Coffee (42 page)

Once
the four travelers stood in the small grungy room, the old woman
closed the tunnel door. She nodded at her gritty husband, who
closed the exit door and turned a latch to secure it. There they
all stood, now pressed together facing each other. The old man
leveled the gun at Bryce. He spit as he spoke. “Seems the
fee’s purty cheap fir a big spender like yurself. How ‘bout
coughin’ up a little tip for me and the missus.” He
pushed the muzzle hard into Bryce’s ribs.

Before
Bryce could react, Warren pulled another wad of 100’s out of
his pocket and waved it high in the air. “Allow me!”
The old man glanced at the money just long enough for Bryce to shove
the barrel up toward the ceiling. A loud report filled the room,
sending a shower of plaster and dust from a hole in the ceiling.
With his other hand, Bryce thrust a clenched fist hard into the
man’s chin, sending him flying back against the wall. He slid
down to a sitting position. Warren crowded the woman, looking down
at her angrily. She backed off.

Bryce
took the gun from the unconscious man. “Com’on folks.
Show’s over.” He addressed the woman. “Since
we’ve already been so generous, I’m sure you won’t
mind if we borrow your truck. We’ll bring you along so you
can drive back. Maybe you’ll get some of that tip.”

Warren
cringed. “After they tried to rob us?”

“Get
over it. It’s a different way of life out here. Let’s
go before Papa wakes up and has a change of mind.” The woman
hesitated, but now Bryce pointed the gun.



They
pulled into a gas station near the Tuscon airport. The Mexican
women hugged their arranged husbands and gathered their things.
Warren offered some extra cash, which they accepted graciously.
Bryce handed the old woman a few bills, and wished her a pleasant
ride home. She spit on the sidewalk and then roared off.

“We
better get you cleaned up,” Bryce said, observing his now even
filthier friend.

“You
don’t look so great yourself. Keep the lipstick though - adds
character.”

Bryce
wiped his face and looked at the red smear. “What a woman.”

“Hey
lover boy, so how do we get from Arizona to Brazil?”

“I’m
hoping they all think we’re in Mexico, so they called off the
dogs here. They have proof we crossed the border.”

“Yea,
but we’ll still show up in the computer. This gives me the
creeps being back on US soil. I hope you know what you’re
doing.”

“We’ll
have to take the chance Lange hasn’t had the balls to tell the
police that an agent is involved, so we can pull the ‘FBI
official’ trick again.”

Warren
hardly listened, turning to scan the area nervously for suspecting
police. “Let’s get out of here.”



By
1am the next morning, they were safely on a flight, final
destination - Brazil. They celebrated by ordering a couple of the
tiny-bottle airplane cocktails. They ‘clinked’ before
sucking out the whiskey. Warren nudged Bryce with his elbow.
“Semper Fi? I can’t believe they let us through.”

“I
know that look. I would have guessed the customs guy was a former
Marine if he’d been wearing a dress. It’s in the eyes.”

“Nice
having friends in low places.”

Bryce
sneered. “The only friend that’s helped you so far is
the one who dropped you off the back of a truck and left you for
dead. I wouldn’t be so quick to criticize mine.”

Warren
drained another whiskey. “To Etty.”

- Chapter Twenty Four -

John
Clorice showed his guests to the door. The final hues of Monday’s
light lingered on the horizon. He returned to his office to
complete some unfinished business, including a call back to Bill
McKinsey who had left a message earlier.

McKinsey
assured Clorice that Global had risen squeaky clean from the last
chaotic week. The plans would continue on schedule. Clorice Coffee
would ship
AL5
in three days, and Global would facilitate
with low cost letters of credit to buyers.

Clorice
grumbled of his problems with Etty, which received a hearty laugh
from McKinsey. “John, I might as well tell you. Two men
tried to break her out of our facilities - that’s why all the
commotion. Not only did they fail, they are on the run from the
law, accused of arson and murder. We’ll have no more trouble
from them. But remember, I warned you!”

“Enough!
Her’s is a tragic story. Miss Bishop is an extraordinary
person. I regret we’ve come to this.”

“I
have a simple solution,” McKinsey said, now treading more
carefully. We have her programmed with staphylococcus. I can
release the infection from here by transmission.”

Clorice
doodled on a pad while thinking. “I have not relished the
thought of spilling her blood on my soil. I prefer this.”

“Consider
it done. I’ll send as soon as we hang up.”

Clorice
kept him waiting while he considered. “Set it off at nine this
evening, our time, two hours from now.”

“Yes
Sir. You know the drill - quarantine her once the reaction begins.”

“I
do.”

Clorice
hung up and immediately dialed Etty’s bungalow. Catalina
answered. “Have Etty meet me in one hour in my office.”
She tried to respond, but Clorice had already cut off.



Etty
arrived at eight with arms and calves bandaged in numerous places.
Guards stood on either side as she walked across the reception area
toward Clorice’s office. He relieved them and welcomed her to
a comfortable seat.

“You
look a little worn, Etty. If you lived here, you would know not to
venture into that brush.” Her worn jeans and rumpled cotton
shirt made her appear young and vulnerable. Clorice felt true
compassion. He settled into an adjacent chair, and pulled out a
cigar. “Would you like one? They are the best in the world.
Havana’s are cheap substitutes.” Etty shook her head.

After
lighting up and puffing a few times, he began. “I am
disappointed.” He mouthed out a blue smoke ring, which curled
in on itself in front of his face. “Or maybe more surprised.
You Americans have frustrated the world for centuries with brash
ingenuity. You don’t filter every action through layers of
protocol the way many do, you just act. Once you surface a new
idea, others may be more organized in exploiting it, but no one
matches your assault on opportunity. I would have thought ...”

“Now
I’m American? I thought I was a ‘fellow countryman.’”

“European
blood, but American fashion. It’s a learned trait, or a
culture, I’m not sure. Europeans and others migrate in,
leaving behind generations of mediocrity, then blossom. You already
have it, that brazen disregard for conventions, leaving your best
traits exposed.”

“You
can’t bundle American’s up in a neat package and expect
us to act a certain way - we call that prejudice.”

“See!
You’ll even push aside a genuine compliment just because I
created a convention, a box. You immediately break out of it.
That’s exactly the character I want. I’ve done well
making Clorice Coffee do more, to grow, to improve. But rarely
different. This is why I needed you.”

Etty
turned her head, tired of the lecture, anxious of her future. “So
now what.”

Clorice
had never faced such indifference. This young woman left an
exasperating void in his self image. He imagined squeezing respect
from her by force, but knew she’d fight, and leave him far
from satisfied.

He
tapped his ash, eyeing her sunken posture. “If you only knew
the power you would have had. In one short decade, Brazil will be
the world’s only major coffee producer, and you would be
firmly in place as this company’s leader.”

Etty
wrinkled her brow. “The only major producer?”

He
puffed hard, pleased to see her finally show some reaction. “We
have on these premises a shipment of fertilizer that will shake the
world markets. An ingenious plan, designed to quadruple Brazil’s
export revenue. My Treasury should begin to overflow near the end
of my first term as President of Brazil.” He laughed.

“You
plan to wipe out the other producers? What, you’ve tainted the
fertilizer?”

“There
you go again. Always the perceptive one. Have you ever heard of
Hamileia Vastatrix?”

Etty
gasped. “You have mixed the fertilizer with a coffee blight?”

“The
same one that cleared the coffee fields of southern Europe a few
centuries ago. Since we will release the vermin selectively, we can
create what appears to be a wave of disease, spreading from field to
field, across Columbia, Venezuela, then to Africa and Europe. It
will skip our growing areas, of course. But I have built up
inventory of coffee in anticipation, so the world will not miss a
single cup of java.”

It
took her a moment to make the words pass her lips. “I don’t
... You’re out of your mind! You’re using a food
growing operation to distribute disease through the world?”

“People
can’t get it, only the plants.”

She
stood. “Only the plants! The crop that millions of people
rely on for their only source of income? You take that away, you
might as well spread the plague!”

“Just
as I anticipated, Miss Bishop. Fire and brimstone.”

“And
you expected me to run this company? Preside over an organization
destined to destroy economies, suck the life out of communities
across the globe?” She pushed back her chair in disgust and
walked to the book shelves. “This is outrageous.” She
spun to face him. “You’re sick, John Clorice! With the
breaking of the agricultural backbone of these countries, they will
fall. Starvation, disease, civil unrest will spread unrestrained!
All for what? Higher profits? How much will it take to make you
happy?”

“Oh
come now. Competition always draws some blood. And you were
perfect for the job. I would have kept the strategy from you - what
better person to lead Clorice Coffee through the turmoil of global
instability. Listen to your talk of peoples, starving for want of
productive coffee fields. You would have stepped onto the world
stage, organized relief programs, donated time and money to poor
sister countries. Your pretty face would be on every TV, magazine,
and newspaper. The image of Brazil would increase by bounds, along
with the coffers of our Government and my company. Who would ever
suspect, that under the floorboards of the very pulpit from which
you mourned the destruction of world markets, lay the machine of its
demise. Oh Harriet, my plans were perfect.”

The
deranged and twisted plan actually tied neatly together. And she
could have been an unknowing agent, personally responsible for its
execution. She reached to a shelf to steady herself. Waves of
numbness prickled up her spine.

She
knew now for sure he would kill her. He’d have to. And with
her outburst, she’d given him validation that it would all
have worked.

She
must not lose composure. She spoke slowly, between deep breaths.
“Since we are bearing our souls, Mr. Clorice, you have
underestimated my role in this drama.” Even if this would
hasten her death, being so utterly humiliated urged her on. “The
United States Government knows where I am, and is on route to this
compound to find me and take you and your agent, Global Growers, to
justice.”

Clorice
threw back his head with a laugh. “Oh Miss Bishop! Are you
referring to your two friends in Texas? Your hapless rescuers?
They won’t be bothering us, that I promise. They are being
chased like common criminals for capital crimes. So much for your
white knights. Besides, if what you say is correct, then where are
they? Wouldn’t they be here already? I suspect your friends
are either dead or behind bars. No my dear, you are alone, more
alone than a glove in space.”

Etty
dropped her head, unable to hide defeat. A servant stepped to the
office door and signaled to see Clorice in private. Clorice stood.
“Please be comfortable. I will be back momentarily.”

As
soon as he closed the door, Etty rushed to his desk. She had to
call someone, even if it was the last thing she did. Maybe she’d
find a gun.

First
she tried the phone, picking it up carefully. Voices. ‘Damn!’
While lowering it back, she overheard the word ‘impeachment.’
She listened. A man spoke harshly to John Clorice. He continued,
“You must put us through to the President. He must return to
Brasilia, now! His administration is falling apart.”

Clorice
answered calmly, “He is in deep prayer and cannot be disturbed
under any circumstances until tomorrow. Those were his strict
orders, given to me personally. I will not disobey General Barros.
Noon tomorrow, we will re-enter his guest house and tell him the
news.”

The
man sighed. “Well, I suppose we can wait one day. But, Mr.
Clorice, the legislature is voting in the next 48 hours whether to
relieve him.”

“All
the more reason he needs his rest, so he may be in top form.”

“And
if they do, and I think they will, we’ll need support from
business leaders to prevent an economic disaster. We will ask you
to play a role, heading a business task force.”

“Absolutely.
I would be honored.” Etty noticed a slight shrill in his
voice. John Clorice’s plans were continuing to fall in place.

The
other man added, “This could be an important boost to your own
Presidential bid.”

“Please!
We should think of our country and the President first!” Then
more quietly, “But of course, I will do whatever I can.”

As
she listened in horror, she noticed a pad of paper on his desk, dark
with doodle marks. Within the circles and other shapes, she read
the words, “programmed with bacteria,” “quarantine,”
and “off at 9:00, dead by daybreak.” Next to this, a
pink phone-message note reading, “Bill McKinsey.” She
checked the time. 8:15pm.