Coffee (21 page)

“But
Mike, I have new information.”

“Like
what? I heard about Brooke’s little call to the girl’s
mother. The watch? You think that proves anything? I also heard
Global’s explanation of the phone call to Knut Olafson’s
answering machine. Makes perfect sense to me. It’s done,
Bryce. Come home, now. I’m not kidding on this.”

“I’ve
got about ten people who have heard the tape, and ...”

“Bryce,
I don’t care if you have a person holding a knife that is
sticking in someone’s back. If it relates to Global Growers,
then consider it a Presidential pardon. Leave it alone. This is a
matter of much more importance to the country than the one woman.
As for the stolen car, that’s a matter for the local police.
And by the way, you were supposed to be just looking in a safe at
the College. Who gave you permission to investigate her apartment,
and how the hell did an intruder manage to steal your car? ...
Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. What a rookie.”

Lange
hung up, leaving Bryce alone under Warren’s suspicious glare.
“What was that?” Warren asked bluntly.

Bryce
headed for the door. “Call a cab and get us out of here,”
he said on the way out.

The
woman called a taxi. Warren nodded a thank you and followed out
the door into the now bright winter day. Bryce was under a tree
watching two squirrels. Warren stepped behind him. “I’m
not sure what bullshit the head office is giving you, but I’m
not giving up. Not a chance. Not after all this.”

Without
averting his eyes from the squirrels, “I’ll do what I
can from Washington. There’s a political storm brewing in
Brazil, and Clorice Coffee, your friends the coffee buyers, are
apparently helping out to keep things stable. We have to back off.
National security. No questions. It comes direct from the
President.”

Warren
watched the back of Bryce’s sinewy neck and the pulsing in his
temples as he clenched his jaw. “Then I’m going
myself. That was her voice on the phone. You said it came from
Global - then I’ll stake my career she’s in Dallas.
Global is up to something, if nothing else, at least some market
deception. I’ll move down there right away, get an apartment.
I’ll apply for a job, work my way into the Investment Corp. If
Etty’s there, I’ll find her. There’s time - if
they were going to kill her, they would have done it right here.“

Bryce
picked up an acorn. “That big squirrel is trying to get that
other one’s nut. You’d think it would be no contest,
but that little one keeps out pacing him. She’s earned her
nut, wouldn’t you say?” Without waiting for an answer,
he whipped the acorn up into the branches and pegged the larger
squirrel in the side, throwing him off balance so he slipped to a
branch below. The little squirrel dashed to a safe spot to nibble.

“Nice
shot.”

“You
be careful, Warren. Either Global Growers is completely innocent,
and the unfortunate subject of a series of strange coincidental
events, or they’re dangerous. You’d either be wasting
your time or risking your life. I don’t want you making any
decisions without my consent.” Bryce jerked around to look up
into to Warren’s blue eyes. “You understand?”

Warren
shook his head, and stepped closer so the steam from his breath
curled around both of their heads. “Once again, our wonderful
government, always the one to talk of protection and welfare, can’t
do shit when we really need them. All evidence leads to kidnapping,
an unidentified murder victim, and odd circumstances behind Knut’s
death - and you’re telling me you can’t help because
some country on the other side of the world is having political
problems? You do what you have to. But I see it as nothing more
than a pathetic cop out. ... I
want
your help, Bryce. I
don’t know the best way to approach these guys. But if you’re
not coming along, then you’re not dictating my actions. Do
you
understand?” Instead of walking away with the last
word, he stayed in place, up close to Bryce’s face. The cab’s
tires crunching on the snowy driveway finally ended the stand off.

Warren
returned to the house to say good-bye to the old couple, and left
his name and phone number to call if they had any other information
on his car or the intruder. Bryce quickly ran through the apartment
to scan the scene a last time. They climbed into the back of the
cab, and sat back to stare out their side windows. Bryce followed
the skidding car tracks of the BMW, and at the first intersection,
noticed she turned north instead of heading toward Hanover. “The
cops probably missed her, she headed out of town.”

Warren
grunted. “Chalk up another one for the government.”

“You’ll
get your car back. That was no common car thief. The last thing
she’ll want to do is draw attention to herself by driving
around in a bright red expensive stolen car. She’ll ditch it,
and they’ll find it in a few hours.”

“Anything
in the apartment?”

“Her
desk was clean, and the computer on. Someone’s looking for
something.”



Sonya
swerved frantically down the thin snowy road in Warren’s car.
‘Calm down. Be cool. Let’s see. Avoid attention.
Take public transportation.’ She turned north on Lyme Road,
and following her map, drove five miles north to the small town of
Lyme. She parked in the back of a hardware store, and walked
casually to the nearest bus stop. The next bus would leave for
Concord in 45 minutes.

She
found a ski shop a few doors down and purchased a thick hooded
parka, some winter boots, and a pair of stirrup bottom ski pants.
She ditched her old clothes in a dumpster, returned to the bus
station’s dingy lobby, and bought a cup of coffee. She
proudly leafed through her satchel, casually inspecting the various
papers she had collected, anything she could find that mentioned
Global Growers or Bishop’s dissertation. She even used her
secretarial skills to delete the files on the woman’s
computer. Not bad, she thought, two days of work and she earned
more than she had in the last year. She couldn’t be happier
with her new job at Global.



Bryce
and Warren sat in silence for the remainder of the cab trip back to
campus. Warren jumped out at his office, and went in to spend a few
hours planning his next move. The taxi dropped Bryce off at his
rental car, which he promptly drove to the police station in town.
Through mid-afternoon, Bryce helped out in finding Warren’s
car, figuring this was the least he could do before leaving. A
group fanned out to the north, searching smaller towns, and
eventually found it unharmed, with keys on the passenger seat.

Bryce
also revisited Etty’s landlord’s house with the Police,
and found the mess neatly picked up. The couple did not want to
press charges, passing it off as a bereaved friend acting
uncharacteristically. They also visited Warren’s office where
he was busily making arrangements for a trip to Texas. He too
declined to open a case against the car thief, once he learned of
the false ID she used to rent her car, and the lack of evidence.
Bryce returned a final time to Warren’s office alone for an
awkward good-bye. They shook hands across the desk, and exchanged
only superficial words.

- Chapter Fourteen -

Even
with her splitting headache, Etty remained at her cubicle post at
the library until past midnight Sunday. She had both library
assistants scrambling up and down the stacks, downloading data,
bringing refreshments. McKinsey had greased the way, giving her
near complete access, even to confidential company files. By Monday
night, she had a preliminary outline of the final report, and over
thirty pages of notes. Tuesday morning she spent analyzing data,
reviewing world production and sales statistics, finding trends of
both producers and growers, looking for strategic advantages that
Clorice Coffee could use to improve profits. She studied weather
patterns, looking for productive growing region characteristics.
She compared world labor costs, construction expertise,
infrastructure. She studied the life cycle of the coffee plant,
from initial planting, through the annual growing cycle, to the
labor intensive harvesting techniques. Tuesday afternoon, she delved
into every aspect of Clorice Coffee itself - their history, their
people, and their extensive network of growers throughout Brazil.

By
late Tuesday night, she finalized her recommendation - a five step
approach, costing approximately twenty million U.S. dollars in
capital. She forecasted Clorice’s market share in the
specialty coffee arena to grow a minimum of seven percent in three
years. Revenues would soar, as some production would be re-directed
out of the mass market low margin business to the higher profit
exotic coffee buyers. Etty used every moment efficiently, moving
systematically through her plan in a fraction of the time most
analysts would take. She stayed all night on Tuesday, writing,
editing, formalizing. At dawn, the report was ready for final
printing. Etty was good, and she knew it.

Wednesday
morning, she called McKinsey and asked to make a formal presentation
as soon as possible. He agreed, and set up a meeting in his office
for 1:30pm. While a secretary copied and bound her report, Etty
took her first break since starting the project. She wandered
through the Rotunda stores, followed eagerly by her two security
chaperones. She picked up a sharp looking dark blue suit with
skirt, some heels, a silk blouse, and more hose. She even bought
some mascara and new lipstick. She left on the dress after trying
it on, and had her guards carry a bag with her old clothes. Her
only way to beat Global was from a position of strength, so nothing
would be overlooked that might build her credibility.

She
had special ordered some particular coffees at the Rotunda Espresso
Bar earlier in the week, and remembered a phone message from them
that morning reminding her to stop by. They obviously had some fun
with the unusual request, and had set up a taste testing table at
the front of the store. Those passing by stopped to sample from the
line of tall thermos dispensers, trying imported coffees such as
Kenyan AA, Sumatran, Colombian Supremo, Mexican Altura, and of
course, the Clorice Coffee grown Brazilian Serra Negra. The store
manager monitored taste responses, and kept a running total on a
white board set up on an easel.

Etty
tried not to look at the stats as she followed down the line with
her small paper cup, and even avoided reading the name tags on each
thermos. Two stood out with smooth, rich bodied flavor, and one
clearly won her favor as the best. Pleasantly surprised, she found
it to be the Brazilian first, Colombian second. The other three had
interesting pungent tastes, good but bitter. The Brazilian excelled
with its mature depth and rounded, buttery palate. The straw poll
concurred, Brazilian had double the number of chits of any
competitor on the board. Even her unemotional security guards
agreed. Etty and the manager wondered together why the Brazilian
had so much less name recognition than the Colombian, or why so few
specialty shops carried this delightful brew.

Next
she picked up a newspaper and found a comfortable booth at the Cafe
to relax before her early afternoon performance. She found a number
of articles on the chaotic Brazilian political situation, a somewhat
disappointing discovery since she used the country's stability as a
plus in her paper. But one surprising article talked of
impeachment, and a growing interest in electing a business leader to
take the incumbent’s place. John Clorice's name appeared on a
short list of suggested replacements!

When
she noticed 1:00pm on the restaurant wall clock, adrenaline surged
through her system. 30 minutes left. She'd beat these pretentious
thugs at their own game before - time to do it again. She hopped up
from the table so quickly, the guard sitting across from her lurched
to stand and tipped over his water goblet with a loud splash. She
rushed to the Finance Library, and found five neatly stacked copies
of her handsome report, bound in a navy blue cloth cover, embossed
in gold lettering:

Clorice
Coffee

Recommended
Strategic Plan

Harriet
Von Enes Bishop, PhD Pending

She
nodded confidently to 'co-workers' on the sixth floor as she strode
through the plush reception area. She knocked loudly on the
President’s heavy door.

Bart
Maslow opened it. "Miss Bishop, how nice to see you again."

"What
are you doing here? Where's McKinsey?," she said
disappointedly as she walked in.

Bart
looked over Etty’s shoulder to the guard. "I'll take
over, thanks." Bart closed the door, revealing that they stood
alone in McKinsey's office. "He's in the small board room
making some calls. He’ll be out in a second to get us, so we
can hear your magnificent presentation."

"You?
What do you have to do with this?"

"Security.
I wouldn't want you getting out of control with the boss, or
anything."

"Who
else is attending?"

"Just
us."

"What?
Just you and McKinsey? You're kidding!"

"What
did you expect? Who do you think you are? You're just an analyst.
Did you expect a contingent from Clorice Coffee! Ha!"

Etty
blushed with anger and embarrassment. How humiliating to bring her
masterpiece, the keystone to her plan, only to deliver it to Bart
Maslow! She stood, clutching the stack of reports without speaking.

"In
fact, young lady, let me show you something." Bart walked to
the short hallway which lead to the board room. A complex console
of keyboards and screens filled the wall. Among them, a 10 key pad.
Bart stepped up and turned on a amplifier-like box. He held his
chunky finger on one of the number keys on the unit, and looked back
at Etty.