M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

The letter dated January 1971 read

“My Darling Charlie,

When you get this letter you will know that I won’t be coming home. It’s quiet for the moment and so I am writing this in hopes it will reach you somehow. There are so many things that I wish I could tell you, how I wish I could be there to hold you close. I want you to know that in spite of the distance between us I have always felt your love and your prayers. They have sustained me and they do now.

In these last moments I realize that many of the things I’ve given my life to were only shadows and I ask your forgiveness and understanding, but I tried to do what I honestly believed was my duty. More than wanting you to remember that, I want you to know how very, very much I love you.

There is another man here with me, his name is Pyotr Chernakov, he is a Soviet Air Force officer. He risked everything to defect, now we realize that we have been betrayed. I don’t know how or by whom. If you get this letter it will be because my friend George has found a way to get it to you somehow.

I pray that Brad makes it home. He and Olivia can help you through the days ahead. Please know that I have always loved you and I’ll see you on the other side.

She stood up; the color drained from her face. Steadying herself on the chair, she said quietly, “I have to go… I’ve got to get out of here… please excuse me.”

Andrew was standing also, “Let me take you home.”

No,” she said, “I really want to be alone—I need to be alone. It’s going to take some time to…” she paused, “to what? Understand? That’s not possible.” Charlie argued with herself as she left the restaurant. Outside she dove into a parked taxi and drove off.

Andrew dropped money on the table and hurried after her, but she had already disappeared in the cab. Andrew was left standing looking at the receding tail lights soon absorbed in traffic and feeling as if he had inadvertently perpetrated a dreadful act upon another human being. Swearing to himself under his breath he decided that Charlene Thayer needed help even if he didn’t know how to give it. Besides he felt used in a situation over which he had no control. That was not a comfortable place for Andrew Kincaid, a man very much in control of most situations in which he found himself.

8:00 PM

It was dark as they left the tavern. “C’mon, let’s get this over with,” urged Jake.

“Yeah, okay, we hafta’ be real careful,” Leo agreed.

They crossed the street back to the Viaduct and watched the Center to make sure everything was quiet. Standing there in the semi darkness, both men were uneasy and both agreed it would be their last visit to the Seamen’s Center. They watched as Officer Pete Reilly made his rounds and checked the lock on the Center door. After giving it a thorough try, he seemed satisfied and continued on his beat.

“I don’t like the idea of doing this tonight, they could probably identify us—that’s why we hafta’ be real careful!” Leo emphasized again.

“Yeah, they know us pretty well by now,” Jake admitted.

“C’mon, Jake, it’s dark enough and the cop is outta’ sight. Let’s go down the alley and check for a window before we try to break a door lock.”

“Maybe a window is unlocked.” Jake remarked. “They’re low enough we can get in.”

“Yeah,” Leo agreed. “We won’t be seen so easy as trying to jimmy the front door.”

They stayed in shadows as much as possible and reached the window that accessed the storeroom, but the window was barred by an ancient grate. Jake swore as he grabbed one of the bars and gave it an angry pull.

It gave, not much but a little and Leo said excitedly, “Wait, Jake, we just might be able to get this loose!” He grabbed the grate encouraged by the movement. Together they pried and tugged. The rusted screws gave way and the window was exposed—and unlocked.

Jake tumbled in over the sill, offering Leo a hand in, they found themselves in the Center storeroom. Leo pulled his flashlight from his pocket and keeping the light low so as not to be seen, gave an examination of the shelves they might have missed earlier.

“We’ve been through here,” Jake muttered in a stage whisper. “Let’s get to the office before that cop comes back.”

“Yeah, we need to spend time in the priest’s office,” Leo agreed. “Maybe the good Father left the package in plain sight.”

Jake was thinking that he really didn’t care if they found the package or not. He just wanted to get out of there and get their money as soon as possible.

They did a cursory search again of the main room of the Center, throwing magazines and other articles on the floor and not bothering to pick up anything behind them, then moved on to Father Ben’s office.

Starting with Father Ben’s desk they rifled through drawers, tossing articles from the top of the desk leaving everything in disarray. Then they attacked the file cabinet forcing the lock and dumping the contents on the floor.

Next they searched the bookshelves throwing books here and there; looking behind pictures, under furniture, so engrossed in their search that they failed to hear Officer Reilly try the front door.

Reilly had noticed what looked like a flash of light through the glass. Cupping his hand over his eyes he peered through the glass door. By the light from the street he could make out objects on the floor that appeared suspicious. Cautiously he moved through the alley toward the back of the Center; he spotted the grating lying below the open window to the storeroom. “Strange,” he muttered, “Father Ben wouldn’t leave a window raised like that. I’d better check this out.” At that moment he heard a thump and another thump from somewhere inside the Center.

“Better call for backup,” as he reached for his radio. After quietly placing the call he climbed through the window and made his way out of the storeroom toward the sounds of the chaos.

“Who’s here?” he called out shining his light around the main room.

The movement in the office stopped and Leo and Jake stood frozen.

“Police! Come out with your hands up,” he shouted.

“Dammit!” yelped Jake

“Make a run for it,” Leo impelled. Leo threw a book across the room distracting Reilly as Leo and Jake hurled themselves past the officer knocking the flashlight from his hand. They went through the door of the storeroom flinging themselves out the window with Reilly right behind them.

The darkness hindered Pete and after a fruitless chase without his flashlight he realized they were gone. The back up team arrived, “I lost them,” Officer Reilly said, wiping his brow.

“That was too close, Jake,” Leo panted.

“You got that right,” said Jake, “Now what?”

“We call Maxwell and tell him our breaking-in trip was a bust… and we almost got nailed by the cops.” Leo replied grimly. “And we want our money!” he added.

“Then what?” Jake was fearful that Monte would send them back. “Leo, you gotta tell him we’re done—tell him the package wasn’t there and we ain’t lookin’ no more!”

“We gotta lay low,” Leo retorted. “We go back to work and act natural.”

It was midnight and once more Leo and Jake were at a pay phone with Monte. As usual Leo was doing the talking.

“We had a close squeak,” Leo explained. “We broke in the Center just like you said and had a real good look around. We took the office apart and looked every place it could be. It ain’t there and what’s worse a cop almost got us.”

“Well,” Maxwell responded grimly, “be very glad he didn’t. I would not be very happy to see you downtown. You might even have a serious accident. Jail is not a healthy place for you two; obviously you got away. The important thing is did you find the merchandise?”