Buried Caesars Read Free Page A

my support lived in a suite in the Hotel Chastleton. I was, at the time, living with my mother in the Chief of Staff’s quarters in Fort Myer. My mother, and the press, were less than tolerant of such liaisons. My mother, whom I loved dearly, was most protective of my honor and my career. When I was a cadet at West Point, she took rooms nearby so she could actually see my window.”
    “That must have been reassuring,” I said.
    “I do not tolerate mockery, Mr. Peters,” MacArthur said, stopping suddenly and glaring at me. I apologized. MacArthur went on pacing and talking.
    “I provided Isobel with all of her needs, money, an enormous wardrobe, even a poodle. Even the staunchest of us are the potential prey of our animalistic tendencies.”
    “I know,” I said, and he nodded, acknowledging my support.
    “Isobel began to deceive me, see other men, comment on our relationship in public,” he said. “I had to end the relationship. A short time later Isobel sold my letters to her to Drew Pearson, the columnist. I paid Pearson a substantial sum to suppress those letters. Supposedly, this money was passed on to Isobel. I had done nothing illegal, but it was vital that my mother not know.”
    “Lansing has the letters,” I said.
    “Precisely,” MacArthur answered. “The letters, campaign information, money. It is not only my honor and political career which are in jeopardy. My very image as husband and father might well be tarnished in history, beyond repair.”
    I should have asked MacArthur why he kept the letters, but I could see the strain in his eyes. The General was not accustomed to confessions. Maybe it was a little easier because I was a stranger, a detective, and someone he had reason to believe was discreet.
    The General paused, pulled himself together, and stood at attention, his back straight, his shoulders squared. I felt like saluting but I didn’t know how. He moved toward me and put out his right hand. I took it and felt his grip tighten. I had the fleeting feeling that I had just witnessed one hell of a performance.
    “Major Castle will serve as liaison on this operation. He will answer your questions, provide background, make arrangements, supply you with whatever support you might need. I will see you as needed or not at all until you’ve accomplished your mission. Do you have any questions?”
    I had a lot of them but I also had the feeling that the General didn’t want to hear them. He moved in front of me as I got up and put his hand on my sleeve.
    “I can’t overestimate the importance of this mission, not only to me, but to the future of this nation,” he said confidentially.
    I was convinced. The future of the human race was in my hands. The General took my arm, looked me in the eyes and smiled sadly at having put such a burden on one so unworthy. But his benevolent smile also let me know that he had faith in my ability to get the job done.
    He guided me to the door and opened it. I stepped out.
    “We will meet again, and soon,” he said and closed the door, leaving me alone with Major Castle who stood at ease a few feet away, waiting, his eyes on me.
    “Follow me,” Castle said, and I followed him back the way we had come, into a living room decorated in early conquistador. He pointed and I sat in a bright chair with a Mexican rug on it, and reached over to touch an ugly clay statue with buggy eyes, no body and a limp penis. Castle disappeared in the direction of the office, where I assumed MacArthur was watching the last of the setting sun. He returned a few minutes later and handed me a leather pouch.
    “Everything you need is in there,” he said.
    “Money,” I said.
    “Three hundred dollars. If more is needed …”
    “More isn’t needed,” I said.
    “There’s a complete biography of Andrew Lansing, including relatives, friends, acquaintances, organizations to which he belongs. There is also a detailed statement indicating the events that surrounded the act. The