M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

“Transportation mafia?” Andrew was surprised by her choice of words and her obvious interest and insight into local politics.

“Yes, that’s what I’d call them… they’re like mafia; vested interest politicians whose only answer to our transportation needs is to continue to pour more cement; build more freeways and wider freeways, more bridges across Lake Washington, more, more, more, all adding up to more autos, more pollution and there is no end! And who supports them… the highway lobbyists and oil power brokers that are hooked into—only God knows what.

“We need light-rail rapid transit, it’s the future, but no one wants to look that far ahead! Don’t get me started, Andrew, I truly have a soapbox on transportation issues.”

He smiled, “You do and you have just ruined the next five minutes, I wish you hadn’t told me. I was feeling good until now. Some day we’ll have to debate this issue,” he said tongue in cheek.

“Yes, well,” she breathed, “I’m sorry to get so exercised on the transit topic, but to get back to your problem; did the station chiefs hear the interview? Maybe you could go over the program again with them,” she offered.

“No help there;” he said looking to his right as he moved through traffic toward the West Seattle Bridge. “There’s political pressure on the station and I think some of it comes directly from the County Executive’s office, although I can’t be sure. I guess I’m stuck. If I want to continue to make friends and influence people, I have to have access to the top brass.”

“That’s true.”

“So no matter what happens, I think I lose,” he said dismally.

“Well, maybe you can do the lesser of two evils and try to smooth things out without really apologizing. Andrew, you know how to do it,” she said authoritatively.

“I’ve been reading your column long enough to believe that you don’t deliberately embarrass someone unless they really deserve it. The problem with Councilman Mitchell, in my opinion, is that you made him…,” she paused, “no, actually, he made himself, look ill prepared and inept and so he wants to blame you. Now all you have to do is allow him to R and R” He looked at her quizzically. “You know, R and R, reflect and rephrase.” So much for the five cent analysis” she laughed.

“Okay, reflect and rephrase, huh? That’s probably partially true, Dr. Jung, but how do I undo the damage without totally losing face? You see, I’ve been hanging out with a certain Chinese priest and I know a little about ‘face’. I suppose now I have to watch out for ‘Bob’s’ face, too.” Then he said with mock seriousness, “But, my dear, let’s put all that aside, not dwell on such negatives and just enjoy this beautiful afternoon!”

“I agree completely.” She laughed again.

Andrew looked at her out the corner of his eye and then taking a bolder step than he had anticipated, he said, “You know, you are really a very pretty lady. Really” he emphasized. “Especially when your color is up like now over transit,” he teased

“Stop it!” she responded uncomfortably.

“No, no,” he insisted, “I—I mean it,” he stumbled. “And to be honest, I’ve been looking forward to getting together with you today.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, not admitting that she had been looking forward to seeing Andrew again as well.

They rode quietly across the West Seattle Bridge, and taking the surface street, followed the shoreline until they came to Alki village. After lunch they crossed the street to the beach and found a bench and enjoyed the view, each one deep in their own thoughts.

Andrew spoke first. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully he began, “There’s something I need to tell you about George Kelshaw. You know Father Ben and I were with him when he died. He told us he was with the CIA.” He looked at her as she drew a deep breath and continued to look out to the water. He went on, “We, that is to say Father Ben and I, believe that was why he was killed.”

Charlene had turned toward him now, “Does Jim Savalza know, too?”

“Yes, now he does. But wait, there is more. Before he died he had written some letters—one was to Ben and one to me. I won’t go into the detail of the letters except to say that he warned us that if anything should happen to him, Ben, you and I could be in some kind of danger.

That’s mainly why I’m telling you this. Savalza has cautioned us to be on our guard and be careful.” Andy stopped now letting it sink in.

“That’s what all that be careful business was about on Friday. So what are we supposed to do? If this man worked for the CIA where has he been all this time? And why should there be any danger to any of us? The letter from Paul…” She was thinking Paul had written ‘betrayed ’. Standing, she said “Let’s walk.”

“Charlene, I don’t have any answers to your questions only questions of my own. There is a guy from the State Department in town looking into this; his name is Evan Scott. It’s possible that he will want to talk with you before he leaves town.” Honoring Neil’s request, Andrew said nothing of Saturday’s meeting. “He’s talking with everyone who might have had some contact with Kelshaw.”

The afternoon sun glinted on the water as they walked along. A soft breeze ruffled her hair slightly and she brushed it away from her face by turning into the wind.

“Well, we may have a few answers next week, Andrew. On Friday I placed a call to a very old and dear friend. Bradley Coleman, General Coleman, was the man that Paul spoke of in his letter. Brad and Olivia and Paul and I were all very close at one time. In any case if anyone can help us get answers I believe Brad will do it. He is certainly in a position to find out.”

Andrew was incredulous. “You mean you just picked up the phone and called one of the top military leaders in this country expecting him to drop whatever he’s doing and…”

“He wasn’t always in that position, Andy, and yes, I did ask him for help. After all he was Paul’s friend. He accompanied Paul’s body home and returned personal items to me. Who else would be in a better position that I could turn to? He was scheduled to come here on business so he’s coming a few days earlier to help me get to the bottom of, of—the letter.” She was leaning on his arm shaking sand out of her shoe.

He stood still while she slipped her foot back into the shoe. His arm slipped around her briefly and then back at his side, hands in his pockets. It troubled him that she could so casually speak of a person like General Coleman, Deputy Director of the DIA, as though he was the guy across the street, and ask for help. Andrew wondered what Paul Thayer would have become had he survived Southeast Asia.

“So what did he say? You told him about the letter from Paul?”

“Yes, I did only,” she paused, “When I mentioned the letter being carried by George Kelshaw… I don’t know… it was as if, as if he might have known him. But when I asked he said no. I felt that I shouldn’t say anymore on the telephone. It didn’t feel right; I told him that I would come to D.C. to talk further, but he said that he was scheduled to come out to the Coast on business and would come a few days sooner, promising that we would get to the bottom of… of… everything. He’ll be here next Wednesday.”

Charlene studied Andrew’s face momentarily. He seemed almost displeased… frowning slightly, he stopped. He was beginning to realize that Charlene Thayer was a complex, well connected woman with a mind of her own. Putting both hands on her shoulders and turning her toward him he spoke slowly and seriously, “Charlene, promise me you won’t talk to anyone else about any of this; not even General Coleman until he gets here and you can talk with him in person.