The Clout of Gen Read online

  To avoid suspicion, John arrived early at the bar, his notebook in hand, and introduced himself to the bartender. He enjoyed a nice pint of local cider and told the proprietor that he was there to write an article for his paper back in the States. “I’m looking to talk to people about the twenty-fifth anniversary of the 1986 Argentina vs. England match,” he said.

  Most of the people John talked to told him the same thing: “Maradona was a cheat! We should have won that game.” Others claimed the English defense was sloppy at the time.

  In his second hour there, a guy who resembled the profile photo that John had found online made his way in. John had carefully memorized Steadman’s face and had stared at his photo for hours to be sure there was no way he would fail to recognize him. The reporter took his time studying Steadman from a distance, closely looking him over. It seemed he had gained weight, and the years had taken a toll on him. John also studied his body language, trying to compare his moves and gestures to those used by the younger man on the video. Steadman seemed to be an outgoing person who loved to laugh with his buddies over a good drink or two.

  Is that really him? John worried. And will he open up to me and answer my questions? Will he even remember that day so long ago?

  Jim was enjoying his drinks with a few gentlemen when John introduced himself. Steadman was more than happy to talk about the game, and he seemed proud to announce that he was there to see it for himself. John listened carefully; in his mind, as he listened to Steadman recall the events of that day, he somehow knew the whole thing was real. Steadman began talking about how things fell apart after the linesman gave the goal away blindly and how England never really got back in the game. He also admitted that Maradona was from another planet. John asked him about the atmosphere of the crowd that day and how long he stayed in Mexico. It turned out that he had journeyed there with two of his friends. Lisa still lived close by in Crawley, but his friend John had passed away a few years prior. He said they had stayed for a week. He didn’t mention anything about Yaturo, but that was all John needed to hear.

  Just when John was about to excuse himself, though, he got more than he had asked for, as Steadman invited him for lunch the next day and told him he would try to bring Lisa to talk about the game. She even had some of their photos that he was sure she would gladly show to John for his “twenty-fifth anniversary story.”

  At lunch the following day, Lisa and Steadman went on and on about the game in vivid detail. They also talked about Humphrey and how they wished he was still there. John Humphrey had taken a wrong turn sometime during his life, it seemed. He’d endured a terrible marriage and was arrested several times for domestic abuse. It was a sad ending for him a few years back, when he died from a drug overdose.

  As Steadman had promised, Lisa also showed John some photos that confirmed that they were, indeed, the twenty-somethings who appeared on the tape. John asked if he could have a copy of the photos for the paper, and they kindly scanned them for him. John took a photo with both of them and thanked them for their hospitality.

  His visit to Dorking turned out to be far more profitable than he could have wished for, and he was finally gaining some clarity about the dark mystery of Yaturo’s odd tape. Still, there were questions. Who is this Yaturo? Is he even still alive, and if he is, how can I find him? How did he know about those disasters that would occur decades in the future?

  Now, John could focus on the Japanese business card he’d found in the box, the symbol in the ring, and the odd writing engraved on the band. He decided he would search for those answers in London, a multi-national city where a Japanese translator wouldn’t be difficult to find.

  His first stop was the Japanese Heritage and Language Center, where he sat down with a historian. He discovered that the symbol on the ring had no meaning or significance to Japan. The letters engraved message said, “Control from knowledge,” which John found interesting. The business card mentioned only a city by the name of Kyoto and a company name dealing with electronics. The translator kindly explained that Kyoto was a huge market for electronics. It was at least a start, so John thanked the gentleman for his time and left.

  John knew that his travel would take him next to Kyoto. He was sure his search from there would lead him closer to Yaturo. He hoped the videographer was well and that he would be willing to talk. If he wasn’t, John would use force or any means possible. He had come too far, and there was no force on Earth that would stop him from getting the answers he sought. Of all the stories he had covered in the past, he knew this one was the one he was born to cover—even more so than his first big hit so many years ago.

  With a smile on his face, John inhaled a deep drag from his cigarette. “Kyoto and Yaturo, here I come!”

  The old innkeeper at his B&B was kind enough to offer him a printout of all the information he’d pulled up about Kyoto. John couldn’t believe time had passed so fast, and it was already Thursday. His flight was scheduled to leave at five p.m. He knew he had to sleep as much as possible during the flight. Time was running out, and the tension was rising. Just the thought of meeting Yaturo in person gave John the shivers.

  Kyoto was the imperial capital of Japan beginning in the late eighth century and lasting for more than 1,000 years. It was by all means a site of heritage, and it was considered as a well-preserved city with over 2,000 religious places. Even though population had been on the decline, the city still played an important role in Japan in all aspects.

  John had never been to that part of the world, so it was a whole new adventure for him. He found everything about the Japanese heritage fascinating. Honestly, though, if he’d never found that tape or heard some reports a few years back, he wouldn’t have even known where Kyoto was. He recalled one such report on global emissions, in which they frequently referred to something called “Kyoto protocol,” which was developed in 1997 to fight global warming and protect Earth from climate change. Ironically, the United States wasn’t one of the 191 nations that ratified this agreement. Come to think of it, though, John reasoned, nothing is truly ironic when it comes to the States. After all, the government won’t screw the influential multibillion-dollar companies. “The strong always decide,” John mumbled. “No wonder most of the people living in the so-called ‘land of opportunities’ can’t even afford health insurance.”

  John realized quickly that few could compete with the speedy and well-organized transportation systems in Japan. The express train would take him to Kyoto from Tokyo in two hours and twenty minutes. There, the real hustle would start. He had already pinpointed several areas to include during the course of his quest. Luckily, some of them were within walking distance of Kyoto Station.

  John was already on the lookout, taking the whole thing very seriously. He decided to rent a locker at the station and keep all evidence of the box there; he didn’t want to risk any of the materials falling into the wrong hands. He had no idea what or whom he was dealing with; the only thing he took along with him was the duplicate ring. He memorized the locker number, 54416, and threw away the number tag so there’d be no trace to it.

  He’d booked a room at a four-star hotel near the train station. The room was quite small but he’d already heard that from several of his colleagues coming back from trips to Japan. It was about fifteen square meters and was furnished with a queen double bed. The colors of the bedding and décor were refreshing, but none of that really mattered. As long as it had a reliable Internet connection and the bed wasn’t too firm, the minor details didn’t mean a thing. His colleagues were right again when they warned him of the low ceilings.

  John just dropped his bags, changed his shirt, and headed back to the station, the starting point to all his planned visits. His first stop on the list was the Kyoto Chamber of Commerce. To get there, he had to take the subway to Marutamachi Station and take Exit 6.

  Once he got there, the information counter sent him to the fourth floor. The person in charge of the profile information of the member
companies was very helpful. Around 11,500 Kyoto companies in various industries were members of the Chamber of Commerce. After forty-five minutes of searching, there was still no trace to be found. Even the profile information manager himself insisted that if an important company existed in Kyoto, there would likely be some record of it at the Chamber of Commerce. John informed the gentleman that he couldn’t find any clues on the Internet. The only advice given to John was to try to visit the electronic industrial area and have a look around. “If the company is a low-budget one or a small shop that’s not on our rolls, maybe you will find it in that area,” he suggested.

  With some disappointment, John left the chamber. He knew from the beginning that his luck couldn’t hold out forever. Dorking had been a piece of cake, Kyoto was a mystery, and the language barrier would only make things tougher. But John was ready for whatever came his way. Nothing had ever come easy to him. A story he had covered a while back, for instance, was about a missing child who was found nine years later by accident, when she had to undergo medical testing at the hospital. John had to travel across three States and meet more than a 100 people to put the story together, a piece that would evoke an emotional response from his readers. If he had to dig that deep to find Yaturo, he wouldn’t hesitate for a heartbeat.

  The hotel had arranged an English-speaking taxi driver that charged by the hour to escort John around. They searched the industrial area bit by bit, talked to several workers, and met the heads of several companies, but no one knew about the name on the business card.

  John felt like he was going in circles, finding nothing. Finally, he asked the driver, Takishi about some important electronic brands in Kyoto, and the cabbie was able to come up with a few. Takishi took him around to some of those places, but no one had ever heard of the company. John was delighted to find out that several men named Yaturo worked in some of those places, but none of them matched the profile because they were all far too young to be the same man from the tape.

  Evening approached, bring a spectacular sunset with it. All the companies closed down, and John realized he’d run out of time for searching; it seemed useless anyway. Takishi took him back to the hotel, and they agreed he would come back at nine a.m. the next morning to escort John wherever he wanted to go.

  After enjoying a soothing, warm bath, John went for a small walk to gather his thoughts and plan what steps he should take next. The only place left for him to do was to go to the offices of a local publication, where he would meet up with a journalist by the name of Nagatumo. Several years back, he had met a Japanese journalist from Tokyo at a writers’ convention in Los Angeles, and they had maintained some sporadic contact. Before he left London, John had given Nagatumo a call to let him know he would be visiting Kyoto and might need some contacts there. Nagatumo gave John his number and said he would help if he could. Now, John was praying for a miracle, hoping that maybe Nagatumo’s newspaper had interviewed Yaturo or his company, perhaps covered a story in which something was mentioned about this person. At that point, any information would have been a lifeline for John.

  Takishi arrived on time, and it was only nine thirty a.m. when John met up with Nagatumo. The reporter was in his early forties, a bit chubby, and medium height with short, dark hair. He had worked at the same paper for about fourteen years and was now the head editor for the sports section.

  After talking about the industry in general over a cup of coffee, John informed him that he was visiting Kyoto to research for an article. He said he needed to find some information about a Japanese man who had helped establish an electronic company in one of the small towns in the States in the eighties, along with his American partner. Then, the two had some differences, and the man, Yaturo Kyoto, returned to Japan. John said Kyoto was given to him as a reference to where he came from, and his exact name wasn’t known. He told Nagatumo, a fellow reporter, that the reason they want to cover up the story was because the company the two partners had set up in the past was now worth more than a billion dollars, and he needed to write an article about its beginnings. John was pretty pleased with himself for coming up with such an elaborate fib; he’d only come up with it while having some sushi for dinner in one of the restaurants at Kyoto Station the night prior.

  Nagatumo sent for his assistant and requested that he help John go through the newspaper archives to search for any mention of a guy named Yaturo. They found nothing, and it seemed to be a hopeless case.

  While they were searching the archives, they did come across a lot of companies from the electronics sector. However, none of them held any relevance to what John was looking for. John thanked Nagatumo for all the help, but he was soon overwhelmed with agony and desperation.

  John left his friend at the paper and began wandering around, looking at everyone around him, searching for any person that might ring a bell in that crowded population of 1,500,000. This is no use, he decided. It would take years. After an hour of getting lost in the streets, John called Takishi to come pick him up.

  In the backseat of the cab, John began to talk furiously to himself in a rough, loud voice. “I should have left that damn box alone and never even picked it up. I should have just jumped! What now? I’ve traveled all the way to freaking Japan already, so what the hell am I supposed to do now? I can’t go back to my normal life. I just…I can’t go back there. It’s my destiny to be here, to find something.”

  Takishi was looking at John strangely in the rearview mirror. He could tell John was really stressed out and needed to calm down. “You need to take it easy,” Takishi told John. “You should try visiting a museum or a temple to loosen up. Just think of yourself as a tourist. There is much to enjoy Kyoto. You should mingle with the locals.” When John said nothing to his suggestion, he invited, “Why don’t you come to the Transportation Society Club with me? All of us involved in the transportation industry meet there, including some of the pioneers. Some of them have been attending for over forty years! Our Kyoto has a rich history and respects all figures in society. Our social clubs preserve and celebrate the accomplishments of our grandfathers,” added Takishi.

  Before Takishi could say another word, something he had said grabbed John’s attention. He stopped the driver from continuing and asked him if he knew if there was a special club in Kyoto for those involved with the electronics industry, from that sector of life. With one small call to his cousin, who worked as a medical engineer at a laser company, Takishi was able to provide the address.

  In the northern part of Kyoto, surrounded by a beautiful garden, there was a small, imperial-style house that had been built in the early nineteenth century. Its garden was adorned with a vast collection of flowers in all colors; there must have been hundreds of cherry blossoms. How beautiful they are in person! John thought. Just looking around the place made him marvel at the beauty of Earth. Never had he felt so taken in by nature. Even with his investigation underway, he simply had to stop to enjoy the beauty. He could actually feel energy emanating from everything around him. He took out a cigarette and asked Takishi to join him. After smoking and enjoying the beautiful serenity, he was ready to move on.

  As he had noticed over the days in various places across Kyoto, people always took off their shoes before entering certain places. In that place, the shoes were placed in numbered slots just beside the door. Out of respect for the local tradition, John removed his shoes and placed them in the closest storage bin. I don’t think anyone will mind, since I won’t be long, he thought as he entered.

  Once he was inside, a nice-looking gentleman welcomed him and asked about his visit. John replied that he was just passing by when the beauty of the place caught his eye and lured him in. It was a two-story house spanning over 1,500 meters. The gentleman politely offered him a tour of the premises; he started with the gardens in the back, where there was a small pond surrounded by an outdoor seating area. At the far end was a recreation spot equipped with a ping-pong table and several chess-boards tables.

  Th
en the guide took John inside, where he led him first to the dining room. In it were around fourteen tables, each draped with lavish red and gold cloths and set with elegant porcelain dishes. Each table had, for its centerpiece, a silver candle holder in the middle. It was a truly elegant, immaculate setting where diners could enjoy a meal and pleasant conversation. Next, they moved on to the living area, where there was a good supply of computers, TV screens, and newspapers. He then took John into the library, which was arranged in a beautiful matter with brown leather coach chairs. Several men were sitting around with their noses buried in books. They were surprised to see a stranger roaming around, but they offered John a round of polite nods.

  If John were merely a tourist, the guided tour of the place would have been heaven on Earth, but that wasn’t John’s goal for being there. Little did he know that what lay upstairs was his true stairway to heaven.

  Slowly, following the footsteps of his guide, John entered a room full of pictures and frames. “These tell the history of our humble place, dating back to 1887. All our members and pioneers over the years are represented here. They are the ones who have provided guidance for the work we do today. This little memorial is the least we can do to honor the people who got us here,” the gentleman told. John.