The Intercom Conspiracy Read Online Free PDF Page A

the whisky bottle is merely a time-serving buffoon of a type you will find in every army. If the security arrangements had been in other hands, he might have been French or British and, though possibly in different ways, just as offensive. It is not being anti-American to dislike that man.’
    ‘And
you
know,’ Jost retorted, ‘that that is no argument in our situation. It is the Americans who count now in the West, because only they have the real power and the will to exercise it. Whether
they
like or dislike
us
does not matter – they will value us according to our usefulness within the alliance and our readiness to comply with their wishes. What does matter is that we do not, on that account, permit ourselves to dislike and resent them –
any
of them, for
any
reason, good or bad. Such dislikes or resentments are not in our interest.’ He paused, then added blandly: ‘I am again quoting, of course, from my official instructions.’
    ‘So I gathered,’ Brand replied dryly. ‘I, too, have instructions from my government in which I do not wholly believe.’
    They eyed each other for a moment and then smiled. The first step in their mutual understanding had been reached. They suddenly felt at ease with each other.
    ‘So,’ said Jost, ‘since such instructions, wholly believed in or not, must still be resolutely obeyed, let us forget the man with the whisky and remember only that good captain and his admirable major.’
    Brand nodded. ‘Yes, indeed, let us do that. But –’ a faraway look came into his eyes – ‘don’t get me wrong if I remind you of the lieutenant of military police who first interrogated us this morning. Did you not find him specially interesting?’
    ‘Because his first thought was that we must be newspaper reporters in disguise?’
    ‘Yes, and because he appeared to be far more disturbed by thatpossibility than the possibility of our being enemy agents. That thought did not seem even to enter his head.’
    ‘He has had a bad experience with reporters, remember, and no experience at all, probably, with enemy agents.’
    ‘Perhaps not. But I prefer a different explanation. I like to think of that man as an instinctive realist.’
    Jost glanced at his companion warily. ‘You will have to explain that, I’m afraid.’
    They were in the city now and the passing street lights flickered on their faces. Brand was smiling.
    ‘A realist in this context,’ he said, ‘being one who assumes that most of the secrets we guard so jealously are already well known to the other side, and that most of the secrets the other side guards are already well known to us. One who also understands, however, that the conventions must be observed and the pretences maintained, that outsiders may not look in on our foolishness and that both sides have a common enemy – the small boy who saw that the emperor was naked.’
    ‘Dangerous talk, Colonel!’
    They began to laugh. Then Jost glanced out of the window and saw that they were nearing their destination. ‘I take it that you will be dining with your ambassador tonight,’ he said.
    ‘I’m afraid so. And you with yours?’
    ‘Yes. Perhaps tomorrow evening we could continue these useful bilateral discussions.’
    ‘The same thought was in my own mind.’
    And so the friendship began.
    Directors of intelligence services with secret budgets at their disposal and the ability, sometimes the obligation, to put expediency before strict legality tend to become back-room potentates. It is in the nature of their occupation that they should. As long as they and their subordinates avoid committing blunders too gross to be hidden, they are immune from public criticism. The secrecy fetish and a general acceptance of the ‘need-to-know’ principle are very powerful defences. When such defences arereinforced, as they so often are, by politic murmurs of ‘don’t-want-to-know’ from nominal superiors, the men behind them are secure even from attacks launched by