The Ringmaster

by Morris West

  ‘Did you bring a list of your delegates?’

  ‘I did, but I left it at the Embassy. I’m sorry. I’ll have it tomorrow at lunch.’

  ‘Then give me some idea how your team is constituted …’

  Before he had time to begin, the first course was laid in front of us: thin strips of tuna and whitefish and turtle meat, with a sauce to marinate them to our taste. As we ate and drank, Vannikov brightened somewhat. The colour seeped back into his cheeks and there was more vigour in his voice.

  ‘You’re right, Gil. Time is running against us. In Moscow they’re trying to do what Lenin did in 1921: construct a new economic policy. Our problem is that we don’t have the tools any more. It’s like starting nuclear age technology with the stone axe. I know, I exaggerate, I always do. But look, we’ve had seventy years of centralism. Two hundred and fifty million diverse peoples governed from the top of a pyramid. We know literally nothing about the simplest mechanics of the democratic or the capitalist systems: local autonomy, market pricing, floating interest rates, joint stock companies, competitive agriculture. It’s not only that we don’t know about them, we’re scared even to handle them or adapt them to our purposes. It’s as if we were tossing about live hand grenades, and, in a way, we are. Sure, we can put space stations into orbit, but on the ground it’s dog-eat-dog. All you hear in your world is glasnost and perestroika; what I see is uravnilovka, our niggardly spirit that says cut everybody down to ground level, let’s all be miserable bastards together. That’s the strongest force against us today. And half the folk in the apparat love it that way, because it protects the privilege they’ve built up over the decades …’

  He broke off, picked up the last piece of fish, dipped it in the sauce, popped it into his mouth and washed it down with sake and beer. The tension in him subsided again. He pointed his chopsticks at me and said with a grin: ‘Now you tell me your troubles, Gil. How is your love life?’

  ‘Non-existent.’

  ‘Sex?’

  ‘In this city, always available.’

  ‘Safe?’

  ‘There are few guarantees.’

  ‘And the publishing business?’

  ‘That prospers for us. I can’t speak for the rest of the trade; but we seem to have hit a good line: reasonable risks, adequate profits, no big exposures.’

  ‘That’s good to hear.’

  ‘And you? Are you out of the game altogether?’

  ‘I still consult. I draw fees and bonus payments. But, yes, it’s over for me. I had to make a decision: scrabble about in the market place or go to work for a man I believe in. I do believe in him, Gil! I know he’s made a hell of a lot of mistakes, but who else would have dared so much and done so much? I’ll tell you a secret, Gil. My family has always been part of the apparat; but now, for the first time in my life, I feel like a patriot. I must be getting drunk. That’s the first time I’ve used that word to anyone.’

  He was a little drunk with fatigue and liquor. I murmured to the girls to bring hot towels and serve the food more quickly and hold back on the liquor. Meantime I tried to keep him talking. If I was not getting the truth, or something near it, my name was not Gilbert Anselm Langton. I asked him: ‘Do you think your man can win?’

  ‘I don’t know. Some days I feel we’re at the walls of Jericho. All we need is one last trumpet-blast, the walls will fall down and we’ll go marching in triumph into the Promised Land. Other days I feel the whole system is going to collapse and we’re going to die of hunger and violence in a new Winter Revolution. This new mood in Europe, the deferment of decisions on aid to the Soviets, is ruinous to us. If there’s war in the Gulf and we’re called on for troops, we could have mutiny and insurrection among the Muslim republics. Now, you tell me some good news for a change.’

  ‘Fine. Here’s the good news. What you need is available: technology, organisation, training, finance, speedy input in all areas. The bad news? Unsettled questions at your end: land tenure, export of profits, convertible currency, access to exploitable raw materials in the country …’

  ‘Your people must know we’re working on those things.’

  ‘They do, but they’re bloody bankers. They want the securities in place. And so far as the Japanese are concerned, there’s the question of the return of the Kuril Islands.’

  ‘Oh God.’ He groaned and slapped his forehead with his palm. ‘I knew we’d trip over them sooner or later. Have you ever seen ‘em? Godforsaken rock piles where even the seals are miserable. If we get a head-to-head confrontation on that issue, we’ll never get through the agenda.’

  ‘That’s where you and I come in, Boris. We have to be clever little messenger boys, carrying the right messages from room to room.’

  ‘You’re in a much better position to do that than I am, Gil.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Unlike me, you’re not obliged to succeed. You’re not the owner of the restaurant. You’re a waiter – a goddam good waiter, I grant you, but still you fetch and carry. The cook hands you a plate of shit. You put it in front of the customer and wish him a good appetite. But you don’t have to eat it. I do.’

  ‘Even so, we both have to go through the same motions.’

  ‘Not quite, my friend. To whom will you report at the conference?’

  ‘Leibig and Tanaka.’

  ‘Now let me read you my team list: the commission for economic alternatives, which reports to Gorbachev, who reports to the presidential council; the academy of economics of the USSR, which reports to the council of ministers, which represents the state committee and fifty-seven ministries, which report to the supreme soviet of five hundred and forty-two deputies, and the congress of peoples’ deputies, which has two thousand, two hundred and fifty members!’

  ‘You should be glad they’re not all coming to Bangkok.’

  ‘You laugh, Gil, but somehow or other they’ve all got to be placated, if not convinced. Sure, the President can make the decision, but if it’s the wrong one they’ll roast him and serve him for dinner with an apple in his mouth. That’s why you’ve got to help me, old friend.’

  He was not half as far gone as he seemed to be. There was a pressure play coming. I waited for him to spell it out.

  ‘Help me and you help yourself, Gil. You must know you’ve got heavy competition in this deal.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘The Americans want front running in any reconstruction plans. They’re afraid of what will happen with a united Europe in 1992. So they’re offering a lot of seed money, oil search technology, a whole inventory of projects.’

  ‘For which they want your forces in the Gulf and favoured-nation access to your import and export markets. You’ll have a ring through your nose for the next half century.’

  ‘What do you think the Japanese and the Germans want? Economic encirclement. They’ve even spelled it out in a thesis by a very clever lady called Marta Boysen. It’s the Nazi geopolitics updated into modern economic jargon.’

  ‘I haven’t seen it.’ That at least was true. I hoped to God he would not question me further. ‘And as for adopting it as a political programme, I’m sure that’s not the case, otherwise I would have been informed. Where can I get a copy of the document?’

  ‘I brought one with me. I’ll give it to you tomorrow at lunch, with our list of delegates. Talking of which, I haven’t seen your list yet.’

  ‘That’s odd. We were talking about it on Friday. Leibig assured me our list had been sent to Moscow some time ago.’

  ‘It could have been.’ He shrugged it off as a matter of small importance. ‘Our procedures are getting as slack as everything else. It could even be that it came to my desk and Tanya simply put it in my work file; I’m drowned in paper these days. No matter, it will turn up. But to come back to Boysen’s thesis. It is very clever. You can read it as a blueprint for economic and political stability right across Eurasia, or as a subtext for a twenty-year squeeze on our divided nation.’

  �
�How did you come by the document?’

  ‘Our copy came with the compliments of the United States Embassy in Moscow. That should signify something to you, yes?’

  ‘What can I say, until I’ve read it? But what does it change? Your people approached Leibig and asked him to put this consortium together. Yes or no?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you gone cold on the idea?’

  ‘No, but the Boysen argument will influence certain people who are totally opposed to a German/Japanese intervention.’

  ‘Which is precisely what the Americans intended it should do, yes?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘It could, on your own showing, be equally an argument for the project.’

  ‘I’m not sure of anything any more. Our whole situation is like a Chinese puzzle: one ball within another. Anyway, enough of business. We came here to relax. Talk to me about women, Gil. Tell me how a fellow like you arranges himself in Tokyo or Bangkok.’

  It was after one in the morning when I delivered him back at the Embassy. His speech was slurred and he was rocking a little, but he pulled himself together and marched up the steps like a grenadier. I drove back to my hotel, soaked myself in a hot bath and then made my promised call to Tanaka. It was Miko who picked up the phone.

  ‘He’s asleep. He came home looking very grey. I insisted he go to bed. I told him I’d wait up for your call.’

  ‘There’s nothing to report that can’t wait until the morning. I dined with Vannikov. I’m convinced that the Soviets want to do business and that Vannikov and I can work constructively together. On the other hand, there are real problems, which we should discuss before our lunch tomorrow.’

  ‘Kenji suggests nine in the morning at his office. Does that suit you?’

  ‘I’ll be there. Anything else?’

  ‘I called Marta this afternoon. We had tea together at Takashimaya.’

  ‘I hope you enjoyed yourselves.’

  ‘We did. I told you, Gil, I like her. Now I’ll tell you something else. She’s in love with you, head over heels.’

  ‘That’s not the message I was getting.’

  ‘Maybe because she knew you wouldn’t want to hear it.’

  ‘Please, Miko. It’s way past my bedtime.’

  ‘And you’re sleeping alone, which is exactly what you deserve.’

  ‘At this moment it’s exactly what I want. Now stop annoying me and get off the line.’

  ‘I haven’t finished yet. This evening Kenji told me about your weekend with Marta.’

  ‘I hope to God you didn’t discuss that over the teacups.’

  ‘How could I? I didn’t know then. But frankly, I’m shocked. You acted like some goddam secret policeman. You didn’t give the woman a chance to answer for herself. Japan is bad for you, Gil. It’s making you devious. You’re picking up all our bad habits and none of our good ones. I see it, because I live in two worlds, and if I didn’t have Kenji I might be making a play for you myself. There now, I’ve said my piece. You can go to bed. I wish you happy dreams.’

  I was tempted, then and there, to ring Marta Boysen. Prudence and cowardice counselled me against it. After all, if a woman is wakened at two-thirty in the morning the least she should expect is happy news or love-talk. I had only troubling questions and my Judas tongue would stammer over any word of love. I spent a restless night. The liquor made me wakeful. My fitful sleep was haunted by a serial nightmare.

  I was in Venice. My father had challenged me to explore the city at night, alone andando per le fodere as the Venetians say: ‘going through the linings’, the underside of the city, its silent alleys, its black reeking canals, its deserted hostile squares.

  It was a sinister assignment, but the real horror of the dream was that my father had never been a sinister figure in my life. I could not understand how or why he had changed so suddenly. Nevertheless, I set out on my journey, ready to meet all the grandees and grotesques to whom over the years he had introduced me as familiar acquaintances: Byron, with his screaming women and his menagerie of raucous animals; Mocenigo, who hired the scholar Bruno to teach him magic and, when he could not, sold him to the Inquisition; the three luckless traitors buried heads down in the Piazzetta with their feet sticking up above the paving stones; Paolo Sarpi, the Servite monk who defended the rights of the Serenissima against the exactions of Rome; the courtesans with masked faces and bare nipples, celebrated through all Europe for their beauty and the high cost of their services.

  I searched and searched, but found none of them. On every bridge, at every alley’s end, at every lighted window, standing in every black gondola, I saw only the accusing image of my father, his hand out-thrust in rejection, his lips framing his constant jibe against respectable traitors: ‘From the man I trust, may God defend me. From the man I mistrust, I can defend myself.’

  I woke, trembling and sweating, afraid to sleep again. I got up, shaved, showered and dressed, then worked through meaningless papers from five in the morning until breakfast.

  By then, my hangover of liquor and guilt had subsided. Commonsense and courtesy prevailed. Before I left the hotel I called Marta. To my surprise, she seemed genuinely pleased to hear from me.

  ‘I know you’ve been very busy, so I didn’t expect a call. But, just the same, I missed you.’

  ‘I missed you, too. Today is going to be rough; but we could meet for dinner if you’d like.’

  ‘Of course, but I’d like to keep it simple, something light sent up to the suite. We have to talk, Gil. I’ve felt very uneasy ever since Saturday. I feel as though I’ve said or done something to offend you. I know I was tense and tired. When that happens I get these mood swings …’

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about, schatzi. I’ll send the car for you at seven. We’ll have an easy domestic evening. Have you spoken to Carl Leibig?’

  ‘Yes. We met briefly after lunch yesterday. He’s come up with an interesting suggestion, which I’ll tell you about tonight. Oh, and I had afternoon tea with Miko. She’s a fascinating woman.’

  ‘And how did your evening go with Max Wylie?’

  ‘It was very pleasant. We dined at his apartment. His wife’s an excellent cook. They have a two-year-old daughter, a beautiful child. You’d like them, Gil. He was telling me…’

  ‘Sorry, schatzi. You’ll have to save it for this evening. I have to run. There’s an early meeting at Tanaka’s office.’

  ‘Off you go then. I love you, Gil Langton.’

  ‘And I you, Marta Boysen.’

  What did you expect me to say? Let us have no talk of love, madam? Let us be civilised and formal; let us call each other dear colleague, kiss hands without passion and never linger over a parting? I learned a closer, warmer kind of converse; I could not be expected to forget it overnight. Besides, was I not doing exactly what had been asked of me: observing all the courtesies, stepping back from all arguments? Was I not Gilbert Anselm Langton, the perfect diplomat, making the rough paths smooth, the crooked lanes straight, clearing the way for the money-men, the new Lords of Creation?

  Seven

  At nine o’clock to the minute, Tanaka, Leibig and I met in the huge penthouse office, whose glass walls opened on to an elaborate roof garden, a small hidden world high above the canyons of the city. I made my report and summed up with three propositions.

  ‘The Soviets want the deal; they want it fast. The Americans are dead against it and we may expect a public confrontation very soon. If there’s a political price-tag – like the immediate return of the Kuril Islands – the whole project will collapse.’

  There was a longish silence. Then, with surprising mildness, Tanaka opened the discussion.

  ‘How close are the Soviets to determining such matters as freehold, leasehold, percentage of foreign ownership, all the matters, in fact, which are essential to our proposals?’

  ‘Progress is patchy. My reading is that once a ground of agreement is established, there will be a presidential intervention.
Vannikov is a trusted man. He knows how the apparat works, but he has direct access to Gorbachev. I impressed upon him most firmly that this was, first and foremost, a banking operation. Their people had to have the agreed securities in place.‘

  ‘Let’s talk about the Americans.’ Carl Leibig seemed ill at ease. His curt Junker certainties had deserted him. There was puzzlement and anxiety in his voice. ‘I understand why they’re opposed to our project. We’re natural commercial rivals. On your evidence, Gil, they’re planning a highly incendiary campaign, based on the Haushofer material and executed round the world at embassy level. Is that correct?’

  ‘That’s what it looks like. The other side of the coin is that the Soviets don’t want a witch hunt or a ghost hunt. They’ll do business with the Devil if they can get quick and tangible results. Which brings me to an important point. Our case would be enormously strong if we were able to say today at the luncheon or tomorrow in Nara that our funds are in place and we are prepared to move as soon as an agreement is signed. Can we do that?’

  ‘Before I answer,’ Tanaka was carefully obstructive, ‘explain why it is important to make such an announcement.’

  ‘Because both Europe and America have said there will be delays in their commitments, at least until December. With money on the table, I believe we could strike our deal in Bangkok and be on the planning board before Christmas.’

  Carl Leibig was obviously unhappy that I had tabled the issue. He prompted Tanaka: You know that our commitment, part German, part British, Scandinavian and European, is already in place, subject, of course, to documents and appropriate agreements on the Soviet side. What is the Japanese position?’

  The Tanaka Group is already committed. At this moment, other Japanese investment from major houses depends upon a settlement of the Kuril question.’

  ‘But Gil has made it very clear; that question will not be settled in Bangkok or, indeed, for a long time after.’