The Ringmaster

by Morris West

  ‘Because, like you, I’m not on salary. I’m paid a fee to provide information and counsel. Like you, I guarantee a true bill of goods. I will not have it falsified in my presence. You made exactly the same point, in different words.’

  ‘In spite of that, they want us to stay with the project. How do you explain that?’

  ‘Let’s talk about it later, Gil.’ She shrugged off the question as if it had little importance. ‘I want to finish the Haushofer story, otherwise the rest of this won’t make sense.’

  ‘Please! I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

  ‘Haushofer was a natural polyglot. He spoke Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Russian, French and English. As a military academician he had a passion for history and geography. In the First World War he served as a brigade commander. His personal aide was Rudolf Hess, who introduced him to Hitler. When Hitler was imprisoned in Landsberg, Haushofer visited him often and the rumour that he had written that crucial chapter sixteen of Mein Kampf began from those encounters. When Hitler came to power he appointed Haushofer to the presidency of the Germany Academy. He also confirmed, by special decree, that Haushofer’s part-Jewish wife and their two sons were Aryan. From that period onward Haushofer became the fountainhead of German geopolitical theory and an important reference point for worldwide Nazi intelligence. When the war ended, he was investigated, though not indicted, as a war criminal. He and his wife committed suicide. The bitter irony was that his son Albrecht, who held the chair of political geography in Berlin and also worked at the Foreign Office, had joined the July plot against Hitler. He was arrested in 1944 and shot in April 1945 while being transferred from Moabit prison.’

  She broke off and sipped her wine, watching me over the rim of her glass. Finally she said thoughtfully: ‘You listen. You say nothing. Don’t you have any questions?’

  ‘I’m waiting to hear exactly what Haushofer’s theories were and why they are being given so much importance in our project.’

  ‘Let’s be clear. They weren’t all Haushofer’s ideas. He borrowed them from an Englishman, Sir Halford Mackinder, who expounded them to the Royal Geographical Society in April 1904. Mackinder summed up his theory as follows: “Who rules Eastern Europe commands the heartland,” Russia. “Who rules the heartland commands the World Island,” Eurasia. “Who rules the World Island commands the World.” Leibig’s new maps and charts were intended to illustrate that thesis, except that they translated the old-fashioned ideas of military domination into modern economic terms. You don’t fight your way into a country, you trade your way in. You don’t have to make armed threats, you hold the purse-strings, because you’re the banker. You control the trade, because you’re a major buyer of exports.’

  ‘And you think the Russians don’t see that?’

  ‘Of course they see it. They’re not stupid. They know that they’re faced with a short term choice between two economic tyrannies, that of the Americans or that of the German-Japanese Alliance. There’s a third option, of course: they go shopping for aid and technology in the European open market. There they can find the money perhaps, but not all the technology. So they have to choose between Scylla and Charybdis – the rock and the whirlpool.’

  ‘So why should they choose the Germans and the Japanese, with the Haushofer theory written so plainly over the deal?’

  ‘Because they’ll discount the theory for the practical short-term gain. Look, Gil, they’ve just thrown all the sacred dogmas of Marxism out the window! They’ve junked their own socialist revolution and opened the front door and the back and every window to the capitalists. Do you think they’re going to be stopped by an almost unreadable German theoretician? I’ve studied him line by line and Major-General Professor Doctor Karl Haushofer makes damned hard reading. However, I can give you a couple of very good reasons why the Russians will bargain with Leibig and Tanaka.’

  ‘That’s what I need to know.’

  ‘I’m sure you know it already. First, America is out of favour with the Muslim world. The Soviets have to live with it inside and outside their frontiers. Second, Japan is now the leader in the microchip industry, key to all industrial progress in the twenty-first century. That’s not the whole story and …’

  ‘Only time will show whether the general argument holds good; now tell me truly, why you? Why me? What is our contribution intended to be? I want your personal reading.’

  ‘That’s the easiest of all to answer. Both Tanaka and Leibig would like us to be special pleaders for their case. They know we won’t be. So they’ll present me as an unbiased counsellor and you as the unprejudiced mediator.’

  ‘Which is only true in part; because we’ll be seen to be sitting on their side of the table. The presumption of our virtue favours them.’

  ‘So, the reason we’re talking now, the final question for each of us, Gil; do we stay or quit?’

  ‘I’ve decided to stay. Laszlo half convinced me and your argument convinces me wholly. The Soviets will discount the theory; so I don’t have to lie about it. I do what I am paid for, try to achieve a workable compromise that gets the Soviet economy moving with our people as prime traders. And you? Where do you stand?’

  Before she had time to answer, the waiter approached the table with a telephone: ‘A call for you, Mr Langton. The operator says it’s urgent.’

  The caller was Kenji Tanaka. He made a ritual apology. ‘Forgive me for disturbing you, Gil.’

  ‘How did you know where to find me?’

  ‘Simple. You live there. I called the restaurant to ask whether you were dining in tonight.’

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Something important has come up. We must talk.’

  ‘We’re meeting at eight in the morning. Isn’t that soon enough?’

  ‘Unfortunately, no. There are calls I have to make as soon as business opens in New York and on the West Coast. Miko and I are only a few blocks away. Why don’t we join you for coffee?’

  ‘Kenji, I’m entertaining a lady.’

  ‘I know. Laszlo told me. I promise you I won’t take too much of your time. Miko can entertain her while you and I talk. Shall we say fifteen minutes?’

  ‘If you must.’

  ‘I am in your debt, Gil.’

  I put down the receiver and wished him to hell. Marta was amused. ‘Don’t worry about it, Gil. I’ll be interested to meet him and his girlfriend.’

  ‘I was hoping …’

  ‘I know; but you and I hardly need to rush our fences do we?’

  The quiet caution silenced me. I signalled the waiter and asked him to set coffee for four. Then it was my turn to issue a warning.

  ‘Be careful with Miko. She’s very clever and Tanaka depends on her more than he’ll admit. The less you tell her the better.’

  The admonition seemed to trouble her. She was silent for a long moment, then she said gravely: ‘I don’t like this, Gil. I took this appointment, as you seem to have done, with a certain enthusiasm, even a kind of idealism. It looked like a great adventure, to take some part in the reconstruction of a whole continent, to make trade and commerce the basis for a whole new era. In a way, that’s what started me reading Haushofer and Mackinder; and Kjellen the Swede who was working along the same lines at the same time … But now, suddenly, it’s all changed. I feel like a conspirator, sordid and venal. I don’t think I can live with that.’

  I knew how she felt. I had felt it myself many times, as I travelled the world setting up the various local corporations in the global network of Polyglot Press. In the beginning, wherever I might be, I always felt at home and welcome. People were flattered that I spoke their language with ease and elegance. I was flattered by their admiration. But always, sooner or later, I became the stranger again, the outsider, the huckster from over the frontier. At first I was affronted, then slowly I came to realise that this was, and always would be, the rule of the game. Every tribe in the world had its own version of the scapegoat, marked for exile or persecution when the homefolk
needed to purge themselves of their own guilts. Only the trader himself could decide whether the game was worth the risk. I tried to explain the experience to Marta.

  ‘In my second year at Oxford my father rented a small house just south of Olbia in Sardinia. It was a fisherman’s cottage, right on the beach, fronting a tiny islet across the water where we used to dive for artefacts, pottery and amulets. The islet used to be a Phoenician trading post. They would come up from Carthage when the south winds started to blow. They would trade with the local Sards for tin and oil and slaves and bronzeware and sheep hides. Then, when the north winds began they would head back to Africa, leaving a tiny group to man the outpost until the next trading season. They kept a small shrine from which they sold sacred oil and amulets. They bought fish and fruit and goat’s meat and charcoal to sustain themselves. So, while they were always regarded with suspicion – and sometimes with awe – they were never molested. Little outposts like that became the colonial cities from which the Phoenicians traded as far north as Ireland and the Hebrides. My father used to liken them to the wandering scholars who later peddled knowledge around Europe and colonised the barbarians with monasteries and institutions of learning. They, too, were the outsiders of the day, but little by little they changed the face of the world. If it weren’t for people like us – and the Leibigs and the Marco Polos and Commander Perry and all the assorted rogues, scholars and hucksters down the centuries – the Japanese would still be wearing kimonos and samurai topknots and slicing up commoners in the alleys of Edo.’

  It was a familiar theme, which I suspected my father had embroidered to justify his scholar-gypsy existence after my mother’s death. In my youth I embraced it with passion. Later it became a maxim – or an excuse – for my own career as an ageing widower and a publisher who knew how to be a bachelor in twenty three major languages.

  Its effect on Marta Boysen startled me. Her control cracked like a sheet of glass. Her eyes filled with tears. Her lips trembled. Her voice issued in an angry undertone. ‘God! I wish I’d heard that story ten years ago. It might have saved me a lot of heartache and humiliation. That was the theme my husband harped on all the time: “You have no roots! You have no sense of permanence! How could you have presumed to make a marriage? I will not make children with you and see them brought up as gypsies …” ’ She fought hard to control herself and managed half a smile. ‘Damn you, Gil Langton! You’re too dangerous to be let loose! I never break up like this, never! You’ll have to excuse me. I need to make some repairs before the coffee guests arrive! May I use your suite?’

  I handed her the key, and she hurried out. Five minutes later she was back, polished and shining like a piece of Dresden porcelain, every hair in place, her smile a permanent miracle. A moment later Tanaka arrived with Miko. He was dressed in a new Savile Row suit with the miniature of an Imperial order on his lapel. Miko was resplendent in a kimono and obi which, even to my untutored eyes, were worth a fortune. It was a three-bow occasion. Miko excelled herself in ceremonious humility. Tanaka paid princely deference to Marta, who responded with all the respect due from a female to a distinquished gentleman of Japan. I caught in Miko’s veiled eyes a gleam of surprise and approval. Then, before we had a chance to seat ourselves, Marta spoke to Miko.

  ‘Mr Langton has kindly given us the use of his suite while Mr Tanaka and he have their conference. You and I will take coffee there. Excuse us, gentlemen.’

  Before anyone had time to protest, she was shepherding Miko out of the dining room, through the lounge and towards the elevators. It was a beautifully executed manoeuvre. No one, man or woman, was going to dismiss Marta Boysen, or suggest that she absent herself from grown-up company. Tanaka and I settled ourselves at the table. Tanaka nodded a restrained approval.

  ‘So. That is the distinguished Professor Marta Boysen. There was no need for her to leave so quickly. They could have taken their coffee in the lounge.’

  ‘I explained that you’re pressed for time, Kenji. It’s coming up to nine thirty am in New York.’

  ‘You and I have to talk first. I must know whether you will stay with the project.’

  ‘I have certain reservations about the way things are being conducted. I believe, however, they can be dealt with. So, yes, I’ll stay.’

  Thank you. Events are moving much faster than I expected. I need all the help I can get. I gave a small dinner party this evening for certain members of the Cabinet and for two of my most senior colleagues in Japanese business. The government refused absolutely to send Japanese Service personnel to the Gulf. Such a move would utterly dishonour the neutrality and anti-militarist policy to which we are pledged. Members of the self-defence forces would be functioning as military personnel on foreign soil. The consequences would be larger than anyone dreams. Old ghosts would walk again. However, the final announcement of our refusal is being deferred so as not to embarrass the Americans.’

  ‘Any reaction from the Russians?’

  ‘I have already had a brief conversation with the Ambassador. They are to this point ambivalent. They, too, have been under heavy pressure from the Americans to participate in the Gulf blockade. The Americans have made it a matter of money and technology, oil technology, which the Russians desperately need. So, they understand our position.’

  ‘And the Germans?’

  ‘They are being very generous, offering to send all their outmoded East German armaments, which they would have to scrap anyway.’

  ‘Does our conference in Bangkok go ahead?’

  ‘With special urgency now. Moscow has been told that we need swift contact with members of their delegation to get preparations moving. But clearly, all our strategy now must be to emphasise the practical advantages of our proposals and de-emphasise any strategic implications which may be drawn from them.’

  ‘In other words, bury the Haushofer theory, and make sure Mr Carl Leibig is gagged.’

  ‘If you want to put it that way, yes.’ Tanaka was nettled. ‘I believe he has learned his lesson.’

  ‘Have you learned yours, my friend?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I believe you do. All the Haushofer information and all the conclusions, good and bad, that might have been drawn from it, were in your hands six months ago. You chose, for very good reasons, no doubt, to conceal that fact from me. The result? Yesterday’s embarrassing confrontation and the very real possibility of a later leak to the press at a bad moment. All that stuff is still on file in an advertising agency in Hamburg.’

  ‘And in Professor Boysen’s own files. Carl Leibig thinks she may well be the weakest link in our security chain. He has decided to pay her a generous fee and dispense with her services. I think he’s probably right.’

  The waiter was at his elbow refilling his coffee cup. Tanaka’s momentary distraction gave me the chance to control myself and assume the mask of polite indifference, so necessary in every Oriental business transaction. I waited for Tanaka to deliver more information. Instead he challenged me with a question.

  ‘You don’t agree with Leibig’s decision?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether I agree or not. I have no standing in the matter. Marta Boysen is a professional in her own right. She doesn’t ask my advice about her career.’

  ‘Carl is very angry about her conduct yesterday. He claims she made him look foolish and deceitful.’

  ‘She did and he was. We were all witnesses, remember? Laszlo, Forster, Leino, myself.’

  ‘So you don’t think he should dismiss her?’

  ‘I repeat, what Leibig does is his own business. My private opinion is that he’s acting like a spoilt child. However, if Professor Boysen does become free, I’ll offer her a job on our team. My contract provides that I have the choice of my own staff. Marta Boysen could be a valuable colleague. I’m not sure she’ll accept, but its worth a try.’

  ‘Are you sure, Gil?’ He was very cool and deliberate. ‘Are you quite sure this is a good move? I know she’s
attractive. I know she has a splendid academic record, but what do you really know of her? You met her only this morning.’

  ‘My dear Kenji, I’ve known her since she was a child.’

  He gaped at me, speechless. I took from my pocket the photographs which Marta Boysen had given me and spread the fading prints on the table in front of him.

  ‘These were taken in Austria in 1957. That’s my father, the woman is Marta’s mother. That handsome beanpole is me. The child is Marta.’

  Tanaka shook his head in disbelief, then a slow smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. ‘I should always listen to Miko. She keeps telling me that you are not half as simple as you look.’

  ‘That’s kind of her.’

  There’s more. She says that in dealing with you I have to bet on your telling me the truth, even if it is a truth I do not wish to hear.’

  ‘Your Miko is a very clever woman. You should heed her advice.’

  ‘And will you heed mine?’

  ‘Friend to friend, yes.’

  ‘Then, Gil – my dear friend Gil – listen to me carefully. For all of us the hour of maximum danger is very near. I am talking of the whole global pattern of which our enterprise is a small part. We are coming up to earthquake time – and we Japanese know about earthquakes – when the great rock plates shift and slide and buckle against each other and all our frail human edifices come tumbling down. In the Gulf an upstart dictator straddles a quarter of the world’s oil supply. If he cannot be squeezed out by blockade there will be war, the wild beasts let loose again. Even so, we must still keep planning and building in hope, cooperating as best we can, even when our confidence in one another is eroding as ours is now. You are a lucky man, Gil. You have been given a gift which enables you to see the world as an astronaut sees it, with its rivers and seas and forests and mountains and its cities all reduced to miniature. But you have paid a price for that gift. You have forgotten how things look at ground level. To me, for instance, a man enclosed in a capsule of language, customs, relationships from which I can never escape. You and I live on different planes; we are measured on different grids. The accommodations we make one to the other are not matters of right and wrong, but of possibility, of what is achievable between us at any given moment … Even tonight, one of my colleagues, perhaps the most powerful banker in Japan with assets all round the world, was saying that, since a partial rearmament is being forced upon us, we should possibly go the whole way, reconstitute the military forces and even create our own atomic arsenal. I told him the people would never stand for it. He laughed in my face. He said that with a saturation campaign in all media we could change national thinking in a month. I knew he was right and I was horrified. I saw how far I had been led down the same road by the revival of the Haushofer theories. For this very reason, Gil, you are very important to me. Even when I disagree with you, I recognise that you give me a different norm of judgment. You are my sensei, my teacher and counsellor in the ways of a different world … To others, however, you are exactly what my banker friend called you: Tanaka’s tame gaijin. In short, Gil, you are making enemies, not because of what you do, but simply because of what you are. You have to know that one day even I could be your enemy. If one or other of my historic obligations conflicts with our friendship, I have no choice. The dice are loaded against you. Do you understand what I am trying to say?’