Tokugen Numataka lit his fourth cigar and kept pacing. He snatched up his phone and buzzed the main switchboard.
“Any word yet on that phone number?” he demanded before the operator could speak.
“Nothing yet, sir. It’s taking a bit longer than expected‑it came from a cellular.”
A cellular, Numataka mused. Figures. Fortunately for the Japanese economy, the Americans had an insatiable appetite for electronic gadgets.
“The boosting station,” the operator added, “is in the 202 area code. But we have no number yet.”
“202? Where’s that?” Where in the vast American expanse is this mysterious North Dakota hiding?
“Somewhere near Washington, D. C . . . sir.”
Numataka arched his eyebrows. “Call me as soon as you have a number.”