"Van Lustbader, Eric - Linnear 04 - The Kaisho" - читать интересную книгу автора (Van Lustbader Eric)

He nodded. 'All right. I'll do what I can to squeeze the capital we need out of some rock somewhere.'
'Excellent,' Nicholas said, pouring them both more tea. 'You won't regret your decision,'
'I hope not,' Nangi said. 'I am going to have to call on some of my Yakuza contacts,'
'If only you knew the Kaisho,' Nicholas said with no little sarcasm.
'I know you have no respect for the Yakuza,' Nangi said. 'But then again you've never made any effort to understand them. I find that particularly curious considering the pains you've taken in assimilating virtually every other aspect of Japanese life,'
The Yakuza are gangsters,''Nicholas said flatly. 'Of what use would understanding them be to me?'
'I cannot answer that,' Nangi said. 'No one can, save yourself,'
'What I can't fathom is your connection with them. Leave them to their own dirty business,'
'That is like saying "Please don't inhale nitrogen with your oxygen." It's just not possible,'

'You mean it's not practical.'
Nangi sighed, knowing he was not going to win this argument with his friend; he never did.
'Go see your Kaisho, then,' Nicholas said, 'or whoever he is,'
Nangi shook his head. The Kaisho is purported to be the oyabun of all oyabun. The boss of all the Yakuza family bosses. But let me assure you he does not exist. It is a term some clever Yakuza concocted to keep the police in their place.' Kaisho meant the mysterious commander. 'As long as there is a sense among us outsiders that there is a quasi-mythical boss of all the oyabun, there's a level of the Yakuza hierarchy no one can penetrate. It aids their mystique, enhances their face whenever the cops stage a gambling-parlor raid or two for the media.' He shifted in his seat. 'All of my Yakuza contacts deny any knowledge of a Kaisho.'
Their conversation eventually turned to the Hive computer. Nicholas's pet project, which was now on hold because Hyrotech-inc, the American firm designated by the US Government to design the computer for all its branches, had inexplicably reneged on the deal Nicholas had negotiated to manufacture it.
The most worrisome aspect of this is that no one at Hyrotech will return Harley Gaunt's calls,' Nicholas said. 'I've told him to go ahead and institute a lawsuit claiming breach of contract. In addition, I instructed him to name the US Government as co-defendant,'
The Government?' Nangi said, concerned.
'Yes. I think they're behind the whole thing. Stonewalling is their forte, not Hyrotech's,'
He brought Nangi up to date on the company's progress on the Chi Project. Nicholas had chosen the name - Chi - which meant wisdom. It had been his idea to turn one entire kobun - division - of the company over to the Chi Project. The Chi was a new kind of computer that required no software: it was literally as flexible as its user. It needed no software because it was a neural-net machine. The Chi

prototype contained over a thousand minuscule 'cubes' -as opposed to chips - composed of sixty-four electronic neurons whose design was based on those in the human brain. This machine operated by example. A 'correct' decision as determined by its user produced one kind of current through the neural net, a 'wrong' decision another kind of current. In this way the computer actually learned the functions required of it and how to best perform them without having to be configured for different software interfaces.
Though it looks as if Ricoh will be the first to market with a neural-net computer,' Nicholas said, 'I'm convinced Chi will be far more advanced and will gain us market share very quickly after its introduction.'
The early-morning meeting ended. Nangi rose, took up his walking stick and went down the hall to his office.
Nicholas spent the next hour and forty-five minutes calling his manufacturing managers in Bangkok, Singapore, Saigon, Kuala Lumpur, Indonesia and Guangzhou, in southeastern China. It should have taken less than half the time, but the phone systems in such places were maddeningly inefficient, and he had to accustom himself to busy signals, being cut off in mid-sentence and dialing one number and reaching an altogether different one. But these calls to what had once been remote, unvisited backwashes were becoming increasingly important.
At last the arduous task of dealing with third-world telephone communication was done. He glanced at the time, then set about making a pot of green tea.
He had just taken up the whisk when his private line rang. He put the heavy iron kettle down, stared at the phone. Too early in the morning for this line to be ringing, he thought. He picked up the receiver with a distinct sense of foreboding.
'Moshi-moshi.'
'Mr Linnear? Nicholas Linnear?' said an unfamiliar voice in his ear.

'Who is calling?'
'I represent Mikio Okami. Does the name mean anything to you?'
Nicholas could feel his heartbeat, strong and heavy, in his throat. He fought to control his breathing. 'How did you get this number?'
'Mikio Okami extends his personal greetings,' the voice said. 'Okami-san takes care of everything.' There was a brief pause, during which Nicholas was certain he could hear the other person breathing softly. 'Okami-san wishes to-'
Nicholas said, 'Here is a phone number.' He reeled off eight digits. 'Use it in ten minutes.'
He took the first sixty seconds after replacing the phone to regain complete control of his breathing. Then he did five minutes of zazen. But even the meditation could not stop his mind from racing backward in time.
Before Nicholas's father had died he told him that Mikio Okami was a friend of his - a very special friend. The Colonel had told Nicholas that he owed Okami his life, that if Okami should contact Nicholas the situation would be such that Okami had no other recourse but to ask for Nicholas's help.
Now, after all these years, the call had come.
Nicholas went out of his office, down the still-deserted corridor to the bank of elevators. The chairman's elevator was waiting for him, patient as a loyal servant, but he wondered, as he pressed the button for the mezzanine level, where it was taking him this time.
Nicholas and Nangi had decided to buy the mezzanine space in the Shinjuku Suiryu Building late last year, after an unconscionably overpriced French restaurant went bust. Since then, they had gutted the vast three-story space, installed their own interior walls, and begun work on an opulent nightclub called Indigo.
The smells of lathe and plaster, varnish, paint and heated flex greeted Nicholas as he stepped off the eleVator. The

foreman recognized him at once, bowed and handed him a hardhat, which Nicholas wordlessly put on. He went straight to a wall phone. He had only thirty seconds to wait before it rang.
'Yes?'
'Mr Linnear.'
'Speaking.'
'Ah.' There was a great deal of emotion in that one brief exclamation. 'I understand it is safe now to speak. I am gratified that we have connected so quickly.'
Nicholas was gazing into a space composed of a series of curled-edged platforms large enough to hold three or four small tables, each with a semi-circular banquette which the architect had designed to appear as if they were floating like magic carpets above a cuneiform dancefloor, laser-etched to resemble a Persian rug.
'Who is this?' Nicholas asked. Tou obviously know me, but-'
'I am employed by Mikio Okami. My name is therefore of no matter.' The voice, waited a beat. 'Do you remember your promise?'
'Yes, of course,' Nicholas said.