Mikami pushed open the door to the Press Room. Suwa, Kuramae and Mikumo followed from behind. The press were lined up and waiting. Mikami was thrown by their sheer number. Over thirty, at a glance. Close to the club’s full roster. Seven or eight were seated on the couches in the middle of the room. Others had positioned themselves around them, on chairs dragged from their respective booths. The rest were on their feet, with no space even to put down chairs. With a pen in her hand, Mikumo did a head count. The previous day’s atmosphere of hostility had gone completely. The reporters had all adopted a look that said: We’ll wait and see what you have to say. Yamashina from the Zenken Times was standing directly ahead of Mikami, silent and ingratiating. He’d no doubt only taken the front row so the others wouldn’t notice his rather half-hearted demeanour. Akikawa was standing with his sub, Tejima, arms folded, behind one of the couches. On the outside he seemed no less composed than usual. But what about on the inside? What had his boss said to him? What was he feeling as he stood waiting? Utsuki, the Mainichi’s chief reporter, seemed in better spirits, suggesting that Suwa had perhaps been successful in his attempt to win him over. At the back of the room, Horoiwa from the NHK was standing shoulder to shoulder with Yanase from the Jiji Press. Their location perfectly matched Kuramae’s report that the two of them remained on the fence.
‘Right, is everybody here?’ Suwa spoke up. ‘Good. In line with yesterday’s request, Press Director Mikami will now read out our official response regarding the identity of instigator of the serious road accident in Station Y’s jurisdiction.’
A camera flashed as Mikami took to the floor. It was Madoka Takagi from the Asahi.
‘Takagi, Takagi. I think we can dispense with that sort of thing. It’s not like this is a press conference,’ Suwa remonstrated, trying to sound informal.
Takagi’s high-pitched voice came back. ‘I need a shot for my column. I’m doing a special on anonymous reporting.’
‘Okay, well, could you do it from the back? It wouldn’t be right to put our faces on this – you know we’re not the only ones dealing with this issue . . .’
Having restored the peace, Suwa turned to Mikami and signalled the go-ahead. Mikami cleared his throat and looked down at the sheet in his hands.
‘I will now relay our official response. After much deliberation we have reached the decision that, due to the fact of the driver’s pregnancy, we will not in this case be able to make her identity known.’
It was no doubt the answer they’d been expecting; there was an almost complete lack of response. Mikami continued to read.
‘We do, however, pledge to remain open to any discussions with you, the esteemed members of the Press Club, should a similar issue arise in the future. Thank you.’
The second part had been added as a balance. Mikami had made the suggestion, and Chief Ishii had given his permission to include it just fifteen minutes earlier. Akikawa made an overstated nodding motion before opening his mouth to speak.
‘The Prefectural HQ’s position on this matter is very clear. We will now hold a meeting to discuss your response. If you’d be so kind as to leave us.’
Following their return to the office, time seemed to stretch out interminably. For the duration, the room was dominated by the clock on the wall. Mikami sat on one of the couches; Ishii across from him. He’d come down from the first floor, clearly nervous about the result. Suwa, Kuramae and Mikumo were restless, too. They were each sitting at their respective desks, keeping busy writing or typing at their computers, but their eyes would drift up the wall to the clock every few minutes.
Four fifteen . . . four twenty . . .
A rubber stopper held the office door open by about five centimetres. They would hear footsteps if any of the reporters started down the corridor.
They’d done everything they could.
Moments before the press had convened their meeting, Suwa had quietly approached the four local outlets in an eleventh-hour attempt to sell them on the ‘antidotal’ section of the announcement. He’d pleaded their case: I want you all to raise the motion of leaving the protest with the chief of the Secretariat. Be assured, I’ll pay you back for this one. According to Suwa, Yamashina from the Times had agreed, while the others had grudgingly followed suit. If all four of them raised the motion together, even the hard-liners would have to pay attention. They would have no choice but to add it to the agenda.
‘They’re taking a long time. I wonder if everything’s all right,’ Ishii said. He looked uncomfortable with the silence.
Mikami nodded without replying.
They were probably arguing. The joint motion wouldn’t pass so easily. The protest has to go direct to the captain. The hard-liners would persist in their opinion to the end. The talks would come to nothing; it would be down to a vote. There were thirteen outlets in total, meaning they required only seven to vote for leaving the protest with Ishii.
There was a chance they could pull it off.
But they were late out. They should have reached their decision by now.
Mikami was no less concerned than Ishii. Various undesirable outcomes were flashing through his mind. With the progress of time, doubts had begun to surface. Had Suwa actually managed to win Utsuki from the Mainichi over to their side? Had he really turned the vote? Had Kuramae managed to spread the bait concerning the bid-rigging charges? Perhaps it was his fault. Had he somehow failed in his attempt to tame Akikawa?
He didn’t think so. Azusa had bitten when Mikami had given him the inside information on the bid-rigging.
Happy to do business with you.
Akikawa should be under control. He could strut around, projecting the image of the perfect reporter, but he was still just a cog in a larger machine. He couldn’t turn his back on an order from one of the paper’s senior editors. While it was unlikely he would actually support leaving the protest somewhere else – not in front of the others – he could no longer advocate lodging the protest with the captain.
It all hinged on the Asahi and Kyodo News. Perhaps on Ushiyama from the Yomiuri, who had a personal grudge against Akikawa. Might he have seen Akikawa’s about-turn and, deciding now was the time, changed his mind just to be perverse?
It was now after four thirty.
The stillness rang in their ears.
Four thirty-five . . . four forty . . .
They all turned to look at the door together. Footsteps. And not just one or two sets. Mikami was ahead as he flew out of the room. Something like ten reporters were already there, gathered in the corridor. They continued to flood out of the Press Room, the flow pushing the group in the direction of the stairs. Mikami glimpsed Akikawa’s face in the crowd. He saw Mikami and walked over. As though on cue, the reporters stopped talking and turned to face Mikami. Mikami searched Akikawa’s eyes.
Which is it?
Akikawa answered him flatly.
‘We intend to take our protest to the captain, right now.’
Mikami went rigid. He heard someone suck in a breath behind him.
They’d lost.
He sensed all the strength draining from his body. It felt as though they’d hit him, as though they’d decimated a sandcastle he’d toiled over for a whole day so that not a trace remained.
Akikawa’s face drew close. He whispered something in Mikami’s ear.
‘Azusa’s going back to Tokyo next week; he’s got a bad liver. He seemed grateful for his parting gift. Wanted me to pass on his regards.’
His smirking face pulled away again.
Mikami’s eyes were open wide. He’d been played.
Happy to do business with you.
A parting gift. Azusa had never intended to pay his due.
In waves, the reporters began to move towards the stairs. Akikawa disappeared back into the crowd.
Wait!
Mikami had meant to shout, but his voice had deserted him. His vision was failing. His knees buckled, causing him to stumble. He felt something catch him around the waist. One of his hands shot up and caught Mikumo by the shoulder.
‘Sir, are you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You need to sit down.’
Her voice sounded an age away. His head was swaying back and forth. He rubbed his palm over his eyes, trying to regain his vision.
Hey . . . hey . . . hey!
Shouting, like a broken record. Ishii. He was running after the reporters.