Terminal Compromise

The next obvious question was, who would have the ability to gather this amount of information, most of which was obviously meant to be kept very, very private. Papers meant not for anyone but only for a select group of insiders.

Lastly, and just as important to the reporter; why? What would someone gain from telling all the nasty goings on inside of Corporate America. There have been so many stories over the years about this company or that s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g over the little guy.

How the IRS and the government operated substantially outside of legal channels. The kinds of things that the Secretary of the Treasury would prefer were kept under wraps. Sometimes stories of this type made the news, maybe a trial or two, but not exactly noteworthy in the big picture. White collar crime wasn't as good as the Simpsons or Roseanne, so it went largely ignored.

Scott Mason needed to figure out what to do with his powder keg.

So, as any good investigative reporter would do, he decided to pick a few key pieces and see if the old axiom was true. Where there's smoke, there's fire.

Fire. That's exactly what Franklin Dobbs didn't want that Monday morning. He and 50 other Corporate CEO's across the country received their own unsolicited packages by courier. Each CEO received a dossier on his own company. A very private dossier containing information that technically didn't, or wasn't offi- cially supposed to exist. Each one read their personalized file cover to cover in absolute privacy. And shock set in.

Only a few of the CEO's in the New York area had ever heard of Scott Mason before, and little did they know that he had the complete collection of dossiers in his possession at the New York City Times. Regardless, boardrooms shook to their very core.

Wall Street trading was untypically low for a Monday, less than 50,000,000 shares. But CNN and other financial observers at- tributed the anomaly to random factors unconnected to the secret panic that was spreading through Corporate America.

By 6 P.M., CEO's and key aides from 7 major corporations head- quartered in the metropolitan New York area had agreed to meet.

Throughout the day, CEO's routinely talk to other corporate leaders as friends, acquaintances, for brain picking and G2, market probing in the course of business. Today, though, the scurry of inter-Ivory-Tower calls was beyond routine.

Through a complicated ritual dance of non-committal consent, questions never asked and answers never given, with a good dose of Zieglerisms, a few of the CEO's communicated to each other during the day that they were not happy with the morning mail. A few agreed to talk together. Unofficially of course, just for a couple of drinks with friends, and there's nothing wrong, we admit nothing, of course not.

These are the rules strictly obeyed for a non-encounter that isn't happening. So they didn't meet in a very private room, upstairs at the Executive Club, where sensitive meetings often never took place. One's presence in that room is as good as being on in a black hole. You just weren't there, no matter what.

Perfect.

The room that wasn't there was heavily furnished and dark. The mustiness lent to the feeling of intrigue and incredulity the 7 CEO's felt. Ma.s.sive brown leather couches and matching oversized chairs surrounded by stout mahogany tables were dimly lit by the a.s.sortment of low wattage lamp fixtures. There was a huge round dining table large enough for all of Camelot, surrounded by mammoth chairs in a large ante-room. The brocade curtains covered long windows that stretched from the floor to ornate corner moldings of the 16 foot ceilings.

One tired old black waiter with short cropped white hair appeared and disappeared skillfully and invisibly. He was so accustomed to working with such distinguished gentlemen, and knew how impor- tant their conversations were, that he took great pride in re- filling a drink without being noticed. With his little game, he made sure that drinks for everyone were always full. They spoke openly around Lambert. Lambert had worked the room since he was 16 during World War II and he saw no reason to trade occupations; he was treated decently, and he doubled as a bookie for some members which added to his income. There was mutual trust.

"I don't know about you gentlemen," said Porter Henry, the ener- getic and feisty leader of Morse Technologies, defense subcon- tractor. "I personally call this blackmail." A few nods.

"I'm not about to admit to anything, but have you been threat- ened?" demanded Ogden Roberts, Chairman of National First Inter- state.

"No, I don't believe any of us have, in so many words. And no, none of us have done anything wrong. We are merely trying to keep sensitive corporate strategies private. That's all. But, I do take the position that we are being intimidated. I think Porter's right. This is tantamount to blackmail. Or the precursor at a minimum."

They discussed, in the most circ.u.mlocutous manner, possibilities.

The why, how, and who's. Who would know so much, about so many, supposedly sacrosanct secrets. Therefore there must have been a lot of whos, mustn't there? They figured about 50 of their kindred CEO's had received similar packages, so that meant a lot of whos were behind the current crisis in privacy. Or maybe just one big who. OK, that's narrowed down real far; either a lot of whos, one big who, or somewhere in between.

Why? They all agreed that demands would be coming, so they looked for synergy between their firms, any sort of connections that spanned at first the seven of those present, to predict what kinds of demands. But it is difficult to find hard

How? That was the hardest. They certainly hadn't come up with any answers on the other two questions, so this was asking the impossible. CEO's are notorious for not knowing how their compa- nies work on a day to day basis. Thus, after 4 or 5 drinks, spurious and arcane ideas were seriously considered. UFO's were responsible, I once saw one...my secretary, I never really trusted her at all...the Feds! Must be the IRS...(my/his/your) compet.i.tor is doing it to all of us...the Moonies, maybe the Moonies...

"Why don't we just go to the Feds?" asked Franklin Dobbs who did not partic.i.p.ate in the conjecturing stream of consciousness free for all. Silence cut through the room instantly. Lambert looked up from his corner to make sure they were all still alive.

"I'm serious. The FBI is perfect. We all operate interstate, and internationally. Would you prefer the NYPD?" he said dero- gatorally waiting any voices of dissent.

"C'mon Frank. What are we going to tell them?" Ogden Roberts the banker asked belligerently. The liquor was having an effect.

"Certainly not the truth..." he cut himself short, realizing that he came dangerously close to admitting some indefinable wrong he had committed. "You know what I mean," he quickly added.

"We don't go into all of the detail. An abbreviated form of the truth, all true, but maybe not everything. I am sure we all agree that we want to keep this, ah, situation, as quiet as possible." Rapid a.s.sent came from all around.

"All we need to say is that we have been contacted, in a threat- ening manner. That no demands have been made yet, but we are willing to cooperate with the authorities. That would give us all a little time, to re-organize our priorities, if you see what I mean?" Dobbs added. The seven CEO's were thoughtful.

"Now this doesn't mean that we all have to agree on this,"

Franklin Dobbs said. "But as for me, I have gone over this, in limited detail, with my attorney, and he agrees with it on a strategic level. If someone's after you, and you can't see 'em, get the guys with the White Hats on your side. Then do some housekeeping. I am going to the FBI. Anybody care to join me?"

It was going to be a lonesome trip.

September, 4 Years Ago Tokyo, j.a.pan.

OSO Industries maintained its world headquarters in the OSO World Bank Building which towered 71 stories over downtown Tokyo. From the executive offices on the 66th floor, on a clear day, the view reached as far as the Pacific. It was from these lofty reaches that Taki h.o.m.osoto commanded his $30 Billion empire which spread across 5 continents, 112 countries, and employed almost a quarter million people.

OSO Industries had diversified since it humble beginnings as a used tire junkstore.

The Korean conflict had been a windfall. Taki h.o.m.osoto started a tire retreading business in 1946, during the occupation of j.a.pan. The Americans were so smart, he thought. Bring over all of your men, tanks, jeeps and doctors not telling us the truth about radiation, and you forget spare tires. Good move, Yankee.

Taki gouged the Military on pricing so badly, and the Americans didn't seem care, that the Pentagon didn't think twice about paying $700 for toilet seats decades later. Taki did give great service - after all his profits were so staggeringly high he could afford it. Keep the American's happy, feed their ego, and they'll come back for more. No sense of pride. Suckers.

When the Americans moved in for Korea, Tokyo was both a command post for the war effort and the first choice of R&R by service- men. OSO Industries was in a perfect position to take advantage of the US Government's tire needs throughout the conflict. OSO was already in place, doing a good job; Taki had bought some friends in the US military, and a few arrangements were made to keep business coming his way.

Taki acc.u.mulated millions quickly. Now he needed to diversify.

Realizing that the war would come to an end some day, h.o.m.osoto begin making plans. OSO Radio sets appeared on the market before the end of the Korean Police Action. Then, with the application of the transistor, the portable radio market exploded. OSO Industries made more transistor radios than all other j.a.panese electronics firms combined. Then came black and white televi- sions. The invention of the single beam color TV tube again brought OSO billions in revenues every year.

Now, OSO was the model of a true global corporation. OSO owned banks and investment companies. Their semiconductor and electron- ics products were household words. They controlled a vast network of companies; electronic game manufacturers, microwave and appli- ance manufacturers, and notably, acres and acres of Manhattan Island, California and Hawaii. They owned and operated communi- cations companies, including their own geosynchronous satellite.

OSO positioned itself as a holding company with hundreds of subsidiaries, each with their own specialty, operating under thousands of names. Taki h.o.m.osoto wove an incredibly complex web of corporate influence and intrigue.

OSO was one of the 10 largest corporations in the world. Reaga- nomics had already a.s.sisted in making OSO and h.o.m.osoto himself politically important to both j.a.pan and the US. Exactly how h.o.m.osoto wanted it. American leaders, Senators, Congressmen, appointees, lobbyists, in fact much of Was.h.i.+ngton coddled up to h.o.m.osoto. His empire planned years in advance. The US Govern- ment, unofficially craved his insights, and in characteristic Was.h.i.+ngton style, wanted to be near someone important. h.o.m.osoto relished it. Ate it up. He was a most cordial, una.s.suming humble guest. He played the game magnificently.

Almost the entire 66th floor of the OSO Bank Building was dedi- cated to h.o.m.osoto and his immediate staff. Only a handful of the more then 200,000 people that OSO Industries employed had access to the pinnacle of the OSO tower which graced the Tokyo skyline.

The building was designed by Pei, and received international ac- claim as an architectural statement. The atrium in the lobby vaulted almost 700 feet skyward precursoring American hotel design in the next decade. Plants, trees over 100 feet tall and waterfalls graced the atria and the overhanging skylobbies. The first floor lobby was designed around a miniature replica of the Ging Sha forest, fas.h.i.+oned with thousands of Bonzai trees. The mini forest was built to be viewed from various heights within the atrium to simulate a flight above the earth at distances from 2 to 150 miles.

The lobby of OSO Industries was a veritable museum. The Van Gogh collection was not only the largest private or public a.s.semblage in the world, but also represented over $100 Million spent in Sothby and Christies auctions worldwide since 1975.

To get to the elevator to the 66th floor, a security check was performed, including a complete but un.o.btrusive electronic scan of the entire person and his belongings. To all appearances, the procedure was no more than airport security. However to the initiate or the suspect, it was evident from the accuracy with which the guards targeted specific contraband on a person or in his belongings that they knew more than they were telling. The OSO guards had the girth of Sumo wrestlers, and considering their sheer ma.s.s, they received little ha.s.sle. Very few deemed it prudent to cross them.

The lobby for all of its grandeur, ceilings of nearly 700 feet, was a fairly austere experience. But, the elevator to the 66th floor altered that image at once. It was this gla.s.s walled elevator, the size of a small office, with appropriately comfort- able furnis.h.i.+ngs, that Miles Foster rode. From the comfort of the living room setting in the elevator, he enjoyed a panorama of the atrium as it disappeared beneath him. He looked at the forest and imagined what astronauts saw when they catapulted into orbit. The executive elevator was much slower than the others.

Either the residents in the penthouse relished the solitude and view or they had motion sickness. Nonetheless, it was most impressive.

"Ah, Mister Foster! Welcome to OSO. Please to step this way."

Miles Foster was expected at the terminus of the lift which opened into an obscenely large waiting room that contained a variety of severe and obviously uncomfortable furniture. Aha!

Miles, thought. That's exactly what this is. Another art gal- lery, albeit a private one for the eyes of his host and no one else. White walls, white ceilings, polished parquet floors, track lighting, recessed lights, indirect lights. Miles noticed that the room as pure as the driven snow didn't have any windows. He didn't recognize much of the art, but given his host, it must have represented a sizable investment.

Miles was ushered across the vast floor to a set of handsomely carved, too tall wooden doors with almost garish gold hardware.

His slight j.a.panese host barely tapped on the door, almost inau- dibly. He paused and stood at attention as he blurted an obedient "Hai!"

The aide opened both doors from the middle, and in deference to Mr. Foster, moved to one side to let the visitor be suitably impressed. h.o.m.osoto's office was a total contrast to his gal- lery. Miles first reaction was astonishment. It was slightly dizzying. The ceiling slanted to a height of over 25 feet at the outer walls, which were floor to ceiling gla.s.s. The immense room provided not only a spectacular view of Tokyo and 50 miles be- yond, but lent one the feeling of being outside.

Coming from the U.S. Government, such private opulence was not common. It was to be expected in his family's places of business, the gaming parlors of Las Vegas, but not in normal commerce. He had been to Trump Tower in New York, but that was a public build- ing, a place for tourists. This office, he used the word liber- ally, was palatial.