Desperate Measures

“Excuse me?” Pittman had expected more of the unsubstantiated charges that he had heard from Denning seven years earlier. But this was a new accusation.

Denning frowned at him. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Pittman said, tensing.

“You remind me of…”

“Washington can be a small town. Maybe we ran into each other at a diplomatic reception or-”

“I haven’t been invited to a diplomatic reception in thirty-five years,” Denning said bitterly.

“They burned your house.”

“I was writing an expose about them. They must have found out. They set fire to my house and destroyed my research.”

“But can you prove that?” Jill asked.

“Of course not. They’re too clever to leave evidence.”

“Then can you tell us what you were going to expose?”

“They murdered hundreds of thousands of people.”

This is as bad as the last time, Pittman thought. He’s going to rant and rave, and I won’t learn anything.

“Hundreds of thousands?”

Denning scowled at Pittman again. “Are you certain we haven’t met before?”

“Yes.” Pittman tried to assure himself that he didn’t look the same as when he had first met Denning. He strained to hope that Denning wouldn’t make the connection.

Denning brightened as the waiter set down their drinks. “Cheers.”

The three of them raised their glasses.

“To that bastard Eustace Gable and the rest of them.” Denning took a deep swallow of Jack Daniel’s.

He must have been drinking this hard for many years, Pittman thought. Otherwise, as old as he is, he wouldn’t have a tolerance for this much alcohol. “You said they murdered hundreds of thousands of people.”

“In Korea. In Vietnam. To make themselves important. They never cared about those countries. They never cared about rebuilding Europe after the war. The Marshall Plan and all that. They cared about themselves. McCarthy.”

He’s rambling, Pittman thought in despair. Damn it, we came all this way for nothing. Pittman’s side ached from when he’d injured it escaping from Grollier Academy. His legs, back, and neck ached from having spent nearly twenty-four hours in the car. He was tired and desperate, and he wanted to lean across the table, grab Denning’s suit coat, and shake him until he made sense.

“What about McCarthy?” Jill asked. “You mean back in the early fifties? Joe McCarthy? The anti-Communist witch-hunter?”

“That’s how the bastards got me out of the State Department. They convinced everybody I was red.”

“Were you?”

Denning laughed to himself. “Yes.”

“What?”

“Not card-carrying. A sympathizer.”

Pittman tried not to show his surprise. Seven years earlier, Denning hadn’t given so much as a hint that the grand counselors might have been correct.

“If I’d stayed on track, if the grand counselors hadn’t gotten rid of me, if I’d managed to become secretary of state… it was too late to do anything about Korea, but maybe I could have stopped Vietnam. Hey, so what if I thought the Soviets had points in their favor? Did that make me a criminal? I wasn’t going to sell out our country. But I could have done my damnedest to make sure we didn’t nearly destroy ourselves because of Vietnam.”

Pittman listened more intensely. “I had an older brother who died in Vietnam.”

“Then you know what I’m talking about.”

“Spell it out,” Pittman said.

“The grand counselors based their careers on taking a hard line against communism. After the Second World War, they helped formulate the Marshall Plan to rebuild Europe… but exclude the Soviets. And they helped formulate the Truman Doctrine-that America had an obligation to defend the world… against the Soviets, of course. I fought them on their anti-Soviet bias, but I lost. That’s when they began thinking of me as an enemy. In 1950, it was partly because of their urging that we sent troops into South Korea to stop the North Korean invasion… to stop the spread of communism. What was eventually called the domino theory. Never believed in it. I didn’t think we had any business being over there, and history proves I was right. We didn’t make a difference. So I fought them about going into Korea, and I lost. Then I fought them about several other issues to do with the Soviets. I didn’t believe it was wise to bully the Soviets with our atomic weapons capability, for example. I was sure it would lead to a deadly arms race. I was right on that score as well, but Millgate and the others prevailed. By 1952, they’d made everybody believe I was soft on communism. I was out. The heightening of the Cold War during the fifties-they had plenty to do with that. The Vietnam War-they had even more to do with that. Because of them, hundreds of thousands died. And all the while, they were in deep with the arms manufacturers. They let their bank accounts determine foreign policy.”

The accusation about kickbacks was the same one that Denning had made seven years earlier. It was what Pittman had been investigating back then, the reason he had gone to Denning in the first place. But Denning hadn’t been able to provide substantiation for the charges. Perhaps he could now.

“I’m sure you already know this,” Pittman said. “A little less than a week ago, the night Jonathan Millgate was taken from the hospital, someone leaked a secret Justice Department report that Millgate was suspected of being involved in buying nuclear weapons from the former Soviet Union.”

“Another illegal arms deal.” Denning smiled bitterly. “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

“Do you have anything that would prove your accusations?”

“Not after the fire.”

Pittman shook his head in frustration. Unable to think of another way, he decided to go directly to the primary question that he’d come here to ask, but the waiter’s sudden reappearance at their booth made him stop.

“Are you ready to hear about our specials for tonight?” the waiter asked.

“Didn’t I tell you to wait awhile?” Denning complained. “We’re not hungry yet.”

“Very good, sir,” the waiter said dourly, and left.

Pittman noticed that Denning raised his cocktail glass, then seemed to make a decision and set it down without drinking.

“Let’s talk about another matter,” Pittman said. “Have you ever heard of someone named Duncan Kline?”

Denning studied him, his elderly face developing lines of strain. “Who?”

“Duncan Kline.”

“Are you sure we haven’t met before?” Denning asked unexpectedly.

Pittman tried not to look worried. “Quite sure.”

“Then maybe it’s something in the news. Talking about Millgate, Lloyd, and the others makes me associate you with…”

Damn it, Pittman thought. I was wrong. He doesn’t remember me from seven years ago. I don’t have to worry about that. No, what I have to worry about is something worse. When Millgate died, Denning would have devoured every speck of news on the subject. Needing to gloat, he would have read and reread every story. He’s seen my photograph dozens of times. But because I’m using a different name and I look different than I looked seven years ago, he hasn’t realized who I am.

But I’m afraid he will. And what’ll happen when he does?

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Pittman said.

“Duncan Kline.” Jill interrupted, obviously wanting to distract Denning and get the conversation back where they wanted.

Denning gave Pittman one more puzzled look, then turned to Jill, frowning in concentration. “I can’t say the name is familiar. Perhaps if I had a context.”

“He was a teacher at Grollier Academy. That’s the prep school the grand counselors attended. He was their