philip_k_dick_-_the_man_in_the_high_castle

The heart, locked within two yin lines of black passion. Strangled, sometimes, and yet, even
then, the light of yang, the flicker at the center. I like him, Mr. Tagomi said to himself. German or
Swede. I hope the zaracaine helped his headache. Must recall to inquire, first off the bat.
His desk intercom buzzed.
'No,' he said brusquely into it. 'No discussion. This is moment for Inner Truth. Introversion.'
From the tiny speaker Mr. Ramsey's voice: 'Sir, news has just come from the press service
below. The Reichs Chancellor is dead. Martin Bormann.' Ramsey's voice popped off. Silence.
Mr. Tagomi thought, Cancel all business for today. He rose from his desk and paced rapidly back
and forth, pressing his hands together. Let me see. Dispatch at once formal note to Reichs Consul.
Minor item; subordinate can accomplish. Deep sorrow, etc. All Japan joins with German people in
this sad hour. Then? Become vitally receptive. Must be in position to receive information from
Tokyo instantly.
Pressing the intercom button he said, 'Mr. Ramsey, be sure we are through to Tokyo. Tell the
switchboard girls, be alert. Must not miss communication.'
'Yes, sir,' Mr. Ramsey said.
'I will be in my office from now on. Thwart all routine matters. Turn back any and all callers
whose business is customary.'
'Sir?'
'My hands must be free in case sudden activity is needed.'
'Yes sir.'
Half an hour later, at nine, a message arrived from the highest-ranking Imperial Government
official on the West Coast, the Japanese Ambassador to the Pacific States of America, the
Honorable Baron L. B. Kaelemakule. The Foreign Office had called an extraordinary session at the
embassy building on Sutter Street, and each Trade Mission was to send a highly placed personage
to attend. In this case, it meant Mr. Tagomi himself.
There was no time to change clothes. Mr. Tagomi hurried to the express elevator, descended to
the ground floor, and a moment later was on his way by Mission limousine, a black 1940 Cadillac
driven by an experienced uniformed Chinese chauffeur.
At the embassy building he found other dignitaries' cars parked roundabout, a dozen in all.
Highly placed worthies, some of whom he knew, some of whom were strangers to him, could be
seen ascending the wide steps of the embassy building, filing on inside. Mr. Tagomi's chauffeur
held the door open, and he stepped out quickly, gripping his briefcase, it was empty, because he
had no papers to bring — but it was essential to avoid appearance of being mere spectator. He
strode up the steps in a manner suggesting a vital role in the happenings, although actually he had
not even been told what this meeting would cover.
Small knots of personages had gathered; murmured discussions in the lobby. Mr. Tagomi joined
several individuals whom he knew, nodding his head and looking — with them — solemn.
An embassy employee appeared presently and directed them into a large hall. Chairs setup,
folding type. All persons filed in, seated themselves silently except for coughing and shuffling.
Talk had ceased.
Toward the front a gentleman with handful of papers, making way up to slightly raised table.
Striped pants: representative from Foreign Office.
Bit of confusion. Other personages, discussing in low tones; heads bowed together.
'Sirs,' the Foreign Office person said in loud, commanding voice. All eyes fixed then on him. 'As
you know, the Reichskanzler is now confirmed as dead. Official statement from Berlin. This
meeting, which will not last long — you will soon be able to go back to your offices — is for