William White's super yacht was ready to set sail. Buying this big toy wasn't without its uses; at least it helped him haul back a treasure trove. Other than that, it didn't see much action.
Seeing the crowd of beauties in front of him, Bush Jr. was momentarily dumbfounded. He knew William was outrageous, but not this outrageous.
"I'm telling you, William, don't you think this is a bit over the top? There's that infamous disease going around. You should take it easy."
"For crying out loud, it's drizzling, and you go without an umbrella. Not only that, but you're not even wearing a raincoat. Well, you got what you deserved, getting soaked."
"William, do you even know how to chat? What on earth are you talking about?"
"Come on, you know better than that. We're all professionals; we can't use crass language."
"You're telling me, damn it, I should've seen that coming."
"Ha ha, look at you. A cultured rogue is always a bit charming. Jason, give this guy a round of ammo."
Jason laughed sleazily, "Ha ha, no need, there's plenty stashed away in the room. I mean, do you all have to be this impatient? We just set sail. If you want to engage in any unwholesome activities, at least wait until we're out at sea?"
This party was mostly for William's friends from wild and careless youth. Everyone was letting loose; after all, the whole world was calling them a generation of destruction.
...
After three days of madness, Bush Jr. felt completely worn out. Relative to him, that guy was still fairly honest. As for the other wild buddies, it was best left to one's imagination.
When the yacht arrived at the dock, everyone looked sharp in their attire. They all appeared to be gentlemen.
"Mr. White, how should we frame the news lately?"
"Hey, why do you ask? It seems nothing significant has happened recently."
Barry Diller struggled to find words. Of course, he didn't know, or maybe he did but didn't care. The issue was getting bigger, and considering the heavy investments in the Japanese market, it was wise to consult.
"Sir, there's trouble at the Toshiba company. Someone inside has confessed and even reported their supervisor."
"That company that sold equipment to the Russians?" William White blurted out.
"Sir, you know about this?" Barry Diller was curious; how could this guy just come off a yacht know?
"Yeah, I have contacts among the Russians, specifically for acquiring artifacts. Ahem, they say they're antiques."
Barry remembered that William's connections were extensive, practically everywhere.
"With public outrage rising, how should we approach our publicity?"
"Just align with the other news channels. This is a significant matter; we shouldn't aim to smear anyone. In fact, the Japanese might have been duped."
William White had his reasons for saying this. The so-called precision machine tools were nothing but civilian grade. What they called industrial mother machines were merely leftovers from World War II. Remember, the Russians had looted these during their conquests.
Could a few machine tools really make the Russian submarines undetectable?
Let's not kid ourselves; we're talking about different league of technology. Based on the Japanese equipment, it was true the Russians had improved, reducing the submarine noise by ninety percent, but that wasn't solely due to the propellers.
However, at a very inconvenient time, they just happened to collide with the interests of the Americans.
...
"Boss, you have a sizable investment in Japan; is everything alright?"
"Ha! Don't worry, Jason. They'll take great care of my interests. In fact, the Japanese are in the wrong this time; they're definitely getting a rough deal."
"TV news is making it sound ominous. Those guys clearly have ill intentions. How could they sell this to the Russians? It's trouble; now those submarines are disappearing."
After listening to Jason go on, William White burst into laughter.
"Come on, Jason, you actually believe that nonsense? Even if the noise drops by ninety percent, the Russian subs aren't going anywhere. You know the satellites up there can see the license plates on my villa! If you're in the sunlight, there's no hiding."
Jason looked incredulous. "Really? But aren't submarines supposed to be underwater? How can they be tracked?"
"I don't know about that. The ones that convinced the Russians to develop their submarines were the Americans, so think about it: if they couldn't deal with them, why would they set it up this way? To gain tactical advantage, nothing beats an aircraft carrier."
As the two drank and boasted, the outside world was in chaos, evil intentions seemed to be the only description.
First off, these few CNC machine tools did have military applications and did indeed reduce the noise of Russian submarines.
As for how much they reduced it?
The U.S. military claimed ninety percent.
Heh, that figure came from someone who probably broke something. The credibility of it was anyone's guess, but the official word used that number.
William White didn't believe it; submarines were not tractors. If it really made that much noise, why bother with nuclear subs? They could just use diesel engines for a tenth of the price.
But how he felt about it was beside the point. The current situation was that Toshiba was caught red-handed. The internal trading documents had already made their way onto the Americans' desks.
With this, things seemed serious. William White was convinced that if it were possible, the company president would have already resorted to seppoku.
But this time, the Americans were serious; cutting oneself open wouldn't solve this problem. The Americans wouldn't let it slide without causing you to lose everything. The saddest part was: without paying the fines, you didn't get to die.
Since the Plaza Accord, Americans had been probing Japan's limits. This incident was essentially a test.
*****
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