The girl stuck her head in the door. “Two minutes, Senator. They’re asking for you downstairs if you’re ready.”

Morton said to us, “I’d like to do this first.”

“Of course,” Connor said.

His self-possession was extraordinary. Senator Morton conducted a televised interview with three reporters for half an hour, without a trace of tension or discomfort. He smiled, cracked jokes, bantered with the reporters. It was as if he had no problems at all.

At one point he said, “Yes, it’s true that the British and the Dutch both have larger investments in America than the Japanese. But we can’t ignore the reality of targeted, adversarial trade as practiced by Japan—where business and government make a planned attack on some segment of the American economy. The British and Dutch don’t operate that way. We haven’t lost basic industries to those countries. But we’ve lost many to Japan. That is a real difference—and that’s the reason for concern.”

He added, “And, of course, if we want to buy a Dutch or English company, we can. But we can’t buy a Japanese company.”

The interview continued, but nobody asked him about MicroCon. So he steered it: in reply to a question, he said, “Americans should be able to criticize Japan without being called racists or bashers. Every country has conflicts with other countries. It’s inevitable. Our conflicts with Japan should be freely discussed, without these ugly epithets. My opposition to the MicroCon sale has been termed racist, but it is nothing of the sort.”

Finally, one reporter asked him about the MicroCon sale. Morton hesitated, then he leaned forward across the table.

“As you know, George, I have opposed the MicroCon sale from the beginning. I still oppose it. It is time for Americans to take steps to preserve the assets of this nation. Its real assets, its financial assets, and its intellectual assets. The MicroCon sale is unwise. My opposition continues. Therefore, I am pleased to say that I have just learned Akai Ceramics has withdrawn its bid to purchase the MicroCon Corporation. I think this is the best solution all around. I applaud Akai for its sensitivity on this matter. The sale will not go forward. I am very pleased.”

I said, “What? The bid was withdrawn?”

Connor said, “I guess it is now.”

Morton was cheerful as the interview drew to a close. “Since I’ve been characterized as so critical of Japan, perhaps you’ll let me express my admiration for a moment. The Japanese have a wonderful lighthearted side, and it shows up in the most unlikely places.

“You probably know that their Zen monks are expected to write a poem close to the moment of death. It’s a very traditional art form, and the most famous poems are still quoted hundreds of years later. So you can imagine, there’s a lot of pressure on a Zen roshi when he knows he’s nearing death and everyone expects him to come up with a great poem. For months, it’s all he can think about. But my favorite poem was written by one particular monk who got tired of all the pressure. It goes like this.”

And then he quoted this poem.

Birth is thus,

Death is thus,

Poem or no poem

What’s the fuss?

All the reporters started laughing. “So let’s not take all this Japan business too seriously,” Morton said. “That’s another thing we can learn from the Japanese.”

At the end of the interview, Morton shook hands with the three reporters and stepped away from the set. I saw that Ishiguro had arrived in the studio, very red-faced. He was sucking air through his teeth in the Japanese manner.

Morton said cheerfully, “Ah, Ishiguro-san. I see you have heard the news.” And he slapped him on the back. Hard.

Ishiguro glowered. “I am extremely disappointed, Senator. It will not go well from this point.” He was clearly furious.

“Hey,” Morton said. “You know what? Tough shit.”

“We had an arrangement,” Ishiguro hissed.

“Yes, we did,” Morton said. “But you didn’t keep your end of it, did you?”

The senator came over to us and said, “I suppose you want me to make a statement. Let me get this makeup off; and we can go.”

“All right,” Connor said.

Morton walked away, toward the makeup room.

Ishiguro turned to Connor and said, “Totemo taihenna koto ni narimashita ne.”

Connor said, “I agree. It is difficult.”

Ishiguro hissed through his teeth. “Heads will roll.”

“Yours first,” Connor said. “Sō omowa nakai.”

The senator was walking toward the stairway going up to the second floor. Woodson came over to him, leaned close, and whispered something. The senator threw his arm around his shoulder. They walked arm in arm a moment. Then the senator went upstairs.

Ishiguro said bleakly, “Konna hazuja nakatta no ni.”

Connor shrugged. “I am afraid I have little sympathy. You attempted to break the laws of this country and now there is going to be big trouble. Eraikoto ni naruyo, Ishiguro-san.”

“We will see, Captain.”

Ishiguro turned and gave Eddie a frosty look. Eddie shrugged and said, “Hey, I got no problems! Know what I mean, compadre? You got all problems now.” And he laughed.

The floor manager, a heavyset guy wearing a headset, came over. “Is one of you Lieutenant Smith?”

I said I was.

“A Miss Asakuma is calling you. You can take it over there.” He pointed to a living-room set. Couch and easy chairs, against a morning city skyline. I saw a blinking telephone by one chair.

I walked over and sat in the chair and picked up the phone. “Lieutenant Smith.”

“Hi, it’s Theresa,” she said. I liked the way she used her first name. “Listen, I’ve been looking at the last part of the tape. The very end. And I think there may be a problem.”

“Oh? What kind of a problem?” I didn’t tell her Morton had already confessed. I looked across the stage. The senator had already gone upstairs; he was out of sight. Woodson, his aide, was pacing back and forth at the foot of the stairs, a pale, stricken look on his face. Nervously, he fingered his belt, feeling it through his suit coat.

Then I heard Connor say, “Ah, shit!” and he broke into a run, sprinting across the studio toward the stairs. I stood up, surprised, dropped the phone, and followed him. As Connor passed Woodson, he said “You son of a bitch,” and then he was taking the stairs two at a time, racing upward. I was right behind him. I heard Woodson say something like, “I had to.”

When we got to the second floor hallway Connor shouted “Senator!” That was when we heard the single, cracking report. It wasn’t loud: it sounded like a chair falling over.

But I knew that it was a gunshot.