves
Furudenendo steps in. 'There are many people who dig holes in the Philippines,' he explains with a big knowing wink.
'Ah!' Randy says. 'I have met some of the people you are talking about!' This produces a general outburst of laughter around the table, which is none the less sincere for being tense.
'You understand, then,' says Furudenendo, 'that we would have to study a joint venture very carefully.' Even Randy easily translates this to:
'Please!' Randy says, 'Goto Engineering is a distinguished company. Top of the line. You have much better things to do than to gamble on joint ventures. We would never propose such a thing. We would be able to pay for your services up front.'
'Ah!' The Gotos look at each other significantly. 'You have a new investor?'
The faces of Goto Dengo and Goto Furudenendo are transmuted to stone. Avi holds the bar up for a few moments, then lowers it back into his briefcase.
Eventually, Furudenendo scoots his chair back a couple of centimeters and rotates it slightly toward his father, basically excusing himself from the conversation. Goto Dengo eats dinner and drinks wine calmly, and silently, for a very, very long fifteen or twenty minutes. Finally, he looks across the table at Randy and says, 'Where do you want to dig?'
'The site is in mountains south of Laguna de Bay-'
'Yes, you already told my son that. But that is a large area of boon docks. Many holes have been dug there. All worthless.'
'We have better information.'
'Some old Filipino has sold you his memories?'
'Better than that,' Randy says. 'We have a latitude and longitude.'
'To what degree of precision?'
'Tenths of a second.'
This occasions another pause. Furudenendo tries to say something in Nipponese, but his father cuts him off gruffly. Goto Dengo finishes his dinner and crosses his fork and knife on the plate. A waiter's there five seconds later to clear the table. Goto Dengo says something to him that sends him fleeing back into the kitchen. They have essentially a whole floor of the skyscraper to themselves now. Goto Dengo utters something to his son, who produces a fountain pen and two business cards. Furudenendo hands the pen, and one card, to his father, and the other card to Randy. 'Let's play a little game,' Goto Dengo says. 'You have a pen?'
'Yes,' Randy says.
'I am going to write down a latitude and longitude,' Goto Dengo says, 'but only the seconds portion. No degrees and no minutes. Only the seconds part. You understand?'
'Yes.'