M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

Charlene nodded in agreement. All right. But Andrew, who is Evan Scott?”

Andrew looked at her and smiled slightly. “He told you, he works for the State Department.”

“You tell me who he works for; he is not just some State Department clerk; what office does he work in? He has some horsepower, otherwise he wouldn’t have so much information,” she insisted.

“As far as I know he just works for the State Department; isn’t that enough for you? Here we are-–you’re home,” he announced, relieved to stop the conversation.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek, “Why don’t you come in? I’ll make some coffee and we can talk some more.”

He was thinking, nice try Mata Hari, invite me in to try to pry secrets, uh uh. “I’m sorry, Charlene, I’ve got an early get up and I need to go home and see if my bed is still there; after the events of last night, who knows?”

“Are you upset about this afternoon?” She queried.

“No, definitely not,” he said emphatically. “I thought you knew that when I told you earlier that I was sorry, I just can’t do this tonight. I really have to go.” He walked her to the door and kissed her and she returned the favor. He hurried to his car before he changed his mind.

“Why did Klein want to talk tonight? On the other hand…”

He found Neil waiting in the lobby of the WAC reading the Seattle Times. Pointing to Andy’s column he commented, “You have a keen and analytical mind, Kincaid. You should consider politics.”

“Thanks, I might look at that possibility in a few years,” he said as they walked to Neil’s room.

“Sorry to take you away from Charlene Thayer. I sense there is some interest there. Is it mutual?”

Andrew shrugged, “Maybe. I’ve come close to finding out, but the boat always leaves without me…”

“What’s that about?”

“Nothing, it was a poor analogy; truth is I get just so close and then something interrupts and the moment slips away.”

“I see,” Neil gestured to a chair and seated opposite he continued,” As I said I am sorry to bring you back here, but I want to give you a warning of concern that I have before I leave. You know that Coleman was in Saigon at the same time as Thayer.”

“Yes,” Andrew stated. “I did know that. That’s why Charlene felt that he could help solve the mystery of the dates. Now, I have a question for you. Are you or are you not going to tell her how you knew about the discrepancy of the dates of Paul Thayer’s death? She’s counting on Coleman helping her get to the bottom of the problem.”

“In answer to your question, no, I am not going to tell her. And as for Coleman helping her, he very well could, if he will. However, there’s a rub, he had a liaison with a woman who worked in the US Embassy in Saigon. Coincidentally it was in the same time frame as Paul Thayer’s and Kelshaw’s time there.

“She was high on a CIA watch list. It was later confirmed that she had serious ties with Moscow and the KGB. Kelshaw knew about her and it’s a good bet that Coleman knew she was on that list as well. His job would have demanded that he be notified of any security threat. This was a very beautiful and well educated Eurasian woman. Rumor is that things were hot and heavy between them.

“It could mean something or not. I’m telling you so that you will try to keep Mrs. Thayer from saying anything to Coleman about my visit. It would have been better if she had not discussed the letter with him, but I don’t imagine it’s possible to keep him from reading the letter.”

“Are you suggesting that he is a suspect in what happened to Paul Thayer? Surely if he knew about a security threat he wouldn’t have risked his career on some cheap affair would he?”

“Hardly cheap, Andrew, hardly cheap, but I won’t say anymore now; and I’m not suggesting, I’m cautioning. “Coleman knows a lot of people in Washington. We will need to unpack “Aunt Martha’s luggage,” and when we do—as I said, I believe that will help us identify our traitor.” Just now Charlene Thayer could be a weak link for us because of her connection to Coleman. Just keep an eye on her, and keep your own eyes open. Oh, I don’t have to tell you that this is off the record, right?”

“No, you don’t; anyway don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to burst her bubble about Coleman not being perfect.” Then he added, “Before we end this conversation there’s something you should know. Savalza stopped by my place this afternoon to let me know that my apartment had been burgled by a rogue Seattle PD detective named Monte Maxwell. Savalza’s convinced that he is somehow tied to Kelshaw’s murder and probably to the deaths of the two window washers.

“The problem is that Maxwell has gone missing, so we don’t have any answers yet. We do know that Maxwell didn’t do this on his own, which supports your theory pointing to someone large and local and possibly still watching. We just need to get our hands on Maxwell.”

Neil had listened with interest nodding soberly, “You’d better hope he’s found soon and that he’s able to talk.”

Andy sat thinking, how did I get into this? “What was it I told you, Neil, about journalists being neutral? I think your point that day is well taken. I feel like I’ve invited the Trojan horse to dinner.”

Neil looked at him and almost chuckled, “Andrew… your analogies are truly interesting.”

Andrew drew a deep breath. “Yeah, well you do know that I won’t be invited to any discussions Charlene will have with General Coleman? Quite honestly that suits me just fine, but I don’t think I can be much help to you on this. All I can do is reinforce what I’ve already done, which is to ask her to respect your request based on the risk you took in telling us all that you did. I doubt that I could convince her to keep the letter from him.”

“Then that will have to be good enough.” Standing, Neil extended his hand to Andrew. “Tomorrow I will be arranging for George’s body to be flown back to D.C. and I want to thank you, personally, for everything you have done for ‘Aunt Martha’ and her nephew ‘Evan Scott’. Be careful, Andrew. If I don’t see you tomorrow, I will call you later in the week to follow up on the visit from the General.”

After Andrew left, Neil reflected on his time with Andrew Kincaid, Charlene Thayer and Father Ben Lee. He sighed as he reached for the telephone and dialed an unlisted number in Virginia. He would let Myra know that he and George would be home in a few days. He would go home and unpack “Aunt Martha’s luggage”.

Tuesday, September 23, 1980

9:30 AM

The Kent Valley was peaceful on this sunny September morning. Joe Kearney’s 40 acres were broken into two pieces along Russell Road paralleling the Green River. Joe farmed the acreage providing produce to several of the outlets at the Pike Street Market in Seattle through the main growing season. In the fall he harvested 8 acres of pumpkins in preparation for holiday cooking and Halloween carving. The rest he gave to a local dairy farm for cow feed.

There was little traffic on Russell Road this morning. On his way to the pumpkin field Joe drove the tractor and wagon leisurely, enjoying the sunshine and admiring the view of what open areas were left in the valley. Sadly, he knew it was only a matter of time before it all would be turned into malls and industrial complexes.

He was watching a flock of birds circle toward the river when a shiny reflection caught his eye and vanished. As soon as he turned his head he caught it again… there it was again and then gone. Joe slowed the tractor; it seemed to be something in the river or close to the bank. His curiosity got the better of him and he decided to investigate. Stopping the tractor altogether, he hopped down; walking across the road to get a better look, he noticed the guardrail was broken and bent. Looking down from where the reflection came, he spotted the rear end of a car. The reflection had come from the sun shining on the antennae sticking out of the water… the front end of the car was submerged.