Run that whopper by Jack's subcommittee, Noda-san.
There was more. Seems the body of an unidentified male—young, Caucasian, and badly burned—had been recovered by firemen on the eleventh floor of DNI's offices. Noda had no idea who this person was, perhaps a misfortunate prowler. . . .
"Matt, look!" She was pointing at a paragraph on the lower half of the page.
There'd been a second casualty, although not as serious. The well-known Japanese financial commentator Akira Mori had been borne, unconscious, from the premises. Acute smoke inhalation. As of press time she was in intensive care at Mt. Sinai Hospital.
"We saw her come out of the office. It was pretty smoky by then, but how could . . . ?"
The answer followed. Firemen reportedly had discovered her in the computer room near the mainframe's burned-out storage banks. Speculation was she had been attempting to save the hard disks, the vital DNI files.
"Mori wasn't trying to save anything." Tam tossed down the paper. "She wanted to make sure all the disks were destroyed.
To protect the Emperor from a scandal over Noda's sword hoax."
"Another victim for the Imperial sword." I looked up at the starry sky, a mosaic of silver and black as the Milky Way floated above us. The night air was symphonic with the sound of crickets. "How many more?"
Then she retrieved the Post and we finished the item. After Noda's prepared statement there'd been a Q&A—during which he reaffirmed his intention to use all available means to block Senator O'Donnell's subpoena of DNI's remaining records, an action he declared confiscatory and groundless. Privileged information, etc.