M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

Jack had looked forward to getting together with a couple of the Times editors that afternoon. It was a nice day; the sun was shining and there had been mention of a barbecue pending the weather.

Instead of a barbecue the afternoon was spent with editors Jim Griswold and Bill Cunningham on Cunningham’s boat at the Shilshole Bay Marina. Bill had loaned him a heavy fisherman’s sweater remembering that though a lovely day in Seattle, Jack was still acclimated to Southeast Asia.

The camaraderie with the men from the Times felt good as they sat in the cockpit of the boat and talked. Jack almost felt like he did as a summer intern years ago at the Minneapolis Tribune; safe in their company; not required to prove himself. The conversation flowed freely as well as the Scotch.

When Jack returned to the Athletic Club it was nearly 8:00 PM Sunday evening. He checked for messages from Andrew at the desk, not finding any he went to his room. After changing his clothes and pouring himself a drink he tried to read and then watch the news on television. There had been an explosion in West Seattle injuring several people. Jack cursed, “Even here, I can’t get away from it!” he said throwing the glass against the wall and snapping off the TV.

He flopped across the bed. His body was tired, but his mind continued to play the images and sounds he so desperately wanted to leave him.

He closed his eyes and could still see George Kelshaw’s face and remembered the time they had spent with Vang Pao. The first night George spent talking with the Hmong leader as though he was an old friend. Jack could see the affection that he had for the Hmong people. Kelshaw felt at home.

Kelshaw related the incidents at Udorn and of himself being wounded. He told Vang Pao that he was trailing a man who he believed was a rogue American agent and was responsible for Thayer and Chernakov’s betrayal and ambush.

Vang Pao sat nodding as he listened. George continued, “It is strange, I have been in many villages looking and no one has admitted to seeing a person that might fit this guy’s description. It’s true that I didn’t see him clearly, but I’m certain he’s an American and something tells me he’s not far away.”

Vang Pao spoke thoughtfully, “Kelshaw, I will relate to you what I know and what I suspect. Two days before we were to go to the airstrip we received word from CIA that the rendezvous would be delayed. We were to wait for a new time. Three of our people were keeping watch at the airstrip and saw a military truck arrive. It carried a Soviet officer with a driver and a guard. As my men watched, the guard and the officer got out of the truck and it was apparent that the guard intended to kill the officer, but the truck driver shot the guard and after conferring with the officer briefly, drove away leaving the officer alone.”

“What happened to the officer?” Kelshaw asked excitedly.

“He remained, then our people saw a helicopter land and the officer was taken on board. The helicopter was about to take off when Pathet Lao and North Vietnamese troops attacked. The helicopter was struck and there was nothing they could do.”

“It had to be Thayer and Chernakov.” George looked at Vang Pao. “Where the hell were you? They needed your help!” he was almost shouting.

“Kelshaw, there too many and we were not prepared for such an attack. The number of troops and weapons were greater than we could withstand. Our observers were unable to warn us in time,” Vang Pao spoke urgently and sadly.

“George drew a deep breath and said quietly, “I’m sorry, General, forgive my outburst… I know you were tricked as well. That’s all the more reason for me to find this American traitor whoever he is.”

“You said you are certain that he is an American. Describe him for me.” Vang Pao asked.

“Yes,” George replied. “I only got a glimpse of him before he shot me and I know I winged him. The man I saw was Caucasian. I’d say he was in his thirties; a big man, very muscular.”

“He may be Caucasian, but he is not an American. His name is Yanov Zemenek and Kelshaw, he is Soviet. He speaks like an American, but he is an agent for USSR.”

“How do I find him?” George asked with urgency.

“Wait, it is important for you to know all of what our observers saw at the airstrip,” Vang Pao continued, “It was reported by one of my soldiers that there were two white men with the NVA troops. One was in a soviet uniform; the other I believe was Zemenek.”

“There were two Russians with the NVA?” George queried. “What were they doing?”

“After the fight ended, they ransacked the helicopter and then searched the bodies they found in the bunker.”

George interrupted, “What happened to the bodies?”

Vang Pao looked at Kelshaw for a long minute before he answered. “Everything was destroyed—the aircraft, the bodies, everything blown up. There was nothing left. Thayer was your friend? I am sorry.”

“Yes, he was my friend,” George was standing and hearing Vang Pao’s answer, turned away into the darkness briefly. Then turning back he asked, “Go on, tell me, did the NVA or the Russians find anything and what happened to them?”

Vang Pao shook his head, no. “The soldier left with the enemy troops, the other, the civilian, Zemenek, did not leave right away. One of our people saw him again at CIA station 36 at Na Khang. He pretends to be American CIA—he is not.”

“Where is he now? George pressed again. “How do I find him?”

Vang Pao said, “I heard he had left Laos, but I have also heard that he is with Pathet Lao and NVA troops helping to move groups of prisoners across the border into North Vietnam. This is what I suspect to be true. I have had a report of some prisoners being held in caves near the sacred mountain. It is believed they will be moved soon.”

“Thank you, General; then we must leave at first light. I must find him before he leaves the country.” Kelshaw looked at Jack who had been watching and listening to the conversation, “Sorry, but we’re going to have to move on. You need to go back to Vientiane. Vang Pao, will you help my correspondent friend get back?”

They left together with two of Vang Pao’s men as guides. Travel was difficult—the trails they used were not the main routes often guarded and sometimes mined.

At night they ate cold provisions and tried to rest, but the jungle noises interspersed with distant gunfire prevented Jack especially, from any success at sleep. He tried to make a few notes in the semi darkness, but finally gave up promising himself that each event would be committed to memory and to ensure accuracy he would recall each day in minute detail.

The third morning George stopped and said quietly, “This is where we part company, Hubbard. You must go back to Vientiane… write what you have learned—” Kelshaw stopped; his eyes warned Jack that something was wrong. In a few moments they were surrounded by Pathet Lao troops.

The Meo guides were gone and Jack and George were taken prisoner. This time there was no attempt to negotiate. An English speaking Lao soldier roughly forced them to the ground and searched them. Then they were blindfolded and their arms tied behind their backs.

At first Jack felt pure terror, but something hidden in his memory surfaced and he could almost hear his favorite Grandmother saying to him as a small boy, “Remember Jack, nothing is going to happen to you , ever , that you and your Maker together can’t handle…” He muttered to himself, “I’m not so sure of that Gran.”

He tried to speak to George, but received a harsh blow across his back and the English speaking soldier said fiercely, “You will not speak!”