While Rome Was Sleeping

by M. S. Forsythe

  “I’m at a loss, my dear. I thought I should let you know how things are.” He spoke in a somber tone waiting for Olivia’s response.

  “Brad, there must be some way to get through to her. I’ve never known Charlene to be irrational about anything. Please try; would it help if I called her?”

  “No, not now,” he paused. “This may take a little more diplomacy than I had anticipated. I plan to see her again tomorrow, that is, if she will agree; I’ll know more then and I’ll call you after we have spoken.”

  “This must be very stressful for you, Brad dear, but I know you will do your best. I have every confidence in you.” Olivia’s voice was filled with love and sympathy.

  “Thank you, Olivia; I’ll be in touch in a day or so. Tell Maureen hello for me and give her my love. Goodbye now.”

  “Goodbye, dear.”

  Brad smiled to himself. He was satisfied that he had covered any possible disconnect that might occur should Charlene decide to call Olivia. Now he could focus on the task of dealing with the problem.

  His call to Charlene went better than he had dared to expect. “Charlene, I hope you believe that Olivia and I want to do our very best to be of help to you in any kind of distress you may be experiencing. Olivia was very troubled when I told her of our disagreement yesterday and that you might not accept my apology.”

  “Oh Brad, I wish you hadn’t told her, of course, I accept your apology. You were right; we mustn’t let a disagreement ruin our friendship,” Charlene said earnestly.

  “Good! Then you’ll have dinner with me and we can begin to get to the bottom of this whole thing. I’ll meet you in the lobby at 7:30 tonight and bring the letter. I want very much to read it again.”

  “Fine, I’ll be there and I will bring the letter.”

  ✽✽✽

  Charlene was in the lobby of the Olympic at 7:25 and Brad was already there waiting with a small bouquet of violets.

  He handed them to Charlene, “These are for you as a peace offering,” he said apologetically. “As I recall you liked violets.”

  “Why thank you, Brad, I’m surprised you remembered. They’re beautiful and I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but there’s no need of a peace offering,” she said graciously.

  Over dinner Brad went over the letter once again. “Yes,” Brad said thoughtfully. “This could be Paul’s handwriting now that I look at it again. There is one thing I wonder if you would clear up for me. Paul didn’t mention Chernakov’s rank. How did you know he was a General?”

  “Why, ah, I don’t really know for sure,” she faltered, “it may have been Andrew Kincaid.” She had nearly said Evan Scott, but caught herself, “My newspaper friend...radio and newspaper; you remember, Brad, he called while we were at the house. Yes, yes, I remember it was Andrew.”

  “I see. Then you told him about the letter?”

  “I think I told you that Andrew gave the letter to me. Yes, he knows what is in the letter. He has been very helpful to me. Now I have a question for you, Brad. How did you have access to Paul’s personal belongings a year before he died?” Charlene looked at Brad expectantly.

  “Assuming this letter is authentic, as it seems to be, I can tell you, Charlene. When Paul was killed, or when we thought he had been killed, his belongings were in his quarters. I naturally gathered up personal items I was sure he wanted you to have. If this is true, the person we all assumed was Paul was not. And why would we not continue in that assumption—we heard nothing from him—until now.”

  “I understand,” she said nodding her head. “Of course, that was why the letter was such a shock to you as well. I’m sorry, Brad, that I was thoughtless of your feelings.” She raised her eyes to meet his, “I do not intend to give up until I learn the truth about what happened to my husband,” she declared firmly.

  Brad knew it was useless to say any more. “I want to help you all that I can, Charlene. You are a remarkable woman and friend,” he said, while thinking, and a foolish one.

  “You’ll never know how much I appreciate your change of heart, Brad. Together I’m sure we can get to the bottom of this mystery.”

  “It could be a big task,” Brad answered. “When I get back to Washington I will begin looking into the matter thoroughly. We will have to examine the records; everything back to Saigon.”

  “And I will talk to Andrew; perhaps he can help from this end to get the wheels in motion toward having the body exhumed that is buried in Paul’s grave. He has the necessary political contacts,” she said eagerly. She was pleased to think Brad was moved to help her.

  Brad looked at her in consternation, and said firmly, “Let’s take this one step at a time, Charlene. First, let me see what I can find out. The body isn’t going anywhere. When the time is right we will get an order to have it exhumed. And let’s go through proper military channels, shall we? I know that Paul would want that.”

  She nodded in agreement, “Of course you’re right, he would. Thank you, Brad. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

  “Shall we call it a night, my dear; I must call Olivia and let her know how things have turned out.”

  “So late? Oh it’s not really all that late; give her my love and tell her I will be in touch shortly. Goodnight, Brad, and thank you again.”

  “Goodnight, Charlene, drive home carefully.” He rose to help her with her coat and walked her through the lobby to the door. She embraced him briefly before going out.

  In many ways he hoped this could turn out differently; he genuinely liked Charlene. Better not get sentimental, he told himself. He made his way into the hotel bar found a quiet table and ordered a night cap.

  He sat thinking of how he would deal with Charlene, knowing her determination. He knew realistically he could stall her for a few weeks or possibly months. The wheels of government grind slowly and he could plead paperwork, but he also knew she would not accept ‘red tape’ as an excuse for long. “I am going to have to make a decision soon. There’s too much at stake. She obviously accepted my explanation about Paul’s personal items and the fact that I didn’t see him again–but there’s Kelshaw.”

  ✽✽✽

  By the time Andrew had finished his broadcast and cleaned up some paper work, it was 7:45 PM. Knowing Coleman and Charlene would be at dinner at the Olympic, he had deliberately taken his time at the station with the intention of checking on the situation before the evening was over.

  He wanted a first hand look at Coleman and he didn’t want Charlene to be aware of his presence; newspaper in hand he chose a comfortable chair in the lobby where he could unobtrusively watch the comings and goings of the diners.

  He observed Charlene and Brad as they exited the dining room and said goodnight noting the embrace she had initiated. “Looks like things went better tonight,” he mused.

  He followed Brad into the bar and waited as he was seated and had ordered a drink. Brad’s thoughts were interrupted by the man who slid into the chair opposite him.

  “General Coleman?”

  Brad looked up in surprise, “Who the devil are you?”

  “Andrew Kincaid is my name— it’s time we talked.”

  So this is Kincaid he thought. “You’re a friend of Charlene Thayer, am I correct?”

  “You are correct and it was my impression that you were supposed to be her friend as well. I know she met with you to discuss the letter from her husband that George Kelshaw carried. To say she was disappointed by the first meeting would be an understatement.”

  “Go on,” Brad urged. “What else do you know?”

  “I know that you told her the letter was a fraud and that when she didn’t buy it you turned ugly and threatened her. I think you should know that there are at least three other people including me, who believe it is genuine,” he added, “There was a fourth but he’s dead.”

  Brad sat back and studied his antagonist. “And just who are the other two people? And I also might ask what evidence would you, who never met Paul Thayer, have th
at would support your theory?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell you that, General. Right now I want to talk about Charlene. She means a great deal to a number of people, myself included, who don’t want her threatened in any way. She’s already been through enough!”

  “I’m curious, Mr. Kincaid, what is your relationship with Mrs. Thayer?” emphasizing her married name, Brad asked with some disdain. “Is this protective interest of yours purely platonic or is there some other more personal agenda?”

  “I don’t think that is any of your business.” Andrew was on his feet looking down at Brad who calmly remained seated. “I just want you to be aware that she has friends who care about her and who will help her do what she has to do to find out what happened to her husband. With that said, I’ll bid you goodnight, General.”

  “You know, Kincaid,” he said derisively, ignoring Andrew’s closure, “You could be playing in a game that’s way over your head.”

  Andrew turned and looked squarely into Brad’s eyes. “We’ll see,” he said confidently. “Don’t try to intimidate me, Coleman, it won’t work; I especially don’t like bullies, in uniform or out,” he added.

  “The power of the press not withstanding, don’t over play your hand, Kincaid,” Brad said coolly. “But I’ll give you a ‘gift,’ I could wait and let Mrs. Thayer tell you this, but what the hell; there are still four people who believe the letter is authentic. In fact, tonight at dinner I told Charlene that I, too, agreed that it was genuine and that I would do everything I could to help her find answers to her questions.” Then adding a footnote he said smiling in mock pleasantry, “I am very glad that she has such good friends, as in you.”

  Andrew stood his ground, “You just keep that in mind, and let me leave you with this thought, General. I would take it very personally if you should cause her any more unpleasantness. Goodnight again.”

  ✽✽✽

  Brad was thoughtful as he entered his suite and prepared for bed. It was too late to call Olivia, but he would do that first thing in the morning. He was thinking overall it had been a profitable day.

  He thought about Kelshaw and the information he carried. It hadn’t surfaced in Bangkok; but his contacts there had informed him it was in Kelshaw’s possession. If it came with him, where is it? Based on Ramsey’s information everyone who could have had it has been ruled out. Ramsey could be right; Kelshaw could have stashed it somewhere. It didn’t come ashore with anyone else, he was certain. Kelshaw is dead. If it’s on the ship he won’t be going back to get it.

  He was satisfied with his encounter with Andrew Kincaid—it was evident that everything Charlene knew she had passed on to Kincaid.

  His mind went into overdrive; the old excitement of the hunter instinct and blood scent was rising in Brad. “So I don’t intimidate him; we’ll see, Mr. Kincaid. You may be surprised.” Kincaid had thrown down the gauntlet; Brad wasn’t sure of the details, but he was certain of the outcome. It would be almost as satisfactory as the outcome with George Kelshaw.

  ✽✽✽

  It had been a long and stimulating day and Brad was very tired; almost immediately upon getting into bed he fell into a deep sleep. He dreamed about Lia—she was standing by his bed laughing, taunting him, beckoning to him to follow her. When she turned to face him he was horrified to see her face covered with red dirt and blood as she had looked when he last laid eyes on her lying dead beside the road on the way to Bien Hoa.

  He screamed as he woke up; his heart was pounding and he was in a cold sweat. Turning on the light on the bedside table, he got out of bed to fix himself a drink. His hands were shaking causing the ice to chatter in the glass before he added the liquor.

  “My God, what a nightmare...!” He hadn’t thought of Lia for a very long time and this dream frightened him. “It’s all this Kelshaw business,” he muttered trying to reassure himself that was what brought her back to his consciousness. He was having trouble regaining his composure. Still shaken he finished his drink and glanced at his watch, 3:30 –“I’ve got to get some sleep,” he said.

  The drink was beginning to have its effect. Turning out the light he closed his eyes and again drifted into a troubled sleep.

  The voice was clear...he could hear it plainly, as though someone was in the next room calling his name. No, it couldn’t be he couldn’t see anyone; it was as though the room was filled with fog. Then he saw the figure, but it wasn’t Lia. It was George Kelshaw holding something in his hand. Brad tried to speak but he couldn’t; he had no voice. Kelshaw was standing over him nodding his head and saying, “Traitor...” Over and over he repeated “Traitor...”

  Once again Brad screamed, “Noooo!” He was sitting bolt upright in bed, heart pounding, sweating and shaking like a leaf. He was gasping for breath; what was going on? He hadn’t had nightmares for years and now, tonight. It was too much. It was 4:30 AM and it was hopeless to try to sleep anymore. He called room service and ordered coffee. “I’ll call Olivia; I need to hear her voice.” He dialed and reality returned as she answered, “Hello.”

  “Olivia, I’ll be home on Saturday. I’ll let you know what flight I’ll be on; please meet me.”

  “Brad dear, what’s the matter? Of course, I’ll meet you. Just let me know when.”

  “I will as soon as I know.”

  Now fully awake and once again in command of his reason, Brad felt slightly foolish. “It was only a damned dream,” he told himself. “Olivia, I have a few arrangements to make before leaving Seattle. I should wind it all up today. I will call you again later. Thank you, my dear, for standing by. Oh, by the way, I had dinner with Charlene last evening and things have worked out to both our satisfaction. I thought you’d like to know.”

  Olivia Coleman pondered the phone call. Her husband sounded strange at first; then looking at the clock she realized it was only 5:15 in the morning in Seattle. “He was up so early; he must have slept poorly…toward the end of the call he did sound better,” she mused. Still she was troubled.

  Chapter 12

  Friday, September 26, 1980

  Andrew was at the Times at 6:30 AM and had placed a call to Neil Klein while the news room was still relatively quiet. “I called to tell you about Coleman’s visit and I wanted to know if you have opened Aunt Martha’s luggage.”

  “Yes, Andrew,” Neil replied. “We’ve sent a number of things to the cleaners and are waiting for them to come back. How was the General’s visit?”

  “It was very interesting,” Andrew told him. “As was expected, I was not involved in the meetings. Before we get into that though, you told me that Coleman had had a liaison with a Eurasian woman in Saigon. Will you give me her name? I want to do a little digging on my own.”

  Neil was silent for a moment and then replied, “Ordinarily I would not be able to tell you her name, but it doesn’t matter now because she’s dead.”

  “Really?” Andrew was surprised. “How?”

  “It appears she was murdered. Her body was found outside of Saigon; she had been shot several times– her name was Lia Dupre’. You can no doubt get the story through some of your sources. It would have happened early 1970, possibly in March or April or so.” Neil went on. “Her family was well known. Her father was French and the family had Paris connections. In fact, the story might have been carried by Paris newspapers. Now back to Ms. Thayer’s meeting with Coleman.”

  “Thanks for the info, Neil, I owe you; okay, the meeting, well, the first one on Wednesday was pretty tense. Coleman told Charlene that the letter was phony. When she didn’t buy it and told him she was going to have the body in Paul’s grave exhumed, Coleman got very nasty and threatened her.”

  “Threatened her?” Neil interrupted. “How?”

  Andrew quickly said, “The threat was non-specific, but she held her own quite well and told him to leave...”

  “She threw him out?” Neil interrupted again.

  “Yes,” Andrew affirmed. “He later called and apologized and chan
ged his tune saying that the letter could be genuine. He talked her into meeting with him again last night for dinner at the Olympic.”

  “I wish I could have been there. So she met him again; did that go better?”

  “I would say it did, at least she was smiling when she left. Oh, I didn’t mention it, but I was in the lobby keeping tabs on things. I decided that the General and I would have a little talk later, which we did.”

  Neil smiled a little grimly to himself and thought, typical reporter... “What prompted you to do that, Andrew?”

  “My natural curiosity, I wanted to meet him and let him know that there was someone not willing to stand by and let him bully Charlene Thayer.”

  Neil remarked, “Sounds as though Ms. Thayer can hold her own pretty well.

  “What is your impression of Coleman, Andrew?”

  “I don’t like or trust him. He’s tough and powerful, as I would expect him to be, but he’s playing games with Charlene. He told her he now believed the letter to be authentic. Personally, I think the letter is causing him a lot of heartburn; it’s not clear why. And it’s also not clear why he told Charlene that he didn’t know Kelshaw; you and I both know he did. Why lie about it?”

  “He knew George Kelshaw very well.” Neil said firmly. “I can only begin to speculate on why he’d lie, and if he’s having discomfort about the letter, there must be a connection.”

  “When I confronted him,” Andrew went on, “he warned me to back off; he told me I could be getting in over my head.