While Rome Was Sleeping

by M. S. Forsythe

  “A double agent is an obvious detriment to an entire CIA operation. Kelshaw convinced Klein that he was the logical one to try to find out how far the damage had spread. So he destroys all sensitive documents at the Udorn station and bails out after getting partially patched up at the base dispensary. After months of being on the move while keeping a low profile, he winds up in Vientiane. And that’s where Jack Hubbard enters the picture.” He said thickly, placing his hand on his chest in mock solemnity.

  “You knew Klein?” Andrew queried. He stood and refilled his glass.

  “Yes, I knew Neil Klein; he was with the State Department Office of Intelligence in and out of Saigon when I was there in ‘68. He was a cool operator; always had his hand on what was going on. The Phou Pha Thi meltdown and the Tet Offensive were hot items on the military intelligence and the State Department menus and it’s my guess that Klein was called in to help monitor what was happening.

  “He was a straight shooter; like a lot of us he didn’t like what the Administration was doing in ‘prosecuting the war’ as they liked to say. He hated the war and he was very uncomfortable with some of the games the White House and the Pentagon leaders were playing; he particularly didn’t like the attrition policies of some of the commanding generals. But, he wasn’t in a position to do anything except to do his job and report.

  “I know he didn’t have a lot a time for all the petty diplomatic politics going on in Saigon. Later he got to Vientiane too, to see what could be done about the POW’s. I know he had serious disagreements with U.S. policy in the peace negotiations regarding the POWs and MIAs. Yeah, he’s almost one of the good guys.”

  “Almost?” Andrew looked surprised

  Jack didn’t respond just looked into space for a moment then said, “Do you have more ice?”

  “Jack,” Andrew changed the subject, “Did you ever hear of a beautiful Eurasian woman of some notoriety in Saigon whose name was Lia Dupre’?”

  Jack stopped rummaging the ice trays, commenting “Well, well, well, Andy, I see you’ve been doing your homework. Ahhh yes, the lovely Lia,” he paused, “Everybody knew Lia... some in the Biblical sense.” Jack laughed. “But, she was ver-r-r-ry choosey. You had to be powerful or rich or influential. Any one of those items in combination would get you the key to her boudoir, or, if you had all three, she would come to yours.”

  “Don’t tell me you were tangled up with her!”

  “Andy, are you kidding me? I was a member of the great unwashed press corps. Lia Dupre’ would hardly breathe the same air as we peons‘. And she definitely did not want to be the subject of any of our news stories...but, I must admit, if we weren’t working or filing a story, we might down a few spirits and wonder who had Lia tonight.”

  “She must have been shy,” Andrew smiled, tongue in cheek.

  “Of course. She was a favorite of, and she worked for old T.R. Perkins, the CIA station chief, who was also a pal of her father’s. Her daddy was a wealthy Frenchman who owned a rubber plantation, and because of war, the family had moved into a cozy little palatial cottage in Saigon. T.R. spent a lot of time at their home.

  “She was really only interested in men who were in positions to give her meaningful visibility, so she spent a lot of time on the arms of diplomats and visiting Senators, sometimes acting as a hostess for T.R. when he wanted to throw one of his wing-dings.

  “It was also rumored..., rumored, hell, it was known;” Jack said vehemently, “That she had serious ties with the Communist Party in Saigon and she played footsie with the leadership of a number of the party officials that were outspoken in their dislike of American presence in Vietnam and the South Vietnamese government.

  “She was supposedly on a CIA watch list, but it didn’t seem to matter; with T.R. running interference, she moved freely where ever she wanted. She was part of some big international artist group; a couple of times a year she would travel to Paris to shop, play and attend arty parties. How did you find out about Ms. Dupre‘, Andy?”

  “Your friend, Neil Klein filled me in a little. I understand she came to a bad end.”

  “Yeah, that’s right, she did; she was murdered; found shot, lying beside the road to Bien Hoa. Whoever did it wanted to make sure she didn’t recover ... I think she was shot four or five times.

  “There was hell to pay though, when they found her; her mom was an upper class Vietnamese woman and she and daddy were not about to let their beautiful virginal daughter’s death go unpunished, that is, if they could help it. As I said, daddy was a chum of old T.R. Perkins and together they set about launching a first rate witch hunt.”

  “So did they ever find out who did it?” Andrew asked.

  “No, but not for lack of trying; personally, I think she crossed someone who got fed up with her games and pulled the plug, literally.”

  “I wonder who they looked at. It would be hard to nail some visiting diplomat for murder, if one of them did it, that is,” Andrew mused.

  Changing the subject, he asked, “Jack, you didn’t say what Kelshaw wanted you to do for him. And for that matter, what did you want him to do for you?”

  “Andy, I need to crash... throw me a rug or blanket or anything and I’ll tell you all in the morning,” he hiccupped. “At which time we will talk about your future,” Jack had folded up on the couch, feet extended over the arm.

  “Come on, buddy, you can have my bed, it’ll fit you better.” Andrew put an arm under Hubbard’s long torso and half lifting, guided him to his bedroom leaving him sprawled on the bed with a quilt tossed over him. Andrew grabbed a pillow and blanket and settled, slightly folded, on the couch.

  Chapter 13

  Saturday, September 27, 1980

  8:00 AM

  Brad had reservations on an early flight back to Washington. He had called Olivia and asked her to meet him at National Airport that afternoon. He noted the cool distance in her voice when he called. There was no mention of the abruptly ended conversation of the day before. He was troubled—there had not been a time in their marriage that he had heard anything but warmth and eagerness to see him upon returning from a trip, but now there was uncertainty.

  Brad settled into his first class seat and declined beverages and newspapers, indicating he desired not to be disturbed.

  He leaned back and closed his eyes. Thoughts and questions were bombarding his mind. Two weeks ago, what appeared to be a perfect solution to a wretched problem had not only failed in part, but had raised more problems in its’ now failed wake. And Lia had reemerged after all this time.

  Brad thought back to the first time he saw Lia, shortly after he had returned to Saigon in January of 1968. She was coming out of the American embassy compound pausing as though she was looking for a ride. Brad driving past took one look at her long shapely legs and trim figure and pulled over. She noted his rank; smiling as he stopped.

  “Good afternoon, Colonel,” she spoke softly as she moved toward the car.

  “Good afternoon, may I offer you a lift, Miss?” He asked, while appraising her body, head to foot.

  “Why yes, thank you, Colonel, if it won’t be too much trouble,” She said flirtatiously, getting into the car. “I’m on my way home; it’s not far. Sometimes I walk”

  Brad could hardly concentrate on driving. She was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen. Her shining black hair was waist length and her large dark brown eyes were luminous and inviting. They gave her a mystic aura when she looked at him. Her mouth was sensuous and smiling at him he sensed the attraction on her part as well.

  She exuded sophistication and worldliness. Her dress communicated a woman who spared no extravagance for herself. Her perfume was expensive and intoxicating.

  Turning onto a wide boulevard, she directed him to stop in front of a lovely French-Colonial mansion. “This is our home. I live here with my parents.” She smiled at his obvious surprise.

  They sat in the car and talked. Brad told her some of his background including the fact that he was mar
ried. She indicated that it didn’t matter.

  She told him something of her life. Her name was Lia Dupre’. Her father was French and her mother Vietnamese; she was an aspiring artist, well educated abroad, a graduate of the Sorbonne in Paris. She traveled to France once or twice a year, she said, to enjoy the culture of the art community.

  Lia informed Brad that she worked for T. R. Perkins as his special assistant, in the embassy compound. Brad smiled at that. She made it very clear that she was not married or engaged and very much available.

  She learned that Brad was attached to Military Headquarters at Long Binh, fifteen miles northeast of Saigon and that he was often in Saigon for meetings, sometimes with T.R. Perkins, she assumed on intelligence matters. Before she left Brad’s car he had arranged to see her again.

  In telling about herself, Lia had neglected to mention that she was an active member of the Communist Party in South Vietnam. She would eventually tell him when she decided the time was right.

  Brad thought about Paul Thayer’s arrival back in Saigon in the Fall of 1968. He was already deeply involved with Lia by the time Paul returned. Although he was glad to see Paul, he knew that Paul would not approve of his involvement with Lia. Paul was unaware of the intensity of the relationship.

  Due to shortage of quarters Paul had taken up residence at the Ham Nghi Hotel where Brad and some other military personnel were billeted. His room looked out on what had been a beautiful street of small shops and sidewalk cafes and now reflected a cheap carnival atmosphere. Thayer was shocked at how much Saigon and its culture had changed in the three years he had been away.

  Following the 1968 Tet, Saigon had become a city with a siege mentality and very much in a war zone. Once beautiful and cosmopolitan it was now a place where anything, drugs, sex, black market and political favors were blatant and available to anyone for the right price. The conduct of some of the American military and political representatives surprised and disgusted him.

  Brad had been in the field since August and had occasion to return to MACV Headquarters at Than Son Nhut in late October, a few days ahead of Paul Thayer’s return. He recalled the dinner at the American Embassy shortly after Paul had returned. Brad had arrived with Lia on his arm and seeing them, Paul had politely tried to distance himself from Brad and his companion only to find himself seated next to her at dinner. Across the table Brad watched Lia deliberately lean close to Paul, flirtatiously trying to engage him in conversation. “Are all Americans officers as attractive as you, Colonel Thayer? Perhaps I should choose a handsome American like you, when I marry. What do you think?” she teased.

  “I think you are much too generous with your flattery, Miss Dupre`, but I will tell you there any number of reasons why people should marry, not the least of which is love. That’s why I married when I did, Miss Dupre`, I love my wife very much.”

  Not easily deterred, Brad overheard Lia’s comment, “Too bad,” and invite Paul to a get-together at her home later that evening. Paul had declined saying that he was very tired and shortly thereafter, rose and excused himself from the gathering.

  ✽✽✽

  The next morning following a briefing at Division Headquarters, Paul entered Brad’s office, “We need to talk,” he had said and looking intently at Brad he asked, “What’s going on with you and that woman you were with last night?”

  “You mean Lia? Nothing,” Brad replied innocently. “I need a companion now and then, she’s decorative and it’s expected.”

  “Expected—by whom?” Paul knew that Brad referred to the casual alliances that were often winked at and overlooked as long as there was some attempt at discretion, but he was surprised at Brad’s apparent lapse.

  “I’ve always thought you were a cut above the crowd, Brad. You’d better end it before someone gets hurt or Olivia finds out,” Paul told him in a serious tone.

  “This has nothing to do with Olivia, Paul, and we’re a long way from home,” Brad retorted, his face reddening. “Believe it or not, Mr. priggish officer and gentleman,” he said derisively, “I’ve been fighting a war... besides, who’s going to tell her ... you?” he challenged.

  Paul looked squarely at Brad. “Don’t pull the old ‘far from home and war is hell’ crap with me as a way to rationalize cheating on Olivia,” Paul said angrily, “She deserves better. And don’t count on our friendship as a cover, Brad. I’ve known Olivia most of my life; she’s like a sister to me and I won’t see her hurt or humiliated because you... Paul didn’t finish the sentence.

  “What goes on between Olivia and me in our marriage is none of your damned business,” Brad’s temper was rising as he added, “And I resent your interference, so back off!”

  “Understand this, Brad, word gets around. The Army can be a very small community and I’m not going to stand by and see Olivia hurt by your inability to keep your pants zipped.” Paul repeated, forcefully. “Is that clear? Get rid of the woman!”

  Brad looked at Paul’s angry face; he had been surprised at the intensity of Paul’s anger. Attempting to placate him he offered, “I can see that you have the wrong impression of our relationship. It’s just a harmless flirtation,” he said taking a calmer tone. “Lia works in the embassy and everyone flirts with her and she likes to flirt as well; you must be aware of that after last night—it’s just her way. You must admit she is very attractive.

  “But perhaps you’re right. I’m going up to Long Binh tomorrow to meet with some of the field commanders and I’ll be gone for a few days. When I get back I’ll make sure that Lia understands that I am unavailable. I’ll be rejoining the Cav unit right after that. Are you satisfied?” Prudish bastard, he thought.

  “I’ll expect you to do that.” Paul had told him coldly. “Be sure she understands what unavailable means ... last night she didn’t seem to get it.

  Brad had decided that he would have to be more careful in his liaisons with Lia especially when Paul was around. He would give her up eventually..., but not just then.

  ✽✽✽

  8:30 AM

  Andrew was at his desk drinking coffee out of a very large cup and trying to read the morning paper when Jack stumbled out of the bedroom, hand shielding his bloodshot eyes, as daylight intruded. “Morning,” he mumbled. “I need a drink.”

  “How about coffee?” Andy asked. “It’s a little early for the hard stuff isn’t it?”

  “I think a little “hair of the dog” is really what I need, then maybe some coffee.” Jack sagged into a chair.

  Andrew studied him for a moment then walked to the kitchen and without saying anything else, poured another large cup of coffee and gave it to Jack, who accepted it with both hands to steady the cup. “Thanks, Andy; coffee it is,” he said in resignation. “And thanks for your bed. You’re a terrific host,” he said lifting his cup.

  “Yeah, well we put away a lot of painkiller last night.”

  “Not enough,” Jack sighed wearily. “You said I needed a rest... I don’t know how it would help.” Jack said tentatively. “I can’t even turn my mind off.”

  “Just make it numb, huh? With that stuff?” Andrew pointed to the nearly empty Scotch bottle.

  “It helps, for awhile,” Jack responded.

  Andrew was silent for a few moments then, “You know, Jack, you should meet, my friend Father Ben Lee.”

  “Oh now wait a minute, Andy, I’m not in need of a chaplain if that’s what you’re trying to set up.”

  “No, not at all, I just think that you might find talking with him interesting. George Kelshaw spent the last hours of his life with Ben. In fact, he gave Kelshaw last rites at the hospital; he didn’t even know whether George was Catholic or even a Christian for that matter. He’s not a holier than thou type. He’s been a good friend to me as well. Who knows, he might be able to help you find another way to turn your mind off. The alternative isn’t working too well, is it?” Andrew asked ponderously.

  Jack was quiet.

  “Okay,” Andrew closed the subject
. “Now how about some breakfast and then I want to know what Kelshaw wanted you to do for him and what you got out of the deal.”

  Jack drained his coffee cup, set it down and nodded as Andrew moved to start breakfast. “First, I think I’ll grab a shower, if you don’t mind. Hold the eggs until I come back.” He yawned and stretched as he moved toward the bathroom.

  “Good plan,” I have to make a call.” Andrew quickly dialed Charlene. “Good morning,” he said pleasantly, hearing her say “hello.”

  “Good morning to you,” she said warmly. “I heard your last show yesterday; I wondered...” She waited.

  “I hoped you heard; I called Father Ben. I thought about calling you, but I wanted to see you in person and talk about it. That’s really why I phoned; I’d like to set something up for tomorrow or maybe even later on today?”

  “Yes, either way. Later today would work too. If not then, pick me up at St. Mark’s about the same time as before. What’s going on?” she asked, slightly puzzled.

  “My friend, Jack Hubbard, blew into town and dropped in on me yesterday and we spent most of last night swapping stories. I’m not sure how long he’ll be here so that’s why I’m a little vague; I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, Andy. I know who Jack Hubbard is; I’ve read quite a few of his pieces. Have fun and enjoy your time together. Call me later and we’ll go from there; just let me know. Bye now.” She said lightly. She had wondered about his departure from KGM and looked forward to learning the details. “Oh well,” she thought,

  “I can’t compete with Jack Hubbard, sooo... I have other things to do.”

  “Yeah, ‘bye, I’ll definitely call later.” Andrew gently laid the phone in the cradle as Jack reappeared. This time he looked genuinely refreshed. “I borrowed your razor,” he said stroking his face. “Now I’ll have that breakfast.” Eyeing the phone, “I hope I didn’t interrupt. Someone special?” he asked.