"Well, you've learned enough about this country to be able to get your message across without actually spelling it out. Very Japanese." He stared at me. "You'll have to concede one thing, though. Matsuo Noda is an absolute genius. Think about it. He claimed to have analyzed the sword, then donated the data to the Imperial Household—knowing there would be only one place on earth where it could be right out in public and yet never actually examined. In a fancy silver case kept by a bunch of Household bureaucrats, not one of whom would have the presumption to open it. Or be able to understand anything if he did."
My own nagging thoughts at that moment were on a different track. Why had Noda offered to let me see my own piece? To flaunt the dimensions of his balls? Or was he starting to believe his own trumped-up fantasy? Had Matsuo Noda convinced himself he was God? That he could turn water into wine? Or a fifteenth-century metallurgical screw-up into . . . The more I thought about it, the scarier it got. Or maybe, just maybe, he thought I wouldn't recognize it with a different hilt. Could be he was right. But Ken and I had accidentally viewed it disassembled. That wasn't part of his little inside joke. For once Matsuo Noda had blown it.
"Ken, everything I've learned about Noda so far tells me he's going to do something totally unexpected the minute he realizes we took that."
"Let him. I want to know what's in it."
"Do the world a favor. No. Never, never open it."
He paused a second and looked down at his briefcase.
"Maybe you're right. It's better for everybody if it just disappears."
By then we'd fully cleared the outer doors. The day was turning gorgeous, sunny and brisk. The thin film of last night's snow was all but gone.
Abruptly he stopped. "Wait, Matthew. Think a minute. We have to at least make a copy of the contents. And it needs to be gotten out of Japan."
"To protect ourselves?"