Terminal Compromise Part 22

It was decorated in spartan fas.h.i.+on with cherry wood walls.

Artwork, statues, figurines, all j.a.panese in style, sat wherever there was an open surface. A few gilt shelves and marble display tables were randomly scattered around the room. Not chaoticly; just the opposite. The scattering was exquisitely planned.

There was a dining alcove, privatized by lavish rice paper panels for eating in suhutahksi. Eating on the floor was an honored ritual. There was a small pit under the table for curl- ing one's legs on the floor.

A conference table with 12 elegant wooden chairs sat at the opposite end of the cavernous office. In the center of the room, at the corner of the building, was h.o.m.osoto's desk, or work surface if you prefer. It was large enough for four, yet h.o.m.oso- to, as he stood to greet Foster, appeared to dwarf his environ- ment and desk. Not in size, but in confidence. His personage was in total command. The desk and its equipment were on a plat- form some 6" above the rest of the room. The intended effect was not lost on Foster.

The sides of the glossy cherrywood desk were slightly elevated to make room for a range of video monitors, communications facili- ties, and computers which accessed h.o.m.osoto's empire. A vast telephone console provided tele-conferencing to OSO offices worldwide. Dow Jones, CNN, Nippon TV were constantly displayed, visible only to h.o.m.osoto. This was h.o.m.osoto's Command Central as he liked to call it.

Foster gawked at the magnificent surroundings as he stood in front of his a.s.signed seat. A comfortable, plush, black leather chair. It was one of several arranged in a sunken conversation pit.

h.o.m.osoto acknowledged Foster's presence with the briefest of nods as he stepped down off of his aerie. h.o.m.osoto wore expensive clothes. A dark brown suit, matching solid tie and the omnipres- ent solid white starched s.h.i.+rt. It didn't fit, like most j.a.pa- nese business uniforms.

He was short, no more than five foot six, Miles noticed, after h.o.m.osoto got down to the same level as the rest of the room. On the heavy side, he walked slowly and deliberately. Eyes forward after the obligatory nod. His large head was spa.r.s.ely covered with little wisps of hair in nature's futile attempt to clothe the top of his freckled skull. Even at 59 h.o.m.osoto's hair was still pitch black. Miles wasn't sure if Grecian Formula was available in j.a.pan. The short crop accentuated the p.r.o.nounced ears.

A rounded face was peppered with spots, dark freckles perhaps, or maybe carcinoma. His deep set black eyes stared through the object of his attention. h.o.m.osoto was not the friendly type, thought Miles.

h.o.m.osoto stood in front of Miles, extended his hand and bowed the most perfunctory of bows. Miles took his hand, expecting a strong grip. Instead he was greeted with a wet fish handshake which wriggled quickly from his grasp. h.o.m.osoto didn't give the slightest indication of a smile. The crow's feet around his eyes were caused by pudginess, not happiness. When he sat opposite Foster in a matching chair, he began without any pleasantries.

"I hear you are the best." h.o.m.osoto stared at Foster. It was a statement that required a response.

Foster s.h.i.+fted his weight a little in the chair. What a way to start. This guy must think he's hot s.h.i.+t. Well, maybe he is.

First cla.s.s, all expense paid trip to Tokyo, plus consultation fees. In advance. Just for one conversation, he was told, we just want some advice. Then, last night, and the night before, he was honored with sampling the finest Oriental women. His hot b.u.t.ton. All expenses paid, of course. Miles knew he was being b.u.t.tered up, for what he didn't know, but he took advantage of it all.

"That's what's your people tell you."

Foster took the challenge and glared, albeit with a smirk dimpled smile, politely, right back at h.o.m.osoto. h.o.m.osoto continued his stare. He didn't relax his intensity.

"Mr. Foster," h.o.m.osoto continued, his face still emotionless.

"Are you as good as they say?" he demanded.

Miles Foster defiantly spat out the one word response. "Better."

h.o.m.osoto's eyes squinted. "Mr. Foster, if that is true, we can do business. But first, I must be convinced. I can a.s.sure you we know quite a bit about you already, otherwise you wouldn't be here." Miles noticed that h.o.m.osoto spoke excellent English, clipped in style, but Americanized. He occasionally stretched his vowels, to the brink of a drawl.

"Yeah, so what do you know. Pulled up a few data bases? Big Deal." Miles c.o.c.ked his head at h.o.m.osoto's desk. "I would a.s.sume that with that equipment, you can probably get whatever you want."

h.o.m.osoto let a s.h.i.+mmer of a smile appear at the corners off his mouth. "You are most perceptive, Mr. Foster." h.o.m.osoto paused and leaned back in the well stuffed chair. "Mr. Foster, tell me about your family."

Miles neck reddened. "Listen! You called me, I didn't call you.

All I ever knew about OSO was that you made ghetto blasters, TV's and vibrators. So therefore, you wanted me, not my family. If you had wanted them you would have called them." Miles said loudly. "So, keep my family the f.u.c.k out of it."

"I do not mean to offend," h.o.m.osoto said offensively. "I just am most curious why you didn't go to work for your family. They have money, power. You would have been a very important man, and a very rich one." h.o.m.osoto said matter of factly. "So, the prudent man must wonder why you went to work for your Government?

Aren't your family and your government, how shall I say, on opposite sides?"

"My family's got nothing to do with this or you. Clear?" Miles was adamant. "But, out of courtesy for getting me laid last night, I might as well tell you. I went to the feds cause they have the best computers, the biggest equipment and the most interesting work. Not much money, but I have a backup when I need it. If I went to work for my family, as you put it, I would have been a glorified beancounter. And that's not what I do. It would have been no challenge. Boring, boring, boring!" Miles smiled sarcastically at h.o.m.osoto. "Happy now?"

h.o.m.osoto didn't flinch. "Does that mean you do not disapprove of your family's activities? How they make money?"

"I don't give a f.u.c.k!" Miles yelled. "How does that grab you? I don't give a flying f.u.c.k. They were real good to me, paid a lot of my way. I love my mother and she's not a hit man. My uncle does I don't know what or care. They're family, that's it. How much clearer do you want it?" Miles continued shouting.

h.o.m.osoto grinned and held up his hands. "My apologies Mr. Foster.

I mean no disrespect. I just like to know who works for me."

"Hey, I don't work for you yet."

"Of course, a simple slip of the tongue."

"Right." Miles snapped sarcastically.

h.o.m.osoto ignored this last comment. The insincere smile left his face, replaced with a more serious countenance. "Why did you leave your post with the National Security Agency, Mr. Foster?"

Another inquisition, thought Miles. What a crock. Make it good for the gook.

"'Cause I was working for a bunch of bungling idiots who insured their longevity by creating an invincible bureaucracy." Miles decided that a calm beginning might be more appropriate. "They had no real idea of what was going on. Their heads were so far up their a.s.s they had a tan line across their chests. Whenever we had a good idea, it was either too novel, too expensive or needed additional study. Or, it was relegated to a committee that might react in 2 years. What a pile of bulls.h.i.+t, a waste of time. We could have achieved a lot more without all the inter- ference."

"Mr. Foster, you say, 'we'. Who is 'we'?" h.o.m.osoto pointedly asked Miles.

"The a.n.a.lysts, the people who did the real work. There were hundreds of us on the front lines. The guys who sweated weekends and nights to make our country safe from the Communists. The managers just never got with the program."

"Mr. Foster, how many of the other a.n.a.lysts, in your opinion, are good?"

Miles stepped back in his mind to think about this. "Oh, I guess I knew a half dozen guys, and one girl, who were pretty good.

She was probably the best, other than me," he bragged. "Some chicken."

"Excuse me? Chicken?"

"Oh, sorry." Miles looked up in thought. "Ah, chicks, fox, look- er, sweet meat, gash, you know?"

"Do you mean she's very pretty?"

Miles suppressed an audible chuckle. "Yeah, that's right. Real pretty, but real smart, too. Odd combination, isn't it?" he smiled a wicked smile.

h.o.m.osoto ignored the crudeness. "What are your politics, Mr.

Foster?"

"Huh? My politics? What the h.e.l.l has that got to do with any- thing?" Miles demanded.

"Just answer the question, please, Mr. Foster?" h.o.m.osoto quietly ordered.

Miles was getting incensed. "Republican, Democrat? What do you mean? I vote who the f.u.c.k I want to vote for. Other than that, I don't play."

"Don't play?" h.o.m.osoto briefly pondered the idiom. "Ah, so.

Don't play. Don't get involved. Is that so?"

"Right. They're all f.u.c.ked. I vote for the stupidest a.s.sholes running for office. Any office. With any luck he'll win and really screw things up." h.o.m.osoto hit one of Miles hot b.u.t.tons.

Politics. He listened attentively to Miles as he carried on.

"That's about the only way to fix anything. First f.u.c.k it up.

Real bad. Create a crisis. Since the Government ignores whoever or whatever isn't squeaking that's the only way to get any atten- tion. Make noise. Once you create a crisis, Jeez, just look at Granada and Panama and Iraq to justify Star Wars, you get a lot of people on for the ride. Just look at the national energy debate. Great idea, 30 years and $5 trillion late. Then, 'ooooh!', they say. 'We got a big problem. We better fix it.'