While Rome Was Sleeping
Page 29
Dan drew a deep breath. “I understand your position, Andrew, but please understand mine and the station’s. We have a bottom line to consider as well. In light of that, I wish you would think about this--otherwise, I see no other way than to suspend you for an indeterminate time,” Dan said wearily. “I’ll try to find another slot for you, just not on the air for the time being. Or you could take a vacation ‘til things with the County Council cool off.”
“I can’t do that, Dan. That’s no solution and you know it. What I hear you saying, is that management will stand behind me as long as I don’t cause too many political ripples. You know I can’t work under that type of constraint. Maybe we should just call it quits while I’m still on top.
“Let’s face it, I’ve had a good run, accomplished some things and I really believe I’ve made a difference in some areas. I think this may be the time for me to move on; perhaps take another direction in my professional life.”
Andrew realized while he was disappointed and had argued with some passion, he was not really angry at Carmichael or the station. In fact, he suddenly felt free.
“Andy, this is too hasty a decision on your part. Take the weekend to reconsider.”
“No, I don’t have to think about it,” Andrew said shaking his head persistently and added, “This is better, Dan. And look at the bright side, whoever takes my place can deal with people like Mitchell, unencumbered by bad history, and you’ll be a hero with the County Council for ‘canning’ me.”
“C’mon, Andrew,” Carmichael said uncomfortably. “You know I don’t want that and I didn’t and I won’t, ‘can’ you. This has turned out badly and I’m not at all happy with the outcome; not to mention how unhappy some of your program sponsors will be.”
“I know that, Dan, but I believe this is for the best; the way it’s supposed to be,” Andrew said positively. “You’re caught between a rock and a hard place and this is the better path.”
“I don’t agree,” Carmichael said doggedly, “I’m going to hold the door open, Andy; I want to give you time to...”
Andrew interrupted, not allowing him to finish, “No, I’m not going to reconsider, Dan. I’ll be in the first of the week to collect my ‘stuff’ and clean up some loose ends. I’ll also meet with the sponsors. You won’t have a problem filling my slot—get Gary Slocum from KIRO; he’s been dying to have a shot at a talk show.”
Andrew stood up, looking at the clock behind Carmichael’s desk, “It’s almost air time. Should I say sayonara on the show today or do you want to announce my departure through whoever will be doing the program on Monday?”
Carmichael still unbelieving, choked, “However you want to handle it is fine with me. I don’t relish all the calls we will be getting. Personally, I think you should tell your fans... they’re going to be even more upset if you don’t,” he said dejectedly.
“I prefer to think of the people that have listened to my program as an interested and informed audience; the word fans is a little too theatrical. Don’t worry, Dan, I won’t mention that the “Bob” Mitchell thing has anything to do with this,” Andrew offered graciously.
“Thank you for that.” Dan was standing now and had placed a hand on Andrew’s departing shoulder, “I’m very sorry it has ended this way, but since you’ve made up your mind, I guess all I can do is wish you all the best. Whatever you do, Andrew, you’ve got my vote.”
They shook hands and Andrew headed to the broadcast booth and his last commentary for KGM.
Later he called Father Ben to tell him the news.
✽✽✽
6:30 PM
Jack was waiting in the lobby of the WAC when Andrew arrived.
“Thanks, Andy; I got a nice room using your name; I got some sleep and now I need some food,” he said patting his stomach.
They chose a table in a quiet part of the dining room, and ordered a drink. Jack noticed Andrew seemed quiet. “How was the show?” he asked.
“Funny you should ask—it was my last. I quit today.” Andrew stated without emotion.
“Well, well,” Jack leaned back in his chair trying to assess the mood of his friend. “Shall we drown the pain or shall we drink to the future?” he asked, raising his glass.
“I think we should drink to the future,” smiled Andrew, and raised his glass in response. “It’s scary as hell... but what a rush!” he declared lightheartedly.
“Did you plan to do this when I saw you this afternoon?” Jack took a drink and eyed Andrew coolly. “Was it amicable?”
“Yes, it was amicable, and no, I didn’t plan to do it when I went to the station today, but it seemed to follow the natural course as things played out.” Andrew then explained the dilemma he had faced in dealing with the Mitchell interview and his ultimate decision, then pausing, he told Jack, “And I feel good!”
“So what now? Are you going to take my advice and finally concentrate on your journalistic future or are you going to continue to “tilt at windmills” here in the Great Northwest? You’re a good journalist, Andy; but you could do so much more. You should break out of here!” Jack urged.
“Maybe, but, you know,” Andrew said cautiously, “ I’ve always thought about running for public office someday and the idea of building a political base to do that is right here, in this Washington. I’m not ready to do it now, but I will be in the not too distant future. I’ve already made some very good contacts that I will need when the time is right so ... hey, my glass is empty,” he complained.
Jack echoed, “Mine too. We’ll talk more about your future later, right now we need a refill and some food and I want to know about your contact with Kelshaw.”
During dinner Andrew talked about Kelshaw coming to the Seamen’s Center, and his subsequent murder. He told Jack about the packet and the strange letter that followed mentioning Hubbard as the person directing him to Andrew. He talked of Father Ben’s and his visit to the hospital and the letter for Charlene Thayer, delivered by Andrew.
Over coffee, Andrew leaned forward, arms folded on the table and said, “Okay, it’s your turn--tell me how you got hooked up with George Kelshaw.”
Jack began by saying, “I’m really sorry that George bought it; I liked him, I liked him a lot,” Jack repeated almost sadly. “He really was one of the ‘good’ guys.”
Andrew nodded, “Looks like it from what I’ve learned. When and where did you meet him?”
“Well, let me see—the last time you and I saw each other was 1972 or 73, remember? I had flown in from Guam on my way back to New York. It was before South Vietnam had totally unraveled. I was taking a break from covering that miserable, damned war that was getting increasingly worse.
“You know, Andy, I had been in war zones all over Southeast Asia off and on, since 1968.” Jack shook his head. “I’m amazed that I lasted. I guess my editors were too, the next thing I knew they assigned me to cover the so-called peace negotiations.
“So where did they send me?” He asked and answered his own question, “First to Paris and then, to Laos. Even though there was technically a cease-fire as a result of the Vientiane Agreement, when I arrived in Vientiane things were pretty hot. The Pathet Lao were already putting on lots of pressure.
“The press corps was housed at a hotel not far from the U.S. Embassy. I was having a drink in the bar one night, when I noticed this guy watching me. My intuition told me maybe I should talk with him. So I bought him a drink and introduced myself. I wasn’t really sure why he singled me, out but as I got to know George Kelshaw, I realized that his intuition was much stronger than mine.”
Jack’s gray eyes narrowed as he talked, remembering the first meeting. He recalled the conversation vividly.
“My name is George Kelshaw,” he had said, extending his hand. “I’ve heard of you, Hubbard, and read a lot of your work. Some of it I agree with and some of it is very naïve...”
“You think so, Mr. Kelshaw?” Jack had asked half amused at the blatant evaluation of his reporting.
/> “I know so; I suppose you can’t help it since you only get a portion of the whole story,” George stated flatly, “But I trust you; for the most part, because I believe you’re honest and not out to make a name for yourself at the expense of the truth.”
Jack responded, “Every writer wants to make a name for himself, Mr. Kelshaw, it’s part of our persona.”
“You see, you are an honest man,” George said smiling. “Can we meet somewhere tomorrow and talk? Perhaps I can give you some insights into another side of the story; and you may be able to help me as well.”
Jack looked at the man across the table from him and queried, “Why can’t we talk here and now?”
George shook his head and said softly, “This is not as private as we need to be. There is an old monastery near here. Meet me there tomorrow at 1500.”
“All right,” Jack had answered, “I know the place and I will be there, but whether or not I help you will depend on what you tell me and what it is you need. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” George had responded.
Andrew was remembering the year of the letter from Paul Thayer as 1971, and interjected, “it took him awhile, where was he from ’71 to ’73?”
“It’s quite a story,”
“I want to hear it.”
“How much time do you have, Andy?”
“I’ve got all night.”
“Good! Let’s get out of here, what have you got to drink at your place?”
“Just about anything you want; beer, scotch, gin and a few other things. I think there’s enough to keep us going.”
“Jack responded, “Good! –it’s going to be a long thirsty night.”
They arrived at Andrew’s apartment about 10:00 PM. “Make yourself comfortable,” he directed.
“Nice place, Andy; good view,” he said as he opened the balcony door and walked to the railing. The night was cool and clear, and the reflection of city lights shimmered on the waters of Lake Union. He drew a deep breath and offered, “I understand why you like this town. It’s like a little jewel; lights hit it and you see different facets all clean and sparkly.”
“Thanks, Jack; considering that you’ve probably been in some of the most beautiful spots in the world, I’m surprised to hear you say that about Seattle. What’ll you have to drink?”
“Scotch will be fine—on the rocks, please,” Jack ordered. Then responding to Andy’s comment, “Most of the places I’ve been were places where you spent a lot of time looking over your shoulder, wondering if someone had you in their sights.”
“Sounds like you could still use a rest.”
Jack nodded as Andrew poured a drink for each of them and settled into a chair. “Okay, where were we? You said that Kelshaw had quite a story.”
“Yes, it is quite a story.” Jack swirled the amber liquid in his glass and closed his eyes briefly before continuing. “The next day I met him at the old monastery and we talked for a couple of hours. He didn’t attempt to disguise the fact that he worked for the CIA and he candidly told me about Colonel Thayer and a Soviet defector, General Pyotr Chernakov.
“He said that he and Thayer had gone to Laos under the guise of further investigating the Phou Pha Thi melt-down. You know a little about the Tactical Air Navigation, Site 85 disaster?” Jack asked.
Andrew nodded, “A little, not much.”
“That’s a story in itself... too long to go into now, but I’ll give you a thumbnail of what I learned. Phou Pha Thi is a 5,500 foot mountain located about 30 miles northeast of Sam Neua, Laos, about equal distance to the North Vietnam border and about 150 miles as the crow flies to Hanoi.
“In the mid 1960’s the U.S. Air Force’ Strategic Air Command and the CIA decided to locate a highly efficient, top-secret Tactical Air Navigation system on that mountain top, part of which was the TSQ. The TSQ had been used by SAC as a radar bomb scoring system to predict impact from simulated training drops.
“The word was the North Vietnamese had been getting a free pass from U.S. bombings because of the monsoon season. The Air Force needed to do something to overcome the monsoonal weather; they figured out a way to use the TSQ technology to improve all-weather bombing accuracy using tactical fighter planes in what they termed ‘route packages’. It was a big deal—and when North Vietnam got wind of it they were determined to knock it out.
“Security was ridiculous—on one hand, the crews tasked to build and man this top-secret station were what they called ‘sheep-dipped’ military; flown into the Royal Thai Air Force Base, at Udorn, Thailand, given false identification and made to live off base so there wouldn’t be any military connection and then later they were airlifted from Udorn to the TACAN site; all very secretive and hush-hush.
“On the other hand, all that construction and activity on the mountain top drew attention from every quarter from the start.” Jack held his hands in a mock frame. “Picture this; all of a sudden there is intense action on this mountain. Oh yes, I forgot to mention also, that the mountain had some spiritual significance for the Laotians.
So from the beginning of the construction lots of folks were interested in what was happening and there was no way to keep locals off or away from it; and there was no way to tell the ‘friendlies’ from the enemy infiltrators.
“The site was considered to be almost impenetrable; there was a sheer drop of 2,000 feet on three sides so it was assumed that it was secure from the ground except from a frontal attack.
“From what I’ve learned it was targeted by the NVA from the outset and finally in March or April of ’68 after months of attacks with varying degrees of success, it fell to the North Vietnamese and the Pathet Lao, some of whom scaled the 2,000 foot cliffs to attack from within.
“Nobody really knew what happened to all of the personnel and the equipment. There were a few bodies recovered and there had been air strikes to destroy any remaining equipment and any enemy remaining at the site, but it was never satisfactorily confirmed.
“Late in 1968 and throughout 1969 rumors of new activity around the site raised more questions so it was a good cover for Kelshaw and Thayer to be assigned to Thailand/Laos to investigate.
“The plan was that they would both go to Udorn in Thailand to wait for confirmation of a pickup site for Chernakov. Kelshaw would remain at Udorn and monitor events while Thayer and a small team would go into Laos to get Chernakov to safety. Kelshaw told me what happened.
“The team left from a Laotian CIA Station site by helicopter to go after Chernakov. There was Thayer, a pilot, co-pilot, crew-chief and a Hmong or Meo tribesman named Tanh.” Jack ticked them off on his fingers as he talked. “They were to rendezvous with Chernakov at an abandoned airfield in Sam Neua Province, which would be supposedly guarded by American friendly, General Vang Pao and his men.
“The Meo, who accompanied Thayer to the prearranged meeting place, brought the news back to Kelshaw of what went down.
“It seems that shortly after they arrived at the airstrip and had Chernakov, the team came under a heavy ground attack from North Vietnamese Army troops. They were ready to get off the ground when the helo was hit and disabled. The pilot was killed before he could get out, and then the NV killed the co-pilot and crew chief.
“Thayer, Chernakov and the Meo had managed to get out and made it to some type of bunker and holed up, hoping a radio message the pilot had fired off, would bring some additional help.
“When they realized it wasn’t coming and they couldn’t hold out, Thayer wrote a letter to his wife and a message for Kelshaw. That, and some important information Chernakov carried for CIA, were given to Tanh to deliver to George. According to Tanh, Chernakov and Thayer created a diversion that allowed him to escape.
“He reported to Kelshaw that Thayer and Chernakov had put up a tough fight, but when the firing stopped; he knew that they were most likely dead. He stayed hidden and waited until the soldiers dragged the bodies out of the bunker confirming what he suspected, that they had both been killed.
Andrew sat quietly listening trying to imagine the desperation of the events. Then he asked, “Did Kelshaw or the Meo say, what happened to the bodies?”
“No, but I would suppose that the NV probably torched or blew everything up including the bodies. They did a lot of that,” Jack said matter-of-factly while pouring himself another drink.
“So now back at Udorn...now the fun begins...” Jack continued. “In reporting on the action to the station chief, Bill Blair—I had met him; he was a nice guy, by the way, I digress,” Jack hiccupped and paused. Sighing he continued, “Blair tells Kelshaw he already knows about the ambush; that another agent, had brought information from Vang Pao’s camp and reported to Blair that everybody was dead at the Sam Neua airstrip. The agent knew all about it.” Jack was beginning to feel the scotch and was becoming more loquacious as he continued the story.
“Kelshaw asked Blair who the agent was and how anybody but Tanh could possibly have that information and how he got it. Before Blair can answer the question a man enters the office, guns down Blair and Tahn and wounds George. I guess it was pretty bloody; Kelshaw managed to wing the guy, but he got away; Kelshaw had taken a bullet in the shoulder and one had grazed his cheek—you might have noticed the scar on the left side of his face.” Jack said gesturing to the left side of his own face.
“To make a long story shorter, Kelshaw keeps the letter for Mrs. Thayer, determined to deliver it personally, and the Chernakov packet and contacts Neil Klein who is waiting in Saigon. He tells Klein what has happened to the mission and to Blair and Tanh and warns him that he believes there is a double agent working; that he will try to stay in contact, but that he is going after whoever set up Thayer and Chernakov.