“Don’t you lose money if you dump?”

“For a while, yes. But you’re selling millions of units, so you can refine your production lines, and get your costs down. A couple of years later, you really can make the products for a lower cost. Meanwhile you’ve wiped out the competition and you control the market. You see, the Japanese think strategically—they’re in for the long haul, for how things will look fifty years from now. An American company has to show a profit every three months or the CEO and the officers will be out on the street. But the Japanese don’t care about short-term profits at all. They want market share. Business is like warfare to them. Gaining ground. Wiping out the competition. Getting control of a market. That’s what they’ve been doing for the last thirty years.

“So the Japanese dumped steel, televisions, consumer electronics, computer chips, machine tools—and nobody stopped them. And we lost those industries. Japanese companies and the Japanese government target specific industries, which they take over. Industry after industry, year after year. While we sit around and spout off about free trade. But free trade is meaningless unless there is also fair trade. And the Japanese don’t believe in fair trade at all. You know, there’s a reason the Japanese love Reagan. They cleaned up during his presidency. In the name of free trade, he spread our legs real wide.”

“Why don’t Americans understand this?” I said.

Connor laughed. “Why do they eat hamburgers? It’s the way they are, kōhai.”

From the newsroom, a woman called, “Somebody named Connor here? Call for you from the Four Seasons Hotel.”

Connor glanced at his watch and stood up. “Excuse me.” He walked out into the newsroom. Through the glass I saw him talking on the phone, making notes.

“You realize,” Ron said, “it’s all still going on. Why is a Japanese camera cheaper in New York than in Tokyo? You ship it halfway around the world, pay import duty and distribution costs, and it’s still cheaper? How is that possible? Japanese tourists buy their own products here because they’re cheaper. Meanwhile, American products in Japan cost seventy percent more than here. Why doesn’t the American government get tough? I don’t know. Part of the answer is up there.”

He pointed to the monitor in his office; a distinguished-looking man was talking above a running tickertape. The sound was turned low. “You see that guy? That’s David Rawlings. Professor of business at Stanford. Specialist in the Pacific Rim. He’s a typical—turn that up, will you? He might be talking about MicroCon.”

I turned the knob on the set. I heard Rawlings say: “…think American attitudes are completely irrational. After all, Japanese companies are providing jobs for Americans, while American companies are moving jobs offshore, taking them away from their own people. The Japanese can’t understand what the complaints are about.”

Ron sighed. “Typical bullshit,” he said.

On the screen, Professor Rawlings was saying, “I think the American people are rather ungrateful for the help our country is getting from foreign investors.”

Ron laughed. “Rawlings is part of the group we call the Chrysanthemum Kissers. Academic experts who deliver the Japanese propaganda line. They don’t really have a choice, because they need access to Japan to work, and if they start to sound critical, their contacts in Japan dry up. Doors are closed to them. And in America, the Japanese will whisper in certain ears that the offending person is not to be trusted, or that their views are ‘out of date.’ Or worse—that they’re racist. Anybody who criticizes Japan is a racist. Pretty soon these academics begin to lose speaking engagements and consulting jobs. They know that’s happened to their colleagues who step out of line. And they don’t make the same mistake.”

Connor came back into the room. He said, “Is there anything illegal about this MicroCon sale?”

“Sure,” Ron said. “Depending on what Washington decides to do. Akai Ceramics already has sixty percent of the American market. MicroCon will give it a virtual monopoly. If Akai were an American company, the government would block the sale on antitrust grounds. But since Akai is not an American company, the sale isn’t scrutinized closely. In the end, it’ll probably be allowed.”

“You mean a Japanese company can have a monopoly in America but an American company can’t?”

“That’s the usual outcome these days,” Ron said. “But American laws often promote the sale of our companies to foreigners. Like Matsushita buying Universal Studios. Universal’s been for sale for years. Several American companies tried to buy it, but couldn’t. Westinghouse tried in 1980. No deal: violates antitrust. RCA tried. No deal: violates conflict of interest. But when Matsushita came in, there were no laws against it at all. Recently our laws changed. Under present law, RCA could buy Universal. But back then, no. MicroCon is just the latest example of crazy American regulations.”

I said, “But what do American computer companies say about the MicroCon sale?”

Ron said, “American companies don’t like the sale. But they don’t oppose it, either.”

“Why not?”

“Because American companies feel over-regulated by the government already. Forty percent of all American exports are covered by security regulations. Our government doesn’t allow our computer companies to sell to Eastern Europe. The cold war is over but the regulations still exist. Meanwhile the Japanese and Germans are selling products like mad. So the Americans want less regulation. And they see any attempt to block the MicroCon sale as government interference.”

I said, “It still doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I agree,” Ron said. “The American companies are going to get killed in the next few years. Because if Japan is the sole source of chip-making machines, they’re in a position to withhold the machines from American companies.”

“Would they do that?”

“They’ve done it before,” Ron said. “Ion implanters and other machines. But the American companies can’t get together. They squabble among themselves. And meanwhile the Japanese are buying high-tech companies at the rate of about one every ten days. For the last six years. We’re being disemboweled. But our government doesn’t pay attention, because we have something called CFIUS—the Committee on Foreign Investment in the United States—that monitors the sale of high-tech companies. Except CFIUS never does anything. Of the last five hundred sales, only one was blocked. Company after company gets sold, and nobody in Washington says boo. Finally, Senator Morton makes a stink, and says ‘Wait a minute here.’ But nobody’s listening to him.”

“The sale is going through anyway?”

“That’s what I heard today. The Japanese PR machine is hard at work, cranking out favorable publicity. And they are tenacious. They are on top of everything. I mean everything—“

There was a knock at the door, and a blond woman stuck her head in. “Sorry to disturb you, Ron,” she said, “but Keith just got a call from the Los Angeles representative for NHK, Japanese national television. He wants to know why our reporter is bashing Japan.”

Ron frowned. “Bashing Japan? What’s he talking about?”

“He claims our reporter said on air, ‘The damn Japanese are taking over this country.’ “

“Come on,” Ron said. “Nobody would say that—on air. Who’s supposed to have said that?”

“Lenny. In New York. Over the backhaul,” the woman said.

Ron shifted in his chair. “Uh-oh,” he said. “Did you check the tapes?”

“Yeah,” she said. “They’re tracing the download now in the main control room. But I assume it’s true.”

“Hell.”

I said, “What’s the backhaul?”

“Our satellite feed. We pick up segments from New York and Washington every day, and replay them. There’s always about a minute before and after that isn’t aired. We cut it out, but the raw transmission can be picked up by anybody with a private dish who wants to hunt for our signal. And people do. We warn the talent to be careful what they do in front of a camera, But last year, Louise unbuttoned her blouse and miked herself—and we got calls from all over the country.”