That depressing conclusion required the space of one Scotch. By then I was ready to order a second, hoping it would bring forth a solution to the problem the first had evoked with such alarming clarity.
But there wasn't time. At that moment we heard the MITI copter settling onto the pad next to the hotel parking lot.
"Ken, here's to success." I saluted him with the last melting ice cubes.
He toasted back, then signaled for the bill. Time to get moving.
The chopper was a new Aerospatiale AS 365N Twin Dauphin, big and white, a VIP four-seater. Single pilot, capable of 180. (The Japanese love those high-rotor French copters.) Guess Ken had called in a lot of chips to arrange this customized three-wheeler for a couple of gaijin. The seat-mile costs alone must have been staggering. But there it was, fully serviced and set to go.
He walked over, ducking the rotor, and advised the pilot that there had been a slight change of plans. They'd be returning directly back to Tokyo. The man, wearing a blue uniform, bowed and gave him a little salute. They seemed to be old friends. Well, I thought, if deputy ministers don't use this gold-plated extravagance, then who's it for?
Then he returned to pick up his briefcase (Noda's silver box safely therein), have a brief farewell, and give us his keys.
"Tamara, telex me the minute you get back. We'll proceed immediately. Full speed."
"Let's go for it." She smiled and drew his face down for a long, languorous kiss. I then shook his hand, and we headed for the car. Since our bags were just little carry-ons, we looked solid to catch the United flight with a couple of hours to spare, assuming traffic cooperated.
"Tam, how about taking the wheel? This left-hand-side-of- the-road driving takes practice. I almost hit somebody once in England."