Hidden Nexus by Nick Tanner Read Free Book Online

by grabbing the hand of the local candidate and raising it aloft in victory salute he had been pleased to usher her back down to ground level and to get on with what he’d seen as the main purpose of his visit to the bus that day, that being - unfailing and unending self-promotion. Tanaka was a woman for whom he had no great faith and precious little time but he had none-the-less publicly endorsed her before dismissing her to a role of secondary, leafleting, importance and commencing his speeches.
     
    That morning the words had seemed to flow effortlessly from his lips and a few off-the-cuff comments that had just leapt into his head had perfectly embellished what he’d considered to be an appealingly powerful message. Most of all he’d been delighted that all this had been caught wonderfully by the TV networks. All in all he considered that he had done some pretty good work for the party, some fairly good work for the candidate but most of all some excellent work for himself. However all this endeavour had come crashing down around his shoulders as some fifteen minutes into his speech he had depressingly heard the shrill burp of vulgar-sounding marshal music followed not soon after by a procession of black and red political busses entering the square as the enemy within, the far-right faction, had approached.Too soon he’d been drowned out, too soon the few people who’d stopped to listen to him had their heads turned by the new arrivals and too soon the TV cameras had panned around to take in the full, more energetic, alternative view. A ruffled Watanabe had attempted to continue but he’d known his moment had gone. He’d lost the crowd as much as he’d lost himself. He’d then sadly noticed that the far-right were throwing his own phrases back at him, laced with heavy sarcasm and dripping with praise – a cunning a ploy as any he had ever witnessed.
     
    ‘Watanabe promises electoral reform,’ they’d shouted. ‘He’s a man who keeps his promises. You can trust Watanabe and his faction to deliver. He’s been fighting this corner for fifteen years! That's effectiveness for you! If you want electoral reform then Watanabe is your man.’
     
    For every issue you cared to mention the ‘opposition’ tactic had been to shower him with compliments and smother him with eulogies knowing full well that stretched grotesquely in this manner his own pronouncements would begin to sound empty and fatuous.
     
    Five minutes later, his stint done and brutally leaving a defenceless Tanaka to submissively fend off the opposition on her own, Hiro Watanabe sat in the back of his limousine that had returned him to faction headquarters. It went without saying that he’d been in a foul mood. In addition to the humiliation at the hustings, the latest opinion polls, that he’d then had in front of him, had the ruling party trailing to the real opposition – the Socialists, and his own faction had been singled out as the weak link in the chain. It had all been quite indigestible. He’d turned to his political advisor and closest confident, Shinsuke Kinjo, who’d been sitting beside him, equally sullen and equally despondent.
     
    ‘So?’ Watanabe had said, with the air of a man expecting someone else to come up with a solution.
     
    Kinjo had taken a deep breath and then blown out his cheeks. ‘We need a plan – a new plan! We need a meeting with Hatoyama,’ he’d replied in a steely voice.
     
    Two days later in a suitably anonymous hotel – a stone’s throw from Tokyo Shinbashi station, Watanabe and Kinjo had awaited their illustrious guest. Despite having called the meeting Watanabe had instinctively known that he was gambling and he’d glanced nervously at his watch and then at Kinjo.
     
    ‘Why here?’ he’d asked, peering around at the shabby surroundings.
     
    ‘It’s owned by my cousin – it’s quite safe, quite discreet.’
     
    ‘And quite disgusting! It had better be safe, though. I feel out on a