"My friend, if Jiro Sato breaks rank and moves on us, we're going to need twenty of these. And more."
"A KGB security squad was posted at the hotel, around ten o'clock this morning, Sato-sama. They are armed."
"Saaa," he hissed an exhale of displeasure and leaned forward, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. One of the black-suited kobun immediately stepped up and flicked a lighter. He inhaled, then leaned back. "I'd hoped this could be handled without any fuss. But we still must proceed."
"Your decisions are always correct, Sato-sama." The second kobun bowed. "But perhaps it might be wise to discuss the possibility of waiting for the backup team from Tokyo, if only to convince ourselves they are not needed."
"This office lost much face because of our problems in Greece. There's only one way to regain it. We have to act now."
Worst of all, I've lost face too, Jiro Sato reminded himself, among my own kobun. An oyabun has to lead. The minute he shows weakness, he's through. Buddha only knows what would happen if I lost control here. There's no turning back. An example has to be made of the American meddlers, if only to make Nogami-san understand the organization still means business.
The Tokyo oyabun's daring project is going to succeed. In the long run it's inevitable. The problems now are short-term. But if anything else goes wrong with this office's responsibilities . . .
The kobun, five in all, bowed respectfully. They understood his thoughts as clearly as if they had been projected in neon across the back wall. The office had already lost three men. Face was at stake. This problem could not be solved from Tokyo. It was time to draw together.