Cryptonomicon

They adjourn. Epiphyte and the Nipponese dine together, but Randy's bored and distracted. Finally, about nine P.M., he excuses himself and goes to his room. He's mentally composing a response to root@eruditorum.org, along the lines of because there seems to be a hell of a market for this kind of thing, and it's better that I fill the niche, than someone frankly and overly evil.But before his laptop has even had time to boot up, the Dentist, clad in a white terrycloth robe and smelling like vodka and hotel soap, knocks on Randy's door and invites himself in. He invades Randy (no; the shareholders') bathroom and helps himself to a glass of water. He stands at the shareholders' window and glowers down at the Nipponese cemetery for several minutes before speaking.

"Do you realize who those people were?" he says. His voice, if subjected to biometric analysis, would reflect disbelief, bewilderment, maybe a trace of amusement.

Or maybe he's just faking it, trying to get Randy to let down his guard. Maybe heis root@eruditorum.org.

"Yeah," Randy lies.

When Randy revealed the existence of Mugshot, after the meeting, Avi gave him a commendation for deviousness, printed up the mugshots in his hotel room, and Federal Expressed them to a private dick in Hong Kong.

Kepler turns around and gives Randy a searching look. "Either I had bad information about you guys," he says, "or else you are in way over your heads."

If this were the First Business Foray, Randy would piss his pants at this point. If it were the Second, he would resign and fly back to California tomorrow. But it's the third, and so he manages to maintain composure. The light is behind him, so perhaps Kepler's momentarily dazzled and can't read his face very well. Randy takes a swallow of water and breathes deeply, asking, "In light of today's events," he says, "what's in store for our relationship?"

"It is no longer about providing cheap long-distance service to the Philippines--if, indeed, it ever was in the first place!" Kepler says darkly. "The data flowing through the Philippines network now takes on entirely new significance. It's a superb opportunity. At the same time, we're competing against heavy hitters: those Aussies and the Singapore group. Canwe compete against them, Randy?"

It is a simple and direct question, the most dangerous kind. "We wouldn't be risking our shareholders' money if we didn't think so."

"That's a predictable answer," Kepler snorts. "Are we going to have a real conversation here, Randy, or should we invite our PR people into the room and exchange press releases?"

During an earlier business foray, Randy would have buckled at this point. Instead he says, "I'm not prepared to have a real conversation with you, here and now."

"Sooner and later we have to have one," says the Dentist. Those wisdom teeth will have to come out someday.

"Naturally."

"In the meantime, here is what you should be thinking about," Kepler says, getting ready to leave. "What the hell can we offer, in the way of telecommunications services, that stacks up competitively against the Aussies and those Singapore boys? Because we can't beat 'em on price."

This being Randy's Third Business Foray, he doesn't blurt out the answer: redundancy. "That question will certainly be on all of our minds," Randy says instead.

"Spoken like a flack," says Kepler, his shoulders sagging. He goes out into the hallway and turns around, saying, "See you tomorrow at the Crypt." Then he winks. "Or the Vault, or Cornucopia of Infinite Prosperity, or whatever the Chinese word for it is." Having knocked Randy off balance with this startling display of humanity, he walks away.

Chapter 39 YAMAMOTO

Tojo and his claque of imperial army boneheads said to him, in effect: Why don't you go out and secure the Pacific Ocean for us, because we'll need a convenient shipping lane, say, oh, about ten thousand miles wide, in order to carry out our little plan to conquer South America, Alaska, and all of North America west of the Rockies. In the meantime we'll finish mopping up China. Please attend to this ASAP.

By then they were running the country. They had assassinated anyone in their way, they had the emperor's ear, and it was hard to tell them that their plan was full of shit and that the Americans were just going to get really pissed off and annihilate them. So, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, a dutiful servant of the emperor, put a bit of thought into the problem, sketched out a little plan, sent out one or two boats on a small jaunt halfway across the fucking planet, and blew Pearl Harbor off the map. He timed it perfectly, right after the formal declaration of war. It was not half bad. He did his job.