sbdcsierra Chapter 361 Flying to Moscow
Chapter 361 Flying to Moscow
Saturday, November 17, 1990.
Narita International Airport, third apron.
It rained last night, and shallow water still lingered on the concrete surface of the tarmac, reflecting the blurry outlines of several business jets.
Endo arrived at 7:04.
In order to arrive before Satsuki and her group boarded the plane, he didn't take the company car. He got off the Keisei Main Line express train and walked over himself, dragging a small briefcase.
When Satsuki walked in through the side door of the waiting room, the first person she saw was him.
She paused for a moment.
"Have you slept yet?"
Endo paused for a moment.
He instinctively wanted to hand over the briefcase in his hand.
But Satsuki didn't look at the briefcase; she looked at his face, and she cared more about him as a person.
"...I rested for forty minutes on the Shinkansen."
Satsuki frowned slightly.
That's not called sleeping.
Endo opened his mouth. He wanted to say that Nagata had received confirmation letters from the secretarial offices of three manufacturing companies simultaneously, Sumitomo's main legal department was still missing two copies for verification of the receipt registration, and the MT700 receipt from Citibank Tokyo needed to be sent by Monday…
"Fujita."
Fujita stepped forward from a position one step behind Endo.
Satsuki took a blank notepad and a short pencil from her coat pocket and handed them to him.
"Make a note of this. Starting today, Executive Director Endo is not allowed to handle non-urgent documents within 24 hours."
Endo's lips moved slightly.
"Young Miss—"
Satsuki looked up at him.
"If you fall, I'll have to raise another Endo."
"You're very expensive, you know that?"
Endo lowered his head. He held the briefcase in front of him with both hands, like a student being lectured.
"……yes."
Satsuki then extended her hand.
"Yes, give it to me."
Endo handed over the briefcase.
Satsuki opened it, pulled out the fax paper inside, and flipped through it while standing.
My gaze moved quickly across the page—from top to bottom, about eight seconds per page.
The first page is a summary of the settlement progress for each of Sumitomo Manufacturing's subsidiaries. I've gone through it once; there are no problems.
The second page contains Ito Man's internal information: warehouse receipt date, margin deposit date, and insurance certificate number, with three places circled in red highlighter.
The content on the third page is even shorter, consisting of only four lines.
"Is Urakami starting to make a move?"
Endo nodded.
"Our people in Kitahama observed that Masaaki Urakami had an appointment yesterday afternoon with a law firm headquartered in Osaka. This law firm's main business is bankruptcy liquidation."
Satsuki turned back to the second page, her finger hovering over the third red circle.
"This shell company."
"Osaka-ya Sangyo. Registered capital of ten million yen, the actual controller is a retired member of the Hakusui-kai board of directors."
Endo's voice was very low.
"It seems that Masaaki Urakami is preparing to cut his losses."
"Currently, the company has four bridge loan guarantees, all of which are with Ito Man. If it enters bankruptcy proceedings, these four guarantees will be automatically released."
Satsuki folded the three sheets of paper back and put them back in the document box.
"Don't rush to block the door."
Endo looked up.
Satsuki handed the box back to him.
"Let Urakami bring out the scapegoat himself."
"We don't know which pen that sheep is in, but he does."
Endo paused for a moment as he took the envelope back.
Satsuki had already turned around and was walking towards the special gate deep inside the waiting room.
He took two steps, then stopped and turned his head away.
"When he starts cutting the rope—everyone will be able to see who the rope is connected to."
Endo stood still, gripping the box tightly in his hands.
He suddenly realized that a 40-minute Shinkansen ride definitely doesn't count as sleeping.
Endo.
Satsuki had already reached the gate, but she didn't turn around.
"Get Osaka all sorted out before the Lunar New Year. I'll come back in January and treat you to a nice meal."
"Also, go back and get some sleep first."
"That's an order."
Endo stood there, watching Satsuki's retreating figure.
After a long while, he bent down deeply.
"Yes."
"Respectfully seeing off the young lady."
……
8:17 a.m.
Third runway.
The Gulfstream G4's engines were already warming up. A deep turbine hum came from beneath the wings, vibrating the thin layer of water on the runway surface in the greyish-white early winter morning light.
Fujita stood at the bottom of the gangway, one hand resting on the side handrail.
Xiuyi went up first.
Suddenly, as if sensing something, he stopped on the third step and turned around.
"Satsuki, a scarf."
Satsuki glanced down. The end of her scarf had slipped out from under her coat collar, dangling and swaying in front of her chest.
She reached out and shoved it back in, the movement casual.
"We haven't even reached Moscow yet, the plane has heating."
As they were talking, Shuichi came up to her and helped her rewrap the scarf around her neck.
"You need to learn to take care of yourself, you know?"
"Even though Chizuru and the others usually help me, I still need to take care of my own health..."
Shuichi kept talking until half of Satsuki's face was covered by the scarf, then he patted Satsuki's shoulder with satisfaction.
"Ah, Father... I can't breathe..."
Satsuki, looking speechless, loosened her scarf slightly and pushed Shuichi to turn around.
"Alright, alright, hurry up and get on the plane, Father..."
Chizuru followed silently half a step behind the two.
Amy was the last to board. She was still holding the tool bag labeled "Technical Equipment" in her arms, and her footsteps thudded on the gangway.
She refused to let Fujita's people help her carry them, insisting on carrying her pile of treasures herself.
Everyone boarded the plane, and the ground crew retracted the gangway and closed the cabin door.
The cabin interior space is not large, and because it is not used very frequently, it has only been refurbished once since it was purchased.
The seats are made of cream-colored genuine leather, and between the two rows of wide, facing seats is a foldable mahogany table with a brass trim around the top.
Behind it was a frosted glass door, and beyond that was a rest cabin of about three square meters.
Satsuki sat down by the window. She pulled out her Moscow travel guide from her canvas bag—Red Square, the Winter Palace, the Bolshoi Theatre—the onion domes on the cover looking too bright in the morning light.
She laid the guide out on her lap and flipped through two pages of information about the Winter Palace.
Shuichi sat opposite her. He held the hot tea that Chizuru had handed him, and his expression relaxed slightly as he watched his daughter finally open that serious travel brochure.
Satsuki turned to the third page. She traced her finger across the floor plan of the Hermitage Museum.
Then she pulled out an A4 sheet of paper folded into thirds from the inner compartment of the guide.
The paper was printed with names, organizations, and contact information. The heading was in Cyrillic script.
Shuichi looked at her.
The teacup stopped at his lips.
Satsuki sensed that gaze. She slowly tucked the list behind the travel guide—so slowly it seemed as if she was deliberately letting someone see it.
Shuichi sighed.
"Satsuki".
"Father?"
"At least get some rest on the plane."
Satsuki blinked. She put the list and travel guide together and obediently placed them in the corner of the small table.
"it is good."
Xiu put down his teacup and leaned back in his chair.
His shoulders relaxed a little, and his gaze shifted to the gray-white sky outside the porthole.
There was silence for about twenty seconds.
Satsuki's gaze slowly drifted to the other side of the corridor.
Amy was lying on the small table opposite her, drawing something quickly on an A4 sheet of paper with a pencil.
The paper contains a densely packed topology diagram, with nodes and lines radiating outwards from the center, labeled with English abbreviations and numbers.
Her left hand unconsciously twirled a strand of hair, and her lips moved slightly, as if she were silently reciting some protocol parameters.
Satsuki stood up from her seat.
She walked behind Amy and paused for a moment.
Then two hands reached over from behind and pinched Amy's cheeks.
"Ugh—!? Satsuki-chan—!"
Amy's face was pinched out of shape, and her words leaked from the corners of her mouth, muffled and unclear.
Satsuki squeezed Amy's cheeks together and then pulled them outwards.
It feels soft and comfortable to the touch.
"You heard that too," Satsuki whispered in Amy's ear. "Rest."
"Well……"
"Let's go see a movie."
Satsuki released her grip, leaving two pale pink finger marks on Amy's cheek.
She rubbed the spot where she had been pinched, looked up at Satsuki, and her eyes lit up.
"Uh-huh!"
The pencil and topology diagram were unhesitatingly thrown onto the table.
"What are you looking at? Which one does Satsuki-chan want to see?"
"You choose," Satsuki tilted her head, "choose one that doesn't require any brainpower."
Shuichi watched this scene from the opposite side.
His gaze fell on his daughter's profile, which was unusually gentle.
If it weren't for Amy, he would have been genuinely worried.
Chizuru had already retrieved a portable video recorder and three VHS tapes from the rear cabin. She connected the equipment to the folding screen on the bulkhead, pressed play, and returned to her seat.
The screen lit up. It was a French film; the opening credits were in black text on a white background.
Satsuki curled up in the corner of the window seat, her legs tucked into the seat. Amy sat next to her, her shoulder almost touching hers.
Outside the cabin, Narita's runway slid backward. The thrust of takeoff gently pressed everyone into their seats.
The ground outside the window is getting farther and farther away.
The surface of Tokyo Bay turned into a gray-blue plane before being swallowed by clouds.
……
2:47 PM Moscow time.
Sheremetyevo International Airport.
The moment the wheels touched the ground, Amy's forehead bounced off the porthole glass.
She rubbed her eyes and sat up straight—the movie had long since ended, and all that remained on the screen was the blue static from the end of the VHS tape.
The world outside the porthole was gray.
It's as if all the colors have had their saturation removed, leaving only the base colors.
The runway was gray, the terminal building's exterior walls were gray, and the Soviet civil aviation Il-62s on the tarmac in the distance were also gray and white.
The sky was low, and the clouds covered the entire field of vision evenly.
The Gulfstream glided to a separate parking spot off from the main terminal. Two black Volga sedans were already waiting on the ground.
Satsuki stood up, put on the long, dark gray cashmere coat, and wrapped the scarf Chizuru handed her around her neck twice, tucking the end into the coat's collar.
Fujita opened the hatch.
The moment the cold air rushed in, most of the warmth in the cabin dissipated.
Shuichi walked ahead. He wore a black double-breasted wool coat, his scarf was tied tightly, and his breath scattered in a small puff in front of his nose.
Three people were standing at the bottom of the gangway.
The man at the front was around fifty years old. He wore a gray rabbit fur earmuff hat with the brim pulled low, almost covering half of his forehead.
The dark blue wool coat he wore was faded from washing, but it was ironed perfectly, with the creases at the cuffs and collar as straight as if drawn with a ruler. A white shirt and a dark red tie peeked out from inside the collar.
His face was thin. He had high cheekbones and deep-set eyes, and wore a standard diplomatic smile, but the bloodshot eyes and dark circles under his eyes were not completely concealed by his hat.
"Lord Saionji".
He spoke in heavily guttural Japanese. His pronunciation was accurate, but the stress was slightly off.
"Welcome to Moscow. I am Sergei Ivanovich Kozlov, Deputy Director of the East Asia Department of the USSR Friendship Association with Foreign Countries."
He bowed slightly, extending his right hand. The glove was made of black faux leather, and a small section of the stitching at the fingertips had worn white.
Shuichi grasped his hand.
"Mr. Kozlov, thank you for your arrangements."
"Our association attaches great importance to the proposal of the Japan-Soviet Cultural Exchange Fund."
Kozlov's Japanese sometimes involves an unconscious pause at certain long vowels.
We have received your list of humanitarian aid donations.
His gaze passed over Shuichi's shoulder and landed on Satsuki, who was walking down from behind. He paused for a moment.
"And this is—"
Shuichi turned slightly to the side. "My daughter, Satsuki."
"She also participated in the preparation of this foundation."
Kozlov's gaze lingered on the young face for half a second longer, then he bowed slightly.
"Ms. Saionji, welcome."
Gaoyue nodded slightly.
"Спасибо, товарищ Козлов. Очень приятно. (Comrade Kozlov, it's a pleasure to meet you.)"
Kozlov's eyebrows twitched, and the curve of his smile seemed to have gained a touch more authenticity.
"Your Russian is very good."
Satsuki smiled. "I only know a few lines, from what I learned in books."
Kozlov didn't press the matter. He turned to the side and gestured with his hand.
"Please, the car is ready. A suite has been arranged for foreign guests at the hotel, which is very close to the Kremlin."
The group walked towards the Volga.
Amy followed in the group, turning her head from side to side.
"This is the Soviet Union..." Her voice was very low, and only Chizuru, who was walking next to her, could hear it.
Her gaze passed over a row of corrugated iron sheds at the edge of the tarmac.
A red banner with white lettering was painted on the outer wall of the shed, in a bold, propaganda-style font.
A ground staff member in blue overalls was squatting under the sign, using a roll of gray tape to wrap the damaged outer shell of the baggage conveyor belt.
Several layers of tape had been wrapped around the equipment, each layer filthy and blending into the original paint, making it impossible to distinguish the edges.
Amy's voice lowered.
"...Uh, is that device still usable?"
Chizuru didn't answer. She walked half a step ahead of Amy, her gaze level with the distance.
As she passed a glass door on the side of the terminal, her pace remained unchanged, and she didn't turn her head—but her pupils shifted slightly in the reflection of the glass.
Behind the door. Two men in dark jackets, three meters apart, walked at the same pace as their group.
Fujita walked at the back of the line. His right hand was in his coat pocket, and his left hand hung naturally at his sides. He saw it too.
He made a gesture, and the Saionji security personnel surrounding Satsuki and her group changed positions again, blocking the two people's view as much as possible.
Kozlov led the group through a dusty concrete corridor.
There were water stains on the ground from melting snow, and a layer of yellowish-brown alkali residue was visible at the grout lines of the tiles. One of the fluorescent light tubes overhead was flickering, its brightness fluctuating irregularly, as if it had a poor connection.
Satsuki walked out of the terminal.
The Moscow winds hit us head-on.
The wind was strong, hitting my face like something scraping against it. Fine snowflakes were swirled by the wind and drifted down at an angle.
She extended her right hand.
The surface of the sheepskin gloves was covered with a fine layer of down. She opened her palms up.
A snowflake fell.
It was very small. The edges of the hexagon were broken, probably because it had drifted down from a great height and smashed some branches in the air.
It landed on the palm of the glove, lingering on the camel-colored leather for less than two seconds.
It melted.
It left a damp spot the size of a pinhead.
Shuichi walked to her side, his breath condensing into a white mist above the scarf.
Are you cold?
Satsuki raised her head and looked at the gray-white sky that seemed to stretch endlessly.
The snow was still falling, falling on the tarmac, on the equipment wrapped in tape, and on the heads of the people queuing up.
"Um."
She withdrew her hand. The slight dampness on the sheepskin glove was no longer visible.
"Like a morning when you're about to wake up but can't seem to wake up."
The Volga's door opened. Kozlov stood beside the car and gestured for it to proceed.
His smile remained as perfect as ever, but the wind had blown his earmuffs askew, revealing the gray roots of his temples.
Satsuki lowered her head and got into the car.
The sound of the wind outside was blocked out by the thick metal shell of the vehicle.
All that remained was the buzzing sound from the heating vents.
The convoy slowly drove away from the airport.
Outside the window, Moscow unfolds in the gray hues of November.