M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

“How’s it goin?” Jake asked, solicitously.

“Okay,” Davey told them. He looked at them and said, “You fellas are different than the other men who come in here. Did you come off a ship?”

“Ship?” Jake broke in. He looked at Davey with a blank look. “What ship? I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Never mind,” Leo intervened. “Davey, do you know who that guy is that just left here?”

“Sure.” Davey answered.

“Well—does he work here? What’s his name?” Jake asked impatiently.

“Oh, no,” Davey told them. He puffed out his chest as he proudly answered their questions. “That’s Andrew Kincaid; he’s our friend. He works for the Seattle Times and he has his own radio show, too. He’s a good friend of Father Ben,” he bragged.

“Where does he live?” questioned Jake harshly.

Davey looked at Jake and Leo and answered slowly, “I- I don’t know.” Davey was suddenly uncomfortable. No stranger ever asked where some one lived before. It didn’t feel right.

“Sorry, kid,” Leo talked softly to Davey sensing his discomfort. “My friend just got excited when you told him about Mr. Kincaid. You understand?”

“Sure,” Davey smiled at him. “I gotta’ go back to work now.”

Leo grabbed Jake’s arm. “Cool it! Play nice with him; we might want some more info and if you scare him we could get tossed out of this joint.”

“I’m hungry,” Jake whined. “I don’t see any real grub around here. Let’s try that bar down the street. There was a sign in the window that they serve food.”

Leo nodded ascent. “Yeah, let’s go get something to eat. We can come back later when the priest is here. Besides we’ve got to call Maxwell.”

That was not exactly what Jake wanted to hear.

11:00/12:00 Noon

The lobby and reception desk of radio station KGM were deserted when Andrew arrived. Holly Lacey the receptionist had stepped away briefly to make a coffee delivery to one of the program managers.

Andrew checked his message box and finding it empty, proceeded to his desk on the second floor next to the broadcast booth. Everything was on track. The 20 minute canned interview with the Mayor’s assistant on the subject of transit alternatives was cued and ready to roll. The remaining program minutes of telephone comments/controversy would be an easy topic to field. This was not one of the “hot” subjects that Andrew enjoyed, but after the frustration of the interview with County Councilman Bob Mitchell, this was a piece of cake.

He left KGM studio and walked toward his car, totally preoccupied. In less than twenty-four hours his whole focus had changed. He desperately wanted to talk with Ben. Of all days why did the budget committee have to meet today?

He drove up to Capitol Hill and parked in the small lot across the street from Diocesan House. He noticed Ben’s car still there and decided to wait.

The stately old Leary mansion on Capitol Hill housed the headquarters of the Episcopal Diocese of Olympia. The old stone mansion built in 1903 had been designed to be the dream home of John Leary, one time mayor of Seattle, and his second wife, Eliza Ferry, daughter of the first governor of the State of Washington. Not much change had occurred to the gray stone exterior of the house or to the elegant interior which boasted a baronial great hall, Tiffany windows and magnificent woodcarving that included a beautiful wood paneled staircase that soared upward from the entry hall.

Today Andrew’s mood matched the gray stone exterior and his attention was not directed to the beauty of the house but to the comings and goings through its doors.

When Ben finally emerged shortly after noon, he spotted Andrew and trotted across Tenth Avenue ducking traffic.

“I’m surprised to see you here. Has something else happened?”

Andrew asked, “Ben, did you get your letter?”

“No, but I haven’t picked up the mail today. I planned to do that on the way back to the Center.”

“Get in, Ben. I’ll drive you to the Post Office. You need to pick up your mail.”

Obediently Ben got into Andrew’s car and offered, “You know my car is right over there.”

Andrew nodded. “I know. I’ll bring you right back but we have to talk and we can’t do it at the Center. Read this.” He handed George Kelshaw’s letter to Father Ben.

Ben read and reread the letter. Heaving a heavy sigh he looked at Andrew intently and asked “What are you and I going to do? This is most serious—and frightening!” he added.

They had reached the Post Office and Andrew circled the block while Ben retrieved the mail. Andrew saw the same unremarkable envelope and recognized George Kelshaw’s neat handwriting. Ben opened the letter carefully, almost reluctantly.

The letter jarred him and he shook his head in disbelief.

“Father Ben Lee,” the letter began, “You may remember a merchant sailor named Lu Chan. You helped him when he lost his papers several years ago. Lu Chan has helped me… and sent me to you. He has been a good friend. He comes from a small village of Yencheng, China. He may return to the Center one day soon and have some news of your family.

Thank you for your help and kindness today. Please tell Mrs. Thayer I did not mean to frighten her. I wanted to make sure the letter I carried from Paul Thayer reached the right person. Paul Thayer was my friend.

I am being followed and if something happens to me, you must be very, very careful. You and Andrew Kincaid could be in danger as well as Mrs. Thayer.

Again in the parking lot by Diocesan House Ben and Andrew sat in silence in the car; neither man knew what to say. Half formed questions raced through their minds, questions to which there were no ready answers.

Ben spoke first, “Andrew, I must get back to the Center and report on the meeting with the Bishop to Ruth and Byron. They will be waiting. You come back too. Have some coffee… we can talk there, carefully.”

Andrew looked at Ben. He realized how shaken Kelshaw’s letter had left him. He glanced at his watch and nodded and said quietly, “Okay, I’ll see you there.”

If he had been thrown off balance by Kelshaw’s revelation regarding the package, it was nothing compared to the reference to Ben’s family in China. News of a family not heard from in over forty years.

2:00 PM

“I feel better” said Leo, belching.

“Yeah, that hit the spot!” Jake uttered ruminating praise as they headed back toward the Center. “Glad you waited to call Detective Maxwell,” he continued, spitting.

“No need to bother him now; we need to find out a little more—look some more for that packet or package, or whatever the hell it is, before we call him again.”

“Yeah, and when you talk to him again tell him we need to get paid like he said, you know, when he said we got paid well for what we did, back there at the hospital. We need to get paid!” Jake was wound up now, gesticulating and poking Leo with his finger to bring the point home. “We’ve waited long enough—we need to get paid!”

At this, Leo grabbed Jake’s hand and commanded him, “Pipe down!! We’re almost back at the Center. I’ll take care of it, but you back off and don’t be pokin’ me or I’ll lay you out!” Leo had had a couple of beers and was feeling cocky. “Don’t you worry, Jake, I’ll let Maxwell know he can’t screw around with us just because he’s a cop, we’ve got other jobs we can do.” They swaggered into the Center.

“Hi, Davey,” Leo smiled at him.

Davey smiled back. “Hi, fellas, I see you came back.”

“Wow, Sherlock, did you figure that out all by yourself? What was your first clue?” Jake sniggered in a mocking voice.