M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

“It was on microfilm in the packet; your friend Neil Klein should have it now.”

“Did you get a look at any of the names?”

“No, Andrew, Kelshaw would not have shared that information with me no matter how much he trusted me. This thing was/is an international ‘biggie’.”

“Wow,” Andrew exclaimed, “I’ll say its big!” He was thinking, “Why would Brad Coleman care about Kelshaw’s information unless there was something in it about him? And what business would he have in Seattle besides Charlene Thayer unless, as he previously thought, it might be with Ramsey.

“Let’s rerun this again, Jack, you said that the log book identified personnel and consultants by country and the USA was included?”

“Yes,” Jack replied.

“I wonder if it’s possible…, I’m sorry Jack, I’m thinking out loud. I need to have a conversation with Neil Klein. How did you get Kelshaw out of Bangkok?”

“It was a little hairy, but there isn’t much more to tell, Andy; word was out that someone had burgled GCI and they were seriously looking for the culprit. By that time, knowing that Kelshaw was CIA and having escaped, it was a pretty good bet that they figured who had done it.

“Anyway, Lu Chan arranged for a berth for Kelshaw on a freighter, the Tsein-Maru that was heading out and ultimately would arrive in Seattle. He and I smuggled George aboard and stood watch until she sailed. Lu Chan had friends in the crew whom we paid to protect Kelshaw until he got to Seattle,”

Suddenly Jack leaned back in his chair and yawned. “Andy, I hate to, but I really need a bed; I’m dead and I think I might be able to sleep tonight without help,” he yawned again.

“Take mine, Jack, I’ll make out the couch later, but first I’m got to make a call,” he was dialing.

It was 10:30 PM and Jim Savalza had his feet up and was watching the news and dozing in his recliner. He heard the phone ring and Jean Ann answer, “Hello, Oh hello, Andy, yes, he is—just a minute…”

Jim groaned as he picked up the phone, “What now, Andrew?”

“Jim, have you given any thought to Lyle Ramsey’s telephone number?” Andrew inquired.

“Why no, Andrew, I really haven’t,” Jim said in mock seriousness. “As a matter of fact I was about to go to bed. Andrew, some people do require sleep—am I correct in thinking you are not sleepy, Andrew?”

“C’mon, Jim, this is important, I have a hunch about Ramsey and I think I’m on to something,” Andrew explained excitedly.

“Good, Andrew, that’s what you guys in the news world are good at, but it’s going to have to wait until morning; Ramsey isn’t going anywhere tonight and yes, I am interested, but I’ll see you in the morning, Andrew, goodnight.”

Andy looked at the telephone receiver in his hand and muttered, “I wonder why he kept repeating my name, oh well, he must be tired. I have work to do—” Andrew was ready to go back to the Times and suddenly remembered, “I don’t have a car… ahh, but I do have the bike.”

In the garage he uncovered the Harley, fastened his helmet and rode out into the cool night. At the Times he searched the files for information on GCI, but found little of what he was looking for. It occurred to him that Harry Browne, the business editor, might have the answers to some of his questions. “I’ll talk with Harry tomorrow and see what he can tell me,” he muttered to himself.

It was late, nearly 2:30 in the morning when he parked in the garage of his apartment building and covered the Harley. He entered his apartment, made his way to the sofa and welcome sleep.

Wednesday, October 1, 1980

7:00 AM

The doorbell was ringing—Andrew stumbled off the couch where he had enjoyed four and a half hours of sleep. Looking at his watch he muttered, “Who?” Opening the door a crack he saw the familiar face of Detective Jim Savalza, wide awake and cheerful.

“What are you doing here?” Andy mumbled the question.

“Came to see what this big hunch of yours was—, about Ramsey,” Jim responded, “I told you I was interested.”

“Oh.”

“Got any coffee?”

“No, I’ll make some—come in,” Yawning, Andrew invited Jim in with as few words as possible.

“Beautiful day!” Jim posited enthusiastically.

“I hadn’t noticed…” Looking out he said sourly, “It’s raining.”

“Well, that’s where we live; now, Andrew, what is this big hunch about Ramsey?”

Andy cleared his throat and tried to clear his head, “Yes, well, ah, maybe I was a little premature, but I really don’t trust him.”

“Oh, is that so?” Jim queried, eyebrows raised. “That’s a good hunch—so that’s why you called me last night? You don’t trust Ramsey.”

After finishing half of his cup of his coffee, Andrew was waking up. Shaking his head, “No, I don’t, though I jumped the gun a bit last night. I just need to do a little more investigating before I say anything else, Jim, I’m sure that telephone number is not a coincidence.”

“How is Charlene, Andy?” Jim asked changing the subject.

“She’s good… I’m going to see her this morning. She’s going home or rather to the Convent of St. Helena tomorrow.”

“Can she see?” Jim asked tentatively.

“Dunno yet,” Andrew answered softly, “The bandages come off in a couple days. Ben says she’s going to be fine.”

Savalza nodded in agreement. “I think he’s right. He has a direct line to the ‘powers that be’.” Jim finished his coffee and looked at Andrew, “I’ve got to get going. Listen, Andy, I am going to run Ramsey’s private telephone number past Captain Martin this morning. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.” Jim set his cup down and said, “Thanks. It was nice of you to invite me in for coffee,” smiling as he started to leave. Kincaid was becoming one of his favorite people.

“Just a minute, Jim, will you give me a lift to Harborview?

Agreeably, Jim answered, “Sure, but hustle,”

“I’ll be ready in ten.”

After a brief stop at the hospital to see Charlene, Andrew hailed a cab to the Times. As he paid for the ride he was thinking that he needed to talk to Savalza about the Land Cruiser, “I’ll bet it’s been impounded,” he grumbled.

Inside the Times Andrew headed for Harry Browne’s desk. The editor was on the phone when he saw Andrew approaching and noting Andy’s scratched and scarred face, he remarked as he put the phone in its cradle, “What happened to you, Kincaid? You look like you’ve been in a fight.”

Overhearing the question, one of the reporters whose desk was close to Browne’s, opined, “Naw”, Harry, he’s just recovering from one of his explosive relationships.”

“Ha ha,” several others could be heard.

“That’s funny, very funny…,” Andrew responded dryly.

Turning to Browne, he said, “I need to pick your brain, Harry.”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“What can you tell me about a large company known as GCI or Global Construction International?”

“What do you want to know about them?”

“Well, for starters, what do they do and where do they do it?”

“Whoa, Andrew, they’re a very large company. And they do everything all over the world; from dam building to bridge building and much more. Something like Morrison-Knudsen only bigger, much, much bigger. And MK is a US company; GCI is internationally owned and headquartered in Switzerland, Zurich to be exact. In a sentence, they are a large, maybe the largest, multinational construction company in the world.”

“So in other words, they have no allegiance to any one government. Is that right?” Andrew asked as he was writing rapidly.