‘Not entirely, sir.’
‘That is because as of now you lack the grand vision. But you will acquire it. Believe me, you will acquire it.’
‘Yes, sir,’
‘To a grand vision, Andrew, there belong certain components. Well-grounded intelligence from the field is but one of them. Your born intelligencer is the man who knows what he is looking for before he finds it. Remember that, young Mr Osnard.’
‘I will, sir.’
‘He intuits. He selects. He tastes. He says “yes” – or “no” – but he is not omnivorous. He is even – by his selection – fastidious. Do I make myself clear?’
‘I’m afraid not, sir.’
‘Good. Because when the time is ripe, all – no, not all, but a corner – will be revealed to you.’
‘I can’t wait.’
‘You must. Patience is also a virtue of the born intelli-gencer. You must have the patience of the Red Indian. His sixth sense also. You must learn to see beyond the far horizon.’
To show him how, Luxmore once again directs his gaze upriver towards the stodgy fortresses of Whitehall and frowns. But his frown turns out to be directed at Washington:
‘Dangerous diffidence is what I call it, young Mr Osnard. The world’s one superpower restrained by puritan principle, God help us. Have they not heard of Suez? There are a few ghosts there that must be rising from their graves! There is no greater criminal in politics, young Mr Osnard, than he who shrinks from using honourable power. The United States must wield her sword or perish and drag us down with her. Are we to look on while our priceless Western inheritance is handed to heathens on a plate? The lifeblood of our trade, our mercantile power, ebbing through our fingers while the Jap economy zeroes out of the sun at us and the Tigers of South-East Asia tear us limb from limb? Is that who we are? Is that the spirit of the modern generation, young Mr Osnard? Maybe it is. Maybe we are wasting our time. Enlighten me, please. I do not jest, Andrew.’
‘It’s not my spirit, I know that, sir,’ Osnard said devoutly.
‘Good boy. Nor mine, nor mine.’ Luxmore pauses, measures Osnard with his eyes, wondering how much more it is safe to tell him.
‘Andrew.’
‘Sir,’
‘We are not alone, thank God.’
‘Good, sir,’
‘You say good. How much do you know?’
‘Only what you’re telling me. And what I’ve felt for a long time.’
‘They told you nothing of this on your training course?’
Nothing of what? Osnard wonders.
‘Nothing, sir.’
‘A certain highly secret body known as the Planning & Application Committee was never mentioned?’
‘No, sir,’
‘Chaired by one Geoff Cavendish, a man remarkable for his far-reaching mind, skilled in the arts of influence and peaceful persuasion?’
‘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.’