Free A Spy By Nature by Charles Cumming Page A

except Ogilvy, who is happy to let this fact make its way across the room to the impressed examiners.
    “Yes, I’d forgotten that,” Ann admits, to her credit, but she must know that her chance has passed.
    “I still think Ann has a point,” says a gallant Hobbit. He is surely too kind to be caught up in this. “The French facility needs to have a thorough checkup with American observers. If it’s leaking, we all have to put it right collectively and be completely open about that. But I suspect it’s fine, and that these American claims are disingenuous.”
    In the tight lightless classroom, this last word sounds labored and pretentious. Ann’s face has flushed red and the hand in which she is holding her pen is shaking. Ogilvy inches forward.
    “Let’s look at it this way,” he says. “We don’t know all the facts. What we do know is that the Americans are playing games. And in my view, the best way to deal with a bully is to bully them back.”
    “What are you suggesting?”
    “I’m suggesting, Alec, that if the Americans are proposing to squeeze us, then we in turn should squeeze them.”
    They’ll like this. We’re supposed to play hardball. We’re supposed to be capable of a trick or two. Ogilvy glances across at Rouse, then back at the Hobbit.
    “Matthew, you seem to know about the levels of import and export of fish and shellfish going to and fro between Britain and America.”
    The Hobbit, flattered, says, “Yes.”
    “Well, I suspect that the Americans export significantly higher numbers of fish and shellfish to Europe than we export to them. Is that right?”
    “Off the top of my head, yes, as much as three times the amount,” says the Hobbit.
    It’s just between the two of them for now, and it’s an impressive thing to watch. Ogilvy is giving us all a lesson in man management, in how to make the little guy feel good about himself. A trace of sweat has formed above the Hobbit’s upper lip, a little vapor of nerves, but he is otherwise entirely without self-consciousness. Just getting the words out, happy to talk in facts. Maybe even enjoying himself. Ogilvy has rested his elbows on the table, fingers interlocked and raised to his dark face.
    “So a ban on American fish and shellfish imports would hit them even harder?”
    “In theory,” says Elaine, a dismissiveness in her voice.
    “Of course,” says Ogilvy, cutting her off before she has a chance to tell him how unworkable a trade embargo with the United States would be, “I actually don’t think that we’ll have to go as far as reciprocating their ban with one of our own.”
    He wants to show Rouse and Pyman that he’s seen all the angles.
    “The key to this, as I’ve said, is the Germans. If we can get them on our side, and as long as any problem with the reprocessing plant can be addressed, I can’t foresee the Americans continuing with their demands. It’s important that we be seen to stand up to them.”
    It’s time to steal some ideas from Ogilvy, before he runs away with it.
    “The sticking point is the automobile manufacturer. We have to make sure that that contract is secured and goes ahead. At the same time, we might offer the Germans a sweetener.”
    “What kind of a sweetener?” Elaine asks. She lingers on sweetener as if it is the most absurd word she has ever heard.
    “Sell them something. At a bargain price. Or we could buy more of their exports.”
    This sounds meek and ill-informed. It is clear that I have not thought it through. But Ogilvy bails me out, saying yes with a degree of enthusiasm that I had not anticipated. Ironically, this leads to a bad mistake. He says, “We could offer to buy up deutsch marks, to push up their value briefly against the pound.”
    This is ludicrous, and Elaine tells him so.
    “You try it. You’d have to be owed some pretty big favors at the Exchequer to get something like that done.”
    She delivers this in a tone of weary experience and for a moment Ogilvy is stumped.