The Complete Yes Minister

I began by showing him the article in the FT. Though I think Bernard must have drawn his attention to it already.

I told him that I wanted to know the truth.

‘I don’t think you do, Minister.’

‘Will you answer a direct question, Humphrey?’

He hesitated momentarily. ‘Minister, I strongly advise you not to ask a direct question.’

‘Why?’

‘It might provoke a direct answer.’

‘It never has yet.’

It was clear to me yesterday that Bernard knows something about all this. I don’t think he was levelling with me. So today I put him on the spot, in front of Humphrey, so that he couldn’t say one thing to his Minister and another to his Permanent Secretary. [This brilliant move by Hacker struck at the heart of the entire Private Secretary system – Ed.]

‘Bernard, on your word of honour, do you know anything about this?’

He stared at me like a frightened rabbit. His eyes flickered briefly at Sir Humphrey who – like me – was gazing at him in the hope (but without the confidence) that he would say the appropriate thing.

Bernard clearly didn’t know how to reply, proof enough that he knew something fishy had been going on.

‘Well, I, er, that is, there was, er, someone did . . .’

Humphrey interrupted hastily. ‘There was a lot of gossip, that’s all. Rumour. Hearsay.’

I ignored Humphrey. ‘Come on Bernard.’

‘Um . . . well, one of the Qumranis did tell me he had received, er, been paid . . .’

‘Hearsay, Minister,’ cried Humphrey indignantly.

I indicated Bernard. ‘Hearsay?’

‘Yes,’ Humphrey was emphatic. ‘Bernard heard him say it.’

Clearly I was going to get nothing further out of Bernard. But he’d told me all I needed to know.

‘Humphrey. Are you telling me that BES got the contract through bribery?’

He looked pained. ‘I wish you wouldn’t use words like “bribery”, Minister.’

I asked if he’d prefer that I use words like slush fund, sweeteners, or brown envelopes. He patronisingly informed me that these are, in his view, extremely crude and unworthy expressions for what is no more than creative negotiation. ‘It is the general practice,’ he asserted.

I asked him if he realised just what he was saying. After all, I ratified this contract myself, in good faith. ‘And in that communique 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 didn’t get it by bribery.’

‘That’s not what I said,’ he said carefully.

‘Well what did you say?’

‘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. [A typical Hacker response. Clearly, corruption was perfectly acceptable to Hacker in smallish amounts. As subsequently became clear in the affair of the rosewater jar – Ed.]

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 said he couldn’t, anyway.

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