While Rome Was Sleeping

by M. S. Forsythe

  “Kelshaw was determined to stay on the trail of this guy and decided that I should go back to Vientiane to write about our time with Vang Pao and let Klein know what was going on.

  “We started out with two Meo guides and twenty four hours later were about to part company when we were captured by the Pathet Lao. This time there was nobody around to help us. The two Meo guides got away fortunately; they were able to let the General know what had happened. I won’t go into the details of my time as a prisoner, Father Ben can fill you in on that; I guess I was held for about six months. I kind of lost track of time—until I was rescued by Vang Pao’s people.

  “After I was rescued I found out that George was still alive; the Hmongs were keeping track of him and reporting his condition and location to Vang Pao. Occasionally, there would be information for me to pass on to Klein.”

  Andrew was staring at Jack in amazement, “Captured! You were a prisoner? My God, Jack, why didn’t you tell me? You poor guy! I never dreamed...” Andrew was shaken.

  “Its okay, Andy,” Jack stated simply, “I’m all right; well almost...it’ll just take some time.”

  “Yeah, that’s what they say, time heals all...,” he mumbled half cynically. Then appraising his friend said, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Jack; it’s all right if you don’t want to go on with the story.”

  “I do want to. It’s important to me that you know, Andy, and I think it may help you a little to understand George Kelshaw’s character. He was a prisoner in Laos and North Vietnam for nearly five years before he finally got away. He had had one other opportunity to escape, but he stayed; he was learning a lot about what was happening to our POW’s and about the double agent and he was able to get information out.

  “The NVA troops and the Pathet Lao moved the POW’s around a lot. It was a miracle in some ways that Kelshaw survived; he had gotten malaria along with being badly treated.

  “The Hmongs managed to help him and he ultimately escaped in early 1978—from a road construction crew where he and some other POW’s were working as forced laborers.

  “When we reconnected in Bangkok George was very sick. He was brought to me by a Chinese man who was a merchant seaman, named Lu Chan. I suspected at the time he was CIA or a political defector of some kind. Anyway he was very sharp and very protective of George. He and Kelshaw were afraid they could have been followed so we kept George under wraps until he was stronger.

  “He told me that he had been moved as many as four or five times a month. He along with other POW’s, some of whom were French, were being used by the North Vietnamese as slave laborers. They were moved back and forth from Laos to North Vietnam and back to Laos. They had them working mostly at repairing roads and bridges.”

  Andrew listened and said, “That’s why we didn’t get some of our POWs back, isn’t it?”

  Jack nodding, “Yes, partially, and there is more...”

  “Andrew questioned. “Why were the Pathet Lao and the North Vietnamese shifting these guys back and forth?”

  “Kelshaw said the North Vietnamese and the Pathet Lao, controlled the prisoners, but there were some Chinese handling the POWs too; they moved them around to avoid detection, plus they were providing the labor to a large international company known as GCI or Global Construction International.

  “When George saw the GCI building in Bangkok he became obsessed—even as sick as he was, he was determined that he was going to gain access to GCI and do some investigating.”

  “Why?” asked Andrew.

  “While he was still on the road crew, one of the heavy equipment operators started talking with Kelshaw and another prisoner; they found out the fellow was Dutch, but that the company he worked for, GCI, wasn’t; that it was a multinational company.

  “Kelshaw found out that GCI received material, money and contracts from everywhere including the United States. George said the guy laughed over the idea of an embargo.

  “It was then that Kelshaw planned to escape—he used his malaria as a way of pretending to be too sick to work. Maybe the guards thought he would die or hoped he would anyway they just ignored him. One night with the help of one of the Hmong that had been faithfully tracking him, Kelshaw got away. He made it to Vientiane where he connected with the Chinese guy who brought him to me in Bangkok.”

  Andrew was silent; thinking how superficial his concerns about Jack’s professional neutrality had been after hearing not only George Kelshaw’s story, but Jack Hubbard’s as well.

  Jack continued, “Kelshaw couldn’t let go of the idea of an international company like GCI, making deals with countries like North Vietnam and Laos to do business in defiance of a major embargo and using captured prisoners of war as slave labor. He was furious when he saw the Bangkok GCI office building; I think that’s when he decided he would break in. And that’s what he did.”

  “Back up, Jack, you mentioned money and contracts, what kind of contracts?” Andrew asked.

  “Contracts with various governments for everything—all kinds of material, equipment and building supplies, you name it and GCI would negotiate, get what was required and build it.”

  Andrew was puzzled, “How could North Vietnam and Laos afford a company like GCI when they had their hand out to the U.S. for dollar reparations to rebuild their countries?”

  “Andy, this was and is an investment for GCI...and believe me the stakes are high. Natural resources of those two countries alone stood to put lots of money in everybody’s pockets, as Kelshaw found out.

  “He managed to get the right uniform and a fake ID and got into the building unnoticed. He hid out until the building was nearly empty and then broke into the contracts and accounting offices. The Chinese guy had provided him with a small camera and he took some very nice pictures; pictures of GCI financial records and business transactions, of correspondence, money transfers and contracts for laborers between GCI and Laos and North Vietnam.

  “Kelshaw was certain and I believed him, that those were contracts to use POWs as a labor pool. Best of all, George filmed a log book of business consultants by country including the good ole’ USA.”

  “What happened to the film, Jack?” Andrew pressed.

  “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 wa
s 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.

  Chapter 17

  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.

  “That’s right,” Harry responded, his curiosity growing.

  “Terrific!” Andrew exclaimed somewhat derogatorily.

  “Well in a way it is, Andy,” Browne said in defense, “For example, GCI has the wherewithal to go into areas that have literally been devastated by major disasters and completely rebuild from the ground up-including the infrastructures. They operate without getting involved in all the petty international politics. There are not many companies that have that capability.”

  “That’s all well and good, Harry, but I don’t believe in Santa Claus, so humor my skepticism and tell me what’s in it for them. How do they get reimbursed for their generous investments?” Andrew asked.

  “Well, Andy they get a piece of the pie, so to speak. Countries that are cash poor generally have underground wealth-oil, gas, minerals and so on, even real estate, these countries hand over ownership to GCI of some of their natural resources. It’s a pretty good deal for everyone; at least it appears to be.”

  “Harry, do they do that in war zones as well? You know, I mean places that have been at war, but are no longer.”

  “I don’t know about post war zones, Andy; I suppose they could-they’re big enough and they have the capacity to do it.” Harry mused. “Why all this interest in GCI?”

  Ignoring Browne’s question, Andrew pressed on, “Who runs GCI, who’s on their Board of Directors?”

  “I don’t have the names at hand, but I can find out. It might take me a little while; I’ll get back to you on this. I’ll ask you again, why do you want to know?” Harry persisted.

  “I can’t tell you right now, but if I’m right you may have a great tidbit for the front page. You may have your very own international business scoop.”

  Harry just smiled, “You’ll have the names ASAP.”

  “Thanks, Harry,” Andrew was thinking he needed to talk to Neil Klein; not today, Kelshaw’s service is today.

  ✽✽✽

  Savalza pulled the plastic bag with the mysterious phone number out of his
drawer and called Captain Martin. Then collecting Ed Peterson, they proceeded to the Captain’s office.

  “What’s this about, Savalza?” Captain Martin asked peering at Jim over the top of his glasses.

  Jim laid the plastic bag with the scrap of paper on the desk in front of the Captain.

  “What’s this?” giving Jim a puzzled look.

  Jim and Ed proceeded to tell the Captain about Dora Maxwell’s discovery and Jim’s subsequent call to the number on the scrap of paper.

  “You mean that Lyle Ramsey answered this on his private line? That’s very interesting.”

  “Yes, Captain, I think so...,” Jim started.

  “No, no, you don’t understand, Jim,” Martin cut him off. “Lyle Ramsey called headquarters about arranging for the burial of that fellow who was stabbed at the Seamen’s Center on behalf of some do-gooder client.

  “I told him that a man from the State Department had claimed the body and I gave him Evan Scott’s name. That was the end of it. Though it was peculiar I thought, he said that one of his altruistic clients had offered to pay for a decent burial.

  “Over the years we have had a lot of John Does anonymously buried. It’s the first time Ramsey’s Good Samaritan clients have offered. Yes, Jim, I think it is very interesting. What is even more interesting is why and how Monte Maxwell would have access to Lyle Ramsey’s private line.”

  “Thank you, Captain you have posed the same questions that we are wrestling with. I’ll get back to you on this. C’mon, Ed. Captain’s got work to do and so do we.”

  ✽✽✽

  CIA Headquarters

  Wednesday morning

  At Langley, Fred Wellman pondered the clues in the packet and then decided to search files for the names of Agency personnel in Saigon from 1960 through 1970.

  He knew most of the names and their current locations. There was one exception and his name did not appear in any of the Agency files..., Phillip Durkan. Fred remembered Durkan from Saigon and his own negative reaction to the man when T.R Perkins introduced him as a new member of his team.