forehead. "I can't think anymore. If I don't get something to eat .
Glancing ahead, she pointed to the right toward a truck stop off the
turnpike, sodium arc lamps glaring in the darkness.
"My stomach's rumbling, too." Pittman followed an exit ramp into the
bright, eerie yellow light of the gas station/ restaurant, where he
parked several slots away from a row of eighteen-wheel rigs.
After they got out of the car and joined each other in front, Pittman
hugged her.
"What are we going to do?" She pressed the side of her face against his
shoulder. "Where do we go for answers?"
We're just tired." Pittman stroked her hair, then kissed her. "Once we
get something to eat and some rest ...
Hand in hand, they walked toward the brightly lit entrance to the
restaurant. Other cars were pulling in. Wary, Pittman watched a van
stop ahead of them. The driver had his window down. The van's radio
was blaring, an announcer reading the news.
"I guess I'm needlessly jumpy. Everybody looks suspicious to me, "
Pittman said - He made sure that he was between Jill and the van when
they came abreast of the driver's door. The beefy man behind the
steering wheel was talking loudly to someone else, but the radio was
even louder than his gruff tone. Pittman turned toward the van. "My
God."
"What's the matter?"
"The news. The radio in that van. Didn't you hear it?"
"No."
"Anthony Lloyd. One of the grand counselors. He's dead.
Dismayed, Pittman ran with Jill back to the Duster. Inside, he turned
on the radio and switched stations, cursing impatiently at call-in shows
and country-western programs. "There must be a news station somewhere.
He turned on the car's engine, afraid he would weaken the battery while
he switched stations. Ten minutes later, an on the-half-hour news
report came on.
"Anthony Lloyd, onetime ambassador to the United Nations, the former
USSR, and Britain, past secretary of state as well as past secretary of
defense, died this evening at his home near Washington, " a
solemn-voiced male reporter said. "One of a legendary group of five
diplomats whose careers spanned global events from the Second World War
to the present " Lloyd was frequently described-along with his
associates - as a grand counselor. To quote the reaction Of Harold
Fisk, current secretary of state, 'Anthony Lloyd had an immeasurable
influence on American foreign policy for the past fifty years. His
wisdom will be sorely missed.' While the cause of death has not yet been
determined, it is rumored that Lloyd-aged eighty-died from a stroke, the
result of strain brought on by the recent apparent murder of his
colleague, Jonathan Millgate, another of the grand counselors.
P
Authorities are still looking for Matthew Pittman, the former reporter
allegedly responsible for Millgates death."
The news report changed to other topics, and Pittman shut off the radio.
In silence, he continued to stare at the dash board.
"Died from a stroke?" Jill asked.
"Or was he murdered, too? It's a wonder they didn't blame his death on
me, as well."
"In a way, they did," Jill said. "Their story is that the first death
caused the second. "
"Died from strain. " Pittman bit his lip, thinking. He turned to Jill.
"Or from guilt? From worry? Maybe something's happening to all of
them. Maybe the grand counselors aren't as strong as they thought."
"What are you getting at?"
"We'll have to eat on the road and take turns sleeping while the other
drives. We've got a lot of miles to cover."
Shortly before 7:00 A.M., in dim morning light, Pittman parked near the
well-maintained apartment building in Park Slope in Brooklyn. Traffic
increased. People walked by, going to work. "I just hope she hasn't
left yet. If she has, we could end up sitting here all day, thinking
she's still in the apartment." Pittman used his electric razor to
Works outside the house.
You're certain she's working? if you'd ever met Gladys, you'd know she'd
definitely prefer to be away while her husband works at home and takes
care of the baby." He sipped tepid coffee from a Styrofoam cup. "Do we
have any more of that Danish left?" Jill glanced coffee on the around,
peered at her Styrofoam cup of sta dashboard, and grimaced. "I can't
believe I'm doing this to myself. I hardly ever drink coffee, and now
I'm guzzling it. Yesterday morning, I was eating doughnuts. Last
night, chili and French fries. Now it's the gooiest Danish I ever ...
And I can't get enough of it. After years of eating right, I'm
selfdestructing."
,There.,' Pittman gestured. "That's Gladys."
A prim, sour-faced woman stepped out of the apartment building,
tightened a scarf around her head, and walked determinatively along the
street.
"Looks like she runs a tight ship," Jill said. "Tall to her makes you
of mutiny."
"But we won't have to talk to her."
"Right." Pittman got out of the car.
They walked toward the apartment building. In the vestibule, Pittman
faced a row of intercom buttons and pretended to study the name below
each button as if looking for one in particular, but what he wAy did was
wait for the man and woman leaving the building to get out of his sight
in time for him to grab the door as it swung shut. Before it could lock
itself, he reopened it and walked through with Jill, heading toward the
elevator.
When the door to 4 B opened in response to the knock, Brian
Botulfson-who still wore his pajamas, had rumpled hair, and looked
exhausted-slumped his shoulders with discouragement the moment he saw
Pittman. "Aw, no. Give me a break. Not you. The last thing I need
is-"
"How are you, Brian?" Pittman asked cheerily "How have you been doing
since I saw you last?"
In the background, Pittman heard an infant crying harshly, not the usual
baby cry, but a hurt cry, a sick cry.
Pittman remembered it well from when Jeremy had been an infant.
"Uh-oh, sounds like you've been 'up all night." Pittman entered.
"Hey, you can't-"
Pittman shut the door and locked it. "You don't seem very happy to see
me, Brian."
"The last time you were here, I got in so much trouble with ... If
Gladys was here .
"But she isn't. We waited until she left."
Jill was preoccupied by the cries from the baby. "Boy or girl?"
"Boy."
"He doesn't sound well. Has he got a fever?"
"I think so," Brian said.
"You didn't check his temperature?" Jill asked.
"I didn't have time. I was too busy getting him clean after he threw
up."
"Seems like you could use some help. Where's your thermometer? Let me
see the baby supplies you got.'.'
Pittman raised his hands. "Almost forgot, Brian. This is my friend
Jill."
"Hello, Brian. I'm a nurse. I used to work in pediatrics. I'll take
good care of your son. The thermometer?"
"On his bedside table." Brian pointed.
As Jill went toward a room to the left of the kitchen, Pittman said,
"See, it's your lucky day."
"Yeah, I feel lucky all to bell. Look, you've got to stop coming here.
The police are searching for you."
"No kidding."
"I can't get involved in this. I can't-"
"I won't come around again. I swear, Brian. Scout's honor. "
"That's what you said the last time."
" Ah, but I didn't swear on Scout's honor." Brian groaned. "If the
police find out ..."
"I'm a dangerous criminal. Tell them I terrified you so much, you had
to help me."
"The newspapers say you killed a priest and a man in somebody's
apartment and ... I'm losing count. "Not my fault. All easily
explainable."
"You still don't get it. I don't want to know anything you're doing.
I'd be an accessory."
"then we're in agreement. I don't want you to know what I'm doing,
either. But if you refuse to help me, if I get caught, I'll convince
the police that you are an accessory," Pittman lied.
"Don't think like that. I'd go to prison again."
"And imagine what Gladys would say. On the other hand, I never turn
against my friends, Brian. The quicker we do this, the quicker I'm out
of here. I want you to. give me a crash course in hacking."
Jill leaned out from the baby's room. "His fever's a hundred and one."
"Is that bad?,' Brian asked nervously.
"It isn't good. But I think I can lower it. By the way, Brian, those
children's aspirins are a no-no for a baby's fever. They can cause a
serious condition called Reye's syndrome. Have you got any Tylenol?"
"See?" Pittman said. "In good hands. Now come on, Brian, pay us for
the house call. Show me how to do a little hacking. Or we'll hang
around the house until Gladys comes home. "
Brian turned pale. "What programs do you want to get into?"
Unlisted telephone numbers, and the addresses that go with them."
"What city?"
"I don't want to tell you, Brian. You're going to have to show me how
to get in without knowing what city I w ant. Then you're going to sit
in a corner while I play with your computer. "
"I feet like crying."
"Will the baby be all right?" Pittman drove from the apartment
building.
"As long as Brian keeps giving him a children's dose of Tylenol on
schedule. And liquids. A sponge bath doesn't hurt. I told him to get
the baby to a doctor if the fever gets worse or the vomiting persists.
Cute child. I he'll be okay."
"And maybe Brian will get some sleep tonight."
"Unless Gladys decides to make trouble. Did he let you have what you
wanted?"
Pittman held up a sheet of paper. "I learned from the mistake we made
with the guy from the alumni association. Don't let anybody know our
next move. Brian showed me how to get unlisted phone numbers and
addresses. But he doesn't know whose or what city."
"Washington.
Pittman nodded.
"The grand counselors." Pittman nodded again.
"Long drive."
"We can't fly. You'd have to use a check or a credit card to buy
tickets. Your name would get in the computer. The police will be
looking for it. We've got to keep driving.
You really know how to show a girl a good time. I think 11 pull a
blanket over my head and assume a fetal position. "Good idea. Get some
more rest."
"You, too. We'll need it if we're going to try to get close to the
grand counselors."
"Not just yet."
"But I thought you said we were going to Washington. 7' "Right. But I
need to see somebody else there."
"Who?"
"A man I interviewed a long time ago."
It was after dark when they reached Washington's Beltway, headed south
on 1-95, then west on 50 to Massachusetts Avenue. Despite his
exhaustion, Pittman managed to drive .skillfully through the dense
traffic. "You seem to know your way around the city," Jill said. "When
I was working on the national affairs desk, I spent a lot of time down
here." Pittman rounded Dupont Circle and took P Street west into
Georgetown.
"Reminds me of Beacon Hill," Jill said. "I suppose. " Pittman glanced
at the narrow wooded street. The paving was cobblestone. Ahead, it
changed to red brick. Federal and Victorian mansions were squeezed next
to one another. "Never been here?"
"Never been to any place in Washington. New York was about as far from
my parents as I felt I needed to get."
"Georgetown's the oldest and wealthiest district in die city.
4'The 'remaining grand counselors live here?" Pittman shook his head.
"This is too ordinary for them. They live on estates in Virginia."
"Then who did you come here to see?"
"A man who hates them." Pittman headed south on Wisconsin Avenue.
Headlights and streetlights made him squint. "The guy I've been trying
to phone every time we stopped along the road. Bradford Denning. He's
elderly now, but in his prime, he was a career diplomat. A mover and
shaker in the State Department during the Truman administration,
According to him, he would eventually have become secretary of state."
"What happened that he didn't?"
"The grand counselors. They didn't like him being in competition with
them, so they got him out of their way."
"How on earth did they manage that?"
"To hear Denning tell it-this was during the McCarthy witch-hunt
era-they spread persistent rumors that Denning was soft on communism. "
"in the early fifties, that would have ruined a diplomat."
"It certainly ruined Denning. He found it impossible to undo the
damage, was given less and less responsibility in the State Department,
and finally had to resign. He claims that his isn't the only career the
grand counselors ruined by claiming that somebody was a Communist
sympathizer. The grand counselors then ingratiated themselves with the
incoming Eisenhower administration, replaced the diplomats they'd
attacked, and went on to control the highest diplomatic offices. That
lasted until 1960 when the Democrats regained the White House with
Kennedy. Kennedy wanted to work with friends and family rather than
three years, the grand counselors stood diplomats. For on the
sidelines. But after Kennedy was assassinated, Johnson, who had
disliked Kennedy, was eager to assert himself by getting Kennedy's
people Out Of the State Department and the White house staff. He
welcomed the grand counselors back into diplomatic power. For the
second time in their careers, p they had managed the trick of being
accepted by different political parties. In fact, by then they seemed
to transcend the two-party system, so that when Nixon and the
Republicans came back into power at the end of the sixties, the grand
counselors had no difficulty in continuing to maintain their influence.
So it went. in periods of intense international strain, various later
Presidents continued to ask for their advice."
"And Denning?"
"Had what to most people would
have seemed a productive life. He taught
college. Wrote for political journals. Contributed editorial columns
to the New York Times and the Washington Post. But he always felt
cheated, and he never forgave the grand counselors. In fact, he devoted
most of his spare time to researching a book about them, an expos6 of
their ruthlessness."
"Is that how you know about him? Because of the book?"
"No. The book was never published. Near the end of his research, his
house caught fire. All his notes were destroyed. After that, he was a
defeated man. Seven years ago, when I was preparing to write a story
about Millgate, one of the few people who agreed to talk to me told me
about Denning. I came down here to Washington to see him. But he'd
been drinking, and what he had to say was all innuendo-he'd once had
proof, he insisted, but it went up in the fire-and I finally realized I
couldn't quote him. I never wrote the story, anyhow. After I was
arrested and my jaw was broken by those two prisoners in jail, my editor