Desperate Measures

by David Morrell

  when my mother was in the clinic, she had apparently stolen a container

  of the tranquilizers that she was being given. The container-with a

  label that indicated where she had obtained them-was discovered after

  her death. The night she died, had swallowed so many of the Seconal

  capsules that he no-other choice except to conclude she had committed s

  Pittman's stomach soured. "You believe he was lying," Jill said.

  "What I believe makes no difference. Proof is what matters. And there

  is no way to discount my father's story. I want to destroy him, not

  throw my own integrity into question. Unless I have indisputable

  evidence, he will simply use the reports from the mental hospital and

  the medical examiner to disparage my claims. Any accusations I make

  won't be treated seriously. I will have only one chance. For most of my

  life, I have struggled to find a way to punish him for what he did to my

  mother, with no success. And now, as other grand counselors"-she said

  the words with contempt-"have died, I am forced to consider the

  possibility that my father is old enough that he, too, might die before

  I succeed in punishing him."

  Denning stood. "That's why I came here tonight. I may have found a

  way."

  Mrs. Page focused her intense gaze upon him.

  "There's a chance we can prove that your father and the others may have

  allowed their sexual orientation to compromise their work."

  "Sexual orientation?"

  "Were they homosexuals? It never occurred to me until my discussion

  with these reporters tonight. Did you ever have any suspicion that-?"

  Mrs. Page widened her eyes.

  The sound that came from her throat made Pittman's skin prickle. At

  first he feared that Mrs. Page was choking on something. Then, as the

  Sound became louder, he recognized it for what it was: laughter,

  full-directed, contemptuous laughter.

  "Bradford, you are a fool. Is that what you rushed here to tell me?

  Even if my father had engaged in homosexual conduct, what use would that

  be to me? You keep behaving as if you're still in the State Department

  in the late forties and early fifties. Socially, those were the dark

  ages, Bradford. These days, only religious fanatics care if a person is

  a homosexual. It seems as if celebrities are standing in line waiting

  to proclaim that they are gay."

  "Diplomats aren't celebrities," Bradford said indignantly.

  "Of late, some behave as if they are. That isn't the point. What one

  does in private is no longer a matter upon which one's reputation is

  judged. It's how one performs one's public duties that matters. To

  accuse my father and the others of being homosexuals would serve no

  other purpose than to make me look bigoted. It's a distasteful,

  pointless charge. "

  "But what if their sexual orientation compromised them in some way?"

  Denning insisted. "In the fifties, it would have been a serious charge.

  What if they were blackmailed?"

  By whom? The Soviets? If so, the attempt at extortion didn't work. No

  diplomatic group was harder on the Soviets than my father and his

  associates. And on anyone suspected of being sympathetic to the

  Soviets. You above all should appreciate that."

  Denning's face became redder.

  "But even if I thought that it was a ruinous matter to accuse someone of

  being a homosexual," Mrs. Page said, "I wouldn't make that accusation

  against my father."

  "Why not?"

  Because my father is an asexual being. In his prime, he had no interest

  in sex of any kind. My mother once confided to me that the only time

  they'd engaged in what my mother called the marital act was the night I

  was conceived. I'm convinced that he was too worried about his career

  to risk taking on a mistress-and given the repressive nature of the

  1940s and '50s, he wouldn't have risked consorting with men. His

  ambition was all he cared about. That was his mistress. Henry

  Kissinger said it best for all men like my father: 'Power is the

  ultimate aphrodisiac.' " Mrs. Page glared at Pittman and Jill. "Surely

  you know how valueless it would be to attack my father on the basis of

  sexual conduct. "

  "Yes," Pittman said. "All the same, there's something that makes him

  feel vulnerable. We know the grand counselors have a secret that

  they're prepared to do anything to keep hidden."

  "A secret?"

  "About the prep school they went to. Grollier Academy."

  "That's another matter I wanted to tell you, Vivian," Denning said.

  "It's been suggested that one of their teachers made advances to them."

  "But this is the same subject we just discussed," Mrs.

  Page said sharply.

  "It goes beyond that," Pittman said. "We're not sure in what way, but .

  . ."

  "Mrs. Page, did you ever hear anything about a man named

  Duncan Kline?" Jill asked.

  "Duncan Kline?" Mrs. Page cocked her head, searching her memory. "No,

  I don't believe so."

  "He taught your father and their friends at Grollier Academy. "

  Denning interrupted. "A man who was probably Duncan Kline showed up at

  the State Department in the summer of 1952. Your father and the others

  were shocked by his arrival.

  They met him behind closed doors, reacting as if to a grave situation. "

  "What type of grave situation?"

  "I don't know, but I thought that you might."

  Mrs. Page concentrated, tightening the already-tight skin on her face.

  "Not if it's about Grollier Academy. My father was extremely loyal to

  the school. Throughout his career, he contributed generously to the

  alumni fund. When did you say this man came to see my father? The

  summer of 1952? That was an important year for my father. I remember

  his mood well. After Eisenhower was nominated at the Republican

  convention that summer-, my father was convinced that he would win

  against Stevenson."

  "I already explained that to these reporters," Denning said.

  Mrs . Page glared. "Let me finish. My father and the others focused

  all of their energy on ingratiating themselves with Eisenhower's people.

  "But then of course, Eisenhower won m November. Having declared their

  loyalty before Eisenhower's victory, my father and his friends had an

  advantage. Throughout November and December, up to the inauguration in

  January, they increased their attempts to impress Eisenhower. The

  tactic succeeded and made possible their various promotions. Within a

  few years, the group controlled every major diplomatic position within

  the government. It was the beginning of the myth about the grand

  counselors. that's why-given the importance of their need to impress

  Eisenhower after the November election-I was surprised that they took

  time off to go to a December reunion at Grollier Academy. It's a

  measure of how much affection they felt for the school. Obviously if

  they were sexually molested there as students, they wouldn't have wanted

  to go back."

  "Unless they consented to Duncan Kline's advances," Denning insisted.

  "Bradford, I refuse to hear any more of these sexual accusations," Mrs.

&nbs
p; Page said. "They're a waste of time to consider. My father is so

  skilled a diplomat that if anyone ever suggested him of this type of

  activity at his prep school, he would turn it to his advantage and make

  himself appear a victim (if a molester. He'd attract sympathy, not

  blame."

  "That's what we told Bradford earlier tonight," Jill said. "But there

  is some kind of secret that the grand counselors are determined to go to

  any lengths to hide, and it has some

  "Any lengths to hide?" Mrs. Page sounded pensive.

  Pittman answered for her. "Reliable sources we've inter

  "I'm not at liberty to reveal their names," Pittman said.

  Mrs. Page gestured in frustration. "Then they're useless to you. And

  to me. How can I add to what you know and how can it help me punish my

  father if I don't understand the connection that your sources have with

  him?"

  "Does the expression 'the snow' mean anything to you?" Pittman asked.

  "One of the last things Jonathan Mitigate said was 'Duncan. The snow.'

  "Before he was murdered," Mrs. Page said.

  Pittman nodded, waiting.

  "No," Mrs. Page said. "I haven't the least idea what Jonathan Mitigate

  would have been about. " She studied Pittman, Jill, and Denning. "And

  that's all? These are r thing to do with that school. "

  "How do you know this?" Jill hesitated.

  viewed." 141"0?11

  "They spoke - to us on condition of anonymity. "

  the important subjects that you came here to tell me? This evening has

  been worthless."

  "Millgate," Denning said unexpectedly. They looked at him in surprise.

  "I beg your pardon?" Mrs. Page said. "Millgate." Denning stared at

  Pittman. "You mentioned Jonathan Millgate."

  "Bradford, have you lost your senses?" Mrs. page asked.

  Denning suddenly pointed at Pittman. ,Now I remember where I've seen

  you before."

  Pittman felt a chill.

  "Your name isn't Lester King Or whatever you said it was!

  It's Matthew Pittman! I met you several Years ago! I've seen your

  photograph a dozen times in the newspaper! But you ha(i a mustache and

  You're the man the police want for killing Jonathan Mitigate!"

  "Bradford, this is outrageous. Do you realize what you're saying?" Mrs.

  Page demanded.

  "I'm telling you this is the man!" Denning said. "Do you have a

  newspaper? 1,11 prove it to you! I'll show you the photographs! This

  mail killed Jonathan Mitigate!"

  "Don't be absurd," Pittman said. "If I killed him, what would I be

  doing here?"

  The door opened. The uniformed servant appeared, his brow deeply

  furrowed. "Mrs. Page, I heard loud voices. Is anything wrong?"

  "George, Phone the police!" Denning said.

  "The police, sir?" George looked Puzzled, glancing toward Mrs- Page for

  an explanation.

  "Bradford, what do you think you're doing?" Mrs. Page demanded.

  "Hurry! Before he kills an of us!"

  Pittman stood, making Denning cower. "Bradford, I'd stop drinking if I

  were you. It affects your behavior and your judgment." He turned to

  Mrs. Page. "I regret that this happened. We're sorry for the

  inconvenience. Thanks for agreeing to talk with us."

  Jill stood as well. "We appreciate your time."

  Pittman shifted toward the doorway. "With Bradford in this condition,

  obviously it's pointless for us to continue this conversation.

  Mrs. Page looked bewildered.

  "Good evening," Pittman said. "And thanks again."

  "Call the police, George!" Denning insisted. "Before they get away!"

  "No," Mrs. Page said. "I don't understand this at all. Bradford, what

  on earth has gotten into you?"

  Pittman and Jill passed the servant, left the room, crossed the shiny

  hardwood floor of the vestibule, and opened the door to the porch, its

  pillars casting shadows from lights among shrubs.

  "We'd better hurry," Jill said.

  In the cool night air, she and Pittman started down the brick steps from

  the porch, about to reach the murky area beyond the lights on the lawn,

  when Pittman faltered, touching Jill's arm. "More trouble."

  Jill tensed, seeing what he meant. ,Our car."

  It was parked in front of the mansion. Revealed by streetlights, two

  rugged-looking men in windbreakers were staring at the front license

  plate on the Duster. Pittman backed up. "They must have been watching

  the house. "

  "Why would they ... ?" Jill retreated quickly up the steps toward the

  porch. At once she realized. "Eustace Gable knows his daughter is a

  threat. He must have arranged for the house to be watched in case we

  came here."

  "And the Vermont license plates on our car," Pittman said. "They're

  probably the only ones on the street. They connect us with Our visit to

  Grollier Academy."

  As Pittman and Jill hurried toward the mansion's front door, one of the

  men shouted, "Hey!" Pittman turned, seeing the man point at him.

  Simultaneously Pittman saw a dark

  Oldsmobile appear beyond the cars parked in front of the house. It

  skidded to a stop. Men scrambled out.

  Pittman gripped the doorknob, praying that the servant hadn't locked the

  door after they'd left. Exhaling wit ' h relief when he made the knob

  turn, he shoved the door open, lunged inside behind Jill, slammed the

  door, and locked it.

  The noise caused startled voices in the room to the left. As Pittman

  swung toward that doorway, the servant loomed into view, Mrs. Page and

  Denning behind him.

  "What are you doing?" Mrs. Page asked. "Why did you come back?"

  "I'm afraid we brought you trouble," Pittman said.

  "There isn't time to explain. We have to figure out how to-"

  "Six of them." Jill stared past the lace curtain of a high, narrow

  window next to the front door.

  "Six?" Mrs. Page veered past Denning and the servant. "I don't know

  what you're-"

  "They're coming up the sidewalk," Jill said. Pittman stepped closer to

  Mrs. Page. "You're in danger. What's in back? How do we get out of

  here?"

  "Danger?" Denning's voice shook.

  "They're separating. " Jill strained to look out the window. "Two in

  front, two going along each side of the house."

  "Mrs. Page, those men are from your father," Pittman said.

  My

  "The two in front just pulled out handguns," Jill said.

  "Mrs. Page, I think they intend to kill all of us," Pittman said.

  "They'll make it look as if I did it."

  "Kill us?" Mrs. Page looked horror-stricken. "Why?"

  "Because your father's afraid of what you might have told me. We have

  to get out of here."

  "Some of them will go to the back," Jill said. "They've cut the house

  off

  "My father would never try to kill me."

  "He killed your mother, didn't he? Why wouldn't he kill you?"

  Mrs. Page's eyes widened with shocked understanding.

  "The two in front are coming toward the porch," Jill said.

  Pittman turned to the servant. "Did you do what Denning wanted and call

  the police?"

  "No. Mrs. Page told me not to."

  "Then you'd better call them now."
/>   "There isn't time!" Denning whined. "The police wont get here before-"

  Glass shattered at the back of the house. Denning whirled toward the

  sound.

  Pittman reached beneath his sport coat and pulled out the .45, the sight

  of which made Denning's face become the color of cement.

  From the porch, someone tried to turn the doorknob.

  "Jill," Pittman warned, "get back."

  She hurried toward Pittman as he told the servant, "Switch off the

  lights in the hallway."

  The vestibule became dim, illuminated only by lamps in the room that

  they had left.

  More glass shattered at the back of the house. "Jill, if anybody tries

  to come through that door, do you think you can use the gun in your

  purse?'

  "I'm so scared."

  "But can you?"

  "Yes, if I have to."

  "Good. " Pittman rushed from the vestibule toward the rear of the