Rising Sun: A Novel Read Free Page B

was right: it was a hell of a party. The whole floor had been made into a replica forties ballroom. Men in suits. Women in cocktail dresses. The band playing GlennMiller swing music. Standing near the elevator door was a gray-haired, suntanned man who looked vaguely familiar. He had the broad shoulders of an athlete. He stepped onto the elevator and turned to me. “Ground floor, please.” I smelled whiskey.
    A second, younger man in a suit instantly appeared by his side. “This elevator is going up, Senator.”
    “What’s that?” the gray-haired man said, turning to his aide.
    “This elevator’s going up, sir.”
    “Well. I
want
to go
down.
” He was speaking with the careful, over-articulated speech of the drunk.
    “Yes, sir. I know that, sir,” the aide replied cheerfully. “Let’s take the next elevator, Senator.” He gripped the gray-haired man firmly by the elbow and led him off the elevator.
    The doors closed. The elevator continued up.
    “Your tax dollars at work,” Graham said. “Recognize him? Senator Stephen Rowe. Nice to find him partying here, considering he’s on the Senate Finance Committee, which sets all Japanese import regulations. But like his pal Senator Kennedy, Rowe is one of the great pussy patrollers.”
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “They say he can drink pretty good, too.”
    “I noticed that.”
    “That’s why he’s got that kid with him. To keep him out of trouble.”
    The elevator stopped at the forty-sixth floor. There was a soft electronic ping.
“Yonjūroku kai. Goriyō arigatō gozaimashita.”
    “Finally,” Graham said. “Now maybe we can get to work.”

The doors opened. We faced a solid wall of blue business suits, backs turned to us. There must have been twenty men jammed in the area just beyond the elevator. The air was thick with cigarette smoke.
    “Coming through, coming through,” Graham said, pushing his way roughly past the men. I followed, Connor behind me, silent and inconspicuous.
    The forty-sixth floor had been designed to house the chief executive offices of Nakamoto Industries, and it was impressive. Standing in the carpeted reception area just beyond the elevators, I could see the entire floor—it was a gigantic open space. It was about sixty by forty meters, half the size of a football field. Everything added to the sense of spaciousness and elegance. The ceilings were high, paneled in wood. The furnishings were all wood and fabric, black and gray, and the carpet was thick. Sound was muted and lights were low, adding to the soft, rich quality. It looked more like a bank than a business office.
    The richest bank you ever saw.
    And it made you stop and look. I stood by the yellow crime-scene tape, which blocked access to the floor itself, and got my bearings. Directly ahead was the large atrium, a kind of open bullpen for secretaries and lower-level people. There were desks in clusters, and trees to break up the space. In the center of the atrium stood a large model of the Nakamoto Tower, and the complex of surrounding buildings still under construction. A spotlight shone on the model, but the rest of the atrium was relatively dark, with night lights.
    Private offices for the executives were arranged around the perimeter of the atrium. The offices had glass walls facing the atrium, and glass walls on the outside walls as well, so that from where I was standing you could look straight out to the surrounding skyscrapers of Los Angeles. It made you think the floor was floating in midair.
    There were two glass-walled conference rooms, on the left and right. The room on the right was smaller, and there I saw the body of the girl, lying on a long black table. She was wearing a black dress. One leg dangled down toward the floor. I didn’t see any blood. But I was pretty far away from her, maybe sixty meters. It was hard to see much detail.
    I heard the crackle of police radios, and I heard Graham saying, “Here’s your liaison, gentlemen. Now maybe we can get