While Rome Was Sleeping

by M. S. Forsythe

  “C’mon, Andy, you were targeted,” Jim said in defense. “Maybe something worse would have happened; you know better than to think that whoever did this was going to just forget about you and Charlene Thayer.”

  “Maybe you’re right, but whoever was listening picked up some things that I wish they hadn’t heard. Have you spoken with Neil Klein today?” As he talked, Andrew stripped off the damaged clothing and splashed some water on his face. Looking in the mirror at the reflection of the bandaged and bruised individual looking back, he shook his head. “Looks like I’ve been in a fight with a big cat and lost,” he said, closely examining the scratches and the bump on his forehead.

  “In answer to your question, no, Andy, I haven’t talked to Klein today, but then I haven’t been home all afternoon,” he said wryly. “And yeah, you do look a little the worse for the wear. I suppose now you’d like to go back to Harborview,” he stated.

  “Not just yet. I need to make a couple of calls but not from here unless you know how to remove a phone tap, Jim?”

  “Uh uh, negative, not this one. Want to go to the Times or my office?”

  “Your office would be more private, right? Then you can drop me at the hospital.”

  Jim nodded as Andrew closed the door behind them.

  ✽✽✽

  Jack had looked forward to getting together with a couple of the Times editors that afternoon. It was a nice day; the sun was shining and there had been mention of a barbecue pending the weather.

  Instead of a barbecue the afternoon was spent with editors Jim Griswold and Bill Cunningham on Cunningham’s boat at the Shilshole Bay Marina. Bill had loaned him a heavy fisherman’s sweater remembering that though a lovely day in Seattle, Jack was still acclimated to Southeast Asia.

  The camaraderie with the men from the Times felt good as they sat in the cockpit of the boat and talked. Jack almost felt like he did as a summer intern years ago at the Minneapolis Tribune; safe in their company; not required to prove himself. The conversation flowed freely as well as the Scotch.

  When Jack returned to the Athletic Club it was nearly 8:00 PM Sunday evening. He checked for messages from Andrew at the desk, not finding any he went to his room. After changing his clothes and pouring himself a drink he tried to read and then watch the news on television. There had been an explosion in West Seattle injuring several people. Jack cursed, “Even here, I can’t get away from it!” he said throwing the glass against the wall and snapping off the TV.

  He flopped across the bed. His body was tired, but his mind continued to play the images and sounds he so desperately wanted to leave him.

  He closed his eyes and could still see George Kelshaw’s face and remembered the time they had spent with Vang Pao. The first night George spent talking with the Hmong leader as though he was an old friend. Jack could see the affection that he had for the Hmong people. Kelshaw felt at home.

  Kelshaw related the incidents at Udorn and of himself being wounded. He told Vang Pao that he was trailing a man who he believed was a rogue American agent and was responsible for Thayer and Chernakov’s betrayal and ambush.

  Vang Pao sat nodding as he listened. George continued, “It is strange, I have been in many villages looking and no one has admitted to seeing a person that might fit this guy’s description. It’s true that I didn’t see him clearly, but I’m certain he’s an American and something tells me he’s not far away.”

  Vang Pao spoke thoughtfully, “Kelshaw, I will relate to you what I know and what I suspect. Two days before we were to go to the airstrip we received word from CIA that the rendezvous would be delayed. We were to wait for a new time. Three of our people were keeping watch at the airstrip and saw a military truck arrive. It carried a Soviet officer with a driver and a guard. As my men watched, the guard and the officer got out of the truck and it was apparent that the guard intended to kill the officer, but the truck driver shot the guard and after conferring with the officer briefly, drove away leaving the officer alone.”

  “What happened to the officer?” Kelshaw asked excitedly.

  “He remained, then our people saw a helicopter land and the officer was taken on board. The helicopter was about to take off when Pathet Lao and North Vietnamese troops attacked. The helicopter was struck and there was nothing they could do.”

  “It had to be Thayer and Chernakov.” George looked at Vang Pao. “Where the hell were you? They needed your help!” he was almost shouting.

  “Kelshaw, there too many and we were not prepared for such an attack. The number of troops and weapons were greater than we could withstand. Our observers were unable to warn us in time,” Vang Pao spoke urgently and sadly.

  “George drew a deep breath and said quietly, “I’m sorry, General, forgive my outburst... I know you were tricked as well. That’s all the more reason for me to find this American traitor whoever he is.”

  “You said you are certain that he is an American. Describe him for me.” Vang Pao asked.

  “Yes,” George replied. “I only got a glimpse of him before he shot me and I know I winged him. The man I saw was Caucasian. I’d say he was in his thirties; a big man, very muscular.”

  “He may be Caucasian, but he is not an American. His name is Yanov Zemenek and Kelshaw, he is Soviet. He speaks like an American, but he is an agent for USSR.”

  “How do I find him?” George asked with urgency.

  “Wait, it is important for you to know all of what our observers saw at the airstrip,” Vang Pao continued, “It was reported by one of my soldiers that there were two white men with the NVA troops. One was in a soviet uniform; the other I believe was Zemenek.”

  “There were two Russians with the NVA?” George queried. “What were they doing?”

  “After the fight ended, they ransacked the helicopter and then searched the bodies they found in the bunker.”

  George interrupted, “What happened to the bodies?”

  Vang Pao looked at Kelshaw for a long minute before he answered. “Everything was destroyed—the aircraft, the bodies, everything blown up. There was nothing left. Thayer was your friend? I am sorry.”

  “Yes, he was my friend,” George was standing and hearing Vang Pao’s answer, turned away into the darkness briefly. Then turning back he asked, “Go on, tell me, did the NVA or the Russians find anything and what happened to them?”

  Vang Pao shook his head, no. “The soldier left with the enemy troops, the other, the civilian, Zemenek, did not leave right away. One of our people saw him again at CIA station 36 at Na Khang. He pretends to be American CIA—he is not.”

  “Where is he now? George pressed again. “How do I find him?”

  Vang Pao said, “I heard he had left Laos, but I have also heard that he is with Pathet Lao and NVA troops helping to move groups of prisoners across the border into North Vietnam. This is what I suspect to be true. I have had a report of some prisoners being held in caves near the sacred mountain. It is believed they will be moved soon.”

  “Thank you, General; then we must leave at first light. I must find him before he leaves the country.” Kelshaw looked at Jack who had been watching and listening to the conversation, “Sorry, but we’re going to have to move on. You need to go back to Vientiane. Vang Pao, will you help my correspondent friend get back?”

  ✽✽✽

  They left together with two of Vang Pao’s men as guides. Travel was difficult—the trails they used were not the main routes often guarded and sometimes mined.

  At night they ate cold provisions and tried to rest, but the jungle noises interspersed with distant gunfire prevented Jack especially, from any success at sleep. He tried to make a few notes in the semi darkness, but finally gave up promising himself that each event would be committed to memory and to ensure accuracy he would recall each day in minute detail.

  The third morning George stopped and said quietly, “This is where we part company, Hubbard. You must go back to Vientiane...write what you have learned—” Kelshaw stopped;
his eyes warned Jack that something was wrong. In a few moments they were surrounded by Pathet Lao troops.

  The Meo guides were gone and Jack and George were taken prisoner. This time there was no attempt to negotiate. An English speaking Lao soldier roughly forced them to the ground and searched them. Then they were blindfolded and their arms tied behind their backs.

  At first Jack felt pure terror, but something hidden in his memory surfaced and he could almost hear his favorite Grandmother saying to him as a small boy, “Remember Jack, nothing is going to happen to you, ever, that you and your Maker together can’t handle...” He muttered to himself, “I’m not so sure of that Gran.”

  He tried to speak to George, but received a harsh blow across his back and the English speaking soldier said fiercely, “You will not speak!”

  They walked for hours, stumbling and often falling. Their captors took delight in pushing them into areas where they were told might hide mines.

  At night they were chained to trees and were threatened not to talk or try to communicate with one another.

  After several days they were brought to what appeared to be a temporary camp holding other prisoners. There were some huts and some of the prisoners were held in bamboo cages. George and jack were once again chained to trees with two other prisoners while cages were built for them by their captors.

  Kelshaw attempted to communicate with one of the Lao guards in their language, but was struck across the face numerous times, knocked to the ground and kicked repeatedly. The English speaking soldier spit at him calling him a CIA dog!

  Jack watched in horrified silence at the brutality. The guard’s eyes darted here and there as the cages were built, watching the captive’s reactions. He reminded Jack of a ferret, ready to attack at any moment.

  George had been temporarily chained closer to Jack, still under close guard. A brief opportunity to communicate occurred as a result of a change of guards. Kelshaw spoke urgently in a half whisper, “If you get back to Vientiane go to the Embassy and try to get through to Neil Klein and tell him what’s happened. I hid a packet and a letter in the monastery. About six feet inside the door and about six feet up from the floor there’s a loose stone in the wall. It pries out... everything is there. Make sure Klein gets it if I don’t get back.”

  “C’mon, Kelshaw, don’t talk like that, you’ve got to; they’ve got to let us go. They shouldn’t even be taking prisoners since the Peace negotiations have started,” Jack said angrily.

  “Listen to me, Hubbard, they might let you go... don’t fight them too much; pretend to cooperate as much as possible when they start asking questions. Tell them that you came to get a story; that you don’t know anything about me and if they ask about Vang Pao, tell them you’re curious about him, had hoped to meet him, but that’s all you know.” George instructed.

  “You don’t think for a minute they’ll believe me, do you?” Jack asked doubtfully. “I don’t really think these guys care a lot about the Peace ‘negs’.”

  “They might. Once they’re convinced you are a news correspondent they might let you go. I don’t hold a lot of hope for me, at least at this point. They believe I’m CIA and they’ll be interrogating me soon, I’m certain,” George added. “Remember, I told you about another side of the story? These guys are it. Just don’t lose your nerve, kid; it won’t be easy, but you’ll get out of this,” he spoke confidently to Jack.

  A guard was approaching and the conversation ceased.

  They were unchained briefly and moved to now completed cages. Jack thought about George’s instructions and wondered if he had the guts he knew he would need to get through. The cage was small and too low for Jack to stand up. He tried to sit, but the guard prodded him to stand hunched over.

  He watched as two guards removed Kelshaw from his cage and led him, hands bound, to a thatched hut that served as the central interrogation center. The English speaking guard accompanied Kelshaw inside.

  He heard angry voices directed at Kelshaw. He strained to hear, but a guard near him poked at him through the bars of his cage and said something that sounded menacing. Then he heard what sounded like a cry and a dull thud; then silence from the hut. Soon the guards exited dragging Kelshaw between them and threw him into the cage.

  He was barely conscious and it was obvious he had been beaten. His face was swelling and there was a cut over one eye that was bleeding.

  Hubbard was more frightened than he had ever been. He knew he would be next.

  ✽✽✽

  Jack had lost track of time, but he estimated that they had been held more than two weeks in this camp. The camp commander had questioned George every day and each day he was more severely beaten. The English speaking guard seemed to delight in dragging Kelshaw past Jack and the other prisoners as an example.

  They had not communicated since before the first beating. Jack was sure Kelshaw was more dead than alive. Then one morning it was Hubbard’s turn. As he was led to the interrogation hut he passed Kelshaw’s cage and heard a faint voice, “Round one, kid; don’t lose your nerve.”

  Inside the hut his hands were tied and he was forced into a chair as the interrogator began, “What is your name? What is your mission?”

  “Jack Hubbard. I’m a correspondent for United Press International.”

  “You are a liar, you work for CIA. What is your mission?” he repeated. “I will ask you again, what is your name and who are your contacts?”

  “No, I do not work for the CIA... I work for United Press International. My name is Jack Hubbard and I came to Laos to get a story about the Peace negotiations.”

  A rifle butt smashed into his side driving him to the floor. The English speaking guard was standing over him, grinning as he lay trying to breathe. The guard pulled him roughly back into the chair and the interrogation began again.

  Each time Jack answered he was accused of lying and was struck again and again, blows striking his body and his head and face causing his nose to bleed and one eye to swell shut. Ferret obviously enjoying his work, looked displeased when the interrogation ended. Jerking Hubbard to his feet he pushed him toward the doorway causing Jack to fall. Hands still tied behind him he struggled to get to his feet while a guard kicked him ordering him to get up.

  Finally, two guards grabbed him and dragged him back to his cage, throwing him in, leaving his hands tied. Jack fell face down on the floor of the cage. It hurt to breathe, but he was thankful that he still could. Hours later a guard opened the cage and forcing Jack to turn over, he thrust his bayonet at Jack lying helpless. For an instant Jack was certain he would be killed. Then the guard cut his hands free while laughing at the fear that had shown in Jack’s eyes.

  ✽✽✽

  Although Jack’s interrogations continued, there seemed to be a lessening of interest in him. He could tell that such was not the case with Kelshaw. It was almost as though there was a personal vendetta incorporated in the questioning.

  ‘Ferret’, the English speaking guard, hated Kelshaw. He seemed to resent Kelshaw’s command of the language and his knowledge of the Laotian people. Each interrogation left Kelshaw weaker and more injured. Jack was afraid he would die. That terrified him more. One morning Jack looked at Kelshaw’s cage and felt sick to his stomach, the cage was empty, George was gone!

  ‘Ferret’ came over to Jack’s cage and goaded him by saying, “You’re accomplice is gone; he died last night. “You will be next,” he laughed as he walked away.

  Jack was devastated. He couldn’t believe George was dead. He looked around at some of the other prisoners and saw three of the other prisoners were missing also. In a cage close to Jack, a remaining prisoner who had appeared listless and semi-conscious slowly shook his head, ‘no’. Jack understood. George and the other prisoners were gone, but still alive, at least for the present.

  Mustering up his courage, Jack called to the guard. “I am a news correspondent. I was in Paris when the Peace Negotiations were going on. Why are the Pathet Lao sti
ll taking and holding prisoners?”

  “It is of no matter, we are not party to your peace negotiations,” stated the guard. “They are of no consequence to us. You are of no importance and you are a criminal and an enemy of our country!”

  Jack persisted, “That’s not true. What are you going to do with us? You don’t understand who I represent,” he repeated. “I have been sent to Laos to report on the Peace Negotiations and the Prisoner of War exchanges....”

  “Be quiet!! I told you, you are of no importance!” yelled ‘Ferret’. He slammed his rifle butt against the fingers of Jack’s right hand before he could remove it from the bars of the cage.

  The next morning the remaining five prisoners were told they were being moved again. The number of guards had been reduced to six or seven. Jack determined that some of the soldiers must have taken Kelshaw and the missing prisoners to another location.

  His hand was badly swollen and painful when the guard moved him from the cage; it was hard to stand straight after being kept in a bamboo cage for such a long period of time. He found it difficult to keep track of time. He wasn’t certain any longer how many days or weeks he had been held.

  The prisoners and their captors were being moved again. Walking was slow and painful for the captives; many were in bad shape and had to be helped by the more able bodied prisoners. It was difficult for all of them to negotiate the trails.

  One morning a plane was heard flying low over the jungle and the prisoners were forced off the trail and into the trees until the drone of the plane’s engine could no longer be heard.

  The third day they arrived at a location where they were loaded into trucks and taken to what had clearly been a former POW camp.