counselors in a makeshift hospital room off a deck above the five-stall
garage. The effort had been easy, the sense of danger nonexistent,
because Pittman hadn't cared what might happen to him. Prepared to kill
himself, he had felt immune to any risks. Not anymore.
At wide intervals, mansions were set back from the road.
White wooden fences enclosed horses. Ahead on the left, Pittman saw a
high stone wall. He came to a closed metal gate and stopped within view
of a security camera mounted to the left on top of the wall. As
instructed, he leaned out his driver's window SO that the camera could
have a good look at him.
Immediately the gate whirred open. Pittman drove duough, checking his
rearview or, noting that the gate closed behind him while he followed a
paved lane through spacious grassland. The lane went over a hill, and
on the other side, snuggled into the slope, just below the crest on the
right, was a distinctive, sprawling one-story complex that reminded
Pittman of homes designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. The main impression
was of limestone, terraces, and beams, and the way it conformed to the
landscape, aided by plentiful trees and shrubbery, would make it
invisible from the golf course below, Pittman guessed.
From the moment that the gate had opened, allowing him onto the estate,
Pittman had noted the absence of guards. TO anyone who nught be
watching from the road, there was nothing out of the ordinary. To all
appearances, pi was an unremarkable visitor who knew Eustace Gable well
enough that the gate had been opened without delay. The closer Pittman
came to the house, g a downward curve in the lane, proceeding to the
right, passing fir trees, the more Pittman was struck by the lack of
activity on the property. Given the size of the estate, he would have
expected gardeners at least, maintenance personnel, someone to take care
of the horses that came into view below him in a paddock next to a long,
low stable rinnned by more fir trees and made from limestone, matching
the house. But the place seemed deserted. There weren't any cars,
which presumably had been placed in a garage on the opposite side of the
house.
Perhaps the lack of guards was intended to make him feel unthreatened,
Pittman thought. To encourage him not to change his mind. To lure him
into a trap. But if the purpose was to lull him, the opposite effect
had been achieved. Instead of lowering his defenses, the eerie solitude
intensified Pittman's apprehension, sending warning signals throughout
his body, compacting his muscles.
He reached a circular driveway in front of the house, stopped the car,
and got out, surveying the apparently deserted area. He heard water
trickling from somewhere, presumably a fountain. He heard a breeze
whispering through the fir uses. A horse whinnied.
A door opened, and Pittman, who had glanced toward the stable on the
slope below him, whirled toward the house. An elderly man,
narrow-faced, with white hair, spectacles, and wrinkle-pinched features,
stepped from a polished wooden doorway onto a stone terrace. Tall and
slender, he wore a dark blue three-piece suit that conformed to his
rigidly straight posture. Pittman recognized him from photographs and
the incident at the Scarsdale estate. Eu stace Gable. "Four P.m.
precisely. I admire punctuality." Even at a distance, it was obvious
that Gable's chest heaved. "We have much to discuss. Come in, Mr.
Pittman."
Pittman took one last look around and, seeing no threat, climbed steps
to the terrace. He ft-owned when Gable offered his hand.
"This won't do, Mr. Pittman. Rudeness is a poor way to begin a
negotiation."
"I'm not used to civility from people who want to have me killed."
"The formalities matter," Gable said. "Even when negotiating with the
most bitter enemy, it is essential to be respectful and courteous. "
"Sure. Right. But it sounds like hypocrisy to me."
Gable coughed, raising a handkerchief to his mouth. The ripple of pain
thatcrossed his wrinkled features made Pittman realize how much effort
it took for the old man to stand as straight as he did, to maintain the
diplomatic bearing that had made him famous in his prime.
Composing himself, Gable again held out his hand. "Ritual controls
emotion. It encourages order. "
"Is that what you told yourself when you arranged for Jonathan Millgate
to be murdered?"
Gable's expression hardened, his wrinkles becoming like cracks in the
deep grain of weathered wood.
"And Burt Forsyth?" Pittman said. "And Father Dandridge? I wouldn't
call their murders controlling emotion and encouraging order. "
Gable inhaled with effort. "Order dictates necessity. I'm still
waiting."
Pittman finally shook his hand with exaggerated indifference, but the
slight gleam in Gable's wizened eyes told Pittman that the old man
thought he had won an advantage. Gable gestured for Pittman to enter
the house.
Pittman's unease deepened. He almost turned away, wanting to get back
to the car, to drive from the estate as fast as he could. But he told
himself that if Gable meant to have him killed here, an expert marksman
with a sniper's rifle could have done it easily when Pittman was in the
open, climbing the steps to the terrace in front of the house.
fbe plan, he thought. I have to go through with it. I can't keep
running. I've used up nearly all my resources. This.
might be the only chance I get.
,you know my temls," Pittman said.
"Ah, but you haven't heard mine." Gable's thin lips formed a grimace
that may have been a smile - " After you - "
His veins swelling from increased pressure, Pittman entered the house.
Hearing Gable shut the door behind him, Pittman noted that the inside
had walls and beamed ceilings made from various tropical woods of
varying colors, mahogany and teak among others. The lighting system was
recessed but remarkably bfight- The temperature was unusually warm.
Passing a thermostat in a stone-iloored corridor, Pittman saw that it
was set at eighty degrees. Even on the coldest winter day, he would
have considered that temperature excessive. But given that this was a
mild day in late April, Pittman had to conclude that Gable was using the
heat to combat his evident illness. Similarly, the bright lights
suggested that Gable's vision 'night be fading. TO Pittman's fear and
anger, the unexpected emotion Of Pity was added, and Pittman urgently
subdued it, knowing that Gable would take every advantage he could. For
all Pitunan knew, the bright lights and the excessive temperature were
Part of a carefully designed stage setting that would allow Gable to
manipulate him.
Proceeding along the hallway, heading left, the direction that Gable
indicated, Pittman listened to the old man's labored footsteps. An open
door led to a spacious room with a wall length window that provided a
view of the ponds and sand traps of the go]f course at the bottom of the
slope.
But Pitt
man's attention was primarily directed toward two men who waited
for him. One of them he recognized. A gaunt-cheeked elderly man
sitting nervously on a sofa had a neatly trimmed white mustache, wore a
dark -piece suit almost identical to Gable's, and was recognizable from
photographs, particularly because of a distinctive cleft in his chin
that had deepened with age-. the other remaining grand counselor,
Winston Sloane. The second man was in his thirties, six feet tall, well
built, with strong features emphasized by his short haircut. His gray
suit looked less carefully tailored than Gable's and Sloane's. Indeed,
the jacket seemed slightly too large and had a bulge on the left side.
As Pittman studied the man, who stood in the middle of the room, it
occurred to him that he knew this man also, or at least had seen him
before. Last night, the man had been with the group who had attacked
Mrs. Page's house. Pittman turned to Gable. "I didn't know that we
wouldn't be alone."
"It doesn't do to negotiate unless all interested parties are in
attendance. May I present my colleague-Winston
Sloane." With effort, Sloane tried to stand. "No need," Pittman said.
Gable pointed toward the second man. "And this is my assistant, Mr.
Webley." Pittman nodded, giving no indication that he recognized the
man.
"I'm sure you won't mind if Nft. Webley performs a security check,"
Gable continued.
For a moment, Pittman wasn't sure what Gable was talking about. "You're
saying you want this man to search me?"
"We're here on good faith. There shouldn't be any need weapons.
'Then why is your assistant armed?" Webley's eyes narrowed.
"Because his duties require him to be armed. I do hope this isn't going
to be a problem," Gable said.
Pittman raised his arms.
Webley reached for something on a chair behind hiirn and came over with
a handheld metal detector, tracing its wand along the contours of
Pittmans body.
It beeped when it came to the base of Pittman's spine. Webley groped
behind the sport coat and removed Pittman's .45.
Gable made a tsking sound. "How can we negotiate on a basis of trust
when you bring a weapon to our meeting?"
"Force of habit. For the last week, I've gotten used to needing
protection."
"Perhaps after this afternoon, you won't need it anymore.
"I certainly hope so."
Webley continued to scan Pittmans body with the metal detector. It
beeped several more times. "Keys and coins-. His belt buckle. A pen,"
Webley told Gable.
Examine the pen. Check him thoroughly. Be certain that he isn't
wearing a microphone." Webley did so. "Nothing unusual.,*
"Very well. Be seated, W. Pittman. Let's discuss your proposal."
"Why?" Winston Sloane asked. "I don't see what purpose this so-called
negotiation will serve. Our best course is to telephone the police and
have this man arrested for murdering Jonathan. "
6 4A week ago, I would have agreed with you," Gable said.
In fact, I did agree. We all agreed." He cleared his throat and turned
to Pittman. "As you must have concluded by now, our original intention
was to blwne you for what we were forced to do to Jonathan. Your
history of animosity toward Jonathan and your suicidal impulses made you
an excellent candidate. No one would believe your denial, for which'you
would have no proof. Not that we wanted you to have a chance to deny
anything. We made arrangements to have you. killed before the police
could take you into, custody. "
"The man in my apartment," Pittman said.
Gable nodded. "We bribed a policeman to let our own man take his place
and wait there."
Sloane's cheeks became alarmingly flushed. "You're telling him too
much."
"Not at all," Gable said. "If we're to accomplish anything, we have to
be candid. Correct, Mr. Pittman?"
"That's why I'm here. To be candid. To find a way Out of this."
"Precisely.
"What I don't understand," Pittman said, "is why YOU needed to blame
anyone for Jonathan Millgate's death. He was old. He was sick. He was
on oxygen. If you'd taken away his life-support system, let him die,
and then hooked him up to the support system again, his death would have
seemed natural. No one would have been the wiser."
"That's what I wanted," Sloane insisted, his cheeks even redder.
"And at the start, you were right," Gable said patiently. "Try to
remember the sequence. As Jonathan's health dwindled, he became more
afraid of dying. He'd been flirting with religion for the past several
years. That priest, that damnable priest. I never understood
Jonathan's attitude toward Father Dandridge. The priest hounded us
during the Vietnam years.
Ho organized demonstrations and called press conferences to criticize
every policy we made about Vietnam. It was because of Father Dandridge
that Jonathan left public life. The priest's interference made it
impossible for Jonathan to function effectively in the government. And
yet two decades later, Jonathan asked the priest to be his personal
confessor. "
"Father Dandridge felt that Jonathan Millgate needed a confessor who
wouldn't be intimidated by him, a spiritual adviser who would stand up
to him about ultimate matters," Pittman said.
Gable's gaze turned cold. "Ultimate matters. I forgot that you spoke
to the priest briefly."
"I was there when you had him killed. "He shouldn't have gotten
involved. He shouldn't have made trouble. "
"He would never have revealed what he heard in confession, " Pittman
said.
"So you claim. But in my career, I have known diplomats who conveyed
all sorts of confidential information to trusted associates, only to
have that information repeated back to them by third parties. God only
knows what Jonathan had already confessed to the priest, but I know for
certain that what he intended to tell the priest on his deathbed would
have been ruinous. I was visiting him in the hospital, and all he could
do was keep telling me that he had to see Father Dandridge. He had to
clear his conscience. He had to save his soul." Gable said the last
word with contempt. "Then the Justice Department leaked its report that
it was investigating rumors about a covert plan to buy nuclear weapons
from the former USSR. Jonathan was implicated as having acted as an
intermediary. "
"Intermediary? Stop biding behind words. What you mean is, Millgate
was functioning as an arms dealer," Pittman said with disgust. "The
worst kind Of arms. What possible reason could justify-?" ,The safety
of the world," Gable said indignantly. ,Yeah, right. That's the excuse
you and your buddies always came up with. The safety of the world. It
doesn't matter how self-serving the idea is, you always justify
yourselves by saying it's good for everybody
'Are you so naive as to think that the fall of communism, and the
dissolution of the USSR mean the end of a threat from that region?"
"Of course not," Pittman answered "The bloodba
th in Bosnia shows that
any damned thing can happen Over there. After decades of being
repressed, the provinces of the former USSR might all go in the opposite
extreme. Soon they might all be out of control."
"With access to nuclear weapons about which neither the former
government nor the disbanding military is responsible. " Gable gestured
for emphasis. "If a new government, a rogue government comes into
power, there's a very real danger that those, nuclear weapons will be
used to allow that new government to cOnsOlidate its Power- What's
unscrupulous about trying to stop that from happening?"
I "fbe way you put it, nothing. But I've been a reporter too long not
to be able to read between the lines."
"What are you WUng about?"
"The Justice Department's accusation was specific: Jonathan Millgate was
implicated in buying nuclear weapons. Not paying to have them destroyed
in Russia, nothing Wrong about that, but buying them. What the bell was
he going to do with them once he owned 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 I 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