When Nakata, Yukinaga, Onodera, and Yamazaki entered the Executive Building, which housed the Prime Minister’s Office, everything was in disorder, with all sorts of people hurrying up and down the corridors.
Nakata turned to Yamazaki and asked: “Have you been in contact with our patron?”
“Yes ... finally,” answered Yamazaki in a weary voice. His tie was crumpled and his collar dirty. He had aged greatly in a short time. His unshaven cheeks were hollow, and there were wrinkles around his eyes. Besides having suffered the ordeal of the earthquake, he held himself responsible for the severe injuries suffered by young Yasukawa, who had been found in a temporary hospital. “Mr. Watari’s in Hakone. Kunieda is with him.”
“Good. Professor Tadokoro should go to see him. He’s wasting his time trying to corner the Prime Minister in the midst of all this disorder.”
“In any case, it looks like we’ll have to close up shop for a while, doesn’t it?” Yamazaki asked as he opened the door of the small room that had been set aside for Plan D.
“You think so?” Nakata said dryly.
“Well, with everything up in the air the way it is, we couldn’t expect to accomplish anything for the time being, could we? And then, besides, even if it happens, it wouldn’t be for some time, would it? Say for four or five years or even longer?”
“It’s hard to say,” Nakata said quietly. “According to a very rough calculation, it could happen that D would equal two.”
“Equal two?” asked Yamazaki, his jaw dropping. “Two years? Are you sure?”
“Yes. If worse comes to worst.”
Yamazaki looked at the three of them, his face haggard. He shook his head. “That’s hard to believe. . . . Well, at any rate, make yourself at home. I can’t offer you tea because of this chaos. How about a glass of water?”
“Never mind,” said Nakata with a laugh. “The thing I’m concerned about is for you to think about getting in touch somehow with the old Mr. Watari in Hakone.”
“We don’t have a car, and anyway gasoline rationing is really stiff,” Yamazaki answered as he threw himself into a chair in front of the desk. “Somehow, I just can’t believe it,” he went on as he looked out the window. “Could something like that really take place? This thing . . . couldn’t it be nothing more than the delusion of a senile old man and a scientist a little touched in the head?”
“I suppose we’ve all wondered that,” said Nakata. He paused for a moment. “I’m afraid it’s really going to happen.”
“Well, if so . . . what then? There are a hundred million Japanese, you know.”
“Most of them might die,” said Nakata. “And why? Precisely because nobody is going to believe that such a thing could happen. We ourselves are of two minds, and we’re up to our neck in it. And in the midst of the will-it-or-will-it-not, maybe-so-maybe-no debate, time is slipping away. And the longer the delay, the greater the number of those who will die.”
“You don’t seem to have any hope,” said Yamazaki in a low voice.
“Oh, I can hope as well as the next man. I hope that there’s some equilibrium process at work unknown to us, something that will prevent this from happening, or something, at least, that will greatly lessen its impact. But in the meantime we’ve got to act as though it is going to happen, so that we can save as many as possible.” Nakata smiled ruefully. “I have no desire to be vindicated as a prophet. If this thing happens, it will be pure hell, and there’s no point in putting on prophetic airs in hell.”
Yamazaki crushed out his cigarette. “I’ve got a wife and children,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I wonder what you people think . . . about your families, I mean. If only somebody would take the initiative . . .”