Chapter 566: Technical Personnel
Late at night on the same day.
Tokyo, Bunkyo Ward, Hongo, Saionji Main Residence.
Satsuki sat cross-legged on the couch in the study, a thin blanket draped over her knees.
The desk lamp on the coffee table was on, and a briefing translated into Japanese, which had just been sent back from Leningrad, lay open beside her hand.
Holding a cup of warm milk in one hand, she held the telephone receiver with the other, wedging it between her shoulder and cheek.
There was a slight hum of static over the transoceanic line.
“…I’m sorry to bother you so late, Dr. Kissinger. It’s late at night here, but it should be just after breakfast over there.”
She spoke in English, her pace slightly slower than usual.
An old, gentle voice came through the receiver, carrying a hint of lazily waking up.
“Miss Saionji, at my age, the time right after breakfast is best suited for hearing bad news.”
“Calling at this hour, I presume you aren’t looking to discuss bridge.”
Satsuki lowered her head and glanced at the briefing.
On the afternoon of December 9, a US delegation visited the State Optical Institute. The delegation was led by Harper from the State Department’s International Technology Cooperation Department, accompanied by one technical advisor each from the Department of Defense and the Department of Energy. This was the third day after the delegation arrived in Leningrad; they had already visited four other research institutions over the previous two days.
During the talks, Harper mentioned COCOM twice, and the Department of Defense advisor mentioned once that “personnel who have participated in defense projects need to be re-evaluated.”
Before the end of the meeting, Director Belov proposed: institutional cooperation funding be increased by thirty percent based on the original plan; processing time for resignation procedures for personnel in special research departments “cannot be guaranteed for now.”
The liaison, Saeki, did not push back and stated that he needed to report back to headquarters.
Below that final line, Saeki had added a note in pencil: during their meeting on November 5, Belov had privately indicated that a contract could be signed as long as additional equipment maintenance funding was provided.
“It’s regarding a research institute in Leningrad, Doctor.”
“They specialize in optics—lenses, specialty glass, and the like. We’ve been in contact with their experts since last year, negotiating terms for over two months. Last month, the director was on the verge of agreeing.”
“Then Washington sent a delegation over. This afternoon, right in front of the director, they reminded our people that Japan is a COCOM member state.”
“The moment the Americans stepped in, the director raised his price by thirty percent and said whether he’d release the personnel needed further study.”
The other end of the line went quiet for a moment.
“Your people didn’t argue with them?”
“I instructed them not to clash with anyone from the US Government.”
Satsuki turned the briefing to the next page.
“He didn’t say another word, politely backed off, and sent the meeting minutes back to Tokyo.”
Kissinger seemed to chuckle softly.
“When Mr. Harper gets back, he’ll probably praise the Japanese in his report for knowing the rules.”
“Let me guess. You want me to pull some strings in Washington so Mr. Harper’s delegation stops visiting that institute.”
“Nothing gets past you, Doctor.”
“Whether it can be hidden or not is a different matter.”
Kissinger’s smile vanished just as quickly.
“Miss Saionji, I can make that call. Given my current status, reaching out like this isn’t difficult.”
“But before I do, I need to lay out the harsh reality.”
“Please, go ahead.”
“Those making lenses or glass in that institute—I’m not worried about them. Japan is already stronger than the Soviet Union in civilian optics; Washington has nothing to envy there.”
“However, I happen to have seen the high-priority watch list that the State Department brought to Leningrad this time.”
Kissinger’s voice dropped.
“Among the people you want, three are on that list. One works on imaging systems for reconnaissance satellites, and two on guidance optics for ballistic missiles.”
Satsuki’s hand holding the receiver remained still.
The three names boxed out individually were printed right there on the briefing’s supplementary page in front of her.
“Back in ’87, Toshiba sold a few machine tools to the Soviet Union, making their submarines a little quieter. The Pentagon raised hell for two whole years, nearly kicking Toshiba Machine completely out of the market.”
“Now, what you want are the very people who polish lenses for Soviet satellites and missiles.”
“Miss Saionji, if a Japanese zaibatsu takes all these people away and word leaks out, the favor I do for you won’t just be useless—it will drag me down with it.”
“When that time comes, many of your old friends might jump out again; they’ve been waiting for news like this for a long time.”
“So before I speak up, I need you to tell me—this time, exactly how sensitive are the things you’re going after?”
Satsuki placed the glass of milk back onto the coffee table.
“Doctor, everything you’ve mentioned, I have already considered.”
“My purpose for calling today is to help the Pentagon balance a set of ledgers.”
The other end remained silent, waiting for her to continue.
“The first account, you know better than I do. Regarding Carlyle, Saionji has been a long-term investor for three years. Every time they raise funds, we are among the first to sign.”
“During the Gulf War, it was Saionji’s Global Rescue that ran transport, repaired airfields, and evacuated citizens in the desert for the US military and coalition forces. When the Pentagon needed manpower, we never haggled, and those overseas logistics contracts are still being fulfilled today.”
“Over all these years, Saionji and the Pentagon have enjoyed a very pleasant cooperation. In their eyes, Saionji is an old friend who has weathered storms together, completely different from an outsider like Toshiba.”
Kissinger gave a low “mm,” acknowledging the point.
“The second account is a matter of direction.”
Satsuki leaned back against the sofa.
“Back then, Toshiba sold Western technology to the Soviet Union, making their adversary stronger—that’s why the Pentagon hated them so much.”
“What Saionji wants to do is the exact opposite. The Soviet Union is about to collapse. If these people stay in an institute that can’t even pay salaries, the Americans might poach them today, but Iraqis or North Koreans might poach them tomorrow.”
“By taking them out of there, I am effectively helping America strip the adversary’s last remaining assets ahead of time.”
“From Washington’s perspective, having these people join Saionji must be far safer than leaving them in Leningrad, right?”
“That logic holds water.”
Kissinger’s tone softened slightly.
“However, the Pentagon wants something tangible they can hold in their hands, Miss Saionji. Fine words alone aren’t enough.”
“I know. Which brings us to the third account—and the most crucial one.”
Satsuki’s voice remained even and calm.
“The congressional appropriation is only enough to pay these people a small monthly allowance to keep them in place. Mr. Harper mentioned today at the institute that those funds have strict usage guidelines, and every dollar disbursed requires layers of approval.”
“The one thing the US Government wants to do most, it cannot do itself. It cannot openly bring a Soviet missile optics expert to the US mainland for interrogation—voters wouldn’t allow it, and Congress certainly wouldn’t.”
“But Saionji can.”
“Once these three enter Saionji, whatever the Pentagon wants to know, they can send people through Carlyle to ask. How small an object Soviet recon satellites can resolve on the ground, how their missiles make final-kilometer corrections—these three have all of that in their heads.”
“This is intelligence the US Government can hardly obtain directly. I can acquire it for them and support these people on their behalf, without them spending a single cent.”
Only the faint static of the transoceanic line remained in the study.
After a long pause, Kissinger finally spoke slowly.
“Miss Saionji, you’ve spun a case of ‘a Japanese zaibatsu stealing Soviet military secrets’ into ‘an ally conducting non-proliferation on behalf of the Pentagon.'”
“You flatter me. I simply framed the exact same matter in language Washington can digest.”
“That is precisely what worries me.”
Kissinger sighed softly, but there was no longer any refusal in his tone.
“Very well. Then let’s lay out the price clearly as well. I won’t be making this call for free, and what you give the Pentagon must be real, concrete assets.”
“First, the Pentagon will have priority technical interrogation rights for these three people. When and what to ask will be up to them. Where these three are settled and what they do in the future must also be disclosed to the US side.”
“Aren’t you preparing an industrial park in California? It would be best to settle them right on the US mainland.”
Satsuki picked up the briefing, turned to the supplementary page with the three names, and glanced at it.
“That condition is fine.”
“Second, Saionji will cover all expenses for this entire matter; the US Government won’t pay a single dime. That way, while Congress is squabbling over appropriations, they’ll have one less hot potato to deal with.”
“Acceptable.”
“Third—”
Kissinger paused.
“This one is for myself. For Saionji’s upcoming business across the former Soviet territory, the role of long-term consultant goes to my firm.”
The corners of Satsuki’s lips curled up slightly.
“Doctor, your price is even fairer than I anticipated.”
“At my age, what would I do with so many useless things?”
Kissinger laughed as well, though his tone turned serious again right after.
“However, Miss Saionji, you must take my final word to heart.”
“By helping you secure those interrogation rights, I am effectively putting these three people under the Pentagon’s watch for the rest of their lives.”
“If anything these people produce from now on leaks into the hands of a third country, the blame will land squarely on Saionji’s shoulders. When that happens, no one will be able to save you.”
“I have noted it.”
Satsuki’s voice was very soft.
After a few more pleasantries, the call ended.
Satsuki placed the receiver back onto the cradle, but didn’t stand up immediately.
She picked up the glass of milk, which was no longer very hot, and took small sips, her eyes resting on the three boxed-in names on the supplementary page.
What she was selling to the Pentagon was these three people’s ‘past’ regarding the Soviet Union—just how clearly Soviet satellites could see, and just how accurately Soviet missiles could strike.
In a few years, those details wouldn’t be worth much anyway; trading them for a favor from Kissinger was a good deal.
As for what these three would produce after joining Saionji, using Saionji’s funds and equipment, that belonged to Saionji’s ‘future.’
The Pentagon’s interrogation rights didn’t cover that clause.
She finished the last sip of milk in the glass, put it down, and reached out to turn off the desk lamp.