Mikami took a late lunch at his desk.
The traffic of reporters coming and going had finally petered out, and, with the rest of the staff out on reconnaissance, he was alone in the room. The only sound was him sipping his tea. He realized he hadn’t taken lunch at home since the whole commotion broke out over the commissioner’s visit; not once. What was Minako eating? Was she eating at all?
‘Has it settled down?’
Akama’s call came in just after 2 p.m. He told Mikami he was still in Tokyo, that he’d be there until late that night, finally giving a hint as to the gravity of the situation.
‘How did you deal with the issue of the guard?’
‘Ishii held a press conference; he stuck to his guns, maintaining that we were still looking into the matter.’
Akama’s breathing seemed to steady. But only for a moment.
‘And the other matter?’
‘Sorry?’
‘The boycott. Did you manage to get it turned around?’
His voice was low enough to be inaudible. Someone else was nearby.
‘I haven’t had the chance to discuss it yet.’
‘Why?’
‘The press are still reeling after this morning.’
‘What about the apology?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Well? Have you told them we won’t issue any more reports anonymously?’
‘They’re still—’
‘Then get a move on and tell them, you simpleton!’
Mikami let his eyes close. He pictured himself overlooking the cluster of skyscrapers in the Kasumigaseki part of Tokyo.
‘Of course, sir.’
The phone went dead the moment he finished speaking. He lit a cigarette. His mind was calm. The smoke pricked at his eyes. Through it, he saw Suwa come into the room.
‘How are things in there?’
‘Calmer . . . a little, but no one’s speaking to each other.’
‘And the GM?’
‘. . . is looking difficult. Yamashina told me he’d tried raising the subject; I can’t say if he actually did or not.’
‘Whatever happens, I doubt they’ll be happy with an apology from me.’
Suwa nodded silently.
‘Call Kuramae and Mikumo in.’
‘Sir?’
‘I’ve got something I want to say to all of you.’
Kuramae walked in as Mikami was saying this. He stopped by his desk, then came over with a sheet of paper in his hands.
‘Well?’
‘Right. Well, according to Yanase, Yamashina hasn’t even—’
‘Not that. What’s in the paper?’
‘Ah, yes, this is . . . some more on Meikawa. Supplementary information.’
Exactly as Mikami had suspected. Suwa looked dumbstruck.
‘Is it important?’ Mikami asked.
Kuramae lowered his head in puzzled concentration. ‘Oh. I’m not sure if it’s important in the general sense. It’s just that . . .’
‘Just that what?’
‘I just thought it might be important . . . for him.’
This came as a subtle jolt. Mikami had been thinking something similar even that morning, when the sky had still been growing light. Amamiya’s transformation. He remembered how, Amamiya having had his beard and hair neatly trimmed, Mikami had hardly recognized him on his second visit. Was it possible that he’d been leaning towards accepting the visit even before Mikami had burst into tears? Going out. Getting his hair cut. It was possible these had been important steps for a man like Amamiya.
The promise existed. Mikami had kept the idea in his head, allowed it as speculation.
Still, whatever his promise to Amamiya, Mikami’s mind was already set. The third path. He would do whatever was important to him.
‘Call Mikumo in.’
54
Mikami put up a notice to indicate that there was a meeting in progress, shutting the door for the first time since he’d become press director because of the office’s policy of never turning anyone away. Suwa and Kuramae were on chairs across from the couch. Mikumo had pulled a folding chair up next to them. Having hurried back, she was out of breath.
‘It’s time we settled the anonymity issue.’ Mikami introduced the topic and looked at each of the others in turn. ‘The breakdown of relations with the press, the boycott – looking back, it all started with our disagreement over anonymous reporting. It’s been a curse ever since. So we’re going to take it down.’
Take it down? Suwa gave a questioning frown.
‘We will no longer withhold information from our press reports. From this point forwards, our policy is on principle to be full disclosure.’
The look on all three faces changed. Suwa’s eyes rolled briefly to the ceiling.
‘But Akama won’t stand—’
‘This is his idea.’
‘Really? Akama gave his blessing to this?’
‘He said we could make an empty promise to the press, if it would stop the boycott.’
Suwa rocked back in his chair before coming to sit upright again. ‘So, you’re proposing we lie to them?’ he said, half coughing.
‘No. We’re going to work, on principle, with full disclosure. It should be fine.’
‘So . . . actually go ahead with it?’
‘Exactly. We’re going to turn Akama’s scheme on its head, use it to pave the way for full disclosure.’
Suwa’s mouth twitched. Kuramae looked speechless. Mikumo was staring, rapt.
‘You want us to lie to Akama, and not to the press?’ Suwa’s response made his irritation clear.
‘We are going to use him to pave the way for change.’
‘Change? A change for the worse, maybe. I don’t understand it. Why lie to our superiors and do something so reckless? Full disclosure for everything is just irresponsible. Can we just give out the name of the driver, even though she’s pregnant? What about juveniles? Are we to ignore the laws governing juvenile crime? What about cases involving the Yakuza? If the names of people involved crop up in the press, who’s to say the Yakuza won’t go looking for retribution? Then there are the suicides. And double suicides. What about when people have a record of mental illness? We can’t leave these kind of decisions to the press . . .’
‘That’s where Media Relations comes in. That’s our job. We give them everything, but when a case needs discretion we sit down with the reporters and get them to agree to withhold the information. Think about it. Do you think there’s a difference between our criteria and theirs for this kind of thing? As long as we’re doing our jobs properly, they won’t deviate far off course – look at how vocal they are on privacy, on individual rights.’
‘But isn’t that just wishful thinking? You know personally how much trouble they can cause. They’re a mob with a fancy name. There’s nothing to guarantee they won’t unexpectedly break ranks or get out of control.’
Suwa represented the office’s past and its present. Nothing would change unless Mikami managed to bring him on board. He leaned over the table, weaving his fingers together.
‘I want to have faith.’
Suwa was wide-eyed. ‘Faith? In that lot?’