CHAPTER 66
The senator, according to the paper, was part of a goodwill trade delegation involving representatives from states most likely to benefit from a deal lowering tariffs on imported fish from the Pacific Northwest and non-genetically modified grain from Illinois. He was due to give a press conference following a series of meetings at the Keio Plaza Hotel in Shinjuku. If he was quick, Thomas thought, he could catch the end of it.
“That’s a coincidence,” said Jim.
“Maybe,” said Thomas.
They looked at each other for a moment, like poker players watching for signs of a bluff.
“You don’t completely trust me, do you?” Jim said.
“Not completely, no.”
“So why are you taking me with you?”
Thomas laughed, a short, mirthless bark, and said, “Call it a leap of faith.” They didn’t speak again till they reached the hotel.
“The average U.S. tariff on imported soybeans, corn, and wheat is twelve percent,” said Devlin, stretching his large frame in a barrel-backed chair of the hotel bar. “You know what the Japanese equivalent is?”
Thomas shook his head.
“Fifty percent,” said Devlin. “And that’s just the standard tax. There are seventy-two so-called ‘megatariffs’ of one hundred percent or more on foreign imports. Can you believe that? Rice imports are kept to seven hundred seventy thousand tons, which is less than ten percent of the country’s needs. We talk about free market, but this is a joke, or it would be if it weren’t criminally protective of their own crippled agricultural system. Anyway, that’s why I’m here.”
“Just that?” said Thomas, watching Hayes, who was, as ever, ghosting the senator, absorbing his every word, his face blank.
“Just that,” said Devlin. “And I hoped, after your last message, that I would run into you,” he added as a concession, smiling quickly so that his bright, chisel-like teeth flashed in his square jaw.
“You knew I was coming to Japan?”
“I knew Father Ed had been here and that you were following him,” said Devlin.
“What else do you know, Senator?” said Thomas.
Jim shifted in his seat.
Devlin looked around the bar, deciding what to say, and then he leaned forward.
“Details are sketchy,” he said, “but your brother died during a counterterrorist operation. That is why no one is talking. A number of hard-line militant Islamic separatist groups are based in the Philippines and in the surrounding area. One of them seems to have been the target. Now, what I can’t find out is whether the DHS thinks Father Ed was involved with them somehow or whether he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and got caught in the crossfire. Either way they would see the situation as delicate. If he was a homegrown terrorist, they’ll want to find out all they can about him before they go public.”
“And if he wasn’t?” said Thomas.
“Then they screwed up,” said Devlin. “They killed not only a civilian, but an American and a priest. Imagine how that would play, for God’s sake.”
“Bad press?” scoffed Thomas. “That’s what they’re worried about?”
“It’s what everyone in Washington worries about,” said Devlin with a bitter laugh.
“And just how hard would they work to keep it quiet?”
“If you mean would they attempt to take you out to keep the story under wraps,” said Devlin, “forget it. No way. This is America we’re talking about.”
Thomas looked down and said nothing.
Thomas sank his hands into his jacket pockets as they walked toward the railway station with their meager luggage.
“So?” said Jim. “What did you make of that?”
“Not sure,” said Thomas. “You?”
“Politicians!” Jim shrugged. “Who the hell knows what they really think about anything?”
“You thought he was lying?”
“I thought he was holding something back,” said Jim.
Thomas nodded, then stopped.
“What?” said Jim.
Thomas looked confused. He had drawn a square of paper no larger than a stamp out of his pocket, catching himself as he was about to throw it away. Now he was staring at it.
“He slipped you a message?” said Jim, incredulous.
“Not him,” said Thomas, almost as disbelieving. “Kumi.”