Desperate Measures

them? Bring them all the way to the United States to have them destroyed? Sounds a lot more expensive than it needs to be, not to mention dangerous, all those warheads being moved around. And who’s paying for these nuclear weapons, anyhow? The U.S. government? Not damned likely. It would be political suicide for anyone in the government to get involved in such an outrageous scheme. So you’ve got two problems: how to pay for the weapons and what to do with the weapons once you own them. Those problems bothered me ever since I heard that Millgate was under suspicion. And then the solution came to me. Of course. The way you get rid of the nuclear weapons enables you to pay for them in the first place-you sell them to someone else.”

Gable squinted. “I’m impressed, Mr. Pittman.”

“The compliment doesn’t sound sincere.”

“But I am impressed. You see to the heart of the issue. You understand the brilliance of the operation.”

“Brilliance?” Pittman asked in disbelief.

“The threat of the nuclear weapons in the former USSR is eliminated,” Gable said righteously. “At the same time, it’s possible to maintain the balance of power in other troubled regions. For example, it’s no secret that North Korea has been working furiously to develop a nuclear capability. What do you think will happen when its nuclear weapons are functional? It’ll control Southeast Asia. But if South Korea also gains nuclear capability, there’ll be a stalemate. They’ll balance each other.”

“Wrong. They’ll destroy each other. And maybe get the rest of the world involved,” Pittman said.

“Not necessarily.” The emotional strain of the conversation was having an evident effect on Gable. His breathing was more labored, his posture less erect. He lowered his voice. “To save the world, sometimes risks have to be taken.”

“And bank accounts fattened? You hypocrite. You and your friends pretended to be selfless public servants, and all along, from the forties onward, from the postwar anti-Soviet policy to the Iran-Contra arms-dealing scandal, you’ve been making a fortune in kickbacks from the weapons industry. How much money did you earn arranging to use American funds to arm Iraq so it would act as a counterweight against Iran? And then we went to war against Iraq, and you received kickbacks from the arms industry because you recommended that war.”

Anger made Gable regain his rigid posture. “I refuse to discuss the nuances of foreign policy with a mere reporter. You are not privy to classified information. You are not in a position to judge the delicacy of various negotiations that I have successfully concluded for the good of the United States and the world.”

“Right. The old excuse. There’s always secret information that justifies becoming rich by starting more wars and selling more weapons.”

“These matters are beyond your understanding,” Gable said. “You are here for one purpose only-to try to settle our differences, to undo the disastrous effects of your blundering into matters that do not concern you. After the leak implicating Jonathan in the purchase of Russia’s nuclear weapons, it was only a matter of hours, perhaps minutes, before reporters would have shown up at the hospital in hopes that Jonathan would be strong enough to make a statement. We had to get Jonathan out of the hospital to keep him from telling reporters what he intended to tell the priest. You were there when my men took him from the hospital. You followed them to Scarsdale. Damn it, what were you doing in his room? If only you hadn’t gone into his room.”

“His IV tubes had slipped out. His oxygen prongs weren’t attached to him. He was having some kind of seizure. I was sure he was going to die.”

“That was the idea,” Gable said with barely subdued irritation. “My colleagues and I said good-bye to him. Everyone except his nurse and doctor left the room. They removed his life supports. Then they left. He was supposed to die. But you had to get into the room and reattach the supports. And he finally had a chance to confess. If the nurse hadn’t come back into the room at that moment, we never would have known that Jonathan had betrayed us.”

“If only we’d stopped right there,” Sloane said.

“We couldn’t,” Gable said. “Because as far as we knew, this man”-Gable pointed toward Pittman-“saw our first attempt to kill Jonathan. And this man”-Gable pointed harder toward Pittman-“had information that could ruin us. One of our security team riding in the escort car noticed a taxi following the ambulance. As soon as he reached the estate and told me about the taxi, I sent him to locate it before it disappeared from the area. The driver’s passenger was gone. But the driver could identify the passenger because of a check that the passenger had written to cover the expense of the ride. Imagine our concern, Mr. Pittman, when we researched your background and discovered that you were a reporter. What were we to do? Allow you to write a story about our attempt to kill our friend and about the information he revealed to you? Certainly not. But we did have another option. Our investigation revealed that you’d harassed Jonathan seven years ago, that you were currently having an emotional collapse. It wasn’t any effort to make it seem that you killed Jonathan. We had the check you’d given to the taxi driver. We had your fingerprints on the door to Jonathan’s room and on his life-support equipment. In a twisted personal vendetta, you killed Jonathan, then continued with your plans to kill yourself.”

“And when your men caught me, they were going to help me along.”

Gable spread his hands. “Unless the police caught you first, in which case I had the resources to arrange for you to commit suicide in jail.”

“You’re awfully confident that you can manipulate the system to make it do anything you want.”

“I’m a diplomat. I helped design the system. I guarantee that the plan would have worked.”

“Then why didn’t it?”

Gable glanced at the floor.

“Well?” Pittman asked.

“I congratulate you. You’re far more resourceful than your profile led me to believe. If you weren’t so resourceful, I wouldn’t have agreed to this conversation, I assure you. For a man determined to commit suicide, you have a remarkable talent for survival.”

“You see, I changed my mind.”

Gable looked puzzled.

“I don’t want to kill myself any longer. Because of you.”

“Explain.”

“What you did to me made me so afraid that I had to ask myself, If I was so eager to die, why was I running? Why not let you do the job for me? I rationalized by telling myself that I wanted my death to be my idea, not yours. But the truth is, you forced me to reconsider where I was in my life. I love my dead son. I miss him desperately. But you distracted me enough that I think I can accept my grief now rather than fight it.”

Gable studied him as if he had no understanding of the emotions Pittman referred to. At last, he sighed. “It would have been so much easier if my men had been able to shoot you when you were running from the Scarsdale estate.”

Sloane fidgeted. “First Jonathan. Then Anthony. Now Victor. No more. I want this settled. I want it stopped.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Gable said. “To settle things.”

Throughout, the man known as Mr. Webley stood against the wall to Pittman’s right, watching the group, holding Pittman’s.45.

“For a negotiation to be successful,” Gable said, “each side must have something to gain. So tell me, Mr. Pittman, what do we gain in exchange for the million dollars and the two passports that you gain?”

“Security. Peace of mind.”

“All very well. Desirable conditions. But vague. How exactly are you going to give us security and peace of mind?”

“By disappearing.”

“Be specific.”

“I’ll make it look as if I carried through on my intention to commit suicide. I’ll do it in such a way that my body can’t be identified.”