A Better Position
Located on the banks of the Calumet River in eastern Chicago, rows of warehouses stand ready to store cargo transported along the railways that hug the riverbank. It is the final destination for goods unloaded at western port cities like San Francisco after a journey of thousands of kilometers, and a transit point for rail freight heading to every corner of the United States—the East, the South, and the North.
In one of these warehouses, which form the largest rail hub in the United States—a place where the lights never go out, even at night—several men were moving busily in the darkness, where not even the moonlight could penetrate.
"Move faster! We need to get to Cicero before dawn."
"How much faster do you expect us to move?"
Amidst the intermittent sound of passing trains, one of the men whispering and scurrying about climbed into the back of a truck, clutching a bundle of dynamite. Soon, he attached the explosives to the steel drums loaded in the truck bed and turned to his companions.
"But, is this really okay? The target is Al Capone's son-in-law."
"If we just blow it up, there won't be any evidence left. By the time they find out it was us, we'll already be out of Chicago."
"...Then we should attach a few more sticks of dynamite. To make sure not a trace remains."
After finishing his sentence, the man in the truck bed attached additional dynamite to various spots, including the truck's cargo area, and wound the clockwork timer.
"Ready. If you don't want to die, you'd better reach the destination within two hours."
"Let's move immediately."
As the man who set the timer jumped down from the truck bed, the men assigned to driving and navigation rushed toward the driver's seat as if they had been waiting for the signal. But before they could even turn the ignition—
Tap-tap-tap-tap!
Dozens of footsteps, previously masked by the sound of the trains, reached their ears. The moment they turned their heads, they realized that a dozen or so armed men were vaulting over the warehouse gate and charging toward them.
"What the hell, who are those guys?"
"I don't know! Just get in! If we get caught, we're finished!"
Realizing something had gone terribly wrong, the men scrambled to board the truck rigged with explosives, but it was too late.
Thud! Crack!
"Aaaargh!"
The moment the man cranking the iron bar next to the engine room was struck by the recoiling bar and his arm snapped, any hope of escape vanished. Then, one of the armed men spoke up.
"This is the Pinkerton. If you want to enter prison alive, I suggest you get down."
No matter how quickly they had boarded the truck, there was no way to dodge over a dozen pistols while the engine was still dead. Especially if the opponents were the infamous Pinkertons.
"Arrest them. The rest of you, secure the evidence."
"Captain, there's a timer attached to the dynamite. It has about two hours left. I think we should check if there's more."
"I'll call Team E, so don't touch it. Just tie one of them to the truck. They'll spill the beans soon enough."
"Understood, Captain."
Watching his subordinates move with disciplined precision, the Pinkerton Captain leading the scene lowered his gun and clicked his tongue.
"They said they were dealing in bootleg liquor... this is completely different from what I heard. Who on earth did the supervisor take this commission from...?"
However, if one wanted to keep their job at the agency for a long time, it was better to suppress curiosity about the client. Soon, he turned his attention elsewhere.
"I suppose I should dig into those strange drums."
Toward the things that might just be the decisive evidence for this case.
The day after my phone call with Mr. Foreman, Gu-jik and I headed to the boardroom of the Foreman State National Bank. Upon arrival, I was greeted by ten directors already seated and glaring at me.
"My apologies. The traffic was heavy coming from Cicero."
There's no need to glare like that just because I'm a little late, is there? Well, I suppose it wasn't just because of the tardiness.
"...What is the meaning of this sudden action, Mr. Lee?"
As soon as Gu-jik and I sat down, the first to speak was John D. Hertz. The founder of the famous rental car company Hertz and the taxi company Yellow Cab had a sour expression on his face.
"Since when is an emergency board meeting notified just one day in advance? This is a clear abuse of authority!"
"As a creditor and a major shareholder holding 20% of the bank's equity, this was an action taken to resolve a suddenly emerged risk. I hope you understand."
I smiled at Mr. Hertz and moved on to the main point.
"As I mentioned to Mr. Foreman yesterday, I will restate the agenda. The agenda for this board meeting is the readjustment of credit ratings and collateral ratios for Japanese-affiliated trading companies, including Mitsui & Co., effective today."
"Mitsui?"
"Isn't Mitsui one of the top conglomerates in Japan?"
"I heard they were a bit shaken when Japan postponed their return to the gold standard, but it's true they are still a blue-chip company. And yet, a credit rating adjustment?"
"On what grounds are you saying such things?"
I had come prepared with the grounds.
"You have likely all seen this article."
I pulled the Chicago Daily Tribune I had tucked inside my coat and tossed it onto the center of the table. Soon, everyone's eyes turned to the front-page headline: [Japanese Spy, Targeting the Heart of Chicago?]
"Surely, you aren't doing this because of that article with the unclear source?"
"I know Mr. Lee himself is involved in this matter, but your concern is excessive. For starters, there is no evidence that a Japanese company is definitively linked to that spy!"
"Actually, I have brought that evidence."
At my signal, Gu-jik presented the itemized list of the spy's personal details, which we had received from our Pinkerton friends.
"We investigated through the Pinkertons, and the individual caught was affiliated with Mitsui & Co. Even if he was a low-level operative, the risk itself can be considered a fact."
"Hmm..."
"Even so..."
"Furthermore, the bank has already suffered significant losses from Japanese investments. I believe you all know why I am sitting in this seat. We cannot repeat the same mistake twice, can we?"
Now, are you awake? You wouldn't want to create another guy like me, would you?
"In a situation where the Japanese economy is already wavering, if we must also consider the risk, I believe adjusting the credit ratings of Japanese-affiliated companies is a natural course of action."
"Hmm..."
"Hmm..."
As expected, people only get serious when their rice bowls are at stake. Watching the directors fall into deep thought the moment I mentioned an unwanted guest like myself, I stroked my chin.
About a minute passed.
"...I believe Mr. Lee's words have merit."
Walter W. Head, the former president of the American Bankers Association, opened his mouth.
"I agree that there is no reason to make the same mistake when we have already suffered huge losses from investments. While the proportion of Japanese-affiliated trading companies is not that large, the need to readjust their credit ratings seems apparent."
"Hmm, if Mr. Head says so..."
"In that case, it is worth considering further."
I don't know if that thought was out of concern for the bank or because of the sentiment, 'We can't create another guy like that!', but once Mr. Head supported my statement, the rest of the process unfolded without difficulty.
"...Then, with 9 votes in favor, 1 abstention, and 2 against, the motion for the readjustment of credit ratings and collateral ratios for Japanese-affiliated trading companies is... passed."
Ultimately, the board meeting concluded with the chairman, Mr. Foreman, declaring the motion passed. As I walked out of the boardroom, I looked at Gu-jik, who was walking beside me.
"Mr. Gu-jik."
"Yes, Consigliere."
"Investigate the assets held by the Chicago branch of Mitsui & Co."
"Are you thinking of acquiring them?"
"They won't be able to cover the maintenance costs, so they will be on the market within three months at the latest. It wouldn't be a bad idea to establish a foothold in Chicago rather than Cicero."
You can't miss out on a discount opportunity like this, can you?
Upon returning to headquarters, what awaited me was fresh, good news from the Pinkertons.
"Hmm, are you certain he is a subordinate of Joe Aiello?"
"It is the result of using our latest interrogation techniques. It has an accuracy rate of over 80%."
What is that supposed to mean? 80% just means it's either right or wrong.
"I believe our organization members have verified his identity."
"Then it must be true."
If it weren't for Rizo's follow-up, I would have gone straight to the Pinkerton headquarters and grabbed the boss, Mr. Pinkerton, by the collar.
"And this is the list of evidence discovered at that location."
With those words, the supervisor from the Pinkertons placed a stack of documents in front of me. As I slowly flipped through them, checking the list of evidence, I discovered something strange.
"...Hexane was there?"
"It seems they thought bombs alone were not enough."
It is a chemical substance derived from the petroleum refining process, used in everything from adhesives and cleaning agents to edible oils, medicine, and film, depending on its purity. Since it is much more volatile than gasoline, I could understand why they used it to increase explosive power, but the problem was something else.
"99% purity, is that correct?"
"That is the result of the chemical analysis by our team. It will take a few weeks for a detailed analysis regarding the origin of the raw crude oil, but I was told the purity is certain."
"Well, I don't think analysis is particularly necessary."
The purity of hexane generally produced by American oil or chemical companies is around 95%. They could refine it higher if they wanted to, but since it's costly and demand is low, it's not a product you see often. However, there are countries that can refine hexane to this level of purity at a low cost through patented technology. One is France across the Atlantic, and the other is...
"This hexane is highly likely to be Japanese."
"Is that so?"
"If this purity is true. And..."
I think I've caught the tail end of it.
"The only place in Chicago right now where you can obtain 99% pure Japanese hexane by the barrel is Mitsui & Co."
It was a fact I learned while looking for suppliers because hexane is needed for part of the manufacturing process of sulfadiazine. Of course, because I was uncomfortable with it being a Japanese product, I just put the supply contract with Standard Oil, but to think it would lead to this.
"You said you handed it over to the BOI; did you also pass on the information about this hexane?"
"They would know about the purity, but I did not pass on what you just mentioned."
A Japanese spy was caught a while ago, and the chemical substance the gang intended to detonate happens to be Japanese? If this news gets out, public sentiment will be absolutely ablaze.
"They will be pleased if you pass it along as well. Just make sure my name doesn't come up."
"Understood. I will speak to you again once the final investigation results are summarized."
As soon as the man from the Pinkertons left the office, I looked at Rizo.
"What about Aiello?"
"They said he was caught just before boarding the train to New York. This is a matter the Boss is also aware of."
"He won't be able to die peacefully."
"Perhaps because it involves the Consigliere, he was quite furious."
If things had gone as they were, he would have died last year; if he was lucky enough to survive, he should have been less greedy.
"Then, please let me know as soon as the rest is summarized."
"Understood, Consigliere."
"And, please call in Mr. Ahern, who should be outside."
"Yes."
With those words, Rizo left the office, and Ahern, who tagged in, entered.
"Consigliere, what did you call me for?"
"This was sent to me."
I handed him the envelope. The seal stamped in the center of the envelope read:
It was none other than a letter from the Federal House of Representatives.
"...The House of Representatives?"
"A hearing is being held regarding this Japanese spy case, and they have summoned me as a witness."
Normally, a hearing wouldn't be held this quickly, but thanks to using a bit of Mr. Roosevelt's influence, it seems the Democratic side moved faster than expected.
I looked at Ahern, who was staring down at the envelope with a serious expression, and got to the point.
"I would like you to attend as my representative."
"Pardon?"
"The reason... 'I am under threat to my personal safety' should suffice. Since I actually almost got hit by a bomb, it's not exactly a lie."
Of course, that wasn't the only reason I was sending Ahern to the cunning politicians in Washington.
"And, I think I need to keep the promise I made in front of the Foreman Bank before."
"If you mean the promise..."
"Didn't I tell you? That I would look into a better position for you."
"So, that means..."
I nodded toward Ahern, who seemed flustered as if he had only just realized the meaning of my words.
"How about trying your hand at politics?"
The Washington Capitol is a better position than the boardroom of a Chicago bank, isn't it?