The Ringmaster

by Morris West

  That lobbed the ball neatly into Vannikov’s court; but first I made my little spiel. I told them that, at the joint invitation of the hosts, I was presiding over this opening session, but that I should be happy to vacate the chair at any moment. I had no financial or national interest in the matters under discussion. I was being paid to mediate, interpret, facilitate, clarify. I had enjoyed good relations with Boris Vannikov, Kenji Tanaka and Carl Leibig. I hoped those relations would be improved by this exercise. So, over to you, Boris Vannikov.

  Friend Boris was as sharp as a needle. He, too, offered to deliver his response in English. His political colleague had no objections – this with a sidelong grin – because he had already cleared the text in Russian and had suggested that it would sound much better in Georgian. Quietly at first, then with increasing eloquence, he delivered his statement.

  ‘I speak to you, not as businessmen or bankers or traders, though you are all of these things, but as potential co-operators in a new and challenging enterprise. Mr Tanaka and Mr Leibig, with their colleagues, have responded to our invitation with a proposal of authentic value. We have studied it carefully and, while there is much in it that requires discussion, debate and definition, we accept it as a sound basis for the work to which we have committed ourselves in Bangkok.

  ‘That said, however, my colleague and I are obliged to give you fair warning of the difficulties which lie ahead for you and for us. We are a nation in transition, a Union fragmenting itself. All the dogmas to which we pledged our belief are now under challenge. They were the cement which bound us together in all our diversities of race, history and traditional belief. Now the cement no longer holds. Individual republics are demanding that their separate identities be recognised. We are still trying to devise a new form of federation which will permit us, not only to co-exist, but to co-operate to a common advantage. Everything in your document’ – he held it up in a dramatic gesture – ‘everything is predicated upon an assumption that the arrangements you offer will be made with a central authority and backed by a common pool of resources, expressed in a common currency. You have a right to expect that. You cannot, in today’s world, be expected to negotiate separate trading and banking arrangements with each single republic. Equally, you have the right to know that the central authority can honour its pledges, its commercial paper, its freeholds and leaseholds and tax arrangements.

  ‘More than this, you have to believe that the people themselves are willing to trust you and co-operate with you. They have had seventy years of socialism. Not all of it was black. They will not readily throw it away for a new capitalist illusion. Some of them are drones, only too happy to survive within a protective system. They will not change overnight into industrious, competitive workers.

  ‘As you can read in your daily newspapers, all those matters are now in open debate in the Soviet Union. It would be as disastrous for us as for you to make agreements that could not be honoured. My country is in crisis at this moment. I believe we shall weather it. I can promise no more.

  ‘None of us here knows what will happen in the Gulf. We all know that we are walking a razor’s edge across a pit of fire. Whatever happens in the next few weeks may destroy all our hopes; but so long as there is hope ahead, we must continue walking towards it.

  ‘So, let us talk openly. Ask me or Lavrenti here any questions you like; we shall try to answer them. Expect questions from us, too, because we are responsible to those who sent us. What more can I say? When I was a small boy I used to think it was the ringmaster who made the circus. Now I know that maybe he is afraid of bears; maybe he couldn’t walk two steps on a high wire; maybe if he tried to be a clown they would pelt him with bad eggs; but the performance would not be the same without him … Back to you, Gil.’

  It was a fine performance and it deserved the applause they gave him. I called on Tanaka to respond. Instead, he offered the floor to Domenico Cubeddu.

  When he rose to speak, the Sicilian radiated an air of authority. His attitude was curiously arrogant, rather like that of a prosecuting attorney determined to impress the jury with his opening address.

  ‘I represent a group of investors who, subject to agreed documents, have pledged financial participation in the Tanaka/Leibig consortium. So, I’m a money-man, talking money. Money isn’t a hothouse plant that can only be nurtured in stable conditions. It’s a weed, with a million mutations. It will grow anywhere. There’s trouble in the Gulf? Sure there is! But the spot oil market is still open, the wires and the satellite channels are still open to all the stock markets. If war breaks out, business will still go on. What I want to say to Mr Vannikov and his colleagues, what I want to say to Mr Tanaka and Mr Leibig as well, is this. Total stability in the Soviet Union, in Europe, anywhere else, is a myth. For a money-man, the unstable time is opportunity time. You want the other side of the coin? Look at China, since Tiananmen Square. Very stable. So stable, it’s stagnating and until things liven up I won’t advise my people to invest a nickel there … This document, this proposal, is a good and sound one. It’s conservative. It engenders confidence. But in my view it’s too conservative, too hidebound. I don’t think the Soviet Union is going to settle down in a month, a year, even a decade maybe, not unless you want a military coup and blood in the streets and the Lubianka working twenty-four hours a day. So what are we waiting for? Let’s do business in the world we’ve got. If the risks are high, let’s increase the risk loading on the funds. Our stakes are on the table. It’s time for Moscow to ante-up and let’s start cutting the cards.’

  The effrontery of the man took everybody by surprise. Vannikov and his colleagues were visibly shocked. There was sound sense in what he said; but the brutality of the utterance was Wall Street at its worst, crass, vulgar and insulting. It was also totally destructive of the atmosphere we were trying to create. As a neutral mediator, I had to hold myself clear of the debate. I looked at Tanaka to bail me out of it. Instead, he indicated by a gesture that I should call the other newcomer, Mr Hoshino, who promptly sprang another surprise. He said he would prefer to speak in Japanese. He would ask me to translate it first into Russian and then paraphrase for the others. His speech was brief.

  There is much sense in what my colleague has said. My company trades all around the world. In every territory there are different conditions. There are no common laws, only customs and expedients, which each of our executives has to learn for himself. The one universal rule is respect. So long as that holds, one can do business. Without it, the pirates take control. I am older and therefore more patient than my friend Cubeddu. I am prepared to listen to any sensible proposition.’

  I addressed the translation directly to Vannikov and was relieved to see him relax slowly and then nod approval to his colleagues. When I paraphrased the statement for the others, I pitched it directly to Leino and Forster, who were clearly somewhat on the fringes of the event. Even as I spoke, I was becoming more and more uneasy. Cubeddu and Hoshino had each spoken with considerable authority. In the case of Cubeddu there was something more, a high-handed despotism, as if he were totally independent, or, more likely, was the man of confidence for a very powerful group who would automatically endorse and enforce any decision he made. For the moment, there was nothing required of me except the even-handed conduct of the meeting. The political officer raised his hand and signified his desire to be heard. He asked whether he might be permitted to put questions to the delegates. Tanya would translate both questions and answers. The questions were addressed to Tanaka.

  ‘Your document prescribes that we must reach substantive agreement over a two-week period in Bangkok.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Then there are time limits within which the work must begin and be brought to various stages of completion?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If these deadlines are not met, and in default of an agreed amendment to the schedule, the funds may be withdrawn?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that not a v
ery onerous condition? A very dangerous one from our point of view?’

  ‘I agree.’ Tanaka was courtesy itself. ‘It is both onerous and dangerous. However, it is designed to protect us against certain uninsurable risks – like war, civil disorder or industrial disputes which we have no means to arbitrate. It is one of those things to which Mr Cubeddu referred as “a risk loading”. Like everything else, however, it is negotiable. You reduce the risk, we reduce the loading.’

  Nobody else noticed it but, by God, I did. It was the first time ever I had heard Tanaka link his own name with that of someone who was not at the same level of authority as he was. However, I could not dwell on the thought. The political officer was already on his next question. This one had a very sharp sting to it.

  ‘The original intention, still stated in this document, was that the Tanaka interest would be represented by wholly Japanese capital. That is clearly not so under the present arrangements. Can you explain that, Mr Tanaka?’

  ‘I can. Let me say first of all that there is no contradiction between the expressed intent of the document and the circumstances that exist now. Everything in the document depends upon satisfactory contractual agreements between the parties. There is a section, rather broadly worded under the heading “Freeholds, leaseholds, free ports, Customs-unions and territorial concessions”. My colleagues in the Japanese banking system have made the return of the Kuril Islands a condition of any investment on their part. I disagreed. I believe that the territories should be returned as soon as possible, but I recognise also that a diplomatic negotiation will take much more time than any of us here can command. So, in order to honour my promise to Mr Leibig and my commitment to the consortium, I sought other parties of substance. Their representatives are with us today.’

  ‘Ah yes. The Palermitan Banking Corporation and the Pacific Littoral Development Group. These are not, shall we say, prominent names in international finance.’

  ‘Not prominent perhaps; but powerful nonetheless. Which would you rather have: big names imposing penal conditions, or big money committed to bold enterprise?’

  Lavrenti gave him a big Georgian smile. ‘I’m sure the money is there, Mr Tanaka. My real question is: where is it coming from?’

  It was the question I myself had been dying to ask but, without translating it, I ruled it out of order.

  ‘I’m sorry, my friend, but I cannot permit you to discriminate between the financial parties present. You might equally well ask the same question of any banker. He would certainly refuse to answer. No banker is required to reveal the source of his funds. No shareholders’ names are revealed by a broker until they are inscribed on the share register. You are out of order, my friend.’

  ‘Forgive me. I withdraw the question.’

  He sat down without another word. Kenji Tanaka asked sharply: ‘Why did you not translate what was said?’

  ‘Because the question was out of order and it was withdrawn.’

  I caught Carl Leibig’s eye and knew that he had very well understood the drift of the question. He and I had asked it before but, sooner or later, Tanaka would be forced to answer it. We still had about ten minutes left before the luncheon break. I decided to use them to get the three parties circulating during the afternoon. It was time to let Boris Vannikov do a little work for his living. I put it to him.

  ‘It’s clear that all parties are looking for explanations rather than stalemate on prepared positions. I suggest we break now for lunch. Please take this opportunity to get to know each other and to sort yourselves into working groups. If you have any communication problems, Tanya or I will be at your disposal. The bar is open. Good health and good appetite.’

  As they drifted out of the conference room and into the bar, Miko was waiting to receive them and, with singular skill, coax them into new encounters and new groupings. I was about to follow them, but Carl Leibig held me back. He was a very troubled man.

  ‘Gil, we have to talk.’

  ‘I’m all yours. Where and when?’

  ‘In my office. Turn right at the end of the hall. You go first. I’ll make our excuses and join you in a couple of minutes.’

  ‘As you wish. Tell Marta I’ll join her shortly.’

  I walked down to his office. Franz, his assistant, was already there. He seated me and offered me a drink. Then he laid on the table a large scrapbook full of newspaper cuttings.

  ‘Carl asked me to explain this. As you have probably guessed, Carl and I are lovers, have been for a long time. There is a deep trust between us. At weekends we usually retreat here to Nara. I have a foolish ambition. One day I want to write thrillers like the American, Raymond Chandler, whom I have admired for many years. I am interested in – what do you call it? – das Leben der unteren Stände.’

  ‘Low life?’

  ‘That’s it, low life. I cut stories out of all the newspapers which I read: German, Japanese, English, American. For the plots, you know?’

  ‘For the plots, of course.’

  ‘This morning when you all arrived I saw for the first time this Mr Hoshino, the new associate of Mr Tanaka. I recognised him. I have him in my scrapbook.’

  He opened the scrapbook and pointed to a cutting from a Japanese magazine. It showed a well dressed man raising his glass in a toast to an unseen photographer. There was no doubt at all that it was Mr Hoshino. Franz pointed to the caption: ‘Hoshino Taoka, whose real name is Chong Gwon Yong, is the reputed leader of the largely Korean brotherhood known as the Association of South-East Asia Friendly Societies which, although headquartered in Tokyo, controls many offshore criminal activities in Indonesia, Thailand, the Philippines and South Korea.’

  I was still staring at the page when Carl Leibig came in. He closed and locked the door behind him. He said: ‘What do you say, Gil?’

  ‘What can I say? It’s the same man.’

  ‘So who is Cubeddu?’

  ‘More of the same, I guess. La Fratellanza, The Honourable Society. Mafia and Yakuza. That makes a heavy combination.’

  ‘Why, Gil? Why would Tanaka do this? It’s the act of a madman!’

  ‘I wish I could agree with you, Carl; but no, I don’t think it’s a madness. Look at it from Tanaka’s point of view and it even makes a wild kind of sense.’

  ‘In God’s name, how?’

  ‘Keep your voice down, Carl.’

  ‘Please, Carl.’ Franz chided him gently. ‘Try to be calm.’

  ‘How can I be calm? Tanaka is out of control. He is playing some private game, gambling with both our lives and with this whole enterprise. I can’t let him do it. I have too much at stake: a century and a half of honourable enterprise in this country. Now he wants to put me in bed with thugs and bandits.’

  ‘He doesn’t see it like that, Carl.’

  ‘How do you know how he sees it?’ He was suddenly wary as a cat.

  ‘Because I’m his partner in business, Carl. I’ve known him a long time. Why do you think we had that big row before we left Tokyo? Trust me in this, please.’

  ‘Gil is right, Carl. Listen to him carefully, I beg you.’

  He was silent for a moment, then he nodded agreement. ‘I do trust you, Gil. I’m upset. I’m not thinking straight. What do we do?’

  ‘First, Franz must lock that scrapbook in the safe.’

  ‘Immediately.’ He moved to the big floor safe and began dialling the combination.

  ‘Second, we give ourselves time to think. No hurried action is needed. We still have two weeks of conference in Bangkok before any decisions are made. Until then, we’re players in the game. We’ll know what is going on. We’ll have the power to act. Once we’re out of the game, kaput. We can do nothing. So, we put on our poker-faces and play each hand as it is dealt. Are you with me so far?’

  ‘I’m with you.’

  ‘Now comes the important part. You have to understand exactly what Tanaka is doing and why he is doing it.’

  ‘Do you understand that, Gil?’

  ‘In pa
rt, yes.’

  ‘Then I wish to God you’d explain it to me. All I can see is a monumental folly with disaster at the end of it.’

  ‘Let me try to run it through quickly. We’ll have time to discuss it later … Franz, would you unlock the door please. If anybody comes we don’t want this to look like a conclave of conspirators. Pick up a folder and stand close to it, so you can hear if anyone’s coming down the corridor. Good. Now, here are the elements. There are long and traditional links between legitimate business and the Yakuza in Japan. You know that. Japanese banks, like banks everywhere, are stuffed with ill-gotten gains, the fruits of criminal enterprise. So long as there’s no label on them, who asks? Who cares? The funds that Forster is putting together for you, are they all clean? How do you prove it, yea or nay? … Next element. Tanaka’s a man with the mark of death on him. He’s already arranged his own exit. So he can afford to gamble. His peers in the keiretsu have walked away from him. He has vivid memories of his own childhood, when his father had to go into hiding to avoid assassination by the militarists. But more than that, Carl – and this is his ace-in-the-hole – he knows that if a good deal is struck with the Soviets in Bangkok, every member of the keiretsu will be back, knocking on his door to be let in again.’

  ‘It makes sense, Gil, but there’s a line still missing in the logic. What’s in it for the Yakuza and the Mafia, any criminal organisation?’

  That’s the simplest question of all, Carl. What do you do with black money? You wash it clean. Whiter than white. What bigger or better washing machine than the virgin land of a new Soviet Union? What better place to exploit new deals and new concessions – drugs, amusements, pornography, gambling – than a country which has just come out of the Puritan age of Marxism? Look at it like that, Carl, and Tanaka’s a genius. He’s set up the perfect marriage of convenience and he can still walk away before the knot is tied.’