While Rome Was Sleeping

by M. S. Forsythe

  His father, a major in the new Chinese army had been in charge of the raid. Seeing his wife and Ben among the twenty five Christian miscreants, both embarrassed and infuriated Major Han; he quickly ordered a guard to remove them from the main room holding the other prisoners, on the pretext that they had been arrested by mistake.

  As the senior officer he had assured the guards under his command that his wife and son’s presence at the house had been coincidental. No one would question the reliability of Jiang Han’s word. They knew him to be a tough and dedicated soldier; one that would never be swayed by sentimentality especially toward enemies of the state. Besides it was unlikely that the wife of Major Han would be so stupid.

  Ben recalled how his mother had tried not to cry out but it was too much and Luci Han, with a muffled scream, fell weeping to her knees. Ben’s father, his rage nearly spent, stormed out of the house.

  Ben ran to his mother and she held him in her arms rocking back and forth. After a few minutes, Luci looked at her son and through her tears whispered quietly, “Ben, you must go away, now, tonight.”

  “No, no, mother, I won’t leave you.” Ben’s eight year old heart was pounding with grief and fear. What did she mean “go away?” Where would he go without his mother?

  As Christians participating in a forbidden House Church, Luci and the Lees had talked of this very scenario. Mr. Lee had promised Luci that if his family should be required to flee he would gladly take Ben with them. Luci was prepared for this night.

  Luci continued, “Ben, you must listen carefully. Do you remember seeing Mr. Lee at the meeting tonight?” Ben nodded. He knew the Lee family. His best friend was Kim Lee. Luci was holding his face between her hands now forcing him to look straight into her eyes; “Mr. Lee left before the raid tonight, but now the Lees will have to go away or they will be caught and sent to prison. It will soon become known that they are Christians. You must go away with them. We will be all right,” she assured him. Luci had regained her composure and was now standing in front of him.“Why can’t you come too?” Ben pleaded.

  “Because I can’t leave your father; he needs me. I believe our God has His hand on you, Ben. That He has special work for you to do away from China. The Lees will be good to you and perhaps some day we can all be together again. Right now my work for the Lord is here. Do you understand?”

  Ben nodded, but he wasn’t really sure. “What if they don’t want me, Mother?” his eyes filling with tears. Luci dropped to her knees again and held him close. “It has been arranged, Ben dear, the Lees will be expecting you.” His mother had put together a small bundle and she gave him some money to give to Mr. Lee.

  Just after midnight young Ben crept out of the house and made his way to the Lees and a new life. A life that would entail hiding and running many times before the Lee family and their new son Ben would arrive safely in Hong Kong.

  Ben’s reverie was broken and he was brought back to the present by a sharp rapping on the door of the Center. Through the glass he could see a Seattle police officer and opening the door he recognized Officer Pete Reilly. “Burning the midnight oil well past midnight aren’t you, Father?”

  “Yes, but I’m leaving right now. Thanks for checking on me, Pete.”

  “Okay, Father, drive carefully.”

  ✽✽✽

  12:45 AM

  From their hiding place, Leo and Jake had watched as Father Ben and Andrew left the hospital

  “We really messed up.” Leo was disgusted.

  “Well Kelshaw died,” the other said. Jake went on, “Too bad I didn’t finish him off at the priest’s hangout.” Jake spit.

  “Maxwell ain’t gonna like this,” Leo muttered.

  “Yeah,” Jake agreed. “The guy lived to talk to the priest and maybe to that other guy and we didn’t get the stuff we were after besides.”

  “We better call the boss.” Leo sighed. “Come on, we can use the pay phone in the hospital lobby.”

  “Yeah, right! Are you crazy?” Jake snapped. “The place is crawling with cops.” He looked around nervously.

  Leo pushed Jake through the door of the lobby toward the phones. They won’t even notice us; they’ll just think we’re part of some emergency goin’ on.” He dropped money in the coin slot and punched in a number.

  A bedroom phone rang in another part of the city and a man answered, “Maxwell.”

  “Hello, Detective, this is Leo.”

  Monte responded, “Just a minute, give me your number and let me call you back.” Monte got out of bed and went to a phone in the den and dialed the hospital pay phone.

  “You’re done? Did you get the stuff?” Monte was impatient to hear.

  Leo began explaining the situation while Jake stood by, shifting from one foot to the other and looking around nervously.

  “Never mind all the crap” Maxwell broke in, “Were you successful?”

  “Yeah, sort of,” Leo replied. “The guy died....but at the hospital.”

  “At the hospital!” he exclaimed, “why was that?” Monte asked, his voice betraying his anger

  “We were interrupted,” Leo told him, “by the priest and this other guy who come out of this Seamen’s Center place where Kelshaw was hangin’.” He paused.Jake could see sweat breaking out on Leo’s face.

  “Get on with it,” Monte commanded.

  “Well”...Leo stammered, “we never got to finish him off. The ambulance came, loaded the Kelshaw guy and the priest. We did follow them to Harborview.” He paused and was met by silence at the other end of the line.

  “Ask him about the rest of our pay for Kelshaw,” Jake told Leo. Leo gave Jake a disgusted look and waved him to silence.

  Leo went on. “We did try to get to Kelshaw in the hospital, but the priest and another guy was with him.”

  Monte broke his silence. “Who was the other guy, was it the same guy from the Center?”

  “No, not him, a different guy; one we don’t know,” Leo answered, “but a doctor was there too, I think he was a doctor anyway. And anyway Kelshaw died.”

  “Good. Where’s the merchandise, you know the stuff the guy carried that you were supposed to get?” Monte wanted to know.

  Leo winced as he answered. “N...no, we didn’t see any merchandise or anything and we didn’t get any of his stuff. And the cops were still around,” Leo added, “we had to beat it fast.” Leo could almost hear Monte grinding his teeth; even over the phone...this was not a good sign.

  “You were hired to do a job and paid well to do it and now you’re telling me you screwed up on every thing!” Monte was furious. Then he continued threatening, “You are going to find that merchandise and deliver it to me! It was part of the contract and you had damned well better get it—do you understand me??”

  “Oh yes sir,” Leo answered respectfully, his legs were shaking by this time. “We will get the merchandise, Detective Maxwell, yes indeed!”

  “Make sure that you do.” Monte hung up.

  After finishing the call, Leo filled Jake in on the details of Monte’s conversation and his orders to them.

  “Whew,” Jake breathed. “What about the rest of our money?”

  “We’d better find Kelshaw’s stuff. Uh oh,” Leo muttered, “Stay calm,” he told Jake. “Here comes a nurse.”

  “Can I help you fellows with something?” she asked looking at them closely.

  “Oh, no,” Leo told her, “We were just leaving.”

  “Why” she exclaimed, “You both have blood all over your clothes! Let me call someone to have a look at you.”

  “No, don’t do that.” Jake told her quickly. “We really have to go, now.”

  “Well, maybe you guys should wait a minute,” she suggested, moving toward one of the police officers.

  She was nodding toward Jake and Leo. “They say they aren’t hurt but they’re covered with blood and they didn’t want me to call anyone to treat them.”

  The officer eyed them and said to the nurse, “I’ll saunter ov
er and see what’s up. That guy who came in a while ago died. He had been knifed...they didn’t catch the guys who did it.”

  Leo and Jake saw the nurse talking with the police officer and saw him start toward them.

  “Let’s get out of here. That cop is coming this way!” Jake was frightened.

  “Yeah, but we walk out nice and easy and don’t call any more attention to ourselves. Pretend you don’t notice him,” Leo told him.

  They went out the door and broke into a run and disappeared into the darkness.

  The officer did not give chase and returned to where the nurse was waiting by the desk, “They’re gone. If you see them hanging around again we’ll pick them up, but I doubt they would be dumb enough to follow a victim to the hospital. They are probably just a couple drifters with a nose bleed.”

  The nurse shrugged, nodded in agreement and returned to her charting.

  Chapter 3

  Wednesday, September 17, 1980

  Andrew arrived at the Times at 7:30 AM, ostensibly to work on his next column and make a few calls later regarding his afternoon radio broadcast. Adrenaline and several cups of very strong coffee were not enough to entirely overcome the effects of yesterdays “Bob” Mitchell interview, the Kelshaw stabbing, the short night and the early morning wake up, but Andrew wanted to be at his desk when the first mail was delivered. He was uncertain if Kelshaw’s letter would be in today’s mail but waiting was out of the question.

  ✽✽✽

  It was just an unassuming, generic white envelope. Andrew recognized it as the kind given out at the center and his pulse quickened as his letter opener sliced through the flap. He looked at the hurried but neat handwriting as he read the strange message.

  “Andrew Kincaid; your name was given to me by a mutual friend as a person I might have to trust with some very sensitive material. Jack Hubbard, with the United Press, whom I met in Vientiane, suggested that should I find myself in need of help, you were in a position to render such. A packet will be given either to you or to Father Ben Lee at the Seamen’s Center for you. Its contents could affect our national security. Someone is following me and will probably attempt to rob and/or kill me. Should that happen these instructions must be adhered to without question.

  The packet needs to reach a man in the U.S. State Department in D.C. whose name is Neil Klein. His secure telephone number is 202 274-9035. Speak only to him and follow his instructions to the letter. Give him this message. “Your Aunt Martha has arrived in Seattle. She may be delayed due to a medical condition. Her luggage is with me and she has asked that it be sent home to you, however, I need the correct shipping address.”

  The letter continued, “Don’t open the packet and don’t give it to the police, the FBI or anyone other than Klein. He will be expecting it. I’m counting on you. I hope we both make it. Destroy this letter as soon as you have contacted Klein.”

  G. Kelshaw

  Andrew hadn’t heard from Jack Hubbard other than a Christmas card in more than seven years as he thought about it; although he had followed his column as often as time would allow.

  He remembered the last time he had seen Jack was at SeaTac Airport. Jack had flown in from Guam and was heading back to New York for his next assignment. He had called Andrew to join him for a drink between flights. Andrew had met Jack years earlier at a political rally in Washington, D. C. They hit it off immediately; Jack slightly older was a war correspondent and more than happy to regale Andrew and the younger up and coming reporters with close encounters with death and demolition in some war torn country.

  Andrew was more than a little impressed. Working for the United Press International and The New York Times had given Hubbard assignments that showcased his nose for news and allowed his journalistic abilities to present a side of issues sometimes unpopular in political and diplomatic circles. Andrew admired Jack fiercely.

  At the time they met, Andrew was considering which direction to take as far as military service. Two more years at the University and he would have his degree in Journalism. However, now he was thinking about the war and all of its ramifications, he knew that he wanted his life’s work to aim at effecting public policy.

  His minor in Political Science would help him reach his goal, but he knew he needed to go on for a Master’s Degree. That could be costly; he had always worked to help pay for his education, but getting a Master’s would require much more time and energy. He made up his mind to enlist in the Washington National Guard thereby ending the question of the draft, and the Guard would help pay for the Master’s degree. Jack told him he was crazy and argued hard to dissuade him to no avail.

  It was 1968 and the Vietnam War had taken its toll on America; students in schools and universities faced the constant turmoil. The protests and disruption sapped the energy from many dreams. Although Andrew had mixed feelings about Vietnam, his convictions were not in support of the protracted and seemingly meaningless continuation of American involvement there. Nothing that Jack had reported gave him cause to change his opinion.

  At their last meeting at the airport in 1972, Andrew could still hear Jack urging him to leave Seattle and get into the more exciting aspect of a journalistic career, attempting to convince him of the possibilities of reaching both of his goals by being on site—telling it as it happened. He remembered his own response, largely shaped by his earlier decision, pointing out to Jack the ‘real’ excitement of bringing change into the market place of ideas and domestic policy on home turf.

  Andrew occasionally wondered if he had made the right choices. Now to see Jack’s name in a letter from Kelshaw was unsettling.

  The connection between Kelshaw and Hubbard puzzled him unless Hubbard was somehow linked to the intelligence community. Andrew found it hard to believe that Jack Hubbard could be. Jack had always been morally and ethically convinced that journalists had to be neutral; for their own good and for the good of the profession; Andrew concurred. That Hubbard might have crossed the line caused Andrew intense discomfort. He realized that now he too was being drawn into a type of intrigue that could conceivably compromise his own neutrality.

  Opening his desk drawer he looked at the packet and the envelope for Charlene Thayer. His curiosity about the contents of the packet had cooled considerably after reading Kelshaw’s missive. It would have to wait until he could talk with Ben. The letter to Mrs. Thayer had to be delivered.

  ✽✽✽

  10:30 AM

  Locating her number was easy. Like Ben said there was only one Paul Thayer.

  He was tentative on the approach he would use but decided neutral ground would be best. He would invite her to meet him for dinner. Andrew dialed and waited.

  The phone was ringing as Charlene Thayer opened the front door. Struggling with coat, keys and groceries, she dashed to the kitchen wall phone in time to hear a click. “Darn,” she muttered to herself as she moved to the living room, tossing her coat on a chair and dropping to the couch.

  It was only mid morning but she was already tired. She had chaired a breakfast meeting at Diocesan House to discuss various ministries that were in financial trouble and of methods to help meet the needs of so many. She thought especially about the Seamen’s Center, but she knew the Bishop would stand behind Father Ben Lee at the budget committee meeting later today.

  Her head throbbed as she leaned back and closed her eyes, resting her head on the curve of the sofa back.” I might stay here a year...” she mused. The telephone cut short her moment of relaxation.

  As she picked up the extension to answer she heard an authoritative “Hello, is this the residence of Charlene Thayer?”

  Before Charlene could answer more than “Hello;” a man’s voice insisted, “let me speak with her, please.” The voice was polished and matter of fact.

  She responded cautiously, remembering the call of yesterday. “This is Charlene Thayer. Who is calling?”

  The caller responded, “Mrs. Thayer my name is Andrew Kincaid. I write a column for
the Seattle Times. You may have heard of me,” he continued. “Father Ben Lee at the Seamen’s Center put me in touch with you.” Clearing his throat Andrew continued cautiously, “I have some information about Colonel Thayer that I would like to discuss with you. Can we get together?” Andrew paused, “Perhaps we could meet and,” he paused again, “and have dinner... tonight?”

  Charlene inhaled sharply. Again hearing only ‘information about Colonel Thayer’ sent what felt like a small electric shock through her. “Din-wha-uh I,” she stammered. “You’ve really caught me by surprise. Let me understand this, your name is Andrew Kincaid, you write for the Seattle Times and you’re a friend of Father Ben Lee from the Seamen’s Center?”

  “Yes, and yes to your questions; I would like to talk with you about an incident that happened last night outside the Seamen’s Center. Will you be able to join me for dinner?” His voice warmed, “I’m sorry to catch you off guard.”

  Charlene responded, “No, no it’s all right, I do recognize your name, but I wasn’t at the Center yesterday at all. What does this have to do with me or with my husband?”

  “Only time will tell that, Mrs. Thayer. I’ll answer as many of your questions as I can when I see you. Now about getting together, will you be able to join me for dinner?”

  “As I said, I do recognize your name; and since you mentioned my husband, and before I agree to meet you, I want you to understand that I will not participate in any sensationalism of the past. My husband was a soldier and a decent and honorable man who did his job and died in the process. I can not, nor will not, discuss anything that would in any way dishonor him or his memory; do I make myself clear?”

  Kincaid was surprised by the defensiveness, “Wait a minute, Mrs. Thayer, I said I have information. I don’t plan to make political comment on the virtue or lack thereof of American involvement in Vietnam. Now, about getting together...would you please be my dinner guest on neutral ground? Say at the Sheraton or some other location agreeable to you and I promise you may leave at any time, okay?”