Coffee (24 page)

I
GET OUT OF HERE AND I’LL BE YOUR DATE TO THE SOUTH PACIFIC.

ETTY.

She
stared at the block letters. To help would not only jeopardize her
job, it would embrace the horrible story as truth - a woman raped
and held hostage at Global. She penciled in 6:30am, a room number,
and the Hospital’s address at the bottom of the page.

She
found Dartmouth through information, and called for a fax number.
She prepared the person on the other end to receive a fax from a
friend of hers, Harriet Bishop, to be delivered to Knut Olafson.
After a brief silence, the answerer relayed her concern with a
quivering voice. “That’s very odd, Ma’am, because
both of them are dead.”

- Chapter Fifteen -

Bryce
left Warren’s office to drive to the airport, but sat in the
parking lot without turning on the car. The farewell encounter with
Warren left him feeling empty. Wednesday’s winter sun already
hung low in the west, casting red hues on the snow speckled pines.
He adjusted the rear view mirror, and saw his own reflection. Eye
to eye he stared.

Like
an epiphany, his next move suddenly became clear. He jerked open the
car door, jumped out, and marched back toward the Dartmouth office
building. With every step, his gait widened. A smile slowly
stretched across his face.

He
decided to stay.

As
he reached out to one of the long metal handles of the double
entrance doors, it exploded open in front of him. Warren’s
bulky figure nearly rolled him over. They grabbed each other’s
shoulders to prevent falling.

“Whoa
there big boy, slow down!” Bryce shouted.

Warren
clutched a fax. “Bryce, read this. It’s Etty. We
gotta get to Texas!” He jammed it into Bryce’s hands.
Before Bryce could even twist it around to read it, Warren had
already turned back toward the door. “How are you going to
ignore this one?” he said as he re-entered, leaving Bryce
alone on the front step.

The
two men shifted into high gear. No more questions, no more
hesitation. The fax told them they had until 6:30am the next
morning to fly to Dallas and somehow get Etty out of Global.



Warren
paid respects at Knut’s memorial. On display in the funeral
home, his parents had displayed photos of Knut as a child. One
showed him running around a pool with other boys and one as he aimed
a bow and arrow, obviously before he lost his sight. Knut’s
published papers lay in stacks on a counter. Warren shook the
Olafson’s hands and felt the weight of their grief in their
soft words. Warren imagined how painful it must have been to rear a
diseased, handicapped child. But Knut rose above all obstacles to
become a respected academic, surpassing even the grandest parental
hopes. But now all was shattered. Warren felt more anger than
pity. He swore to discover the truth, and exact justice.

Bryce
faxed Mike Lange that he felt sick and decided to lay low through
the weekend. Mentioning that he might have picked up Knut’s
flu added credibility. Then he drove into town to pick up a few
items at a sports outfitters and a hardware store. Warren made
travel arrangements, packed, and dropped Charlie at a friend’s.

By
8pm they were in the air on route to Boston for a layover, and by
12:50am Thursday morning, they arrived at Dallas/Fort Worth airport.
They rented a car and drove to Las Colinas, a few miles north of
Dallas.

“Air
feels nice,” announced Warren with his arm fully extended out
the window. Las Colinas consisted primarily of hotels and expensive
Spanish style homes packed into curvy-road developments. Broad leaf
shrubs and palm trees lined every street and filled each median.

The
Global Growers complex sent a dome of light into the night sky,
visible from miles away. Heavy steel fence prickling with razor
wire surrounded most of it. Every twenty feet, two high intensity
halogen lamps shined - one in and one out, creating a wide band of
area bathed in bright light. Bryce pulled over a safe distance
away. He lowered the window for a better look. “Doesn’t
exactly send a message of hospitality.”

Warren
nodded. “Can’t get in, can’t get out.”
They stared in silence.

“So,
what’s the plan, FBI man?”

Bryce
looked at his watch. “1:45am. We have less than five hours.
I need to get in and look around.” He pulled out the crinkled
fax from Etty and read the room address. “Says here she’ll
be in room 310 - probably the third floor.” He looked up.
“That’s the hospital.” He pointed at the north
gate where the fence line changed to allow for a parking lot. A
neon
Emergency
sign marked the ambulance entrance.

“Why
don’t we just walk into the hospital?” Warren offered.

“Under
what pretense?”

“It’s
a public hospital, hell anything. Stomach ache, what’s it
matter?”

“That’ll
just get you into the ER. You’d have to be pretty sick to be
pulled into the main part of the hospital. Given this fence, I’m
sure their security on the inside is every bit as impressive. No, I
have a better idea. Let’s take a spin around.”

Bryce
circled the complex with the car, and studied each wing. Once back
to the east side, he recapped. “Hospital wing, two office
wings, and this one here must be a residential facility. Look at
the stuff in the windows - house items.”

“I
wonder if Etty is in a prison cell, or in there,” Warren
asked.

“That’s
one of the things I need to find out before I decide how to get her
out.”

“Don’t
forget to tune in your assistant.”

“Don’t
worry, you’ll be right in the middle of the action. How’s
your driving record?”

“Not bad, why?” Warren said, puzzled.

“Violations
in the last few years?”

“A
speeding ticket or two.”

Bryce
peeled out and headed away toward a nearby strip mall. “Actually,
able bodied assistant, you’re going to get me in there.”
As he offered no details, Warren just shrugged and shook his head.
Bryce pulled into the parking lot, stopping in front of a tavern and
quickly stepped out. “Wait here.”

“Wait
here? Where are you going?” Warren kept talking after Bryce
disappeared into the dimly lit bar. “Do I have a driving
record? And now he decides to have a drink. This is helpful.”

In
a few minutes, Bryce came out holding a full bottle of Scotch. He
returned to the driver’s seat, handed it to Warren, then
quickly drove out. He parked in a nearly empty lot to the west of
the complex, and turned off the lights. “It’s not the
best money can buy, but better than sludge. I hope you like
Scotch.” He leaned back on his car door, turned toward
Warren, and relaxed. “Drink up, my friend.”

Warren
looked back and forth between the bottle and Bryce’s strange
grin. “You want me to drink this?”

“Bottom’s
up.”

“What,
we go in as intoxicated bums and see if they let us into the
complex? Now there’s a brilliant plan.”

“Close.
You go in that way, I go in straight. You’ll see. I’d
rather surprise you, it will work better. We don’t have much
time, so start gulping.”

“I
don’t see how I’m going to be much help if I can’t
walk, and start singing Beatle’s songs while we sneak in.”
Warren twisted off the cap and took a long guzzle. He choked and
twisted his face. “More like sludge.”

“Just
drink it. Not all of it, maybe four or five stiff cocktails worth.
I will tell you this. Whatever happens, don’t try to be a
hero. I might not see you in there, so I can’t convey how I
decide to free her. If you get out before me, lay low in the bushes
some place and watch for us. Preferably outside the walls. If
nothing happens by noon tomorrow, fly back to New Hampshire. I’ll
contact you there. Who knows, I may be there with Etty waiting for
you.”

“That’s
it? I get drunk and then wait for you to come out?”

“You’re
part of this, believe me. Just do what I say. You’re an
important part.”

While
Warren sipped, Bryce pulled out the things he had purchased that
afternoon in Hanover. A black nylon carry-on bag held it all. He
rummaged through looking for something, but then decided to take the
whole bag. He left the car and walked behind some bushes.

Warren
could see a corner of the imposing fence looming formidably over the
trees from where he sat. The stainless steel glistened in the
bright artificial light. At least the liquor helped calm his
nerves. He had pleaded with Bryce earlier to call in more support,
but the power of Presidential orders was too much to disregard. They
had to try alone. But Bryce promised to use the FBI - with his pager
if needed - if the situation became too dangerous. Coming out with
Etty alive would give immunity to any of their tactics. Warren kept
drinking, wondering what Bryce was up to, but soon turned his
attention to the radio. He found a Hank Williams Jr. tune, and
played with the dash board knobs to pass the time.

Bryce
changed into a black turtleneck, black stretch pants, black army
type boots, and pulled a black ski mask over his face. He stuffed
his regular clothes into the pack, and stepped to the sidewalk
alongside the car. The back of Warren’s head bobbed up and
down to the music, and Bryce heard some muffled out-of-tune singing.
He crouched down and slinked along the side of the car, and then
slowly raised his mask covered head to Warren’s window. With
a free hand, he tapped lightly right as Warren placed the bottle to
his lips for another drink. Suddenly seeing eyes peering through
black holes, Warren spit a mouthful of Scotch on himself and the
car. “You Asshole!” he shouted.

Bryce
removed the mask and sat back in the car. “Perfect reaction.
It adds to the effect, the smell of liquor and all. You’re
starting to look the part - all in the plan.”

“Bullshit.
You’re just screwing around with me.” He wiped his
front. “You could have told me to dribble it instead of nearly
giving me a heart attack. I’m nervous enough as it is.”

Looking
at Bryce’s black outfit and beaming face, Warren sensed a
different person in his partner. Alert, confident, powerful - no
longer the FBI rookie out to research an off the wall lead. Here
was a military commando, watching the seconds tick away before the
offensive began. Enhanced by the swirling effect of alcohol, Warren
felt excitement mixed with deep admiration for his new friend. But
he wasn’t going to let Bryce’s growing ego get out of
hand. “Cute tights.”

“Is
that why you’re drooling?”

Warren
wiped the droplets of liquor from his chin. “Not that cute.”

“Keep
drinking. You’re all too coherent.”

Warren
swigged again. “I’ll be blotto for days at this rate.
Lot of help I’m going to be. Give me a reason to trust you on
this.” He realized his head was wavering slightly, beyond his
control.

“Knowing
little is good - and the drunker you are, the less they’ll
look into your background. If they figure out you’re
connected to Etty, that’s bad. There are people who know
your name in there, but hopefully not your face. That reminds me,
give me your wallet.”

Warren
pulled the overstuffed billfold from his pocket. “You mean
they can torture me for days and you’ll be safe.”

Bryce
grinned. “Fast learner. My God, how much money is in here?”
He eyed the wad of new bills.

“Lots.
Etty earned that money, it’s the least I can do. That way we
don’t use credit.” Warren grinned, looking somewhat
detached from the severity of their situation.

“I
have to hide this in the shrubs - if someone finds it, they’ll
be pleasantly surprised.”

“Hide
it?”

“You
can’t have ID on you, I told you. You have anything with your
name on it in your bag?”

“I
don’t know,” he shrugged. “Hey, take my wallet,
but gimme the money.”

Bryce
leafed through the bills. “This much cash will raise
questions. Here, take a ... these are all hundreds!”

“I
told you, I’m prepared.” Warren took a messy hit from
the bottle.

Bryce
handed him a small stack. “This ought to be enough.”

“Thanks,
Dad.”

Bryce
put the wallet and rental contract, also in Warren’s name, in
Warren’s bag. “Hopefully, we’ll be long gone
before they can call through to the Rental company tomorrow morning.
There. I’ll be right back.” Bryce took the bag down
the sidewalk while Warren took another sip. On returning, “That
guy hasn’t cleaned out his shrubs for years. Your bag’s
as good as buried.”

Warren
fiddled clumsily with Bryce’s pack, easily switching topics.
“So what else is in here?” He fished through the
clothes and uncovered a stash of rope, glass cutter, binoculars,
heavy clippers, and some climbing gear. He pulled out an aluminum
oval clip ring. “These are called ‘Caribbeaners’,
right?”

“Yea-up.”

“You’re
going climbing?”

“Funny
thing about the Marines. We have armament for every conceivable
situation that can blow away the enemy from hundreds of miles away,
but they still drill you on climbing like we were going to storm
every enemy on foot up the side of a cliff. We practice on wood,
rope net, brick, hell I bet I could scale a sheer wall of ice in
bare feet. It might help me get to Etty.”

“I
tried climbing once. I got half way up the ridge, and one leg
started doing this strange up and down shaking.”

“Sewing-machine-leg.
Happens to a lot of people. Is Etty athletic?” Bryce asked.

Warren
was still visualizing ‘sewing machine leg’. “Yea,
yea, my leg did that. Athletic? Don’t really know. She’s
short, but thin and moves quickly. I can tell you she plays a mean
game of darts. Why?”