Rising Sun: A Novel by Michael Crichton Page B

opened a door, and we entered a small, messy room with two monitors, several tape decks, and an editing console. Tapes in boxes were scattered around the floor. Bob rummaged through them. “Okay, you guys are in luck. Camera originals. There’s a lot of it. I’ll get Jenny to run you through them. She’s our best spotter. She knows everybody.” He stuck his head out the door. “Jenny? Jenny!”
    “Okay, let’s see,” Jenny Gonzales said, a few minutes later. She was a bespectacled, heavyset woman in her forties. She scanned the editor’s notes and frowned. “It doesn’t matter how many times I tell them, they just will not put things in proper … Finally. Here we are. Four tapes. Two limo driveups. Two roving inside, at the party. What do you want to see?”
    Connor said, “Start with the driveups.” He glanced at his watch. “Is there any way to do this fast? We’re in a hurry.”
    “Fast as you want. I’m used to it. Let’s see it at high speed.”
    She hit a button. At high speed, we saw the limousines pulling up, the doors jumping open, the people getting out, jerkily walking away.
    “Looking for anyone in particular? Because I see somebody marked footages for celebrities during the edit.”
    “We’re not looking for a celebrity,” I said.
    “Too bad. It’s probably all we shot.” We watched the tape. Jenny said, “There’s Senator Kennedy. He’s lost some weight, hasn’t he. Oops, gone. And Senator Morton. Looking very fit. No surprise. That creepy assistant of his. He makes my teeth shiver. Senator Rowe, without his wife, as usual. There’s Tom Hanks. I don’t know this Japanese guy.”
    Connor said, “Hiroshi Masukawa, vice-president of Mitsui.”
    “There you go. Senator Chalmers, hair transplant looking good. Congressman Levine. Congressman Daniels. Sober for a change. You know, I’m surprised Nakamoto got so many of these Washington people to attend.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Well, when you get down to it, it’s just the opening of some new building. An ordinary corporate bash. It’s on the West Coast. And Nakamoto is pretty controversial right at the moment. Barbra Streisand. I don’t know who the guy is with her.”
    “Nakamoto is controversial? Why?”
    “Because of the MicroCon sale.”
    I said, “What’s MicroCon?”
    “MicroCon is an American company that makes computer equipment. A Japanese company named Akai Ceramics is trying to buy it. There’s opposition to the sale in Congress, because of worries about America losing technology to Japan.”
    I said, “And what does this have to do with Nakamoto?”
    “Nakamoto’s the parent company of Akai.” The first tape finished, and popped out. “Nothing there you wanted?”
    “No. Let’s go on.”
    “Right.” She slid the second tape in. “Anyway, I’m surprised how many of these senators and congressmen felt it was acceptable to show up here tonight. Okay, here we go. More driveups. Roger Hillerman, under secretary of statefor Pacific affairs. That’s his assistant with him. Kenichi Aikou, consul general of Japan, here in L.A. Richard Meier, architect. Works for Getty. Don’t know her. Some Japanese …”
    Connor said, “Hisashi Koyama, vice-president of Honda U.S.”
    “Oh, yeah,” Jenny said. “He’s been here about three years now. Probably going home soon. That’s Edna Morris, she heads the U.S. delegation to the GATT talks. You know, General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade. I can’t believe she showed up here, it’s an obvious conflict of interest. But there she is, all smiling and relaxed. Chuck Norris. Eddie Sakamura. Sort of a local playboy. Don’t know the girl with him. Tom Cruise, with his Australian wife. And Madonna, of course.”
    On the accelerated tape, the strobes flashed almost continuously as Madonna stepped from her limousine and preened. “Want to slow it down? You interested in this?”
    Connor said, “Not tonight.”
    “Well, we probably have a lot on her,”