Coffee (15 page)

“Nicely
put,” he said sarcastically.

“You
know what I mean. Here I spend so much time thinking about my
looks, smiling just right, and none of it even touches you.”

“Some
does. You’d be surprised.”

“How
do you see people’s faces?”

“How?
Mostly in my mind. I touch faces with my fingers if I know the
people well enough.”

She
approached. Knut could feel her standing right next to his chair.
“You want to touch my face? Really, I’d love to know
what a blind person would say about me.”

Knut
snickered. How bizarre, he thought. Most nights he’d be
thrilled. But, sexual intrigue was not high on his list. The more
he thought about her though, he did start wondering. He had been
playing mind games with images of this mysterious woman who drifted
into his late night world. She thinks she could be a movie star.
He painted mental pictures of different gorgeous women, and finally
gave in to curiosity. “Okay, I guess. But then you’ll
go. Deal?”

“Yes.
Promise.”

He
stood up and felt forward until he touched her forehead. “Just
stand still.” His fingers floated down her face. Every
fingertip made contact, sending a clear picture to his mind’s
eye. Cheeks, nose, lips, chin. Back to the top, and again his
fingers cascaded down, to the sides and back, recording her hair,
the shape of her skull, the thickness of her neck. He suddenly felt
her hands on his. They guided them down to her breasts.

“You
want to know everything, right?” her voice demure.

Knut
jerked his hands back. “Now wait, that’s a little too
personal for me.” He let his hands fall to his side, and
turned to find his seat. “Yes, you are very beautiful. But
really, I have to get back to it, and you promised.”

Sonya
stayed close to him. “Not touched many of those, have you?”

Without
facing her, “Not recently.”

“How
long ago?”

“I
don’t get out much, okay? It’s not a big deal. I’d
like you to go.”

Sonya
thought briefly, and stepped right up to Knut so her feet were
inches away from his. “Hey,” she said so softly it
hardly sounded like a word. “Knut, just for fun. You want to
touch mine? I don’t mind. Really. You’re a scientist
type, right? Consider it an experiment.”

Knut
shook his head. Sonya continued. “I’m leaving for good
in a few minutes, what does it matter? What have you got to lose?
I’d do it just to see your expression.”

Knut
did not move back, but froze with his head down. Without hearing an
answer, Sonya pulled her sweater over her head. Knut heard the
snapping of static electricity. He heard every button pop through
their fabric holes as he imagined her fingers delicately moving from
one to another down her front. Then the sound of a plastic latch
and relaxing of stretch material. He knew she had a full chest,
based on his brief brush. More sounds, he assumed to be her hands
moving the cups of her bra back on each side. “Com’on,
Knut. I don’t mind. No one will see.”

Knut’s
heart pounded, his breath shortened. He remained still, hesitant yet
desirous. “Give me your hands,” she said. He slowly
raised them toward her, but she intercepted them and pulled them up
by the wrists to her body. At first they lay limp as she pushed
them closer, pressing each breast down. He shook his hands slightly
to urge her hands away. She let go. Blood charged through his
veins, swelling his penis. Warmth from her skin created by her
thick sweater and bra, bathed his fingers. He moved tenderly,
across the aureoles, to the nipples. As he touched, they stood
erect. Slowly, to the sides, he cupped each full breast. Then he
moved to their underside, and pushed his fingers beneath them, into
the warm crease created by a slight sag. He pushed his hands up, so
the full weight rested in each palm. There he paused, his unseeing
eyes glazed and staring toward her shoulders.

Sonya
watched with amusement at the little tremors shaking his facial
muscles. He breathed through his mouth, leaving a wide opening for
air to pass. Sonya pulled a small capsule from her pocket and
crushed it with her front teeth. Knut heard the crackle but ignored
it. She lowered her head and pressed her lips against his. And
before Knut could react, she thrust her wetted tongue deep into his
mouth and curled it throughout the cavity.

Knut
jumped back, thrown from his trance. “What are you doing!”

Sonya
laughed hard. “You’re asking me?” she said in now
a more assertive voice. She reconnected her bra, and quickly
buttoned her shirt. Knut leaned back against his desk, not sure
what to do with his hands or what to say. Sonya found her sweater
and pulled it on. “Well, Knut, thanks for the Vodka. I’ll
let you get back to your computers.” While walking toward the
door, she swished liquid in her mouth from a small bottle she found
in her purse. Knut remained silent. Near the door, she swallowed,
then said in a brassy voice, “Now don’t be playin’
with yourself, little boy.” Then she left. Knut sat still,
numb and disbelieving.



An
hour later, Knut had accomplished little. What insignificant work
he did do, he managed with minimum attention. His face flared with
heat, and he wondered if all the excitement with Sonya had opened up
new capillaries. Soon an overwhelming desire to sleep forced him to
give it up for the night. He checked windows around the entire
room, as a chill in the air made him shiver. He felt for the
thermostat, and turned it up as high as it would go. In a
disorganized closet in the back, he found extra clothes and put them
on - a second shirt, a sweatshirt, and a pair of jogging pants. He
also pulled two pairs of socks over the pair he already wore. With
the lights still on, he climbed into his cot, and tucked the woolen
blanket tightly under his chin, curling into the fetal position.

For
the next few hours, wild dreams, and an inability to find a
comfortable position, kept him from restful sleep. One minute he was
so cold his teeth chattered. A minute later, he would throw the
blanket off on the floor in a blast of heat, and pull up his
sweatshirt to expose his chest. Peculiar images filled his
semi-conscious thoughts - Etty riding a large beetle through a
desert, a woman’s mouth circling his whole body while
screaming, huge swells in the floor boards heaving desks and
equipment into the air as they rolled toward him.

He
labored to get air into his lungs, so much that he had to sit up to
catch his breath. A headache sent splitting pain down his neck and
shoulders. Dizziness prevented him from coherent thoughts. But
worst of all, his lungs seemed constricted, smaller, almost like
they were full of water. He imagined running a long race and then
trying to breath through a thin straw to catch his wind.

‘I
must get up. Get some air,’ he thought, afraid that if he lay
back down, his lungs would fill and suffocate him. He felt his way
back to his desk, moving slowly without confidence. He misjudged
distances, tipping over a standing lamp, and banging into a chair.
Ringing in his ears, and a feeling like they were packed with hot
tar, threw off his ability to navigate. He sat down at his desk.
The short walk increased the strain on his lungs. He calmed
himself, to get more air.

He
decided to do some work, occupy his mind. He felt for the phone to
receive his voice messages. He hit the message retrieve button and
at the computer voice, entered his security code. He couldn’t
help feeling the disarray on his desk, worse than usual. Mantis was
shoved beyond easy reach. His chair hit a glass as he rolled closer.
His knee hit an open drawer, and on feeling further, he realized
that others were open. Papers were missing, notebooks, disks. With
great effort, he reached to the safe and found with some relief it
was still locked. “Who’s done this? Sonya?” he
wheezed.

The
phone voice spoke, “You have seven new messages.”

The
first two messages were from students paying their respects to Knut,
knowing Etty was a close friend. But nothing could have prepared
him for the third.

“Knut,
what?” It was Etty’s voice! Knut dived for the phone.
Knut jammed down 5 to replay. “Message left Saturday at five
fifty pm.” Then, “Knut, what?” He played it
again, and again. He yanked the receiver off the carriage and
pressed it up against his ear. He tried each ear.

“Etty?
Saturday? It can’t be. She was dead.” He wondered if
the system date was off, but confirmed the current time. He saved
the message, and stopped to think. His lungs surged with increased
tightness. For three days, he had blocked out all memories of his
last conversation with her, but now he dragged it back,
concentrating on every word. He remembered, she was rushing,
trying to get away, with only sketchy explanation. ‘You know
how these head hunters work - they find their quarry and jump. It’s
part of the game.’ What did she mean?

And
this message, what was she saying? Why didn’t she say more?
Where was she calling from? Maybe the phone company would know.

He
tried to pull the phone into his lap by sliding it along the desk,
but it crashed on the floor. He felt down for the hand piece and
pulled the rest up by the cord. He dialed the operator. In a
labored voice, he said, “I need to trace a phone call I
received last Saturday. This is an emergency.”

“I
can connect you with our business office to leave a message, Sir,
but they’re closed.”

“No,
not acceptable, this has to be now. I need to know who called me.
Please help me.”

“I
would, Sir, but there is nothing I can do. Only the business office
has access to phone records, and they are closed. It’s not
even five a-m yet, sir.”

Knut
hung up, trying to slam it but found no strength. He typed 911. A
man answered immediately. “Hanover Police Department. Is your
life in danger at this moment?”

“I
need help. My friend, Harriet Bishop is in grave danger.”

“Harriet
Bishop? The student from Dartmouth?”

“Yes.
She’s in trouble.” Knut stopped to build more air in
his lungs. More dizziness and total weakness overpowered him in
heavy waves.

“If
you’re speaking of the Harriet Bishop, from Nashua New
Hampshire, enrolled as a Doctoral Student in Dartmouth’s
Finance Department, I’m afraid she had a fatal car accident on
Friday night. I’m sorry.”

“Wait.
Listen to me. I know all that. She’s not dead.” He
stopped for a violent coughing fit, spitting up phlegm, causing
sweat to bead on his forehead.

“Who
is this, please?”

Knut
breathed into the phone for a second. “She called .... me on
Saturday.... I have .... the message.”

“Are
you all right? You sound damn sick. You might be imagining things,
Sir. Harriet Bishop is very dead. She was found in her car, with
her identification, on a road where and when her friends and family
expected her to be. Her mother identified the body. The case is
quite closed.”

“Please....
Please....” Knut had to stop. His lungs felt filled to the
top with fluid. “I think I’m dying. Send an ambulance.
... Dartmouth campus, Knut Olafson, computer lab.... “

He
rested the handset back in its carriage and gathered his breath.
Was he hallucinating? Maybe he was. He dialed the voice message
number again and listened to Etty. It was she, not a glimmer of
doubt. Etty was alive, somewhere.

He
recalled the items he had left in his safe, copies of Etty’s
research, notes on the price manipulations. He fumbled in a desk
drawer and pulled out a small tape recorder. He recorded her
message by playing it back with the tape device placed directly on
the phone speaker. Getting the combination right took numerous
attempts. Just standing up to reach the safe almost made him faint.
He placed the recorder inside, and locked it. He practically fell
back into his chair.

He
dialed Information. “Number ... for FBI. Please connect me,”
he said slowly.

A
woman’s voice answered. “Hello, FBI information center.
May I help you?”

“An
emergency,” he gasped.

A
click and a short pause. A different woman picked up. “Emergency
line. Your name and location please?”

While
taking shallow breaths between words, “Yes... I’m ...
Knut Olafson.... Professor ... Dartmouth College.... Listen to
me... Harriet .... Bishop .... is alive.... Supposed to be ....
dead. ... In danger ... at Global .... Growers in .... Dallas.”
Knut caught his head from nodding, nearly passing out. He coughed
spasmodically, and then slowly straightening, he continued. “More
data ... in my ... off... office safe.... 22 ... 32 ... 4. Help
her.... Help..” His head dropped, banging onto the desk.
Then he slipped from his chair, first onto his knees, then forward
onto his face. His head sounded a loud crack as it hit the wood
floor. The caller remained connected. Her small muted voice
shouted through the ear piece trying to get his attention.

- Chapter Nine -

Bryce
Applegate drummed the eraser of his wooden pencil back and forth
between the edge of his desk lamp and the wall of his small cube,
while singing, ‘Bomp baba bomp - tahhhh!’ After a full
year with the FBI, he still had to use this impossibly small desk -
one filing drawer on the left, two drawers on the right, a one and a
half by three foot writing surface, and a small flexible neck lamp
screwed into the wall. He did skip past some of the rookie
positions since he came well trained from twelve years in the
Marines. But, to his supervisor, he was still the lowest of the low,
rookie through and through.

“Look
what the cat dragged in, right up your alley, Bryce,” said
Mike Lange, the career desk-man who gave Bryce his orders.