The Tailor of Panama by John le Carré

‘It has been decided – the passive voice is not of my choosing, Nigel – it has been decided that Her Majesty’s Government will lend secret support and aid to Panama’s Silent Opposition. On a deniable basis, naturally. Luxmore whom we must call Mellors is coming out to tell us how to do it. There’s a handbook on it, I understand. How to Oust Your Host Government or something of the sort. We must all dip into it. I don’t know yet whether I shall be asked to admit Messrs Domingo and Abraxas to my kitchen garden at dead of night or whether this will fall to you. Not that I have a kitchen garden, but I seem to remember that the late Lord Halifax did, and met all sorts of people there. You look askance. Is askance what you’re looking?’

‘Why can’t Osnard take care of it?’ Stormont asked.

‘As his Ambassador I have not encouraged his involvement. The boy has enough responsibilities as it is. He’s young. He’s junior. These Opposition people like the reassurance of a seasoned hand. Some are people like us, but some are hoary working-class chaps, stevedores, fishermen, farmers and the like. Far better we take the burden upon ourselves. We’re also to support a shadowy body of bomb-making students, always tricky. We shall take over the students too. I’m sure you’ll be very good with them. You seem troubled, Nigel. Have I upset you?’

‘Why don’t they send us more spies?’

‘Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. Visiting firemen perhaps, men like Luxmore-Mellors, but nobody permanent. We mustn’t inflate the Embassy’s numbers unnaturally, it would invite comment. I made that point also.’

‘You did?’ said Stormont incredulously.

‘Yes, indeed. With two such experienced heads as yours and mine, I said, additional staff were quite unnecessary. I was firm. They would litter the place up, I said. Unacceptable. I pulled rank. I said we were men of the world. You would have been proud of me.’

Stormont thought he saw an unfamiliar sparkle in his Ambassador’s eye, best compared with the awakening of desire.

‘We shall need an enormous amount of stuff,’ Maltby went on, with the enthusiasm of a schoolboy looking forward to a new train-set. ‘Radios, cars, safe houses, couriers, not to mention materiel – machineguns, mines, rocket-launchers, masses of explosive, naturally, detonators, everything your heart has ever dreamed of. No modern Silent Opposition is complete without them, they assured me. And spares are frightfully important, one’s told. Well you know how careless students are. Give them a radio in the morning, it’s covered in graffiti by lunchtime. And I’m sure Silent Oppositions are no better. The weapons will all be British, you’ll be relieved to hear. There’s a tried and tested British company already standing by to supply them, which is nice. Minister Kirby thinks the world of them. They earned their spurs in Iran, or was it Iraq? Probably both. Gully thinks the world of them too, I’m pleased to say, and the Office has accepted my suggestion that he be advanced immediately to the rank and condition of Buchaneer. Osnard is swearing him in even as we speak.’

‘Your suggestion,’ Stormont repeated numbly.

‘Yes, Nigel, I have decided that you and I are well cast for the business of intrigue. I once remarked to you how I yearned to take part in a British plot. Well, here it is. The secret bugle has sounded. I trust that none of us will be found wanting in our zeal – I do wish you could look a little happier, Nigel. You don’t seem to realise the import of what I’m telling you. This Embassy is about to take an amazing leap forward. From a silted diplomatic backwater we shall become the hottest post in the ratings. Promotion, medals, notice of the most flattering kind will overnight be ours. Don’t tell me you doubt our masters’ wisdom? That would be very bad timing.’

‘It’s just that there seem to be rather a lot of stages missing,’ Stormont said feebly, grappling with the acquisition of a brand new Ambassador.

‘Nonsense. Of what sort?’

‘Logic, for one.’

‘Oh, really?’ – coldly. ‘Where precisely do you detect a want of logic?’

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