M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

“He remembered a village where his parents had worked and made his way there on a chance that someone would have knowledge of them. George’s language skills were one of his best assets. The Laotian language is very difficult, Andy, there are many different dialects and the same words have different meanings depending on the intonations. I was always awed by his knowledge and ability to speak that very complex language as comfortably as a native. Anyway, some of the older people in the village knew the name “Kelshaw” and hid him and nursed him back to health.

“As soon as he was able, he took up the chase again and acquired a lot of information from some of the other CIA outposts. The agent he was trailing dropped off the radar for a time.

Then he got word that someone was trying to make contact with General Vang Pao, the Hmong tribesman who had been working with the U.S. in Northern Laos. Vang Pao truly hated the Pathet Lao and the North Vietnamese. George was worried; he knew if the wrong guy could locate him, Vang Pao’s days could be numbered too.

“He figured the agent he was trailing had made his recent contacts in Vientiane so that appeared to be the best jumping off point for his next move. That’s where I came in.

“George wanted me to guarantee the delivery of the information he collected, to Neil Klein, in the event that something should happen to him. He was counting on my ability as a correspondent to send communications without being intercepted, and/or to get word to the ambassador in Vientiane if necessary. I told him I would do it. He agreed to my terms,” Jack paused.

“Go on,” Andrew urged. “What happened next?”

“George arranged a contact with Vang Pao, and they agreed to a meeting place near Sam Neua right in the middle of enemy territory. George had a map of villages and a mental list of persons who he had been told he could trust, who would help him.

“I know that I complicated his life; George was built slighter than I, not to mention the difference in our heights, and I know that I slowed him up. He moved through the jungle with the ease of a native. I felt like a giraffe traveling with him. Plus, I didn’t understand any of the language other than a few words here and there. He was good at finding trails and avoiding the Pathet Lao and the NV guerillas; I spent a lot of time hunching along behind, trying to make myself less visible.

“It was amazing, moving around that country with George. He could tell just by observing a village for a time, whether or not it was safe for us to enter. It was uncanny, when we would finally enter it, George would seek out the oldest inhabitants and before long they were old friends. Occasionally, we would find a village elder who remembered George’s parents. It was like that until just before we got to Sam Neua,” Jack said thoughtfully.

“We had come to the rendezvous point where we were to hook up with Vang Pao’s people, and suddenly we were looking into the muzzles of five North Vietnamese weapons pointing at us. George started talking and gesturing, telling them that we were journalists and were lost. It was silly, he knew arguing was hopeless… they kept shouting in Vietnamese, “CIA and something else that I couldn’t understand. George kept telling them, “No, no, Journalists, news correspondents, ” over and over. The long and the short of it was that they didn’t believe him or didn’t care and they were getting madder by the minute. I remember saying to George, “Let’s just do as they say!” I was scared.

“They kept prodding us with their weapons and gesturing for us to start walking down the trail. So we did; we‘d gone about fifty yards and there were shots. At first I thought we’d bought it—we dove into the jungle beside the trail. When we looked, the North Vietnamese troops were dead and we were surrounded again, but this time by Vang Pao’s men.

“George looked at me, I think I must have been shaking all over like a leaf, and he calmly asked, “Is this enough adventure for you, Hubbard?” Then he laughed.”

“With you gone from Vientiane with Kelshaw, what happened with the Peace Negotiation assignment?” Andrew questioned.

The phone was ringing, he frowned, hesitating to answer it before Jack could respond, but reached for it and reluctantly said, “Hello.”

“Hi, Andy, it’s Jim. I’ll be in your neighborhood in about ten minutes. Meet me downstairs, I’m on a short leash and haven’t time to park and come up. It’s Saturday, you know. I’m on my way to a Scout thing for one of the kids, but I have this present to deliver to you, so I’ll put it in your hands and go on my way. Okay?”

“Fine.” Andrew responded. “I have a friend here with me, so a drive by will work perfectly.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Andrew told Jack. “I have to meet a guy downstairs who has something for me,” he said vaguely.

An unsmiling Detective Savalza was standing at the entrance by the time Andrew opened the front door of the apartment house. “You’re here already! That was fast. What do you have for me?” Andrew asked, noting Jim’s frown and the empty hands.

Jim said grimly, “Here’s your present. We did the sweep of your apartment and Ms. Thayer’s house. There are taps on your phones and there are also some very exotic listening devices in each of your homes. In fact, the guy who did the sweep said the ‘stuff’ is so sophisticated that whoever has access to it would have to be connected to, or be part of a high level intelligence agency.” Lowering his voice, he asked with urgency, “Andy, for crying out loud, what have you gotten yourself into?”

Andrew shrugged, “I don’t know, Jim, but I’m working on finding out. Thanks for the report. I’ll talk with Charlene later and I’ll be in touch with Evan Scott also, by the way, Scott’s real name is Neil Klein.” He was thinking about his and Jack’s conversations of last night and this morning, and wondering who might have been tuned in.

“Neil Klein, uh huh, okay, take care of yourself, Andy. If you need anything, holler,” Jim said as he walked to his car.

Sticking his head in the door of the apartment, Andrew motioned for Jack to follow him. He led the way to the elevator and pushed the button to the garage. On the way down Andrew explained the reason for Jim’s visit and the sudden change in his behavior.

Jack commented, “I wonder who you’ve ticked off so much that they want to hear every tiny little word, Andy. This has got to be linked to Kelshaw.”

“Probably and there is one person I can think of that just might fit that profile,” Andy said.

Jack offered,” Before we get back to your pad, in answer to your question about the assignment, as it turned out the experience with Kelshaw became far more relevant than any possible source of coverage on Peace Negotiations in Vientiane. But we’ll have to go into that later.”

Andrew nodded, “We will, I want to know all about that, but right now I’d better make a few calls.”

Washington, D.C.

Saturday afternoon, 4:30 PM

When Brad’s plane landed in Washington, he anxiously looked for Olivia at the gate, but as he entered the terminal he was intercepted by his DIA aide, Lieutenant John Carswell, who handed him an urgent message. As she hurried toward him, Olivia saw the officer hand Brad the message and noted the look of anger and then concern cross his face as he read it.

Seeing her he quickly forced a smile and opened his arms to warmly greet her, “Olivia,” he started to kiss her, but she turned her cheek to his lips. “It’s so good to see you, my dear,” he said attempting to overcome the chill.

“How are you, Brad,” she asked coolly. “How was your flight?” She restrained herself from asking about the exchange with the aide.