The Complete Yes Minister (69 page)

‘What are you doing, Bernard?’ he asked.

‘I thought you wanted to talk to the Cabinet Secretary, Sir Humphrey,’ I replied with mock innocence.

He took the phone from me, and made the call. I sat and listened. When it was done Appleby replaced the receiver, sat back in his chair and eyed me speculatively.

‘Tell me, Bernard, do you – as his Private Secretary – feel obliged to tell the Minister of this conversation?’

‘What conversation?’ I replied.

He offered me a sherry, congratulated me, and told me that I would be a moral vacuum yet.

I believe that it was at this moment that my future was assured. From then on I was earmarked as a future head of the Home Civil Service.

[
Hacker’s diary continues – Ed
.]

I feel rather guilty and not a little stupid this evening. Also, somewhat concerned for my future. I just hope that Vic Gould [
the Chief Whip – Ed
.] presents me in a favourable light to the PM next time my name is put forward for anything.

I think that Vic owes me a big favour after today. But he’s a strange fellow and he may not see it that way.

I wasn’t expecting to see him at all. My appointment was with the PM, at the House. When I got to the PM’s office I found Vic Gould waiting there.

Vic is a tall imposing figure, with the white hair of an elder statesman, a face like a vulture and a manner that shifts at lightning speed from charm and soft soap to vulgar abuse. A party man to his fingertips.

He was a bit casual, I thought. He said that the PM was rather busy today and had asked him to see me instead.

I felt slightly insulted. I don’t report to Vic. He may be responsible for party discipline but he’s one of my colleagues, an equal member of this government. Actually, I had no idea that he was so close to the PM. Or maybe he isn’t – maybe it’s just that he persuaded the PM (who didn’t know why I wanted the appointment) that it was a party matter rather than a political one. But what I can’t work out is how did
Vic
know what I wanted? And how did the PM arrive at the decision that Vic should see me instead? Sometimes I really do feel a little paranoid.

As it turned out perhaps it’s all for the best,
if
Vic can be believed. But can he? Can anybody?

Anyway, when Vic greeted me I refused to tell him what I’d come about. I couldn’t see that arms sales to Italian terrorists was a matter for the Chief Whip.

He refused to take no for an answer. ‘The PM has asked me to have a preliminary conversation with you, and write a background note. Save time later.’

I couldn’t argue with that. So I told Vic that I’d been given this pretty dramatic information. And I told him the whole story of Italian Red Terrorists being supplied with top-secret bomb detonators made in this country. In a government factory!

‘And you feel you should tell the PM?’

I was astonished by the question. The PM is in charge of security. I could see no choice.

But Vic disagreed. ‘I don’t think it’s something to burden the PM with. Let’s hold it over, shall we?’

I asked if he
actually
meant to do nothing about it. He nodded, and said yes, that was his recommendation.

I refused to accept this, and insisted that the PM had to be told.

‘If the PM were to be told,’ said Vic carefully, ‘there’d have to be an enquiry.’

That was my point. That was what I wanted.

But it was not what Vic wanted. He explained why. ‘An enquiry might perhaps reveal that all sorts of undesirable and even hostile governments had been supplied with British-made arms.’

This remark shocked me. Not so much on account of its factual content, but because of the assumption that such matters should not be looked into.

‘Are you serious?’ I asked.

‘I said
perhaps
. Which would – perhaps – be highly embarrassing to some of our Cabinet colleagues. Foreign Secretary, Defence Secretary, Trade Secretary. And to the PM personally.’

I stuck to my guns. ‘Doing what’s right can be embarrassing. But that’s not an argument for not doing it.’

Vic ignored that. ‘You know we already sell arms to places like Syria, Chile and Iran?’

I did know. ‘That’s officially approved,’ I explained, meaning that it was therefore beside the point.

‘Quite,’ agreed Vic. ‘And you’re happy about what they do with them?’

I hesitated. ‘Well, obviously not entirely . . .’

‘Either you’re in the arms business or you’re not,’ said Vic with relentless logic.

At that point I became emotional. A big mistake. It’s all right to pretend to be emotional, especially in front of the public (or even with the House if it’s the right ploy for the moment), but with one’s colleagues – especially a cold fish like Vic – it cuts no ice at all.

‘If being in the arms business means being among criminals and murderers, then we should get out. It’s immoral.’

Vic lost his temper. He glowered at me with a mixture of anger and contempt. ‘Oh great.
Great
!’

I felt he really despised me. I could see him wondering how a boy scout like me had ever been allowed into the Cabinet. Or even into
politics
. ‘And is it moral to put a hundred thousand British workers out of a job? And what about the exports? Two billion pounds a year down the tube for starters. And what about the votes? Where do you think the government places all these weapons contracts?’

‘Marginal constituencies, obviously.’

‘Exactly,’ he said. QED, he implied.

But I still couldn’t quite leave it alone. I tried again. ‘Look Vic, all I’m saying is that now I know this is happening I have to tell the PM.’

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ I couldn’t understand the question. It seemed self-evident to me.

‘Just because you’ve caught something nasty,’ said Vic, ‘why do you have to wander about breathing over everyone?’

While I was considering my answer – or to be precise, wondering if I really
had
an answer – he turned the anglepoise lamp on the desk in my direction. He wasn’t
exactly
shining it in my eyes, but I did have the distinct feeling that I was being given the third degree.

And his next question did nothing to dilute the impression that I was under interrogation on account of suspect loyalty.

‘Are you happy in the Cabinet?’

‘Yes, of course I am.

‘You want to stay in it?’

My heart sank into my boots. I couldn’t speak. My loyalty was now in doubt. Oh my God! I nodded mutely.

‘Well then?’ He waited for me to say something.

I was sweating. And no longer thinking clearly enough. This was not the meeting that I had expected. I had expected to be on the attack. Instead I found myself fighting a desperate defensive. Suddenly my whole political future seemed to be on the line.

And I still stuck to my guns. I’m not quite sure why. I think I was confused, that’s all.

‘There is such a thing as duty,’ I heard myself say rather pompously. ‘There are times when you have to do what your conscience tells you.’

Vic lost his temper again. I could see why. Telling a Chief Whip that you have to follow your conscience really is like waving a red rag at a bull.

And this time it wasn’t a quiet irritable loss of temper. It was the Big Shout, for which he is famous throughout the Palace of Westminster. He leapt to his feet. ‘Oh for God’s sake!’ he yelled, obviously at the end of his tether.

His face came close to mine. Almost nose to nose. His angry bulging eyes were so near that they were slightly out of focus. He was utterly contemptuous of me now.

‘Must you go around flashing your petty private little individual conscience? Do you think no one else has got one? Haven’t you got a conscience about the survival of the government?’

‘Of course I have,’ I muttered, when the storm seemed to have abated temporarily.

He walked away, satisfied that at least I’d given one correct answer. ‘Here’s the PM on the verge of signing an international agreement on anti-terrorism . . .’

I interrupted, in self-defence. ‘I didn’t know about that,’ I explained.

‘There’s a lot you don’t know,’ snapped Vic contemptuously.

[
It is not surprising that Hacker did not know about a new international anti-terrorist agreement. So far as we have been able to find out, there was none. Vic Gould presumably invented this on the spur of the moment – Ed
.]

He came and sat beside me again. He tried to be patient. Or rather, he looked as though he was trying to be patient. ‘Can’t you understand that it’s essential to deal with the major policy aspects, rather than pick off a couple of little arms exporters and terrorist groups?’

I hadn’t seen it like that. Furthermore, I realised that I’d better see it like that, and quickly, or else Vic would go on shouting at me all day. ‘I suppose it is only a couple of little terrorist groups,’ I said weakly.

‘They can’t kill
that
many people, can they?’

‘I suppose not,’ I agreed, with a little smile to show that I realised that perhaps I’d been a bit naïve.

But Vic had still not finished with the insults. He sneered at me again. ‘And you want to blow it all in a fit of moral self-indulgence.’

Clearly moral self-indulgence was the most disgusting thing Vic had ever come across. I felt very small.

He sat back in his chair, sighed, then grinned at me and offered me a cigarette. And dropped the bombshell.

‘After all,’ he smiled, ‘the PM is thinking of you as the next Foreign Secretary.’

I was astounded. Of course it’s what I’ve always wanted, if Martin’s ever kicked upstairs. But I didn’t know the PM knew.

I declined his offer of a cigarette. He lit up, and relaxed. ‘Still, if it’s martydom you’re after,’ he shrugged, ‘go ahead and press for an enquiry. Feel free to jeopardise everything we’ve all fought for and worked for together all these years.’

I hastily explained that that wasn’t what I wanted at all, that of course it is appalling if terrorists are getting British bomb detonators, but there’s no question that (as Vic had so eloquently explained it) one has a
loyalty
, the common purpose, and things must be put in perspective.

He nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said, making a concession to my original point of view, ‘if you were at the Ministry of Defence or the Board of Trade . . .’

I interrupted. ‘Exactly. Absolutely. Ministry of Defence problem. Department of Trade problem. I see that now.’ It’s just what Humphrey had been trying to say to me, in fact.

We fell silent, both waiting, sure that the problem was now resolved. Finally Vic asked if we could hold it over for the time being, so that we could avoid upsetting and embarrassing the PM.

I agreed that we could. ‘In fact,’ I admitted, rather ashamed of my naïvety, ‘I’m sorry I mentioned it.’

‘Good man,’ said Vic paternally. I don’t
think
he was being ironic, but you can never tell with Vic.

Annie had spent the latter part of the week in the constituency, so I wasn’t able to get her advice on my meeting with Vic until this weekend.

Not that I really needed advice. By today it was quite clear to me what I had to do. I explained to Annie over a nightcap of Scotch and water.

‘On balance I thought the right thing was to let sleeping dogs lie. In the wider interest. As a loyal member of the government. Nothing to be gained by opening a whole can of worms.’

She argued, of course. ‘But the Major said they were terrorists.’

I couldn’t blame her for taking such a naïve approach. After all, even
I
had made the same mistake till I’d thought it all through properly.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But we bombed Dresden. Everyone’s a terrorist in a way, aren’t they?’

‘No,’ she said firmly, and gave me a look which defied me to disagree with her.

I had overstated it a bit. ‘No, well, but
metaphorically
they are,’ I added. ‘You ought to meet the Chief Whip, he
certainly
is.’

Annie pursued me. She didn’t understand the wider interest, the more sophisticated level on which decisions like this have to be reached. ‘But someone in Britain is giving bombs to murderers,’ she reiterated.

‘Not giving,’ I corrected her. ‘Selling.’

‘That makes it okay, does it?’

I told her to be serious, and to think it through. I explained that an investigation could uncover all sorts of goings-on.

She wasn’t impressed with this argument.

‘Ah, I see,’ she smiled sadly. ‘It’s all right to investigate if you might catch one criminal, but not if you might catch lots of them.’

‘Not if they’re your Cabinet colleagues, that’s right!’ She’d got the point now. But she sighed and shook her head. Clearly, she had not yet taken my new line on board. So I persisted. I really wanted her to understand. And to agree.

‘Annie, Government is a very complex business. There are conflicting considerations.’

‘Like whether you do the right thing or the wrong thing?’

I was infuriated. I asked her what else she suggested that I could do. She told me to take a moral stand. I told her I’d already tried that. She told me I hadn’t tried hard enough. I asked what
else
I could do. She told me to threaten resignation. I told her that they’d accept it.

And once out of office there’s no going back. No one ever resigned on a matter of principle, except a few people with a death wish. Most resignations that are
said
to be based on principle are in reality based on hard-nosed political calculations.

‘Resignation might be a sop to my conscience and to yours,’ I explained, ‘but it won’t stop the arms supply to the terrorists.’