Free Floating City by Eric Van Lustbader

knew that whatever solace was left him now came from the often startlingly juxtaposed imagery of his beloved haiku. And, of course, from what the Godaishu was about to execute.
    The two men walked beneath the banners of the fallen heroes, feeling the weight and obligation of that most ambivalent of Japanese concepts, the nobility of failure.
    “I have a great deal of respect for you, Daijin.” Akinaga nodded his head. “Six months ago you informed me that you would be able to reverse the stock market slide. That was good news for me because many of the banks I control are heavily invested in Nikkei stocks. But the truth is I did not believe you. Government manipulation is one thing, but what you have done since then is nothing short of a miracle. In that time, the Nikkei has risen five thousand points. My banks’ books are in some semblance of restoration; there is order out of chaos.”
    “It has not been easy, I admit,” Ushiba said, “and there is a great deal of peril in the government’s pouring so much of its pension-plan money into stocks in order to increase share demand and raise prices. We’ve directed a number of rumors to run the price up on several large issues that were particularly sick. Also, we’ve had a lot of pressure for blocking all the new equity offerings for the past six months. Of course, we needed to do all this; the less amount of shares floating, the bigger the demand must be.”
    “And it’s worked to perfection.”
    “But once again it’s artificial, like the real estate boom we created. Our manipulations may have a serious downside none of us can see at the moment.”
    Akinaga smiled. “History is on your side, Daijin. I have faith that the market will not buckle. I’m convinced that we have seen the lows and are now firmly on our way out of our recession.”
    Brought together by their profound appreciation of the past, the two men were reluctant to begin their painful business together. They lived simultaneously in the past and in the future. For them, the present was insubstantial, existing solely as a bridge from one reality to the other.
    “The question I have raised in council and will continue to do,” Akinaga said at length, “is whether we can trust this other Mafia oyabun. The American mob is in serious decline. The sense of honor and tradition that made then-bosses accessible to us has been seriously undermined by those willing to turn state’s evidence because of revenge, frustration, or because they are soft.”
    Ushiba nodded. “We must deal with Caesare Leonforte now. He’s a hothead; he does not possess the cool, calculating mind of the brilliant don Dominic Goldoni. But, as we see it, that is to our advantage. We tried but could not control Goldoni—neither, it seems, could the representatives of the American government with whom he was supposedly working.”
    Akinaga appeared unimpressed. “What troubles me is not merely Leonforte but the number of unreliable and therefore dangerous individuals with whom we are obliged to deal in order to make the Godaishu work. The Mafia, the elements within the American government, even our longtime connection in Vietnam—these iteki make me nervous because we don’t fully understand them in the way that Okami did.”
    Akinaga shook his head. “Even worse for us, Chosa doesn’t see the terrible risks we are taking to attain our goal. His eyes are closed to the possibility of destruction—the horrible holocaust that might result from an error in judgment among people who are essentially alien to one another.”
    Akinaga’s face darkened and the interior was abruptly filled with menace. “My worst fears have been realized. Chosa has become too close to the Americans. These iteki have no idea of our goals—their sole concern is money, the tons of it the Godaishu is reaping on every continent. They are mercenaries without honor or ideology. Even a momentary lapse could cause them to turn on us like rabid