While Rome Was Sleeping

by M. S. Forsythe

  “That’s as far as I got with the puzzle. Strange as it seems, everything is pointing to Monte. He is somehow connected to Kelshaw’s murder and I would also venture a guess that he had something to do with the accident at the Rainier Tower. I just can’t prove it..., yet.”

  Charlene was on the edge of the sofa leaning toward Savalza. “Why of all people would a police detective do any of the things you just described, Jim?”

  “As much as I hate to say it, Charlene, there are some dirty cops, the motive is usually money. Monte has been skating on thin ice with the Department for awhile. He wouldn’t do this on his own. He had to be taking orders from somebody else. Personally, I think Monte got into a situation that was way over his head and now he’s on the run.”

  Andrew was pacing now. “But who hired him? Jim, we’ve got to get our hands on Maxwell and find out who he’s working for.

  “I had better talk with Evan Scott, before he leaves town. In fact he wants to meet and talk with Charlene.” He looked at Charlene and as she returned his gaze she nodded agreement. Suddenly Andrew hit his forehead with the palm of his hand, exclaiming, “Holy...! I completely forgot; he wanted to get together for dinner tonight with you Charlene, and Ben and me. I was supposed to set it up. I’d better call the WAC and see about a reservation, that is if you can do this, Charlene.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “Good idea, if you want to talk with him,” Jim commented. “Scott came in to see us today and asked for Kelshaw’s body to be released for burial. He talked with the Captain and me to make sure everyone was on the same page as far as the investigation goes. He said that he plans to leave tomorrow if we can work out the release. He’s a good guy in spite of the fact he’s a Fed. He wanted to make sure I was covered as far as knowing about Kelshaw’s CIA connection. Personally, I like him and I think you’ll like him too, Charlene. I’d bet on it.”

  “I’ll wait and see why he wants to meet me. I know he has some questions for me and--I may have some for him,” she said with some skepticism.

  “Looks like we each have some work to do,” Jim said as he rose to leave. “I’m glad to see you–both,” he added smiling. “Right now Peterson and I are going to pay Mrs. Maxwell a call and check out Schultz and Tanner’s habitation. Then I’ll be in touch.”

  ✽✽✽

  The door closed behind Savalza; Charlene was on her feet gathering her tote and jacket. “If we’re going to meet this Evan Scott I should be going.” Glancing at herself in the small wall mirror she said, “I have a little repair work to do.”

  Andrew was behind her now his arms around her waist, kissing her neck. “You look fine to me—how soon we forget; didn’t I tell you this isn’t over?”

  “Andy, stop it... I can’t think when you’re—doing what you’re doing.” She slipped down through his arms and stood by the door. “I really must go. This is all happening too fast. I... I’m not ready.”

  With hands outstretched he turned toward her saying, “For goodness sakes! When will that day come, Charlene? Not ready? You’ve had nine almost ten years. I’ll bet you have held every possibility of love at bay until you got ready! But I know when you were kissing me back on that couch,” he gestured to the sofa, “You were so don’t hand me any more stuff about not being ready!

  “Do you want to know what I think? I think you are just plain scared! Maybe we haven’t had months or even weeks to get what you might consider, properly acquainted, but face it; we’ve been dropped into a level of intensity that most people don’t experience in years of knowing each other.

  “So if you’re waiting for some magic bolt of lightening to—” he paused, “Never mind!” He stopped, shaking his head and not finishing the thought, he said, “Let it go. Just go and I’ll pick you up at 6:30 for dinner. It’s set with Scott and Father Ben.”

  As the door closed behind her, he swore, in frustration and anger, “Damn, damn, damnation,” he threw the magazine she had laid on the desk across the room. He hadn’t seen the tears.

  She was angry at herself for crying. She ran down the stairs to her car. She needed to go home, to be in her own surroundings—she could think there.

  He was right; she was scared; afraid of feelings that had been ghosts in her closet of memories of Paul. She was safe with them; the only demand they made was the heartache of missing him and that had faded—until now. Now there was Andrew with real flesh and blood demands. She touched her lips remembering his mouth on hers. Yes, there were real demands.

  ✽✽✽

  Monday, 6:30 PM

  She chose a subdued navy blue dress for the dinner meeting with Evan Scott, Father Ben and Andrew. She didn’t know what to expect or what his expectation of her might be. She had been told that he was someone who had been connected to George Kelshaw, but it was not clear exactly how. At Andrew’s request, she tucked Paul’s letter into her bag, gave her hair an extra brush, checked her lipstick and sighed, “Ready or not, this will have to do.”

  Andrew was at the door promptly at 6:30. He waited briefly before she opened it. “Just a minute while I get my coat,” she said brightly, almost too brightly he thought.

  “How are you?” he asked solicitously. “I...I want to say, I’m sorry for going off on you like that, Charlene. I had no right to do that. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Nothing,” she said gently. “Don’t apologize any more. You were right, but this is not the time to discuss it. Let’s just let it go for now, all right?”

  “Yeah, for now.”

  ✽✽✽

  Andrew had arranged for a table in a quiet corner of the Athletic Club dining room. He wanted a place where the four of them could converse in relative privacy.

  When he and Charlene arrived they found Evan already at the table. He stood as they approached and smiled at Charlene as Andrew introduced them.

  “Evan Scott, this is Charlene Thayer.”

  “It’s good to meet you, Mrs. Thayer. I knew your husband slightly.”

  Father Ben arrived out of breath and apologizing.

  Over dinner Evan began the conversation directed to Andrew and Ben “I received word today from Jim Savalza that it was confirmed that the weapon that he found was the one used in the murder. That being the case I have arranged for George’s body to be sent home for burial, and I plan to leave tomorrow.”

  Father Ben said appreciatively, “I am glad that Mr. Kelshaw‘s body has been claimed for burial; I feel better knowing. Thank you, Mr. Scott.”

  “He will be buried with honors, Father, and you’re welcome.”

  Turning to Charlene he asked, “Mrs. Thayer, may I call you Charlene? We have some things to talk about.”

  Before answering him directly, Charlene’s eyes met Andrew’s, who nodded his head slightly as if to say, go ahead, you can trust him. She looked back at Evan and said flatly, “I don’t really know who you are, Mr. Scott, if that is your name. I strongly suspect that you have some connection to the CIA since you obviously have a tie with George Kelshaw. You said you knew Paul; slightly, I believe is the word you used.”

  “Actually, I work for the State Department, Mrs. Thayer—and George Kelshaw was a friend. We knew each other for a very long time. And, yes, I did know Paul Thayer... slightly. I will get into that shortly.

  “I understand that there is a letter that George carried for you that was written by your husband prior to his death; a letter that speaks about being betrayed.”

  Charlene had removed Paul’s letter from her bag and laid it on the table in front of her. Patting it slightly she responded, “I will let you read this letter, Mr. Scott. But before you do, you should know that this letter was written nearly a year after I was notified that Paul had been killed in Vietnam.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Thayer, Charlene, I have been made aware of the discrepancy.”

  “Discrepancy! I would call it a blatant lie!” She was angry. “The letter I have in front of me was written by my husband, from God knows where, and I h
ave no doubt about its authenticity. I want to know what happened and why. Moreover, it should be equally important for the family of the poor soul buried in my husband’s grave to know what happened to their loved one.”

  Everyone at the table was silent. Father Ben seated next to her patted her shoulder saying, “Yes, Charlene, this very important element cannot be overlooked,” he said gently trying to calm her.

  Evan nodded understanding. “I’m sure you’re right. Hopefully as time goes on we will be able to do something about it. I would remind you, however, there are many MIAs and POWs, and many families still waiting and wanting word of what happened to their loved ones. There is not a day that goes by that I am not aware of that, Mrs. Thayer. May I read the letter from Paul?”

  Embarrassed at her outburst, she nodded wordlessly sliding the letter across the table to his outstretched hand.

  Andrew was waiting, thinking, “He didn’t tell her how he already knew about Thayer—is he going to, I wonder—”

  He spent a few moments reading the letter and then folded it and looking at Charlene he handed it back saying, “Thank you and you are entitled to have as much of an explanation as I can give you.

  “In the letter Paul mentions Pyotr Chernakov. General Chernakov was a national hero in the Soviet Union. He could easily have qualified as outstanding in Who’s Who in the world military community if such delineation had been made. As a young man he held all kinds of records as an athlete; later he became a brilliant military strategist and a top negotiator for the Kremlin.

  “He was an Air Force pilot and at one time had been in the cosmonaut training program. During that time he acquired a viral infection that affected his ears. It took months for him to get over it, and by the time he recovered he had been scrubbed from the mission he had trained for.

  “He graduated from Voroshilov General Staff Academy, the top Soviet military academy. This was a prerequisite for any appointment to important Ministry of Defense and General Staff positions. He climbed to the top, both in his career and in the Communist Party. He spent a great deal of time in China, North Vietnam and oddly enough in Cuba as well. There was even speculation in some circles that in time he might be in line for a significant political future. He was generally liked and respected by his adversaries and those with whom he served.”

  Everyone at the table was listening intently. Andrew snapped his fingers. “I knew it!” he exclaimed quietly, thinking back to the letter. “It was the same Chernakov...”

  “Please go on, Mr. Scott,” Charlene urged.

  “In September of 1967 contact was made with our Embassy in Moscow regarding the possible defection of General Pyotr Chernakov and his wife Valeri.” Evan was choosing his words carefully. “This was almost unbelievable; almost too good to be true. So, of course, it took time to confirm that this was indeed genuine. And if genuine, it would also take time to make arrangements. “Before you ask, Andrew, we don’t know why or what determined Chernakov’s decision. We do know that he lost his wife in October of 1967, due to complications from pneumonia.

  “Because of his high visibility this defection had to be handled very carefully with as few people knowing as possible. We knew Chernakov made regular trips to Hanoi and into Laos; it would have to be in that theatre where he would have an opportunity. We needed someone we could trust implicitly who knew the territory to meet and escort him to safe asylum. That was Paul and George Kelshaw, Mrs. Thayer—I can’t give you any more of the details, but we were certain he was the right man and circumstances of his current assignment, would dovetail with our decision.”

  ✽✽✽

  The dining room was all but empty now. Their waitress who had refilled their water glasses and coffee cups numerous times watched and waited quietly for the conversation to lag. When it did, she crossed the room to the table, graciously asking if there would be anything else. Declining anything more, Andrew took the check and signed his name and membership number. Everyone at the table was silent while he inquired if it would be all right if they remained at the table to talk for a while longer. The waitress said, “Certainly,” and moved quickly away, her starched black and white uniform rustling in the now quiet room devoid of the sound of other diners.

  “Mr. Scott, you spoke about Paul’s assignment; he came home on Christmas Eve, 1968 and left the next day,” Charlene reminisced. She remembered opening the front door and seeing Paul with his arms full of red roses. “Hi, Charlie, Merry Christmas, darling...” She could hear his voice even now.

  “He said he had just hopped a flight in and had to leave in the morning –I didn’t know and he didn’t say he had been in Washington or any reference to it—but then, of course, he wouldn’t, would he?”

  “No, Charlene, he wouldn’t,” Evan confirmed.

  “We never heard anything about Chernakov baling out of the Soviet Union. His defection would not look good for the USSR,” Andrew commented. “How did they handle it on the world scene?” he asked and then answered his own question. “But they didn’t have to, they had him killed.”

  “Yes,” Evan told them. “The party line was that General Chernakov had died tragically in a plane crash near Murmansk. Pravda memorialized him as a great Soviet hero, and his life as a great soldier and leader in the Communist cause.”

  Charlene was cautious. “You have intimated that Paul was in Laos when this letter was written. When and how did he get there, or are you able to tell me?”

  Evan weighed the question before answering. The information had only been partially declassified; Evan proceeded carefully. “In 1965-66 the US government and the Air Force started building a very sensitive air navigation system, referred to as a TACAN, on a mountain top in Laos, identified as Site 85. It would allow our planes to hit enemy targets with great accuracy even in very bad weather.

  “It attracted enemy attention almost from the outset. In January of 1968 the North Vietnamese Army became more aggressively interested in the site. To make a long story short, in March and April of that year the site was over-run by Pathet Lao and North Vietnamese Army troops. We didn’t know at the time what had happened to much of the equipment and personnel and we had no way of totally assessing the damage.”

  Charlene was remembering; Paul had returned to Vietnam in early November of 1968. He was assigned to Headquarters in Saigon. Charlene remembered his letters. Both she and Olivia had been pleased to learn that his friendship with Brad Coleman would be renewed. He had been assigned to do some evaluations of the war and the effect of the Tet offensive and report back to someone in the Pentagon, Charlene did not know who.

  She knew he was moving around a great deal...his letters talked of houses on stilts and vague references to sights and locations that she knew had to be away from Saigon. The pressure of the war and his job had become very demanding.

  In June 1969 Charlene flew to San Francisco and met Paul as he came in to Travis Air Force Base. He was to be home for one month. At first they had some wonderful times; it was the old magic of just being together. But underneath there was a dark current.

  He was different--often preoccupied. He slept poorly; sometimes she would wake to find him out of bed standing by the window or wandering through the house in the dark. If she asked what was wrong, he would simply say he drank coffee too late or that he wasn’t really tired. Or maybe it was the jet lag and he was adjusting his circadian rhythm. He would try to keep it light and gather her in his arms and they would make love and everything would be all right for a short time. But it wasn’t all right; she knew that now.

  She said goodbye to him at McChord Air Force Base for the last time... the memory was so vivid. There was an unspoken fear that came over her. She had not remembered it until Evan Scott talked of the assignment. Did Paul know then? It didn’t matter anymore. The assignment must have taken Paul to Laos in order to meet Chernakov…

  Evan was saying, “We needed good intelligence on what happened at Site 85 and it was a perfect cover for George and Paul
to go to Laos; once there, Paul was to go on to a predetermined spot to meet Chernakov. From there the picture goes dark—you have more information in your letter about your husband’s last hours than we have, Charlene.

  “I can tell you this; George Kelshaw received word of what had happened to Paul and the General. After some time he was able to contact us periodically. I am not at liberty to tell you how that came about. What is important for you to know is that George made it a personal undertaking to discover who betrayed Paul and Chernakov and the mission. Remember, George was a target as well, so there was personal risk.”

  “Who?” The question was on each of their lips.

  “We truthfully don’t know who betrayed them, only George knew,” Evan told them. “And whoever it was is still out there. You must, for your own safety, not discuss this with anyone. We have information now that I believe will tell us who we’re looking for.”

  Father Ben asked softly, “I was wondering if you can tell me how Mr. Kelshaw was connected to a man from Yencheng, my village in China, whose name is Lu Chan? Mr. Kelshaw mentioned him in his letter to me.”

  “I’m sorry, Father Ben—I can’t tell you. But as this all unfolds perhaps you will learn the answer to that question,” Evan promised.

  “We may have an answer to one question sooner than you think, Mr. Scott, at least about the discrepancy in Paul’s death,” Charlene offered somewhat hesitantly. “You see, when I received this letter from Paul, I didn’t know what to think. I had to have some answers. So I called the only man who would know; he was Paul’s closest friend and had accompanied Paul’s body home. I called General Bradley Coleman. I felt that I should call Brad and see if he could help sort this situation out.”

  Evan cleared his throat and nodded his head in understanding.

  “Were you able to speak with the General about this?”