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rapport, had been achieved. Moving the relationship forward was going to be more difficult. I was running out of questions and in status-conscious Bushido, it was unlikely that a senior official like Machano would continue to spend time meeting with a minor embassy functionary. I had to elevate my status and convince Machano I was both important and influential.
    The plan called for two extra case officers, a car with chauffer, a compliant maid, and a well-rehearsed family. Alex Taketa, a case officer of Bushidan descent, and Paul, a classmate from The Farm, volunteered. I requisitioned two cars from the embassy motor pool, rehearsed the maid, and briefed my family.
    The scenario began with a clandestine element. I had told Machano that, “for security reasons,” I would pick him up a block away rather than in front of his office. The request puzzled Machano, but he seemed intrigued by my concern for his “security” and agreed to my request.
    Alex was standing next to the embassy sedan, flicking his feather duster in good Bushidan style back and forth across the hood. When Machano arrived and got into the car, I pointed to the other sedan pulling out ahead, our security “outrider.” I snapped my fingers and the chauffer turned on the radio, which happened to be tuned to the armed forces radio station. I told Machano I often received coded messages over the radio. I clicked my fingers, and the chauffer turned off the radio. I told Machano we could now talk freely, because the chauffer was a deaf-mute.
    The charade was almost exposed when we drove up to the house. My son, Gray, rushed out to greet “Uncle Alex,” who ducked behind his feather duster. I explained to Machano that the chauffer was like an uncle to my children, then quickly escorted him into the house.
    At the front door, the maid announced that there was an “important telephone call from Washington” for me in my study. I excused myself, leaving my wife to escort Machano to the living room for cocktails.
    The dinner went smoothly except for interruptions from the maid, who kept announcing phone calls from the ambassador. Finally, worried about overkill, I slipped into the kitchen and told the maid there was no need for further announcements.
    Machano became more relaxed, tousling the children’s hair and complimenting Joy on the dinner. When the meal was over, I invited Machano into the study for cigars and brandy. After discussing the travails of the UN and insurrections in former European colonies, I touched on the situation in Bushido and the increasing anti-American sentiment there, which was disturbing American government leaders in Washington. Machano said I had to understand the mind-set of the Bushidans, the majority of whom were too busy trying to fill their rice bowls to be anti-American. There was only a small minority that was creating trouble for its own political ends, but this might be difficult for foreigners to understand.
    I refilled Machano’s brandy, telling him that he had put his finger on the problem. Our leaders were not that well informed. Bushido was a mystery to many American leaders, and one of my tasks was to try to unravel the mystery. Bushido was a complex country, and I needed someone, a Bushidan like Machano, to help me in keep our decision makers better informed. We could do this working together “unofficially” behind the scenes.
    At this point, Machano raised his eyebrows, dipped his cigar in the brandy snifter, and looked up at the ceiling. I decided not to press him further, because the “unofficial” part seemed to bother him. I decided to change the subject, but before I had a chance, he held up his hand and said, “Mr. St. Martin, let me speak frankly. The problem you are discussing is one of your own making. Your style of democracy, which you are encouraging here, guarantees freedom of expression and freedom of assembly, which presumably includes the kind of demonstrations you are referring to. Your