M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

“I was hoping that getting rid of Kelshaw would take care of the problem, the information in that damned packet could hurt us, Lyle.”

“Lyle responded, “We must find out how widespread the damage is. I’ll do what I can at this end, Brad. I’ll call Tokyo and tighten security.”

Coleman didn’t tell Ramsey about his encounter with Neil Klein at the Watergate the night before.

Seattle

Thursday, October 2, 1980

Andrew arrived at the Times at 6:30 AM to place a call to Neil Klein. Hearing Klein’s deep “Hello”, Andrew immediately started, “Neil, we need to talk,” he said excitedly. “Have you gone all through the information in Aunt Martha’s luggage?”

“We’re still decoding items. Why do you ask?”

“What about the microfilm?” Andrew asked as he heard a voice in the background interrupting Neil; Nancy his secretary was urging him not to be late.

“Sorry, Andrew, I have to go. I’m catching a flight to Phoenix.”

“Phoenix? That’s where people go to retire and die.”

“None of the above, Andrew… I’ll call you later today.”

Andrew shrugged, hung up, refilled his coffee mug and looked at his watch. Harry Browne would not be in until 10:30 or 11:00 and he had some time to kill. He thought about Savalza and decided to wait until later and call him when the phone rang.

“Andy, this is Jim, I have news. I’ll pick you up, we need to talk privately.”

“Okay, Jim, but I can’t be away from here too long. There’s a lot going on today, plus I’m taking Charlene from the hospital to the Convent.”

“That’s fine. I’ll pick you up in front of your shop in about ten minutes.”

“Andrew was waiting and jumped into Jim’s car suggesting, “Why don’t we pull into the Times parking lot; you can use my parking spot while we talk. While we’re on that subject, Detective Savalza, what about my car?”

“What about it?”

“I need it.”

“Are you referring to that beat up piece of metal that transports you from point A to point B? Is that a car?”

“Wait a minute—my Land Cruiser is only eight years old even if it’s a little funky—it’s a classic!” he said indignantly.

“Ohh, I see a classic! How could I have been so blind and insensitive,” Jim chortled. “Okay, I’ll see if it’s drivable. You know it took a beating, that is, a further beating, from the explosion, but I’ll check. I think the wind screen is gone…”

Andrew just groaned and shook his head, “All right, do what you can, now, what’s the good news?”

“The news is about the Ramsey number,” as Jim said and related his conversation with Captain Martin.

After hearing about Ramsey contacting the police department for the body of a transient who turned out to be George Kelshaw, Andrew looked at Jim in amazement, “Remember that farm I was willing to bet? I’ll throw in all the equipment with it if Monte Maxwell, Jake Schultz and Leo Tanner and Ramsey are not all connected to George Kelshaw’s murder!”

“Yeah, Andy you’re probably right, but the only one still alive is Lyle Ramsey. It’s very clear after finding out that Ramsey contacted the department about Kelshaw’s body, that this whole chain of events is tied together. And the only two threads we have at the moment that tie Ramsey to any of this are the phone number in Monte’s pocket and his call to headquarters about the body. We need more!” Jim was ponderous as he tapped the steering wheel. “Andy, who is Neil Klein?”

“He is the Assistant Director of the Office of Intelligence and Research for the U.S. State Department, Jim,” Andrew responded in a matter of fact tone. “Remember, he is also Evan Scott.”

“I knew this was big, Andrew, but I’m beginning to think that this may be much bigger than…,” Jim sounded doubtful. “On the other hand if Lyle Ramsey is a player and if he had something to do with Monte’s death—I’d like to get him. Not because Monte was such an up-standing citizen, but because he was one of ours.”

“You said you needed more, I think we’re about to get it. Jim, don’t let Neil Klein’s official title affect your thinking on this. He’s working on things from his end and he trusts and respects you to pull things together at this end. He knows you’re a good cop. Just think of him as Evan Scott.”

“Okay, maybe I was getting cold feet there for a minute. Go on, get out of the car, I’ve got work to do…, I’m going to look for an old beat-up Toyota Land Cruiser.”

Phoenix, Arizona

Thursday, October 2, 1980

It was hot in Phoenix and it was even warm in the airport terminal when Fred Wellman and Neil Klein deplaned. They hurried to a car rental agency and were soon on their way to the desert home of now retired Saigon CIA ex-station Chief, T. R. Perkins.

Not as large as would be denoted ‘grandiose’, still the Spanish hacienda style home was elegant. It boasted an oval swimming pool in a garden setting complete with a patio bar clearly designed for entertaining.

A gardener was carefully arranging a plethora of fragrant and colorful potted shrubs in obvious preparation for a party. Upon entering the courtyard and looking around, Fred observed, “Some things never change.”

They were greeted at the front door by a middle aged Hispanic housekeeper named Rosa who showed the men into a gracious Southwestern living room. T. R. Perkins was seated on a soft leather sofa and rose to greet them saying, “To what do I owe this questionable pleasure? Come in and sit down,” T. R. looked at the drink in his hand and offered, “Would either of you care for a libation?”

Fred nodded as he said, “Yes, thanks, but make it something soft, iced tea would be good.”

“I’ll have iced tea as well,” Neil echoed.

Fred and Neil had taken chairs opposite T. R. and Fred began, “Thank you for seeing us, T. R., it’s been a long time.”

“Rosa, please bring these gentlemen some iced tea. Yes,” T. R. said, responding to Wellman, “A very long time.” T. R. was eyeing Wellman and Klein doubtfully, wondering what brought them here.

“T. R. I want to ask you one or two questions about Phillip Durkan,” Fred continued.

Rosa returned with two frosty glasses of tea and served Fred and then Neil.

“Now you were asking about Durkan? What do you want to know?”

In his mind Fred was reviewing the conversation with Neil that took place on the plane. He had shown Klein the photograph and the information on Yanov Zemenek suggesting that there was another possible candidate for Big Bad Wolf.

He cleared his throat and looked at T. R., “How long had you known him and how much did you know about Phillip Durkan when you hired him T. R.?”

“How long? I don’t remember for sure… maybe two or three years. He did a lot of favors for us and for me in ‘Nam’. When we couldn’t get reliable intel across borders, Durkan ran the gauntlet for us. He knew the territory and was able to come and go without problems, so we used him. I never asked what color underwear he wore if that’s what you want to know,” he said sarcastically.

“So you trusted him ‘implicitly’ like you trusted Lia Duprè for example, without any background check because you were such a good judge of character, is that right, T. R.?” Neil asked, pointedly sarcastic.

Perkins gave Neil a scathing look, “We took what we could get, Klein. It wasn’t a goddamned garden party we were operating,” he swore at Neil angrily.

“Oh?” Neil retorted, “I thought that was exactly what you were running, T. R., just one big dissolute garden party…, with all your ‘trusted’ friends,” he added.