over your government. You have lost the economic game by forfeit.”
“If we have lost, it is to corporate body snatchers backed by Kanoya Securities,” snapped Loren.
“You Americans must learn to accept the facts. If we buy America, it’s because you’re selling it.”
The few spectators allowed in the session and the numerous congressional aides shuddered at the veiled threat, hostility growing in their eyes. Tsuboi’s strange mixture of arrogance and humility, politeness and strength, gave a disturbing and frightening atmosphere to the room.
Diaz’s eyes were hard as he leaned over the desk counter toward Tsuboi. “At least there are two benefits for our side in this unhappy situation.”
For the first time Tsuboi’s expression turned puzzled. “What benefits are you speaking of, Senator?”
“One, step too far and your investments, which are mostly words on paper and computer monitors, will be erased. Two, the ugly American is no more,” Diaz said, his voice cold as an Arctic wind. “He’s been replaced by the ugly Japanese.”
25
AFTER HE LEFT Pitt at the Federal Headquarters Building, Giordino took a cab to the Department of Commerce on Constitution Avenue. Leaning on a friend, who was Assistant Secretary of Domestic and International Business, he borrowed a file on Murmoto auto import inventories. Then he taxied to Alexandria, Virginia. He stopped once to check an address in a phone book. The building he was looking for housed the distributing network of the Murmoto Motor Corporation for a five-state district. He called the number and asked the operator for directions.
It was late afternoon, and already a chilly breeze of early fall swept through the trees and began tearing away the leaves. The cab stopped at the curb in front of a modern redbrick building with large bronze glass windows. A sign with copper letters on the lawn identified it as the Murmoto Motor Distribution Corp.
Giordino paid off the cabbie and stood for a moment studying the parking lot. It was filled entirely with Murmoto cars. Not one American or European make was in sight. He walked through the double front doors and stopped before a very pretty Japanese receptionist.
“May I help you?” she asked sweetly.
“Albert Giordino, Commerce Department,” he answered. “I’d like to talk to someone regarding new car shipments.”
She thought for a moment, and then checked a book of personnel. “That would be Mr. Dennis Suhaka, our director of transportation. I’ll tell him you wish to see him, Mr. Giordano.”
“Giordino, Albert Giordino.”
“I’m sorry, thank you.”
Less than a minute later a tall, attractive secretary of Asian parentage but with a surgical job to remove the eye folds came out to the lobby and escorted Giordino to Suhaka’s office. As he walked down a long, richly carpeted hallway, Giordino was amused at the titles on the doors. No manager, no superintendents, no vice presidents, everyone was a director of something or other.
Suhaka was round and jolly. He wore a grand smile as he came from behind his desk and shook Giordino’s hand. “Dennis Suhaka, Mr. Giordino. What can I do for the Commerce Department?”
To Giordino’s relief, Suhaka didn’t question his unshaven appearance or ask him for identification. “No big deal. Typical bureaucratic paper shuffling for statistical records. My supervisor asked me to stop by on my way home and check the number of cars imported and shipped to your dealers against the figures given by your headquarters in Tokyo.”
“For what period of time? We bring in an enormous number of cars.”
“The past ninety days.”
“No problem,” said Suhaka, going out of his way to be accommodating. “Our shipment lists are all computerized, and I can have them for you in ten minutes. They should tally. Tokyo almost never makes mistakes. Would you care for a cup of coffee while you wait?”
“Yes,” said a weary Giordino. “I could use one.”
Suhaka ushered him into a small empty office, the pretty secretary brought the coffee, and while he was sipping it, she returned with a neat stack of inventory sheets.
Giordino found what Pitt had sent him to find in less than half an hour. He sat back then and dozed, killing time to make it appear he was simply a drone in the great bureaucracy doing his job.
Precisely at five o’clock Suhaka entered the room. “The staff is going home, but I’ll be working late. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No,” Giordino replied, closing the files. “I’d like to get home too. I’ve put in my seven hours. Now I’m on my time. Thank you for being so helpful. Your import unit figures will be programmed into that great government computer in the sky. For what purpose? Only some little clerk in a basement office knows for sure.” He picked up the file from the Commerce Department and was halfway through the door when he turned as if something had occurred to him, in perfect Peter Falk-Columbo fashion. “There is one thing.”
“Yes?”
“A small inconsistency hardly worth mentioning.”
“Yes?”
“I happened to run across six cars that are shown on your incoming inventory list as having been off-loaded in Baltimore from two different ships, but they’re not accounted for on the export list from your Tokyo headquarters.”
Suhaka genuinely looked to be at a loss. “It was never called to my attention. May I compare it against your figures?”
Giordino spread out the accounting sheets he’d borrowed from his friend at the Department of Commerce and placed them next to the ones given him by Suhaka’s secretary. He underlined the cars itemized on his list but missing on the one from Tokyo. All six were SP-500 sport sedans.
“Speaking officially, we’re not concerned with the discrepancy,” said Giordino indifferently. “As long as you accounted for them upon entry into the country, your company is clean with the government. I’m sure it’s only an error in your Tokyo accounting department that’s since been cleared up.”
“An unforgivable oversight on my part,” Suhaka said, as though he’d dropped the crown jewels down a sewer. “I put too much faith in the home office. Someone on my staff should have caught it.”
“Just out of curiosity, what dealers received those particular cars?”
“One moment.” Suhaka led Giordino to his office, where he sat down at his desk and poked at the keys on his desk computer. Then he sat back and waited. As the data flashed across the screen, his smile abruptly vanished and a paleness showed in his face.
“All six cars were hauled to different dealers. It would take several hours to track each down. If you’d care to check with me tomorrow, I’ll be glad to give you their names.”
Giordino turned up his palms in a lukewarm gesture. “Forget it. We both have more pressing business to worry about. Me, I’ve got to fight the rush hour traffic, get cleaned up, and take my wife out to dinner. It’s our anniversary.”
“Congratulations,” said Suhaka, relief obvious in his eyes.
“Thank you. And thanks also for your cooperation.”
Suhaka’s grand smile was back. “Always glad to help. Goodbye.”
Giordino walked four blocks to a gas station and dialed a pay phone. A male voice answered with a simple hello.
“This is your friendly Mercedes salesman. I have a model I think you’d be interested in.”
“You’re out of your district, sir. You should be selling closer to the waterfront or, better yet, out in the Pacific Ocean.”
“Big deal,” grunted Giordino. “If you can’t afford a good German car, try a Murmoto. I have a lead on six SP- Five Hundred sport sedans that are specially discounted.”
“One moment.”
