wedges and heavy muscle. The one on the left was in a brown herringbone, and had gone to the same tailor. Odd Job and his clone. Jillian Becker sat primly on the edge of a white silk chair, framed neatly in a full wall of glass that looked north. She looked nice. Yuppie, but nice.
“Where’s Bush?” I said. “Couldn’t he make it?”
Bradley Warren said, “You’re late. We’ve had to wait.” Mr. Personality.
“Why don’t we cancel this meeting and schedule another to begin in ten minutes? Then I can be early.”
Bradley Warren said, “I’m not paying you for jokes.”
“I throw those in for free.”
Today Jillian Becker was wearing a burgundy skirt and jacket with a white shirt and very sheer burgundy hose with tiny leaf designs and broken-leather burgundy pumps. With her legs crossed, her top knee gleamed. I gave her a beaming smile, but she didn’t smile back. Maybe I’d go easy on the jokes for a while.
Bradley Warren slid off his desk and said something in Japanese to the men on the couch. His speech was fluid and natural, as if he had spoken the language as a child. The older man in the center said something back to him, also in Japanese, and everybody laughed. Especially Jillian Becker. Bradley said, “These men are members of the Tashiro family, who own the Hagakure. They’re here to make sure every best effort is made to recover the manuscript.” The guy in the brown herringbone spoke softly in Japanese, translating.
“All right.”
Bradley Warren said, “Have you found it yet?” I had expected him to ask about the threat against his wife first, but there you go.
“No.” More mumbling from the guy in the brown herringbone.
“Are you close?”
“Hot on its trail.”
The guy in the brown herringbone frowned, and translated, and the old guys on the couch frowned, too. Bradley saw all the frowning going on and joined in. So that was where he got it. He said, “I’m disappointed. I expected more.”
“It’s been two days, Bradley. In those two days I have begun identifying people who deal in or collect feudal Japanese artwork. I will do more of that. Eventually, one of the people I contact will know something about the Hagakure, or about someone who does. That’s the way it’s done. Stealing something like this is like stealing the
Mona Lisa
. There’s only a half dozen people on earth who would do it or be involved in it, and once you know who they are it’s only a matter of time. Collectors make no secret about what they want, and once they have it they like to brag.”
Bradley gave the Japanese men a superior look and said,
“Harumph.”
The Japanese man sitting in the center of the couch nodded thoughtfully and said, “I think that he has made a reasonable beginning.”
Bradley said, “Huh?”
The Japanese man said, “Has there been a ransom demand?” He was the oldest of the three seated men, but his eyes were clear and steady and stayed with you. His English was heavily accented.
I shook my head. “None that I’m aware of.”
Bradley looked from the old man to me and back to the old man. “What’s this about a ransom?”
The old man kept his eyes on me. “If a ransom is demanded, we will pay it.”
“Okay.”
“If you must pay for information, price is of no concern.”
“Okay.”
The old man looked at Bradley. “Is this clear?”
Bradley said, “Yes, sir.”
The old man stood, and the large men quickly moved to his side in case he needed their help. He didn’t. He stared at me for a very long time, and then he said, “You must understand this: The Hagakure is Japan. It is the heart and the spirit of the people. It defines how we act and what we believe and what is right and what is wrong and how we live and how we die. It is who we are. If you feel these things, you would know why this book must be found.”
He meant it. He meant it all the way down deep where it is very important to mean what you say. “I’ll do what I can.”
The old
“Where’s Bush?” I said. “Couldn’t he make it?”
Bradley Warren said, “You’re late. We’ve had to wait.” Mr. Personality.
“Why don’t we cancel this meeting and schedule another to begin in ten minutes? Then I can be early.”
Bradley Warren said, “I’m not paying you for jokes.”
“I throw those in for free.”
Today Jillian Becker was wearing a burgundy skirt and jacket with a white shirt and very sheer burgundy hose with tiny leaf designs and broken-leather burgundy pumps. With her legs crossed, her top knee gleamed. I gave her a beaming smile, but she didn’t smile back. Maybe I’d go easy on the jokes for a while.
Bradley Warren slid off his desk and said something in Japanese to the men on the couch. His speech was fluid and natural, as if he had spoken the language as a child. The older man in the center said something back to him, also in Japanese, and everybody laughed. Especially Jillian Becker. Bradley said, “These men are members of the Tashiro family, who own the Hagakure. They’re here to make sure every best effort is made to recover the manuscript.” The guy in the brown herringbone spoke softly in Japanese, translating.
“All right.”
Bradley Warren said, “Have you found it yet?” I had expected him to ask about the threat against his wife first, but there you go.
“No.” More mumbling from the guy in the brown herringbone.
“Are you close?”
“Hot on its trail.”
The guy in the brown herringbone frowned, and translated, and the old guys on the couch frowned, too. Bradley saw all the frowning going on and joined in. So that was where he got it. He said, “I’m disappointed. I expected more.”
“It’s been two days, Bradley. In those two days I have begun identifying people who deal in or collect feudal Japanese artwork. I will do more of that. Eventually, one of the people I contact will know something about the Hagakure, or about someone who does. That’s the way it’s done. Stealing something like this is like stealing the
Mona Lisa
. There’s only a half dozen people on earth who would do it or be involved in it, and once you know who they are it’s only a matter of time. Collectors make no secret about what they want, and once they have it they like to brag.”
Bradley gave the Japanese men a superior look and said,
“Harumph.”
The Japanese man sitting in the center of the couch nodded thoughtfully and said, “I think that he has made a reasonable beginning.”
Bradley said, “Huh?”
The Japanese man said, “Has there been a ransom demand?” He was the oldest of the three seated men, but his eyes were clear and steady and stayed with you. His English was heavily accented.
I shook my head. “None that I’m aware of.”
Bradley looked from the old man to me and back to the old man. “What’s this about a ransom?”
The old man kept his eyes on me. “If a ransom is demanded, we will pay it.”
“Okay.”
“If you must pay for information, price is of no concern.”
“Okay.”
The old man looked at Bradley. “Is this clear?”
Bradley said, “Yes, sir.”
The old man stood, and the large men quickly moved to his side in case he needed their help. He didn’t. He stared at me for a very long time, and then he said, “You must understand this: The Hagakure is Japan. It is the heart and the spirit of the people. It defines how we act and what we believe and what is right and what is wrong and how we live and how we die. It is who we are. If you feel these things, you would know why this book must be found.”
He meant it. He meant it all the way down deep where it is very important to mean what you say. “I’ll do what I can.”
The old
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