by Morris West
Tanizaki asked how matters were proceeding with the lady. I told him they were not proceeding well at all. Whereupon he grinned and offered me, with ironic respect, a piece of advice.
‘Western women, Gil-san, are better built than Japanese ones, but they need a lot more looking after. At your age you’re the one who should be getting the care. Why don’t you let my mother find you a nice, attentive girl of good family …’
I almost threw the presentation volume at him and he retreated, hissing and chuckling, into his own domain. I decided it was time to leave and prepare myself for the cocktail encounter with Max Wylie. I put the book in my briefcase and headed back to the Seiyo Ginza.
Punctually at five-thirty, Max Wylie presented himself: six feet of Brooks Brothers tailoring, blond, blue-eyed, bronzed from daily treatment under the sunlamps, with a firm, honest-John handshake and just a hint of julep and magnolias in the voice. His drink was the same as mine, old-fashioned Bourbon on the rocks with just a touch of branch water.
We took a turn or two around the skating rink. I showed him the presentation volume to explain what I did with most of my life. I told him how Marta and I had first met. I talked of my father and his life as a scholar-gypsy. Max Wylie was a very good listener.
Finally, we finished our pas de deux and I asked him: ‘Are you, by any chance, wired for sound?’
He had the grace to blush. I held out my hand.
‘Let’s have it on the table, Max. If you need to record something later, we can agree what goes on or off the record.’
I waited while he slipped off the gear, a tiny, very sophisticated recording device whose microphone was built into his tie-clip. Then we began a new dance sequence; this time I wanted to lead it.
‘Before we begin, I’d like you to call the Australian Embassy and ask for the Ambassador. He will confirm that I’m kosher and that I am – how do you say? – connected.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘I’d still like you to do it, if you wouldn’t mind. It will make the rest of our time together much more comfortable.’
Reluctantly he complied. When the Ambassador came on the line, there was a brief formal exchange. When he put down the phone, Wylie grinned.
‘You’re right. It is more comfortable. Now, where would you like to begin?’
‘Marta Boysen. You’re aware of the family connection. You know, too, that she and I became lovers a week ago.’
‘How in hell would I know that?’
‘She told you, over dinner on Monday night.’
‘Let’s say it was fairly obvious she was happy about a new friendship.’
‘Let’s say that, yes. Now we come to the awkward part.’
It was the awkward part for me, too. It was pure guesswork and if I was wrong, he could spit in my eye and exit laughing. I asked him: ‘How long have you been running Marta?’
‘Running her?’ His innocence was almost too painful to bear. I worked more confidently now, affirming positively what was at best guesswork. It is an old trick and, strangely enough, the ones most vulnerable to it are professionals.
‘I know it’s embarrassing, Max, but this is the bullshit area and I’d like to get through it as soon as possible. I’ve got evidence from the Russians, the Germans, your own people and mine, that Marta Boysen has been supplying you and others with information for a long time. I quote a letter which I have seen: “She is an acute and accurate observer of the economic and political scene and has on occasion provided valuable information and advice, etcetera, etcetera …” You circulated copies of her thesis on Haushofer to your Embassy in Moscow. Later, she gave you an advance copy of the Tanaka/Leibig proposal. You were immediately apprised of her meeting with me. You did a check with your opposite number in our Embassy here. There’s a lot more. So why don’t we stipulate, off the record, that you’ve been running her?’
‘Why don’t we just say “no comment”?’
‘Because all that would get you would be a farewell drink and a handshake. I can offer you a lot more than that.’
‘Would you like to give me a hint?’
‘Co-operation. You’re on the wrong tack. I can set you straight.’
‘And what does that cost me?’
‘Ante-up first, Max. Off the record, you are running Marta Boysen, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you should know that within the Tanaka/Leibig organisation, which includes me as a paid mediator, she is already tagged as a security risk and her connection with you is known to the Russians, the Germans and the Japanese.’
‘Uncomfortable for her, but not lethal for me.’
‘You know best, of course; but you’re fighting the wrong battle on the wrong terrain. Marta was Leibig’s choice. He has lived such a large part of his life outside of Germany, he’s full of the old German dreams. That’s why he seized on the Haushofer geopolitical line and Marta’s modernisation of it in her thesis. You seized on it too, Max, because it gave you what every Intelligence man wants, a clear focus of argument. In your case you would point to this enterprise as the forerunner of a new Berlin/Tokyo axis, the Hitler-Haushofer dream resuscitated and dressed in new clothes. That’s the voodoo music you’ve been playing to the Russians. I know, because they’ve told me. And it doesn’t scare them. Why? Because the core of the geopolitical theory is that the heartland of Eurasia is the pivot on which everything swings. They don’t believe what you’re telling them, because they see that the Trojan horse is already inside your walls and the invaders have occupied the city. You heard the news today, Matsushita and MCA?’
‘I heard it,’ said Max Wylie sombrely. ‘It made me want to puke. We’ve got half a million fighting men in the Gulf waiting for a goddam desert war on alien soil, and we’re selling out to another bunch of aliens! You’re right. We are fighting the wrong battle on the wrong terrain. Over to you, General. What’s your grand strategy?’
‘To achieve the possible. In this case, to make a limited but effective contribution to stabilising the heartland, by improving the production, storage and distribution of essential foodstuffs. What that means is to get them through this winter with enough food and enough hope to stop bloodshed and anarchy. I think it makes sense. For that reason, I agreed to referee the game. I’m being well paid for the service, of which this talk with you is a part; but I have nothing to lose or gain personally from the outcome.’
‘The honest broker. ‘ There was more than a hint of mockery in his tone.
‘That’s right. Take it or leave it.’
‘You’re asking me to help you?’
‘No. I’m asking you to open your mind to a new series of considerations and options.’
‘So it’s open, wide as a barn door. I could use some new facts – and a fresh drink.’
‘Help yourself to the drink. The facts? The Soviets want the deal, but they’re being a little smarter than your people, Max, or mine, for that matter. They’re not prepared to sell off the home farm to get it. If things get too desperate, of course, who knows? The next fact is that all the money is up. The experts are in place to implement the plans. The final decision will be made in Bangkok next week.’
‘And what’s the betting that the deal will go through?’
‘Even money.’
I was shading the odds, because I needed to keep him in doubt as long as I could. I was beginning to get his measure now. Max Wylie was not a strategic thinker. He was a man who needed certainties. Give him one and he would go crusading with it, ignoring the wastelands he created on the way.
He said: ‘Obviously there’s a problem. What is it?’
‘It’s a double-header. The money-men want more trade concessions than the Soviets are offering. The Soviets are not happy with certain names on the money list.’
Instantly he was on the alert. ‘That’s the first time I’ve ever heard of people turning down hard cash.’
‘They haven’t turned it down yet. They’d like to.’
‘I’d like to get rid of the road blocks on both sides. I believe I can negotiate satisfactory concessions, if certain offending subscribers are removed.’
‘Why are they there in the first place?’
I picked up the morning paper and pointed to the headlines which announced the Matsushita-MCA deal. ‘There’s part of the reason. The Japanese always prefer low-risk enterprises, not easy to guarantee this winter in Moscow. So some of Tanaka’s people dropped out.’
‘How much money would that be?’
‘Four billion, more or less.’
‘But you tell me it’s now back in the kitty. The subscription is full.’
‘That’s right. Tanaka has honoured his promises. He always does.’
‘But this time he’s got some smelly names. Yes?’
I handed him the envelope which Franz had given me in Nara. I told him: ‘Those are just newspaper clippings. You’ll probably have much fuller dossiers in your own files. Take your time reading them. There’s a lot to discuss.’
I went to the bathroom to freshen up. I came back, poured myself another drink, opened a can of rice crackers and poured them into a bowl. I took an office folder from my desk and began working through the contents. Finally, Max Wylie looked up from his reading.
‘We’ve got files as long as your arm on these two. We can’t touch em. Even our immigration people let ’em come and go freely. As I understand it, these two represent Tanaka’s black money.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well now. We’ve got legislation that permits the seizure of funds which can be shown to be the fruits of criminal activity. But once they’ve been through the laundromat, what can you do? Very little. Outside our own jurisdiction, even less. The best banks in the world co-operate under sufferance, because they want the deposits. It’s impossible to determine, but I’ve often wondered how much of any international fund is black money. There’s even a good argument for not inquiring, because the money’s back in legitimate circulation. Which raises a question for me. Why did Tanaka feel it necessary to reveal the sources of his funding, even introduce them into this gathering in Nara? It seems such a reckless thing to do.’
‘Tanaka isn’t reckless, believe me. I’ve known him a long time. We’re in business together. He thinks a long way ahead and on three levels at once. I think he’s counting on one of two results: sanitizing the money or shaming his Japanese peers back into the game.’
‘How can he sanitize people like Hoshino and Cubeddu?’
‘Easily enough. They withdraw their offer of funding. The money pops up in a couple of different corporations in different territories, or as private placements by broking houses.’
‘Why the double shuffle? Why wouldn’t he have done that in the first place?’
‘Because, don’t you see, he’s playing a very Japanese game. First, he’s a magician who pulls money out of thin air. You don’t like the colour of it? Hey Presto! It’s gone. You want it back in a different colour? Ah, that costs you extra. That’s why he’s so sure of himself. He’s on notice from Leibig and from me that we’ll walk out rather than sit with Hoshino and Cubeddu. That doesn’t faze him, because he has the whole game laid out, ready for Bangkok.’
Max Wylie was silent for a while, staring down at his manicured fingernails. Then he faced me with the question I had hoped he would ask. ‘Why are you telling me all this? What’s your game?’
‘I told you the first part of it. I want this deal to go through. I believe it’s a sensible piece of commerce and politics. I’d rather you weren’t muddying the waters as you’re doing now, with a very dubious premise anyhow. Tanaka’s a friend with the mark of death on him. I think it’s important that he’s able to quit with honour.’
‘Very commendable, ’ said Max Wylie drily. ‘Now let’s get to the milk in the coconut.’
‘Marta Boysen. I want you to cut her loose, tonight. When we’ve finished here we’ll go across to the Okura together and I’ll witness the ceremony.’
‘Surgery more like. Rough surgery. Why put yourself through it?’
‘Because I want to be sure it’s done and finished. This game’s going to get dangerous. I want her out of it.’
‘Which means you still haven’t told me everything.’
‘So this is where we start dealing: quid pro quo, tit for tat, you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.’
‘And what do I get for letting Marta Boysen off the hook?’
‘A battle plan that gets us both out of the shit, with a little profit on both sides.’
Immediately he was wary and hostile. ‘What are we talking here, friend? Bribery?’
‘No way. I don’t need it. You wouldn’t wear it. I’m talking salvage. We’re a pair of tug-masters taking a stricken vessel in tow. We’ve each got a line on board. We can either fight each other for sole possession or split the salvage money, kosher and legal. After all, Australia and the United States are allies and comrades in arms. Our little ships are patrolling the Gulf with your big ones, and we’re both getting royally screwed out of the home farm by foreign speculators. Maybe we deserve it, because we’re too fat and lazy to protest, but I don’t like it. So let’s start haggling. How’re your nerves?’
‘Level and steady. How’re yours?’
‘Just edgy enough to be wary, Max. There are lives on the line now. Mine is one of them.’
‘I believe you,’ said Max Wylie moodily. ‘You’ve been keeping rough company. You want Marta Boysen, she’s yours. No argument. What have you got for me?’
The bargaining went on for an hour and a half. It was slow at first, because we were more concerned with defending ourselves than with the issues at stake. Each of us had a personal position which we were not prepared to disclose fully for fear of losing a crucial advantage. In the end, however, the larger issues overshadowed the lesser and we found ourselves discussing them with the objectivity of professionals who each respected the limitations under which the other was forced to work. In Wylie’s case, the limitation was a policy which he had, in part at least, helped to frame and the fact, which he knew very well, that the policy was inadequate. Already the governments of Poland and Czechoslovakia were preparing camps for an expected mass migration of refugees from a famine-stricken Russia. Once the exodus started, it would change the face of Europe overnight.
For my part, I was caught in a tangle of conflicting loyalties and transcultural attitudes. I was supposed to be the universal man. There were moments when I felt like a bumbling provincial on his first night out in the capital. At the end of it, however, we were still on our feet and able to toast each other with reasonable good humour.
It was only then that I felt secure enough to ask him the question that had been plaguing me. ‘How the hell did you manage to seduce an intelligent woman like Marta into your grimy business?’
He laughed and threw up his hands at the sheer folly of the question. ‘Easiest thing in the world. Rome in spring, young and brilliant academic just escaped from a tyrannous marriage. She was ripe for any adventure and that’s what I sold her – the Great Game! We sit in the shadows and shake the pillars of the universe and watch the swallows fly out of the eaves. She was the new toast of FAO; she’d just successfully defended her doctoral thesis; so she was easy to flatter. We took the sting out of the job by calling it industrial consultancy. I don’t think that mattered too much because, like so many of her generation, she worshipped at the shrine of Jeffersonian democracy. I feel sorry for what we have to do to her, but she’s blown now and an embarrassment to all of us. I guess I’d better call and make sure she’s home.’
He telephoned the Okura Hotel and spoke to Marta. She had just arrived back from Nara. She would be happy to see him if he could get there by eight. She had a dinner date at eight-thirty. He promised he would not detain her a moment longer than was necessary.
Our encounter began, incongruously, on a high note of pleasure. Marta’s ey
es lit up when she saw us both.
‘Well! This is a pleasant surprise. How did you two meet?’ She kissed us both before we were required to answer.
‘We have interests in common.’ Max Wylie’s smile conveyed nothing but good humour. ‘May we sit down?’
‘Of course. Would you like a drink?’
‘No thanks, Marta, this won’t take long. Gil has found out you’ve been working for me. We’ve agreed that there is a gross conflict of interest between your employment by Carl Leibig and the work you have been doing for us. A continued association would be damaging to us all. So, as of now, I’m terminating you. The severance payment will be made to the usual account. There’ll be no further dealings, no further contact. The secrecy provisions in your contract still apply. That’s all, I think, except to say thank you. It was nice knowing you. Goodbye.’
The next instant he was gone, a ghost of a Brooks Brothers suit, fading into the silk wallpaper. Marta stood staring at me, speechless with anger. Then the storm broke. She slapped me hard across the face and said one word: ‘Bastard!’
I pinioned her arms, thrust her back on the bed and held her down until her rage subsided into a frozen hatred. Then I released her and stepped back out of reach. She stared at me as if I were a loathsome creature which had just crawled out of the woodwork. She was stammering with fury.
‘Who do you think you are? You have no rights in my life. I’m not a pawn on a chessboard.’
‘That’s exactly what you’ve been ever since you were seduced into the espionage game. What you are now is a blown agent, finished, used up. Once I told Wylie I knew he was running you, he couldn’t get rid of you fast enough.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘Simple logic, Frau Professor Doktor. I’ve been in the game too, you see. I read the grubby finger marks, hear the little lies. But I’ve done you a favour. You’re out clean. That’s why I insisted on coming tonight with Wylie, to see and hear it done. Nobody else knows what’s happened here. Nobody else will know unless you tell them, and that, believe me, would be a bad mistake. Money and politics are dangerous games. You’re too naive to play them. That’s good advice. Take it and be thankful.’