Desperate Measures

6

Assessing Pittman, Burt didn’t blink for quite a while. At once he shrugged, sighed, then picked up a folder on his desk. “Jonathan Millgate.”

Pittman felt a spark speed along his nerves.

“That name ought to sound familiar from when you were working on the national affairs desk, before…” Self-conscious, Burt let the sentence dangle.

“Before I cracked up, you mean? Or fell to pieces, or… What’s the euphemism these days?”

“Needed a rest.”

“I’m not so fuzzy-minded that I wouldn’t remember the name of one of the grand counselors.”

Burt raised his thick eyebrows.

From the forties, from the beginning of the Cold War onward, a group of five East Coast patricians had exerted a continuous influence on American government policy by acting as major advisers to various Presidents. At first they had been cabinet members and ambassadors, later private consultants, mostly to Republican Presidents, but not exclusively. During the Democratic administration in the late seventies, Carter was supposed to have consulted with them about the Iran hostage situation. It was rumored that on their advice he authorized the failed hostage-rescue attempt and in effect opened the way for Ronald Reagan to get into the White House. Eventually, as they aged, they acquired the status of legends and became known as the grand counselors.

“Jonathan Millgate would be about eighty now,” Pittman said. “Mother a society maven in Boston. Father a billionaire from investments in railroads and communications systems. Millgate graduated at the top of his class, with a law degree from Yale. Nineteen thirty-eight. Specialty: international law, which came in handy during the Second World War. Went to work for the State Department. Moved upward rapidly. Named ambassador to the USSR. Named ambassador to the United Nations. Named secretary of state. Named national security adviser. Tight with Truman. Jumped parties to become a Republican and made himself indispensable to Eisenhower. Not close to Kennedy. But despite the party differences, Johnson certainly relied on Millgate to help formulate policy about Vietnam. When the Republicans came back into office, Nixon relied on him even more. Then Millgate suddenly dropped out of public view. He retreated to his mansion in Massachusetts. Interestingly, despite his seclusion, he continued to have as much influence as a high-level elected or appointed official.

“He had a heart attack this morning.”

Pittman waited.

“Here in town,” Burt said.

“But apparently not a fatal attack, because you said the subject of the obituary wasn’t dead yet.”

“Since the Chronicle’s dying anyhow, we can afford to experiment. I want the obit long, and I want it dense. With facts, with intelligence, with style. A cross between the front page and the editorial page. That used to be your specialty.”

“You’re gambling he won’t last until a week from tomorrow, that he’ll die before the Chronicle does.”

“What I’m really gambling,” Burt said, “is that you’ll find the assignment interesting enough to make you want to do others like it, that you’ll get committed to something besides grief, that you and the Chronicle won’t die together.”

“Gambling’s for suckers.”

“And working on obituaries too long can make a person morbid.”

“Right,” Pittman said dryly. “It’s not like reporting on national affairs can make you morbid.” He turned to leave.

“Wait, Matt. There’s one other thing.”