“Is JPL concerned about it?”

“Sure,” she said. “Everybody knows the best way to transfer technology is inside somebody’s head. But what can you do?” She shrugged. “Researchers want to do research. And America doesn’t do so much R and D any more. Budgets are tighter. So it’s better to work for the Japanese. They pay well, and they genuinely respect research. If you need a piece of equipment, you get it. Anyway, that’s what my friends tell me. Here we are.”

She took me into a laboratory crammed with video equipment. Black boxes stacked on metal shelves and on metal tables; cables snaking across the floor; a variety of monitors and display screens. In the center of all this was a bearded man in his midthirties named Kevin Howzer. He had an image on his monitor of a gear mechanism, in shifting rainbow colors, The desk was littered with Coke cans and candy wrappers; he had been up all night, working.

“Kevin, this is Lieutenant Smith from the L.A.P.D. He’s got some unusual videotapes he needs copied.”

“Just copied?” Howzer sounded disappointed. “You don’t want anything done to them?”

“No, Kevin,” she said. “He doesn’t.”

“No problem.”

I showed Howzer one of the cassettes. He turned it over in his hand, and shrugged. “Looks like a standard eight-millimeter cart. What’s on it?”

“High-definition Japanese TV.”

“You mean it’s an HD signal?”

“I guess so.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. You got a playback I can use?”

“Yes.” I took the playback machine out of the box and handed it to him.

“Jeez, they make things nice, don’t they? Beautiful unit.” Kevin examined the controls in front. “Yeah, that’s high-definition all right. I can handle it.” He turned the box around and peered at the plugs on the back. Then he frowned. He swung his desk light over and opened the plastic flap on the cassette, exposing the tape. It had a faint silver tinge. “Huh. Do these tapes involve anything legal?”

“Actually, they do.”

He handed it back to me. “Sorry. I can’t copy it.”

“Why not?”

“See the silver color? That’s evaporated metal tape. Very high density. I’ll bet the format has real-time compression and decompression coming out of the box. I can’t make you a copy, because I can’t match the formats, which means I can’t lay down the signal in an equivalent way that is guaranteed readable. I can make you a copy, but I can’t be sure the copy is exact because I can’t match formats. So if you have any legal issues—and I assume you do—you’re going to have to take it somewhere else to get it copied.”

“Like where?”

“This could be the new proprietary D-four format. If it is, the only place that can copy it is Hamaguchi.”

“Hamaguchi?”

“The research lab in Glendale, owned by Kawakami Industries. They have every piece of video equipment known to man over there.”

I said, “Do you think they’d help me?”

“To make copies? Sure. I know one of the lab directors, Jim Donaldson. I can call over there for you, if you like.”

“That would be great.”

“No problem.”

3

Hamaguchi Research Institute was a featureless, mirrored glass building in an industrial park in north Glendale. I carried my box into the lobby. Behind the sleek reception desk I could see an atrium in the center of the building, and smoked-glass-walled laboratories on all sides.

I asked for Dr. Jim Donaldson and took a seat in the lobby. While I was waiting, two men in suits came in, nodded familiarly to the receptionist, and sat on the couch near me. Ignoring me, they spread out glossy brochures on the coffee table.

“See here,” one of them said, “this is what I was talking about. This is the shot we end with. This one closes.”

I glanced over, saw a view of wildflowers and snow-capped mountains. The first man tapped the photos.

“I mean, that’s the Rockies, my friend. It’s real Americana. Trust me, that’s what sells them. And it’s a hell of a parcel.”

“How big did you say it is?”

“It’s a hundred and thirty thousand acres. The biggest remaining piece of Montana that’s still available. Twenty by ten kilometers of prime ranch acreage fronting on the Rockies. It’s the size of a national park. It’s got grandeur. It’s got dimension, scope. It’s very high quality. Perfect for a Japanese consortium.”

“And they talked price?”

“Not yet. But the ranchers, you know, they’re in a tough situation. It’s legal now for foreigners to export beef to Tokyo, and beef in Japan is something like twenty, twenty-two dollars a kilo. But nobody in Japan will buy American beef. If Americans send beef, it will rot on the docks. But if they sell their ranch to the Japanese, then the beef can be exported. Because the Japanese will buy from a Japanese-owned ranch. The Japanese will do business with other Japanese. And ranches all around Montana and Wyoming have been sold. The remaining ranchers see Japanese cowboys riding on the range. They see the other ranches putting in improvements, rebuilding barns, adding modern equipment, all that. Because the other ranches can get high prices in Japan. So the American owners, they’re not stupid. They see the writing on the wall. They know they can’t compete. So they sell.”

“But then what do the Americans do?”

“Stay and work for the Japanese. It’s not a problem. The Japanese need someone to teach them how to ranch. And everybody on the ranch gets a raise. The Japanese are sensitive to American feelings. They’re sensitive people.”

The second man said, “I know, but I don’t like it. I don’t like the whole thing.”

“That’s fine, Ted. What do you want to do, write your congressman? They’re all working for the Japanese, anyway. Hell, the Japanese are running these ranches with American government subsidies.” The first man twisted a gold chain at his wrist. He leaned close to his companion. “Look, Ted. Let’s not get all moral here. Because I can’t afford it. And neither can you. We are talking a four-percent overall and a five-year payout on a seven hundred mil purchase. Let’s make sure we keep that in sight, okay? You personally are looking at two point four million in the first year alone. And it’s a five-year payout. Right?”

“I know. It just bothers me.”

“Well, Ted. I don’t think you’ll be bothered when this deal closes. But there’s a couple of details we need to handle…” At that point, they seemed to realize I was listening. They stood up and moved out of earshot. I heard the first man say something about “assurances that the State of Montana favors and approves…” and the second man was nodding, slowly. The first man punched him in the shoulder, cheering him up.

“Lieutenant Smith?”

A woman was standing beside my chair. “Yes?”

“I’m Kristen, Dr. Donaldson’s assistant. Kevin over at JPL called about you. Something about tapes you need help with?”

“Yes. I need them copied.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to take Kevin’s call. One of the secretaries took it, and she didn’t really understand the situation.”

“How’s that?”

“Unfortunately, Dr. Donaldson isn’t here right now. He’s making a speech this morning.”

“I see.”

“And that makes it difficult for us. With him not in the lab.”

“I just want to copy some tapes. Perhaps someone else in the lab can help me,” I said.

“Ordinarily yes, but I’m afraid it’s impossible today.”

It was the Japanese wall. Very polite, but a wall. I sighed. It was probably unrealistic to imagine a Japanese research company would help me. Even with something as neutral as copying tapes.

“I understand.”

“Nobody’s in the lab this morning at all. They were all working late on a rush project last night, and I guess they were here to all hours. So everybody’s late coming in today. That’s what the other secretary didn’t understand. People are coming in late. So. I don’t know what to tell you.”