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