016 The Tailor of Panama by Le Carre John

Author:Le Carre, John
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780340937709
Publisher: Sceptre
Published: 1996-09-20T18:30:00+00:00

'No, sir,'

'A man who knows his Yankee as no other?'

'No, sir,'

'No talk of a new realism sweeping through the secret corridors? Of broadening the base of covert policy-making? Rallying good men and women from all walks of life to the secret flag?'

'No.'

'Of ensuring that those who have made this nation great shall have a hand in the saving of her, whether they be ministers of the Crown, captains of industry, press barons, bankers, ship-owners or men and women of the world?'

'No.'

'That together we shall plan, and having planned, apply our plans? That henceforth, through the careful importation of experienced outside minds, scruple shall be set aside in those cases where action may arrest the rot? Nothing?'

'Nothing.'

'Then I must hold my tongue, young Mr Osnard. And so must you. Henceforth it shall not be enough for this Service to know the size and strength of the rope that will hang us. With God's help we too shall wield the sword with which to cut it. Forget what I just said.'

'I will, sir.'

Church evidently over, Luxmore returns with renewed righteousness to the topic he has temporarily abandoned.

'Does it faintly concern our gallant Foreign Office or the high-minded liberals of Capitol Hill that the Panamanians are not fit to run a coffee stall, let alone the world's greatest gateway to trade? That they are corrupt and pleasure-seeking, venal to the point of immobility?' He swings round, as if to refute an objection from the back of the hall. 'Who will they sell themselves to, Andrew? Who will buy them? For what? And with what effect upon our vital interests? Catastrophic is not a word I use carelessly, Andrew.'

'Why not call it criminal?' Osnard suggests helpfully.

Luxmore shakes his head. The man is not yet born who can correct Scottie Luxmore's adjectives with impunity. Osnard's self-appointed mentor and guide has one more card to play and Osnard must watch him do it, since little that Luxmore ever does is real unless it is observed by others. Picking up a green telephone that links him with other immortals on Whitehall's Mount Olympus, he contrives a facial expression that is at once playful and significant.

'Tug!' he cries delightedly - and for a moment Osnard mistakes the word for an instruction rather than the nickname it turns out to be. 'Tell me, Tug, am I correct in my belief that the Planners & Appliers are having themselves a little get-together next Thursday at a certain person's house? - I am. Well, well. My spies are not always so accurate, hem, hem. Tug, will you do me the honour of lunching you that day, the better to prepare you for the ordeal, ha, ha? And if friend Geoff were able to join us, may I take it you would not be averse? My shout, now, Tug, I insist. Listen, where would be congenial to us, I am wondering? Somewhere a wee bit apart from the mainstream, I was thinking. Let us avoid the more obvious watering-holes. I have in

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