M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

The hostility level was becoming unmanageable between T. R. and Klein. Neil had set his glass of tea on the table and was on his feet staring down at Perkins. Wellman had not seen Klein so close to losing control.

Intervening, he stopped the verbal battle quietly stating, “T. R., you employed and allowed this Phillip Durkan to have access to Agency information and intelligence without checking with Headquarters and without even acquiring a dossier on him. Is that what you’re telling us?”

“Listen, Wellman,” T. R. was angry now and defensive, “Durkan proved himself to me in key areas and he got the information for us that we otherwise would not have had. I think I’m a pretty good judge of character…,” his voice dropped as he met Neil Klein’s eyes.

Wellman opened his briefcase and withdrew a file, “T. R., I want you to look at this picture and tell me who it is,” he said passing a photo to Perkins.

“That’s Phillip Durkan,” T. R. declared.

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely! What kind of a game is this, Wellman?” T. R. was edgy now.

“Well, I’ll tell you, T. R., it’s no game; that photo you identified as Phillip Durkan is a photo of a Soviet KGB agent whose name is Yanov Zemenek. There is no Phillip Durkan—never was—not Australian, not a Brit or American. No Phillip Durkan.”

T. R.’s face went blank—he didn’t understand, “What the hell are you talking about, Wellman? He worked for me; I should know!” he raged. “What are you trying to pull?”

Fred handed him the photo with the accompanying information provided by Interpol, saying, “No, T. R., you don’t know. He is Yanov Zemenek, T. R., and he is KGB and a double agent.”

Perkins looked at Neil and Fred insisting, “Bu..but you both knew him. You met him several times, Wellman; hell, we offered him my desk when I was leaving, if he was a spy why didn’t he take it?”

“I guess that he had something he considered more important to do, T. R., like arranging the betrayal and assassination of some of our people and one of his own country’s national heroes,” Neil said without emotion.

Wellman looking intently at a disbelieving Perkins and nodded his head soberly, “You’ve answered my questions, T. R., we’ll be going now, don’t bother to see us to the door. We’ll find our way out.”

Neil paused and looked at T. R. with disgust, “You’re very fortunate that the Agency let you retire, Perkins. Personally, I wish they had tied a can to you and put you on the street; and that’s far better than you deserve.”

Wellman and Klein walked briskly to their car leaving an old crestfallen T. R. Perkins with a stale unfinished drink in his hand.

On the drive back to the Phoenix airport Neil inquired irritably, “Fred, why doesn’t the Agency pull that guy’s retirement and put him on the street?”

Fred drawled, “Well you know, Neil, it’s a small price to pay. T. R. won’t live forever and if we kicked him he’d just contact some tabloid and tell some sorry-ass story about how bad the CIA treated a ‘true-blue’ American ‘son’. This way we know where he lives.”

Neil hmmphed in disgust, but he understood the logic employed by the Agency in dealing with a reprobate like Perkins. The word tabloid jarred his memory. He thought of the call from Andrew Kincaid that he had cut short this morning with a promise to call later today. What had he said about microfilm? “I’d better call when we get to the airport.”

Fred dropped Neil and proceeded to turn in the car rental while Klein placed a call to Seattle.

Andrew answered his phone almost immediately. “Neil, thanks for the call…”

“What’s this about microfilm in the packet?”

“Neil, Kelshaw put some information on microfilm in the packet.”

“How do you know that, Andrew?” Neil was puzzled, he was certain the packet had not been compromised.

“Listen to me, Neil; Jack Hubbard told me about Kelshaw’s last days with him in Bangkok—didn’t you know about GCI?”

“GCI? No, Andrew I don’t know anything about GCI and we haven’t found any microfilm in the packet.”

“Look again, it has to be there!” Andrew insisted.

“All right, Andrew, I’ve got to go, they’re calling my flight…, I’ll talk to Wellman.”

As Neil and Fred fastened their seatbelts Neil quickly surveyed the seating area close to them. Several seats behind and next to them were empty. Fred noticing Neil’s sudden heightened awareness, whispered, “What’s going on?”

He waited until Neil turned and quietly asked, “Have you looked at all the contents of Aunt Martha’s luggage?”

Surprised Fred responded, “I believe so, why?”

“Because Andrew Kincaid believes we may have missed something; he believes there may be some microfilm in the luggage. He said Aunt Martha put it in and it’s very important.”

“I’ll go through it again; do we know what it’s pictures of?”

“No, I haven’t any idea; Fred what do you know about GCI?”

“Only that it’s a big international construction company that works all over the world.”

“Have you heard anything negative about it?”

“Not particularly; oh there have been some rumbles and rumors about some of their labor practices, but since they use labor pools from all over the world I would suppose that could be a common problem. I haven’t heard anything that would cause anyone to raise their heads. Why do you ask?”

“Andrew Kincaid mentioned it in conjunction with his assertion that there is more in the luggage.”

“I guess we’d better look in the luggage again.”

Harry Browne caught up with Andrew as he was coming back from his meeting with Savalza. “Kincaid, I have some very interesting information for you on GCI.”

“You’re a good man, Harry; what have you got?”

“Take a look at this,” Harry said excitedly as he waved a sheet of paper at Andy with a list of names and countries. “It’s list of the Board of Directors of GCI. All their names and the twelve countries they represent and who the officers are.”

Harry read the list, “CEO and Chairman of the Board, Karel Schneiderman, Switzerland; President, Helmut Herzog, West Germany; CFO, Roget Navarre, France; followed by Board Members: Carlos Cardoso, Argentina; Oscar Gustavson, Sweden; Johan Von Amsberg, Netherlands; Elias Nasser, Egypt; Juan Aznar, Spain; Mohammed Said, Saudi Arabia; Rafael Betancourt, Venezuela; and Harrison A. Carr, United States. It looks like an international who’s who list. Most of these guys carry a lot of weight; they’re big time Bankers, Lawyers, Industrialists and diplomats. You’ve got to tell me what you’re working on Andy,” Harry urged.

Andrew stared at the list of names and said, as his eyes focused on the name Harrison A. Carr, “Harry Browne, I could kiss you… actually, several people I know owe you!”

“Thanks a lot Kincaid, but I’ll settle for a story and never mind the kisses,” Harry smiled. When?”

“Soon, Harry, very, very soon. Hold on for a little while longer. Oops, I’ve got to go, got a date with a lady at Harborview.”

When Andrew arrived, Sister Ruth was with Charlene gathering some of Charlene’s things as she prepared to leave the hospital.

“Ready?” he asked looking at Charlene. “I have a cab waiting, I wanted you to go home in comfort,” he laughed lightly. “The Land Cruiser needs work.”

“Andrew I am glad to see you here,” Sister Ruth hugged him. I’ll just take these things with me and I’ll meet you two at the Convent,” she smiled at Andrew knowingly and whispered, “I think you two should have a little time alone.”