Duty Calls

Duty Calls By Thomas Waugh Copyright © Thomas Waugh 2023. The right of Thomas Waugh to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988. First published in 2023 by Sharpe Books. Table of Contents 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. Epilogue. “A deception that elevates us is dearer than a host of low truths.” Alexander Pushkin. “One doesn’t know what one doesn’t know.” Ivan Turgenev. “So? If I die, then I die! The loss to the world won’t be great.” Mikhail Lermontov. 1. London. 2021. The Skylon Restaurant. Daniel Ambler yawned, not quite knowing if he was doing so out of tiredness or boredom. The author at least displayed the courtesy of waiting until his lunch companion, Simon Birch, averted his gaze. Ambler may have been indifferent towards most things in the world, but he still believed in the virtue of politeness. “Good manners cost nothing, but are priceless,” his late father had said to him on more than one occasion. Birch turned his attention back to his old university friend, having watched the shapely waitress walk away. The MI6 officer and spy novelist resumed their conversation. “As well as your latest novel, I also read your recent piece in The Sunday Telegraph. You still seem to be fighting the good fight against the old - and new - Marxists. Or university lecturers and their gullible students, as we call them nowadays. Even Lenin called them “useful idiots”. Unfortunately, these odious graduates are gaining employment at other institutions. Most of them are calling for a revolution. What they really need are a nice girlfriend, a good steak and a higher disposable income. They are useless idiots, in my book. But what was it that you wrote? The phrase “Marxist hypocrisy” may be seen as a tautology and the idea of “Marxist thought” is an oxymoron,” Birch remarked, smiling and twiddling the stem of his wine glass. He then ran his palm along his already slicked-back hair a couple of times. His voice spoke of a man who had attended Harrow and Magdalen College - and was a member of the Athenaeum and Carlton clubs. It spoke of a husband whose wife did not need to work and whose children attended Harrow too. “Communism may not necessarily be flawed, and it shouldn’t necessarily descend into tyranny and statism. It just always does. Marx should not be considered a prophet, Das Capital is not the Bible and socialism isn’t the promised land. It’s perhaps unsurprising how so many evangelical atheists turn to political religions. To quote G. K. Chesterton: “When a man stops believing in God, he doesn’t believe in nothing, he believes in anything.” Climate change seems to be a new source of religion now. The first sin against climate change is the denial of climate change. The end of the world has always been big box office for demagogues. It seems that the rich can afford remittances in the form of carbon offsetting. I think it’s quite sweet that there are people out there determined to save a planet, whose inhabitants they appear to despise. I might have some compassion for some of these ill-dressed zealots, if I didn’t have so much contempt for them. They talk of social justice, mainly on TikTok of all places. Behind a mask of self-righteousness lies an all too human face. A foolish, vindictive face. Apparently, I was recently no-platformed by a university. I was booked to give a guest lecture. A “Friends of Palestine” student group protested, arguing I was Jewish and a friend of Israel. Which surprised me a little, I must say. I may sometimes consider myself a lapsed Catholic, but surely I’m not that lapsed as to have converted to Judaism? Ironically, they deemed I was Jewish from my Christian name. I would have been creating an unsafe space at the institution. I wouldn’t put too much stock in the article, however. It was a trifling thing, which took a trifling amount of time. When the newspapers start paying a pound a word again, I might compose something more meaningful. It’s unlikely though,” Ambler replied, taking another sip (or a measure larger than a sip) of his more than tolerable Pomerol. “You were always too hard on yourself, even back in college. You were your worst or best critic. Several of my colleagues are fans of your novels, including my boss.” “Let us hope that we do not need to worry about how reliable his judgement is on more important matters.” “You have a tendency to joke about your work and profession too. I warrant that your books have helped change the lives of some people.” Ambler smiled. Nearly toothily. Almost laughing. “Authors do not change the world. Most of them are incapable of even changing their socks each day.” “You have elevated glibness to a religion, Daniel.” “There are worse things that one can have faith in. Glibness will never be a vengeful deity. At worst it’ll be wistful. But to be serious rather than glib for the moment, we have now drunk our first bottle. Your training dictates that it’s time you made your play, no? I haven’t seen you in over six months, Simon. Out of the blue, you have invited me for lunch. And offer to pay for it, to boot. The Skylon is the limit it seems. You have even read my last book - or at least read the blurb and one or two reviews. Call me cynical, but I dare say I am here for an ulterior motive. You may work for MI6, but I can give you special dispensation to be honest for once. It’s fine if you want to ask for use of my flat in Kensington again, should you wish to arrange another assignation.” “If