M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

The idea of going to her house pleased Brad. “I think that is an excellent idea.” The more privacy the better, he thought.

Brad followed her; as they entered the house she heard the phone ringing. Running to grab it she had just said “Hello” as Andrew started to hang up.

“Hi, you’re not alone, right?” he asked hearing her voice. “Is everything okay?”

“That’s right and everything is fine, Andrew. My friend General Coleman has just arrived. We just finished lunch and have some things to discuss. Call me later and we can talk then.”

“Maybe I should come over; what do you think?”

“I think not, just call me later.”

“All right, but watch yourself and…”

She cut him off, “I will, Andrew. Thank you again, and we’ll talk later, goodbye.”

Coleman was watching her with curiosity. “Do I detect a person of interest Charlene?”

“Just a good friend, Brad,” she said softly, thinking of last night and feeling a slight twinge of guilt for the lie.

“Well, let’s get to this letter, shall we?”

“Of course.” Charlene went to her desk and brought out the letter, opened it and handed it to Brad. She watched his face as he read and reread the letter.

“Who did you say gave you this letter?” Brad asked seriously.

“His name was George Kelshaw, but he didn’t actually give it to me.”

“Tell me about this Kelshaw, who is he?” Brad interjected.

“I don’t know I never met him; he was attacked and stabbed outside the Seattle Seamen’s Center. He died a few hours later.”

“Then how did the letter come to you?” he pressed.

“Father Lee from the Seamen’s Center and Andrew Kincaid were at the hospital with him when he died. It was Andrew who gave the letter to me.”

“Was there anything else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did he give you anything else?”

“That’s an odd question, Brad, such as what? What are you asking?”

“Never mind, nothing. Did he say anything more about the letter to the men who were with him?” Trying to appear casual Brad continued to quiz her, but it was obvious he was deadly serious.

“No, I don’t think so. You see, Brad, George Kelshaw tried to call me and I hung up on him thinking it was a crank call.”

“I think it was, Charlene—obviously this letter is an attempt to deceive you. Surely you can see that,” he said emphatically.

Charlene was stunned. “I see nothing of the kind – this is unbelievable, Brad. How can you possibly come to that conclusion? I am certain that this is Paul’s hand writing—I would stake my life on it. I could have a handwriting expert look at it for verification, but I don’t think it is necessary,” she said indignantly.

“Now, now, let’s calmly think this through,” Brad tried placating her. “Ask yourself, why after all this time, would some transient show up with this letter from Paul?”

“Why would you think he was a transient, Brad? I didn’t say he was a transient. I am shocked that you would come all this way, read this letter and immediately tell me it is a hoax. Don’t you think I would know Paul’s writing?”

“Charlene, you must realize that I took time from a very tight schedule, squeezed in an extra day because of our long friendship and because I thought there could be a real problem, but you present me with this letter which I have read several times and I can see is clearly fraudulent; I am disappointed that you of all people would be taken in so easily. I always believed you had a good head on your shoulders, but now you seem on the verge of hysteria.”

“It isn’t just Paul, he’s writing about another man, General Chernakov. If it’s a fabrication, what about him?” she asked. Her eyes were wide with surprise at his manner.

“Charlene, if memory serves me correctly, and I’m seldom wrong on military matters, General Pyotr Chernakov was killed in a plane crash in the Soviet Union in or near Siberia. This Kelshaw could have written the letter himself. Be glad he died; he might have caused you more harm; who knows what he really wanted.

“I think you have let your over active imagination run away with you. Perhaps you are still grieving for Paul and if so I would suggest you are in need of some counseling. You must get on with your life, my dear; this kind of thinking is not healthy.”

Charlene looked at him, her face registering dismay and then anger. “How can you say such things to me, Brad? Your dismissal of this letter indicates a total disregard of yours and Paul’s and our friendship. When I called you I didn’t call an Army VIP, I was calling someone whom I gauged as a friend, but I can see things have changed.

“Please don’t let me take any more of your very valuable time, General Coleman; except for the chance to speak with Olivia again, it was pointless.” Her voice was cold as she stood and moved to the hallway and the front door.

Turning to face him she said assertively, “Oh, yes, there is one thing more, I am going to begin the process of having the body that is in Paul’s grave exhumed. It may take an act of Congress, but it’s going to be done! Then we can talk again about the letter being a hoax.”

His face became contorted by rage and pointing his finger close to her face “Don’t even think of doing such a thing, Charlene,” he hissed. “I will see to it that will not happen and you will be branded a foolish hysterical woman who has lost her senses; a pathetic victim of a cruel prank. Whose word do you think will be believed, yours or mine? Leave well enough alone!” he demanded. “Paul is dead. Nothing you can do will change that; but if you persist in this reckless action it is possible you could get hurt. Do I make myself clear?”

“How dare you threaten me…, get out!” she demanded. Not waiting for his reply she held the door open and gestured for him to leave. Wordlessly he pushed past her through the door not looking back.

Driving back to the Olympic, still furious, he went over their meeting, the letter and the angry exchange that had followed.

The letter is authentic, it has to be; Kelshaw had it with him, but what about the rest of the merchandise? “Damn it!” he swore out loud. “I foolishly used the word transient. She caught it, but she was so angry she went on to other things… Chernakov. She knew he was a General.

Paul’s letter didn’t identify him as a General; there was no mention of rank. So how did she know? She has been talking to someone. Perhaps it was this Andrew Kincaid or someone else. She could be a problem. I don’t want that body exhumed.”

Brad was analyzing angles and planning contingencies. “The best I can do now is damage control. I’ll call her when I get back to the hotel and apologize; she’ll listen for Olivia’s sake. I shouldn’t have lost my temper, but that damned letter and Kelshaw. I wonder if Paul told Charlene anything else–did he mention Lia? It doesn’t matter; Lia’s gone and now so is Kelshaw. What did Kincaid learn about him? When I meet with Lyle I’ll find out about this Kincaid. Something in her voice tells me he could be more than just a good friend.”

At the hotel he hurried to his room, quickly called and reconfirmed his 8:00 AM meeting with Ramsey for the next morning. He ordered ice and soda from room service and after showering he poured himself a large scotch and soda and tried to relax before calling Charlene again.

Dialing her number he got her on the second ring, “Charlene, this is Brad, please don’t hang up…”

“What do you want, General?”

The Ice Princess herself, Brad thought to himself. This is going to be a difficult job. “Charlene, I’m so sorry I became angry earlier. I know I said some very harsh things. Your letter was quite a shock to me also; now that I’ve had time to think about it I feel that you could be right—it just may be authentic. I think I would like to take another look at it; that is, if you will let me,” Brad‘s voice oozed self deprecation.