a very cynical way of looking at a very complex situation. The prime minister has a responsibility to his party, to his MPs. Why should he allow terrorists to dictate how he does his job?’
‘I don’t accept the premise behind your question. He’s not allowing terrorists to do that. Sinn Fein/IRA have made it clear that they are prepared to come to the negotiating table and yet Major is going to make decommissioning an explicit requirement of that, something he knows will never happen. He’s not interested in peace. He’s simply out to save his own skin.’
‘You don’t think the IRA should hand over its weapons?’
‘Of course I do. In an ideal world. But they never will.’
‘So you would just give in to that? You would be prepared to negotiate with armed terrorist organizations?’
‘If there was a guarantee that those arms would not be used during that negotiating process, yes.’
‘And if they were?’
‘At least then the fault would lie with Sinn Fein. At least then the peace process would have been given a chance.’
Rouse leans back. The skin of his stomach is visible as pink through the thin cotton of his shirt. Here sits a man whose job it is to persuade Americans to betray their country.
‘I take your point.’
This is something of a breakthrough. There is a first smile.
‘What else, then?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
‘What else have you prepared?’
‘Oh.’ I had not known what he meant. ‘I’ve done some research on the Brent Spar oil platform and some work on the Middle East.’
Rouse’s face remains expressionless. I feel a droplet of sweat fall inside my shirt, tracing its way down to my waist. It appears that neither of these subjects interests him. He picks up a clipboard from the desk, turning over three pages until his eyes settle on what he is looking for. All these guys have clipboards.
‘Do you believe what you said about America?’
‘When?’
He looks at his notes, reading off the shorthand, quoting me, “‘The Americans have a very parochial view of Europe. They see us as a small country.’”
He looks up, eyebrows raised. Again it is not clear whether this is something Rouse agrees with, or whether his experience in Washington has proved otherwise. Almost certainly, he will listen to what I have to say and then take up a deliberately contrary position.
‘I believe that there is an insularity to the American mind. They are an inward-looking people.’
‘Based on what evidence?’
His manner has already become more curt.
‘Based on the fact that when you go there, they think that Margaret Thatcher is the queen, that Scotland is just this county in a bigger place called England. That kind of ignorance is unsettling when you consider that American capitalism is currently the dominant global culture. To anyone living in Texas, global news is what happens in Alabama. The average American couldn’t care less about the European Union.’
‘Surely you can appreciate that in our line of work we don’t deal with “the average American”?’
I feel pinned by this.
‘I can see that. Yes.’
Rouse looks dissatisfied that I have capitulated so early. I press on.
‘But my point is still valid. Now that America is the sole superpower, there’s a kind of arrogance, a tunnel vision, creeping into their foreign policy. They don’t make allowances for the character and outlook of individual states. Unless countries fall into line with the American way of thinking, they risk making an enemy of the most economically powerful nation on earth. This is the position that Britain finds itself in all the time.’
‘In what respect?’
‘In order to keep the special relationship alive, successive governments have had to ignore their better judgment and do some pretty unsavory things when called upon to do so by the United States. They would defend that by saying it’s in the nature of politics.’
‘You don’t think the special relationship is worth preserving?’
‘I didn’t say that. I think it’s worth preserving at any cost. Maintaining close ties with America will make the UK a pivotal force within the European Union.’
Rouse nods. He knows this is true.
‘But you remain cynical about the government in Washington?’
Now I take a risk.
‘Well, with respect, so do you.’
That may have been a mistake. Rouse appears to withdraw slightly from the improving familiarity of our conversation, stopping to write something in longhand on the clipboard.
‘I’m not sure I follow you,’ he says, bringing the pen to his mouth.
‘You’re a serving SIS officer in Washington. It’s your job to be cynical.’
He goes cold on me.
‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss that.’
‘Of course. I’m sorry I brought it up.’
I have gone too far.
‘Not a problem,’ he says, as suddenly relaxed as he was distant just seconds before. I am relieved by this, yet the swing in his mood was eerie. He can be all things to all people. ‘At Sisby we are perfectly free to discuss the work of an SIS officer in general terms. That, after all, is one of the reasons why you are here.’
‘Yes.’
‘So is there anything in particular you would like to ask?’
That he is permitting me to question him on matters of national secrecy is in itself astonishing, yet the blank slate provided somehow makes the process of thinking up a question more difficult. Rouse glances coolly at his watch. I have to say something.
‘It would interest me to know what sort of work SIS is involved in now that the Cold War is over. Is industrial espionage the main focus?’
Rouse knits his fingers.
‘For obvious reasons, I can’t talk about the specifics of my own operation. But, yes, industrial espionage, competitive intelligence–whatever you want to call it–poses a very grave threat to British interests. Purely in economic terms, allowing British secrets to pass into the hands of rival organizations and companies is catastrophic. There is an argument, in fact, that industrial spies are more damaging to British interests in the long term even than Cold War traitors. That’s not to say that we aren’t still concerned with traditional
