Honorable Enemies (1994) (3 page)

When the stock market dropped over 27 percent, Matsukawa and members of the other cartels encouraged the Japanese parliamentary panel to create a securities watchdog to monitor the Nikkei. While they waited for the panel to act on the perplexing securities problem, Japanese economists nicknamed the downturn baburu no hokai, or explosion of the bubble.

Fifteen months later, Matsukawa barely avoided a major scandal when two bank officials who had approved loans for him were found to be involved in fraudulent transactions with the billionaire.

Matsukawa calmly lied about his involvement with the bankers while he diverted large sums of money from their banks to a banking company where the chief executive officer was on the industrialist's payroll.

Matsukawa also experienced significant losses from speculative art, real estate holdings in California, and from his investments in the automobile industry. He was astounded when the
U
. S
. Commerce Department ruled that Mazda and Toyota were illegally dumping minivans on the American market.

To Tadashi Matsukawa, dumping was merely good business that happened to be underwritten by the Japanese government. Matsukawa would flood a U
. S
. market with a quality product at a price below his competition's cost, wait for the various competitors to give up and go out of business, then raise the prices when he dominated the industry.

The business practice of dumping had worked fine until the Americans began to retaliate. People who knew the feisty Japanese businessman had learned not to mention the United States and automobiles in the same sentence.

His biggest single setback, which continued to consume him with rage, was the loss of $114 million in a patent dispute involving a video system for aircraft simulators. A federal jury in San Francisco ruled that one of his companies had intentionally infringed a patent held by an American inventor. Reluctantly, Matsukawa settled out of court to keep from tarnishing his corporate image, but the personal humiliation was indelibly imprinted in his mind.

Matsukawa was a volatile man with very little patience for people who didn't serve a useful purpose in his world. It was, however, painfully evident to anyone who knew him well that Matsukawa's character was, in one respect, fatally flawed. Unfortunately, Tadashi Matsukawa was born without a shred of conscience.

Although he was blessed with exceptional intelligence and unrivaled ingenuity, Matsukawa often fell victim to finding plausible reasons to circumvent his own logic. With a natural inclination to resist structure, he often let the explosive combination of superior intelligence and boredom lead him into bizarre schemes.

These traits became clearly apparent when the Liberal Democratic Party began to disintegrate. The violent conflict pitted the caretakers from the old guard against the ambitious young progressives. Matsukawa immediately saw a tremendous opportunity to take advantage of the turbulent process of politica
l r
ealignment. He smiled inwardly while turmoil swept through Japan's politics, knowing that the real power was still in the hands of the bureaucrats. The political chaos was a clever subterfuge to evade more pressure from the Americans.

The election upheaval, which was touted as the first step in a long campaign to reform the political process, was really a convenient smoke screen to alter Japan's course in history. Matsukawa, who laughed at the world for buying Japan's "stale-sake-in-new-bottles scheme," had his own grand design to help guide his country into a stronger and more competitive position.

His quiet solitude was interrupted when the English housekeeper stepped out to the pool deck. The middle-aged woman politely bowed before speaking. "Mr. Matsukawa, Senator Brazzell has arrived."

Matsukawa gave her a slow glance. "Tell him I'll be there in a few minutes," he said with a deep voice that cut through the cool air, "and fix him a double scotch on the rocks."

Senator Frank Brazzell, who had arranged for Matsukawa to buy a large share of a major U
. S
. investment firm, was the Chairman of the House Armed Services Committee. He was also the recipient of large under-the-table "contributions" from Matsukawa.

The unsmiling woman acknowledged the order and returned to the stately ranch home.

"Those lackeys in Congress will do anything for money," Matsukawa muttered to himself. He relaxed while he spent a few more minutes soaking in the warm water. The idea of keeping a U
. S
. Congressman waiting appealed to him.

Matsukawa and a number of other chief executive officers of Japanese mega-corporations had a great deal of influence over many Congressmen, including members of the House Science and Technology Committee, the House Appropriations Committee, and the Committee on Foreign Investment. The aggressive business leaders also had the Secretary of Commerce in their pocket and paid huge sums of money to former U
. S
. government officials to act as lobbyists for Japan.

Like Tadashi Matsukawa, most Japanese CEOs made sizable donations to many American colleges and universities. The ongoing endowments allowed the Japanese executives the privilege of arranging for the children or grandchildren of certain U
. S
. legislators to be accepted by the most prestigious universities in America, regardless of their academic qualifications.

The astute business leaders not only paid for the children's educations, they made sure the youngsters were offered well-paying jobs when they graduated. Most of the offers came from former American companies that were now owned by the large Japanese conglomerates.

If a legislator happened to chair an important committee, like the House Ways and Means or the Committee on Armed Services, Matsukawa quietly guaranteed the Honorable public servant's financial future in return for special consideration for his projects. The cozy arrangement, which provided a win for both parties, made perfect sense to the Japanese executive and the American politicians.

Matsukawa's worst fear was that some morning the American people would wake up and realize that the Japanese, in collusion with many of the elected officials on Capitol Hill, had economically raped their country.

Matsukawa believed that it was time to confront the arrogant Americans before the mood in the United States became both tougher and openly hostile. He viewed America as a debt-ridden nation in decline, plagued with crime and drugs and riddled with undisciplined minorities and a never-ending wave of undesirable immigrants.

He also bought protection from organized labor, and, through a distant third party, paid large sums to Japanese terrorist groups to stage anti-American attacks on U
. S
. facilities and citizens. Like the mythical Greek soldier who threw a stone in the midst of rival armies to get them to fight each other, Matsukawa relished fomenting trouble between Japan and the U
. S
.

In addition to his vast holdings and international influence in the business world, Tadashi Matsukawa was most pleased tha
t h
e had access to the innermost chambers of the Central Intelligence Agency. His mole was a highly respected senior administrator in the Agency, but the American was afflicted with the common weakness of man--greed.

The career spook desperately wanted to retire and enjoy the largesse Matsukawa had provided, but the Japanese businessman kept upping the ante and the pressure. Now the billionaire wanted every thread of evidence the CIA gathered in connection with the assault on the cruise ship at Pearl Harbor. The worst fears of the lifelong bureaucrat were beginning to come true; he would never be able to retire while the ruthless Japanese executive held his future just out of grasp.

Rising from the water, Matsukawa paused to look at the pristine meadow at the base of the heavily wooded mountains. He watched a deer stop and cautiously drink from the stream running through the meadow. He glanced at his watch lying on the wooden bench, then sloshed out of the Jacuzzi and reached for a towel. The time had arrived to shove the good Senator's feet to the fire.

Chapter
3.

PIMMIT HILLS, VIRGINIA

Stephen Wickham sprinted the last seventy-five yards of his nightly four-mile run. Finally, with his lungs heaving for air, the former college track and field star slowed to a trot, then to an easy walk, and looked up at the star-studded sky.

The night was so flooded with moonlight that the attractive homes in the quiet subdivision looked like props from an old movie; the ones that had been filmed during the day, then filtered to look like it was dark. The shadows always stood out like neon signs blinking in the night.

The sweltering heat of the late afternoon had rapidly dissipated, and a slight breeze stirred the trees when the former Marine Corps captain reached his driveway.

A graduate of North Carolina State University, Steve Wickham had attended the Marine officer candidate school at Quantico, Virginia.

Commissioned a second lieutenant in the Reserve of the United States Marine Corps, Wickham completed the basic school, then reported to Camp Pendleton Marine Corps Base, near San Clemente, California.

During his tours of duty in Southern California, Okinawa, and Iwakuni, Japan, he constantly studied foreign language
s a
nd became fluent in German and French. Like his father, who had served with distinction in the wartime Office of Strategic Services (OSS) and then later with the CIA, Steve wanted a career in the national intelligence organization.

Shortly after he left Japan and reported to Camp Lejeune, he distinguished himself as a combat leader and became a highly decorated veteran of the Grenada invasion.

With a chestful of ribbons and a personnel jacket full of excellent fitness reports, Steve vacillated about leaving the Marine Corps. Sure, he told himself over and over, staying in the service offered a certain amount of security, but he knew that he would always wonder if he could have been a good intelligence agent. Besides, long-range security had always taken a backseat to Steve's desire for adventure.

Wickham made his decision after talking with two senior officers who had elected to make their careers in the Corps. Quite simply, they had explained over beers at the Lejeune 0 Club, they stayed in the service because they had families to support and the civilian job market was too uncertain.

After seeing the longing in their eyes, Steve knew what he had to do; what he was able and suited to do. Although he thoroughly enjoyed the Marines, he had always dreamed of a career in the CIA.

He was a bachelor who banked most of his paychecks in long-term savings, so in his mind he had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Less than three months later, attired in a freshly pressed conservative gray suit and perfectly shined black shoes, he reported for work at Langley, Virginia.

Over a decade later, Steve Wickham was still handsome, with shallow furrows in his brow, sea-green eyes that exuded charm, and a square jaw which showcased his even teeth. At six feet one inch, trim and dark-haired, the senior operations officer for the Central Intelligence Agency looked younger than his age.

He was well liked and had established a solid reputation for successfully completing the most complex and hazardous assignments. Some members of the White House staff, along with a number of his associates, considered Steve a hero.

Wickham had recently returned from an extended period of service with the world-renowned British Secret Intelligence Service, known by the World War II designation of MI-6. The coveted assignment was reserved for the rising stars in the intelligence community.

During his fourteen-month stay in England, Steve enjoyed the opportunity to step away from the operations aspect of his profession. The Director of the SIS, an anonymous figure known as "C" in British governmental circles, had personally approved Wickham's request to work in the intelligence sector.

After years of being involved in various clandestine operations, Steve finally got the chance to hone his skills in gathering global intelligence and producing finished reports for his superiors.

Now that he was back at Langley, and still attached to the operations directorate, Steve was contributing to the definitive reports known in the Agency as National Intelligence Estimates.

The NIEs were closely reviewed by the Agency's Intelligence Board and then presented to the President of the United States. They represented the culmination of the CIA's work in tracking and forecasting world events.

When Steve reached his front porch, he grabbed the clean towel he had thrown across the railing and wiped the perspiration off his face. He entered his spotless home and went straight to the refrigerator for a cold beer.

After he popped the top off a chilled bottle of Miller Lite, he took a long drink and checked his answering machine. The blinking green light beckoned him to push the playback button.

Simultaneously, Steve clicked on the television and stabbed the play message button. He absently listened to a message from his former wife while he tuned the television. Steve stared at the screen while he listened to a second call, a short message from the Director of the CIA.

Mesmerized by the video he was seeing, Steve ignored the call from the ranking man in the Agency as he watched the riveting drama unfold on the screen. The amateur video, which was being replayed in slow motion, had recorded a scene of devastation that shocked Wickham.