M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

“That’s good to hear, buddy, see ya’ after while.”

Washington, D.C.

Neil Klein was relieved to hear the feisty attitude in Andrew Kincaid’s demeanor. He trusted Andrew to do exactly what he promised. He would go after the truth regarding Coleman and Neil knew he would leave no stone unturned. That was somewhat unsettling for Neil as it related to Paul Thayer.

He had called Fred Wellman earlier; now his secretary buzzed him that Wellman had returned his call.

Picking up the phone he said, “Fred how soon can you meet me in the code room? I’ve thought about Little Red Riding Hood and I have an idea.”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible… has something happened?” Fred asked.

“I had a call from Seattle last night; there was an attempt to kill Charlene Thayer and Andrew Kincaid.”

“How?”

“Some type of bomb,” Neil told him, “In broad daylight in a waterfront park.”

“Are they all right?”

“Kincaid is okay, Mrs. Thayer was more severely injured. Fred, I think I know who the Big Bad Wolf is,” Neil declared.

“Okay, I’m on my way.”

Neil was in his office when Fred arrived and wordlessly they proceeded to the code room.

“Now,” Fred urged, “Did I hear you right? You think you know who BBW the Big Bad Wolf is?”

“Yes,” Neil asserted, “I’m ninety eight percent certain; everything points to him.”

“Who are we talking about, Neil?” Fred asked.

“Better sit down, Fred, I believe BBW is General Bradley Coleman, Deputy Director of Defense Intelligence Agency.”

Fred whistled, “Neil, I know there’s no love lost, but Coleman?”

Neil sighed, “I think Little Red Riding Hood fits, Fred. No, there is definitely no love lost, however, my dislike of Coleman has nothing to do with my conclusion.”

“I’m not so sure; I will look at it again with him in mind. You obviously think he had something to do with the bomb in Seattle.”

“Yes,” Neil said firmly, “I do… and if I’m right he was behind George’s murder. And now this Red Riding Hood thing is evident to me that George was trying to tell us that Brad Coleman is BBW—it has to be him.”

“Okay,” Fred acquiesced, “As I said, I’m not altogether convinced of that; I will have another look, but Kelshaw could be telling us something else. What else do you need from me?”

“Nothing right now,” Neil told him, “I’m going to do a little personal research on our friend Coleman and see what surfaces.”

“All right, I’ll stick around and massage the data from Aunt Martha a while longer. I’ll yell if I find anything significant.”

“Thanks, Fred,” Neil said leaving a somewhat troubled Fred Wellman looking after him.

Tuesday, September 30, 1980

Housekeeper, Irene Ridgeway, answered the telephone “Coleman residence,” she said crisply. It was 7:30 AM.

“This is Neil Klein from the State Department; I need to speak with General Coleman.”

“Just a moment, Mr. Klein, I’ll let the General know,” she said as she laid down the phone and hurried to the sunroom where Brad was drinking his coffee. “General, a gentleman from the State Department is on the phone for you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ridgeway, I’ll take it in the study.”

“This is General Coleman.”

“Neil Klein, General. It’s imperative that we meet—and not at your office.”

“What’s this about, Klein?” Brad asked with mild irritation.

“I’d rather discuss this in person,” Neil replied.

“Why not my office? I’m really quite busy,” Brad told him.

“This conversation had better be outside your office and as inconspicuous as possible. I’ll give you this much information; it’s regarding the past and the present. Let’s meet tonight at the Watergate in the main bar.”

“What time?”

“Eight o’clock,” Neil answered.

“Fine, I’ll be there, but this had better not take much time. By the way, does this have anything to do with Evan Scott?”

Neil smiled, “Definitely. We’ll discuss it when we meet.”

The Watergate was bustling with new arrivals for an international trade conference scheduled to begin the next day. Neil arrived at 7:30 and threaded his way past the crowd into the bar and obtained a table in an out-of-the-way corner.

Brad was punctual. Settling into a chair opposite Neil he asked, “What’s this about Klein?” his hostility was evident. “You said the past and the present. As far as I can tell, you and I ‘were’, and still ‘are’, on opposite sides of nearly every issue so what is in the past remains in the present and the future. Is there anything else?” Brad asked smugly.

“This is about Seattle. You’ve been a busy man, General. I don’t suppose the names Charlene Thayer or Andrew Kincaid mean anything to you…,” he saw Coleman stiffen slightly, but remained stoic.

“Get to the point, Klein.”

“My point is this; your visit to Seattle did not go unnoticed. And funny thing, Coleman, your visit happened within a week of the murder of George Kelshaw. You remember George Kelshaw don’t you, General?” Neil watched Brad’s face and body language. He could see that Coleman was uncomfortable and working hard to contain his anger.

“I suppose your information came from Evan Scott,” Brad said sarcastically, not answering the question.

“Yes,” Neil said calmly, “As A matter of fact the information did come through Evan Scott.”

“Who is Evan Scott?” Brad demanded.

“He works for me,” Neil replied.

“Why can’t we find him?”

“Why are you looking for him?” Neil queried.

“Well ah I…” Brad stammered struggling to regain his self assurance.

“Let’s talk about George Kelshaw; I think that you were afraid that George carried some information that could be damning to you and you somehow arranged his death.

“Then there is the matter of Charlene Thayer, the widow of one of your closest friends; you lied to her… trying to convince her that the letter from Paul Thayer that George Kelshaw carried was a hoax. You lied about knowing George and you tried to intimidate Mrs. Thayer when she threatened to have the body in Paul Thayer’s grave exhumed. It might have worked, but you didn’t count on a Seattle newspaperman who had a few questions of his own.

“If what I have just recounted wasn’t bad enough, on Sunday there was the attempt to kill Charlene Thayer and Andrew Kincaid that I think you orchestrated. How do you sleep at night, Coleman?”

Brad glared at Neil, “Aside from the fact that I was at home in Alexandria on Sunday and could not possibly have done anything to Charlene Thayer or Andrew Kincaid in Seattle, I’m afraid I can’t help you, Klein. You have a lot of theories and I find all of them uncomplimentary.

“What possible motive would I have to do any of the egregious acts that you have just described? As for wishing Charlene Thayer any harm, you must be aware that I have offered to help her in any way that I can. If Evan Scott is your source for information perhaps you should employ someone else.”

Neil continued, “I know that you personally did not place the bomb that injured Charlene Thayer and Andrew Kincaid, but I am sure that you ordered it. I don’t know why you would go after any of these people except that one way or another it has something to do with George Kelshaw and the information he carried. And there is the fact that Charlene Thayer wants to know what happened to her husband.”

Brad saw an opening, “Really, Assistant Secretary Klein,” he said maliciously, “I don’t think your skirts are exactly clean in that matter since we both know that you had a major hand in the disappearance of Paul Thayer. Have you told Charlene Thayer that you helped with the cover-up? Does she know that you set Thayer up?”