I asked him if he realised just what he was saying. After all, I ratified this contract myself, in good faith. ‘And in that communiqué I announced to the press a British success in a fair fight.’
‘Yes,’ he mused, ‘I did wonder about that bit.’
‘And now,’ I fumed, ‘you are telling me we got it by bribery?’
‘No, Minister,’ he replied firmly.
There seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel. My spirits lifted. ‘Ah,’ I said, ‘we
‘That’s not what I said,’ he said carefully.
‘Well what
‘I said I am not telling you we got it by bribery.’
Pure sophistry if ever I heard any. It seemed there was no light at the end of the tunnel after all. Or if there was, it was turning out to be the proverbial oncoming train. So I asked him how he described the payments that had been made.
‘You mean, how does the contract describe them?’ he asked, to make it clear that he would never describe them at all, under any circumstances.
To cut a long story short, Bernard gave me a list of informal guidelines for making these payments, a list that is in highly confidential circulation among top multinational companies.
To me the scale of corruption was even more appalling than the fact that it was going on. [
I asked how the payments were generally made.
‘Anything from a numbered account in the Swiss Bank to a fistful of used oncers slipped under the door of the gents.’
He was so casual about it. He couldn’t see how shocking it was. He
I spluttered almost incoherently about bribery and corruption being sin. And a criminal offence.
‘Minister.’ He gave me a patient smile. ‘That is a narrow parochial view. In other parts of the world they see it quite differently.’
‘Humphrey! Sin is not a branch of geography!’
But he argued that sin
[
‘You’re telling me,’ I asked, ‘that winking at corruption is government policy?’
‘Oh no Minister! That would be unthinkable. It could never be government policy. Only government practice.’
His double standards leave me quite breathless.
In the middle of this unprecedented discussion [
‘I’m sure the press office can draft something convincing and meaningless,’ he said obligingly. ‘That’s what they’re paid for, after all.’
I told him he was an appalling cynic. He took that as a compliment, remarking that a cynic is only a term used by an idealist to describe a realist.
I realised from his remark about the press office that he expected me to help with some cover-up if necessary. A shocking suggestion. Or implication, to be precise, since he hadn’t exactly suggested it. And then, I also realised I had an alternative.
‘I’ll tell the truth,’ I said abruptly.
‘Minister! What are you thinking of!’
‘I knew nothing of this. Why should I defend what I never approved?’
Then he trotted out all the usual stuff. That the contract is worth thousands of British jobs, and millions of export dollars, and that we can’t throw all that away for some small technical irregularity.
I explained, again, that it is not a small technical irregularity, but corruption!
‘No Minister, just a few uncontracted prepayments . . .’
I had heard enough. I was forced to explain to him that government is not just a matter of fixing and manipulating. There is a moral dimension.
‘Of course, Minister. A moral dimension. I assure you it is never out of my thoughts.’
‘So,’ I went on, ‘if this question comes up in the House, or if the papers start asking questions, I shall announce an inquiry.’
‘Excellent idea,’ he agreed. ‘I shall be more than happy to conduct it.’
I took a deep breath. ‘No Humphrey. Not an internal inquiry. A real inquiry.’
His eyes widened in horror. ‘Minister! You can’t be serious!’
‘A real inquiry!’ I repeated emphatically.
‘No, no, I beg you!’
‘The moral dimension.’ It really is time moral issues were made central to our government once again. And I’m the man to do it.
SIR BERNARD WOOLLEY RECALLS:4