“Yes, briefly.” He twisted in his chair to avoid looking directly at her. “She, uh, has had some kind of letter about Paul—she seemed quite upset.”
“What did you tell her? Can you help?” Olivia leaned forward to capture Brad’s eyes.
“Of course, I told her I would try to do whatever I could to straighten out whatever the problem seems to be. Since I’m scheduled to go to the West Coast on business late next week, I’ll move my trip up a day or so and go to Seattle, see her and see what I can do,” he said firmly.
“Do you think it’s serious? We haven’t seen Charlene since Paul’s...” she stopped; it was hard to say the words, even now. Olivia had loved Paul like the brother she never had. His death had been a terrible loss. “I know how busy you are, Brad, but I am so glad that you are going to see Charlene and help her settle whatever questions she may have. It was wonderful to speak with her the other day. Even though it’s been more than two years since we’ve talked; it was almost as though we could pick right up where we left off,” she said wistfully.
“Do I think it’s serious? Well, she thinks it serious enough to call me, but I won’t really know until I get there. I wish you could go with me, my dear, but I will have very little time and I think for the moment that I should speak to Charlene alone. There may be some other things that I have to do connected with this-we’ll just have to see.”
“No, no, you’re perfectly right, Brad; besides I do have to go on to Virginia Beach and see Maureen. She needs at least one of her parents to check in now and then.”
“Now, Olivia, Maureen understands how time consuming my schedule has been,” Brad spoke defensively. “Besides it will do you both good.” He looked at his watch, “I have a round of golf this morning, and I promise I won’t be late for dinner. I’ll call you later.” Finishing his coffee and setting his cup down, he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead before leaving the dining room.
Olivia watched her husband as he left. She was thinking that he looked much younger than 49. He kept himself in reasonably good physical shape. He had never smoked and drank only moderately.
She remembered the first time they met at the Point. He was so different from Paul and yet they were obviously good friends. Brad was quiet and more reserved than Paul. Brad was stocky with a strong athletic build; compared with Paul’s slender and slightly taller frame.
A little older than Paul, Brad was in his second year at West Point when Paul entered. He had already been selected as a cadet leader based on his ability to “get the job done”—to take the initiative, in motivation and participation. In sports he excelled in both varsity and intercompany rivalry.
Taking Paul under his wing, upper classman Brad Coleman also learned a great deal from Thayer. Paul was one of the few people Brad trusted implicitly. Not unlike Mike Owens, he had all the characteristics that a good soldier should embody.
Because of his background, Paul was able to open doors that would eventually help Brad advance in his own military career and in society in general. Social status mattered a great deal to Brad.
When Olivia met Brad she was taken with his intensity, she found his dedication and determination captivating. She marveled at his competitive spirit and tenacity. During a soccer game one afternoon he had been injured and hobbled to the sidelines and after a brief rest returned to the game. After the game he collapsed in pain with a badly injured ankle.
It was the same tenacity to which she succumbed when he asked her to marry him. After thoroughly investigating Brad’s history and learning about this five foot eight dynamo, her parents were won over. They welcomed Brad with open arms into the family he had always dreamed about.
✽✽✽
Service was just over at St. Mark’s Cathedral when Andrew arrived. He drove through the parking lot a couple times waiting for Charlene. Parking was always at a premium at St. Mark’s for the 10:30 service on Sundays. Today was no exception so he had to keep moving. It was with relief when he saw her as she emerged from the Church. Her hair was loose and framed her face in soft wisps in a youthful style. She was wearing a Chanel style suit in colors that gave her hair and skin a glow. She looked rested and, she looked good to him.
She saw him and waved; he pulled up and she got in the car. “Hi,” he said. “How are you doing?”
Smiling she answered, “Fine. Who wouldn’t be fine on such a beautiful day? You know, we could have a real ‘Indian Summer’.” She was making light small talk not wanting to squelch any brightness of the day or a chance for some return to normalcy.
Andrew nodded. “Yes,” he said, “This could turn into a gorgeous ‘Indian Summer’; we’re just a couple weeks away from those chilly October mornings. By the way, since it is such a great day, how would you feel about going over to West Seattle? There are some nice little places to get lunch and then we could take a walk along Alki, if that sounds okay. I have some things I want to talk to you about.”
Agreeably she answered, “I think that sounds terrific. I could use a little salt in my diet today,” then explaining, “You know when you’re outside near the water your skin gets salty... you can almost taste it in your mouth. Don’t you notice that?”
He laughed and then in a more sober tone, “Charlene, I’m sorry that I’ve been out of touch for the last few days. There are some things going on with both the George Kelshaw murder and my life at the radio station.
“There’s a small problem brewing with the ‘Councilman Bob’ interview. We’ve tried to keep it low but the station powers that be want me to make some kind of apology; and that is really sticking in my craw. The guy really pulled my chain. I don’t know how he ever got elected. It couldn’t have been because he took a solid position on anything.”
“Some of our officials are elected by default, the lesser of two evils,” she commented. “But I did have hope for Bob Mitchell, Andy, I voted for him. I liked his stand on some of the issues and I liked his support for rapid transit. I believed in his approach.
“You know he’s well connected to the centers of money and power in King County and the state. In my opinion, with the right moves, he could garner enough support to make a solid impact on transportation statewide. And I don’t think he’s beholden to the transportation ‘mafia’.”
“Transportation mafia?” Andrew was surprised by her choice of words and her obvious interest and insight into local politics.
“Yes, that’s what I’d call them... they’re like mafia; vested interest politicians whose only answer to our transportation needs is to continue to pour more cement; build more freeways and wider freeways, more bridges across Lake Washington, more, more, more, all adding up to more autos, more pollution and there is no end! And who supports them...the highway lobbyists and oil power brokers that are hooked into—only God knows what.
“We need light-rail rapid transit, it’s the future, but no one wants to look that far ahead! Don’t get me started, Andrew, I truly have a soapbox on transportation issues.”
He smiled, “You do and you have just ruined the next five minutes, I wish you hadn’t told me. I was feeling good until now. Some day we’ll have to debate this issue,” he said tongue in cheek.
“Yes, well,” she breathed, “I’m sorry to get so exercised on the transit topic, but to get back to your problem; did the station chiefs hear the interview? Maybe you could go over the program again with them,” she offered.
“No help there;” he said looking to his right as he moved through traffic toward the West Seattle Bridge. “There’s political pressure on the station and I think some of it comes directly from the County Executive’s office, although I can’t be sure. I guess I’m stuck. If I want to continue to make friends and influence people, I have to have access to the top brass.”
“That’s true.”
“So no matter what happens, I think I lose,” he said dismally.
“Well, maybe you can do the lesser of two evils and try to smooth things out without really apologizi
ng. Andrew, you know how to do it,” she said authoritatively.
“I’ve been reading your column long enough to believe that you don’t deliberately embarrass someone unless they really deserve it. The problem with Councilman Mitchell, in my opinion, is that you made him,”... she paused, “no, actually, he made himself, look ill prepared and inept and so he wants to blame you. Now all you have to do is allow him to R and R” He looked at her quizzically. “You know, R and R, reflect and rephrase.” So much for the five cent analysis” she laughed.
“Okay, reflect and rephrase, huh? That’s probably partially true, Dr. Jung, but how do I undo the damage without totally losing face? You see, I’ve been hanging out with a certain Chinese priest and I know a little about ‘face’. I suppose now I have to watch out for ‘Bob’s’ face, too.” Then he said with mock seriousness, “But, my dear, let’s put all that aside, not dwell on such negatives and just enjoy this beautiful afternoon!”
“I agree completely.” She laughed again.
Andrew looked at her out the corner of his eye and then taking a bolder step than he had anticipated, he said, “You know, you are really a very pretty lady. Really” he emphasized. “Especially when your color is up like now over transit,” he teased
“Stop it!” she responded uncomfortably.
“No, no,” he insisted, “I—I mean it,” he stumbled. “And to be honest, I’ve been looking forward to getting together with you today.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, not admitting that she had been looking forward to seeing Andrew again as well.
They rode quietly across the West Seattle Bridge, and taking the surface street, followed the shoreline until they came to Alki village. After lunch they crossed the street to the beach and found a bench and enjoyed the view, each one deep in their own thoughts.
Andrew spoke first. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully he began, “There’s something I need to tell you about George Kelshaw. You know Father Ben and I were with him when he died. He told us he was with the CIA.” He looked at her as she drew a deep breath and continued to look out to the water. He went on, “We, that is to say Father Ben and I, believe that was why he was killed.”
Charlene had turned toward him now, “Does Jim Savalza know, too?”
“Yes, now he does. But wait, there is more. Before he died he had written some letters—one was to Ben and one to me. I won’t go into the detail of the letters except to say that he warned us that if anything should happen to him, Ben, you and I could be in some kind of danger.
That’s mainly why I’m telling you this. Savalza has cautioned us to be on our guard and be careful.” Andy stopped now letting it sink in.
“That’s what all that be careful business was about on Friday. So what are we supposed to do? If this man worked for the CIA where has he been all this time? And why should there be any danger to any of us? The letter from Paul...” She was thinking Paul had written ‘betrayed’. Standing, she said “Let’s walk.”
“Charlene, I don’t have any answers to your questions only questions of my own. There is a guy from the State Department in town looking into this; his name is Evan Scott. It’s possible that he will want to talk with you before he leaves town.” Honoring Neil’s request, Andrew said nothing of Saturday’s meeting. “He’s talking with everyone who might have had some contact with Kelshaw.”
The afternoon sun glinted on the water as they walked along. A soft breeze ruffled her hair slightly and she brushed it away from her face by turning into the wind.
“Well, we may have a few answers next week, Andrew. On Friday I placed a call to a very old and dear friend. Bradley Coleman, General Coleman, was the man that Paul spoke of in his letter. Brad and Olivia and Paul and I were all very close at one time. In any case if anyone can help us get answers I believe Brad will do it. He is certainly in a position to find out.”
Andrew was incredulous. “You mean you just picked up the phone and called one of the top military leaders in this country expecting him to drop whatever he’s doing and...”
“He wasn’t always in that position, Andy, and yes, I did ask him for help. After all he was Paul’s friend. He accompanied Paul’s body home and returned personal items to me. Who else would be in a better position that I could turn to? He was scheduled to come here on business so he’s coming a few days earlier to help me get to the bottom of, of—the letter.” She was leaning on his arm shaking sand out of her shoe.
He stood still while she slipped her foot back into the shoe. His arm slipped around her briefly and then back at his side, hands in his pockets. It troubled him that she could so casually speak of a person like General Coleman, Deputy Director of the DIA, as though he was the guy across the street, and ask for help. Andrew wondered what Paul Thayer would have become had he survived Southeast Asia.
“So what did he say? You told him about the letter from Paul?”
“Yes, I did only,” she paused, “When I mentioned the letter being carried by George Kelshaw... I don’t know ... it was as if, as if he might have known him. But when I asked he said no. I felt that I shouldn’t say anymore on the telephone. It didn’t feel right; I told him that I would come to D.C. to talk further, but he said that he was scheduled to come out to the Coast on business and would come a few days sooner, promising that we would get to the bottom of...of... everything. He’ll be here next Wednesday.”
Charlene studied Andrew’s face momentarily. He seemed almost displeased...frowning slightly, he stopped. He was beginning to realize that Charlene Thayer was a complex, well connected woman with a mind of her own. Putting both hands on her shoulders and turning her toward him he spoke slowly and seriously, “Charlene, promise me you won’t talk to anyone else about any of this; not even General Coleman until he gets here and you can talk with him in person.
“No matter who asks; if the FBI, CIA or any person from any agency like that should contact you, call me immediately, but please don’t get involved. Promise me, there is something very heavy duty going on. I don’t know what it is and maybe that’s a good thing. It just might be that the less we know the safer all of us will be. Promise me,” he said again looking into her eyes. His hands were pressing on her shoulders emphasizing his words.
She shivered nodding her promise then looked away and questioned softly, “What about Jim Savalza?” Suddenly she was afraid and she didn’t really know why. Andrew put his jacket around her shoulders as they started back toward the car.
“Jim knows what he needs to know. He’s going to continue to investigate Kelshaw’s murder. Don’t worry about Jim, He’s okay.”
✽✽✽
The drive back to St. Mark’s parking lot was muted. Neither spoke until they arrived at the Cathedral. The last rays of the sunset filled the sky with color silhouetting the giant stone box in deep gray. They walked to her car; taking her keys Andrew opened the door and as Charlene started to get in he leaned over and kissed her cheek and said, “Thanks for the day. I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay?”
She touched his hand still on the open door. “Yes, and thank you for the day as well.” Licking her lips she smiled and said, “I was right, I can taste the salt.”
“Charlene, be careful; here is my home number, if you need anything or if something doesn’t feel right, call me.”
She nodded as she took the card. Waving she put the car in drive and turned onto Tenth Avenue and was soon lost in traffic. The thought flashed through his mind that he wished he had tasted the salt on her lips.
His thoughts were scattered as he started the car at first intending to go home, but instead of his apartment he nosed the car down the hill to The Seattle Times. He wanted to know more about General Bradley Coleman and the newspaper morgue was a good place to start. It would supply at least some of the information he needed.
Inside the Times he headed for the archives and began searching the files for any biographical data about General Bradley Coleman starting from the late 1950’s to his 1978 appointment t
o the Defense Intelligence Agency.
At first he found very little material other than the usual rah rahs given on his appointment; but as he read further, his eye focused on a notice from a newspaper society page announcing the marriage of an Olivia Carter Laird of Philadelphia to West Point graduate, Second Lieutenant Bradley Coleman from the little town of Marietta, West Virginia.
There was another biographical article attached in the file, someone else had conveniently clipped to the page. It told of Coleman’s background as a poor kid from a mining town in West Virginia. His dad had been a coal miner. It was a sort of reversed gender ‘Cinderella’ story.
Brad had been desperately poor but was an outstanding student and athlete with a strong work ethic. He was determined to overcome his circumstances and get an education to better himself; at 16 he had acquired a summer job as a caddy at the posh Greenbrier Resort. The Greenbrier was a well known hotel near White Sulphur Springs known and used by the quietly wealthy families in the Virginia environs. Many of its guests played golf and by studying the game, Brad became one of the more requested caddies by the golfing patrons.
It was there that West Virginia State Senator, Mike Owens, had met and taken an interest in this bright young man. He admired Brad’s tenacity and his dedication to earn a better life. At the summer’s end he hired him as a page and eventually recommended him to the military academy where Brad excelled.
Andrew knew the story of Senator Mike Owens, a well known Korean War hero and an ex-POW. He had been with the 1st Marine Division at the Chosin Reservoir where he had saved a number of his men by sheer courage; braving terrible cold and frostbite he managed to get some of his troops through to rescue by sacrificing himself. As a prisoner he survived brutal beatings and starvation and was barely alive when finally released by the North Koreans. After regaining his health, he ran for public office again and was reelected handily.
While Rome Was Sleeping Page 19
