Desperate Measures

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 dismissed,” 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. And then of course, Eisenhower won in 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. Page said. “They’re a waste of time to consider. My father is so skilled a diplomat that if anyone accused him of this type of activity at his prep school, he would turn it to his advantage and make himself appear a victim of 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 something to do with that school.”

“Any lengths to hide?” Mrs. Page sounded pensive. “How do you know this?”

Jill hesitated.

Pittman answered for her. “Reliable sources we’ve interviewed.”

“Who?”

“I’m not at liberty to reveal their names,” Pittman said. “They spoke to us on condition of anonymity.”

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 Millgate 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 Millgate would have been talking about.” She studied Pittman, Jill, and Denning. “And that’s all? These are 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 had a mustache and-You’re the man the police want for killing Jonathan Millgate!”

“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? I’ll prove it to you! I’ll show you the photographs! This man killed Jonathan Millgate!”

“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?”