leaders of industry as well as the bureaucrats who operated the government.
As a rising political power, Genshiro Koyama had also been extremely vocal to the previous Diet, Japan's former members of parliament. As a result of the concern generated in the legislature, a small number of the senior and more courageous members of the House of Representatives, the lower house, known as Shugiin, and the House of Councillors, Japan's upper house, known as Sangiin, had attempted to soothe Koyama's temper, but to no avail. He couldn't ignore the way the American government had led them on about the possibility of Japa n b uilding a next-generation FSX jet fighter independent of the United States.
When a wave of uneasiness about giving away sensitive technology swept the U . S ., Japan had bowed to American pressure and agreed to codevelop the sophisticated warplane.
Genshiro Koyama, who at the time of the incident had been a front-running candidate for prime minister, had been one of the most staunch supporters for codeveloping the FSX. He fervently believed that Japan needed the advanced technology, no matter the cost to nationalist egos.
After successfully lobbying members of the Diet's lower house to go along with the proposal, Koyama had been deeply embarrassed when Congress pulled the rug out from under a hapless Japan.
Fearing a hostile reaction from their constituents, who were apprehensive about relinquishing the aerospace technology, Congress had initially killed the proposal.
After Genshiro Koyama had been politically humiliated, the FSX project had finally been resurrected and approved. The net result was a late start with a price almost twice the initial budgeted cost.
Ambassador Hagura studied the President's expression, then spoke in a quiet, measured voice. "We will be happy to convey your desire to the Prime Minister."
"I'll be looking forward to hearing from you." The President rose from his chair.
The surprised diplomats quickly rose to their feet. There was no doubt when a meeting with this President was . O ver.
Koji Hagura maintained his serene composure. "Thank you, Mr. President. I will be in touch with you as soon as I have an answer."
The President forced a conciliatory smile. "We appreciate your cooperation, and I assure you that we will leave no stone unturned until we find the person who attacked the cruise ship in Hawaii."
The President turned to Tidwell. "Bud, would you min d e scorting our guests out? And set a time for your staff to meet with them."
"Yes, sir," Tidwell replied and made a small gesture toward the entrance to the Oval Office. "Gentlemen."
The two men graciously bowed to the President and quietly followed the Secretary of State to the reception room.
The President reached for his fountain pen, then wrote himself a reminder to call the families of the California retirees who had been killed in the Osaka massacre.
Chapter 6.
SAN FRANCISCO
By the time United Airlines flight 187 landed at 10:37 A . M ., the damp fog that had been covering the city was beginning to dissipate. A few rays of bright sunlight filtered through the cool haze and warmed the shivering tourists at Fisherman's Wharf and Chinatown.
When the lumbering jet stopped at the boarding gate, Steve Wickham placed his magazine in the seatback pouch in front of him and turned to Callaway.
"Marcus, how about some fresh seafood and San Francisco sourdough bread?"
Callaway looked at his watch. "What time are we scheduled to leave?"
"Eleven fifty-five," Steve advised. "We've got over an hour to kill."
"You twisted my arm."
Steve rose from his seat and stepped into the aisle. He glanced at the slight Japanese passenger who had been sitting across the passageway. The man turned away from Wickham and closed his briefcase, then patiently waited for the other travelers to walk past his seat.
"The restaurant we're going to," Steve advised, "is definitely above average for an airport slop chute."
"Sounds good."
As a rising political power, Genshiro Koyama had also been extremely vocal to the previous Diet, Japan's former members of parliament. As a result of the concern generated in the legislature, a small number of the senior and more courageous members of the House of Representatives, the lower house, known as Shugiin, and the House of Councillors, Japan's upper house, known as Sangiin, had attempted to soothe Koyama's temper, but to no avail. He couldn't ignore the way the American government had led them on about the possibility of Japa n b uilding a next-generation FSX jet fighter independent of the United States.
When a wave of uneasiness about giving away sensitive technology swept the U . S ., Japan had bowed to American pressure and agreed to codevelop the sophisticated warplane.
Genshiro Koyama, who at the time of the incident had been a front-running candidate for prime minister, had been one of the most staunch supporters for codeveloping the FSX. He fervently believed that Japan needed the advanced technology, no matter the cost to nationalist egos.
After successfully lobbying members of the Diet's lower house to go along with the proposal, Koyama had been deeply embarrassed when Congress pulled the rug out from under a hapless Japan.
Fearing a hostile reaction from their constituents, who were apprehensive about relinquishing the aerospace technology, Congress had initially killed the proposal.
After Genshiro Koyama had been politically humiliated, the FSX project had finally been resurrected and approved. The net result was a late start with a price almost twice the initial budgeted cost.
Ambassador Hagura studied the President's expression, then spoke in a quiet, measured voice. "We will be happy to convey your desire to the Prime Minister."
"I'll be looking forward to hearing from you." The President rose from his chair.
The surprised diplomats quickly rose to their feet. There was no doubt when a meeting with this President was . O ver.
Koji Hagura maintained his serene composure. "Thank you, Mr. President. I will be in touch with you as soon as I have an answer."
The President forced a conciliatory smile. "We appreciate your cooperation, and I assure you that we will leave no stone unturned until we find the person who attacked the cruise ship in Hawaii."
The President turned to Tidwell. "Bud, would you min d e scorting our guests out? And set a time for your staff to meet with them."
"Yes, sir," Tidwell replied and made a small gesture toward the entrance to the Oval Office. "Gentlemen."
The two men graciously bowed to the President and quietly followed the Secretary of State to the reception room.
The President reached for his fountain pen, then wrote himself a reminder to call the families of the California retirees who had been killed in the Osaka massacre.
Chapter 6.
SAN FRANCISCO
By the time United Airlines flight 187 landed at 10:37 A . M ., the damp fog that had been covering the city was beginning to dissipate. A few rays of bright sunlight filtered through the cool haze and warmed the shivering tourists at Fisherman's Wharf and Chinatown.
When the lumbering jet stopped at the boarding gate, Steve Wickham placed his magazine in the seatback pouch in front of him and turned to Callaway.
"Marcus, how about some fresh seafood and San Francisco sourdough bread?"
Callaway looked at his watch. "What time are we scheduled to leave?"
"Eleven fifty-five," Steve advised. "We've got over an hour to kill."
"You twisted my arm."
Steve rose from his seat and stepped into the aisle. He glanced at the slight Japanese passenger who had been sitting across the passageway. The man turned away from Wickham and closed his briefcase, then patiently waited for the other travelers to walk past his seat.
"The restaurant we're going to," Steve advised, "is definitely above average for an airport slop chute."
"Sounds good."
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