Coffee (22 page)

With
boyish enthusiasm, he announced, “Here’s our backup
security console and brain center. All I do is push 5358 ENTER, and
you, my lady, die. How important does
that
make you feel?”

Etty
had been ignoring him but she couldn’t help looking over with
alarm.

“This
baby is the satellite communicator. We enter numbers here to
trigger our fertilizer release, anywhere in the world. You’re
on here too. I enter your magic number, and bingo, dead.”

Etty
stared with a mix of disgust and terror, not only since her life
could be terminated by such a simple task, but also to see this
worthless excuse for a man, giddy as he hovered his fingers over the
keys. “See? Watch. Five .... Three ... Five ... “ He
turned back to look at her again. “Don’t push me, here
it is, I’m right over the eight! You like me, don’t you
Miss Bishop? Right?”

Etty
tried desperately to contain herself. She squeezed the books so
hard, she felt their corners cutting into her palm. “Go
ahead, Bart. Push it. Be a man. Show the world how powerful you
are, how you can conquer your adversaries with a mere touch of a
button. The only reason this gives you pleasure is because I’ve
won. You realize that, don’t you? I’m the winner, I’m
the one who has earned more respect from your boss in the last four
days than you have ever done or ever will. I’m the one who
has made millions of dollars off your company’s folly. I’m
the one who is so good, they risked their business on me, using
kidnapping and even murder to bring me here. Why? Because I’m
worth something. I have value. You push that button, they lose
millions, maybe billions in future profit potential. McKinsey knows
it. You know he knows it. If they kill you? What do they lose? A
couple of strong upper arms and a guy who can use a walkie talkie.
The line of people who could do your job just as well would reach
from here to Brazil. You’re nothing, you’re just a tiny
wheel in a huge machine. Go ahead, Mr. Maslow, push it.”

Bart
twisted his face trying to find a good comeback, but was spared the
agony by the door opening into the small adjacent board room. It
was McKinsey.

“Sorry,
damn phone never stops. Look at you, Miss Bishop! Don’t you
look great. Come on in.” He opened the door wide, and
gestured toward a beautiful glass table surrounded by plush
upholstered chairs. The corner room had windows on two sides, from
floor to ceiling, providing a wide angle at the bright blue day. On
the walls hung two large Matisse paintings, brilliant in primary
colors. A bronze statue stood in the corner - by Magritte of a man
sitting on a park bench with a bird cage for a chest.

McKinsey
looked at Bart, “You can wait in my office if you want. I
think we’ll be just fine in here.”

Bart
tried to muster a professional expression above the thick neck
bulging through an open shirt. “I would enjoy listening in,
Sir, if I may.”

McKinsey
raised his eyebrows, “You do? I didn’t think this kind
of thing was your cup of tea, Maslow, but sure, you’re
welcome.”

Etty
caught eyes with Bart and cracked a ridiculing smile, which Bart
returned with a scowl. Etty handed out a copy of the report to
McKinsey, but not to Bart, and started in. “Thank you Mr.
McKinsey for this opportunity. I must say, I expected a slightly
bigger audience.”

“Oh
yes, Miss Bishop, your report will get a lot of exposure. But
remember, we are operating under extreme confidence. I’m
afraid only I will be able to discuss this with the client.”

Now
Bart threw a smirk toward Etty in their little war, and then stood
to help himself to a copy off the top of Etty’s pile of
reports.

Etty
stood, feeling more comfortable looking down at the two men. “This
is only a summary recommendation, you realize, one which should be
expanded with more specific steps. I do hope I can play a role.”

McKinsey
crossed his legs, and spoke in his most fatherly Texan voice.
“First of all, Miss Bishop, I can tell you I am already very
impressed. I have never in my career seen such a quick turn around
on an analysis like this. Without reading a word, I can see it is
professional, just the way I like it here at Global. Our top
consultants could learn a thing or two from you on turn around and
style. I’d like you to take me through it step by step,
presenting it as you would to John Clorice himself. Some time over
the next week, I will communicate with Clorice Coffee and we will
set up a visit here or there. They’re having a little unrest
down there, so more than likely his people will come here. Either
way, we may ask you a few more questions, but you’re nearly
out of the water on this one.”

“What
happens to me next?”

“You’ll
get another assignment, of course! You work for us now. In fact, I
have one back on my desk just waiting for you.”

“That’s
it? I just do more assignments?”

“Yes,
of course. I told you, you will be a valuable member of our
company, doing special, even the most highly sensitive work for us.”

Etty
wasn’t sure exactly what to expect, but somehow in her
fantasy, she imagined them opening the doors, giving her access to
the outside, travel, something to offer a better chance to escape.
“What will happen to my security status?”

“Security
status? Oh, you mean the escorts?” Etty nodded. “We’ll
have to see, but only a few more months of that I suppose. Bart
here will make the decision on that one - you understand, don’t
you? You earn our respect, and we must earn yours.”

‘Respect?’
she thought! What a joke. She suddenly noticed the plastic
transmitter bracelet still on her wrist. She couldn’t shake
the image of Bart’s tedious face hanging over the deadly key
pad. She had done exactly as they hoped. Like the circus bear, she
calmly wore her muzzle and danced for the crowd, all the while a
shooter somewhere in the dark recesses kept his gun sights trained
on her skull.

“Are
you ready to take us through?”

The
absurdity was beyond comprehension. Did they really expect her to
do this slave work forever? Churning out reports? She wanted to
spit into McKinsey’s ridiculous gaping smile.

She
re-focused, time to get through this. She instructed McKinsey to
turn to the Executive Summary, and outlined her findings that a two
year marketing and organizational plan could lead to 200 million of
additional profit over five years, for an investment of 20 million.
McKinsey showed sincere interest, and followed intently along. Etty
made no gestures toward Bart, centering all her attention on
McKinsey as if he were the only one there.

The
report contained a primary theme, that a new trend in world coffee
consumption was changing the venue for the highest profits. For
centuries, a small group of merchants controlled the coffee and tea
trades. Ironically, John Clorice’s Dutch ancestors had started
the first organized coffee producing area east of Europe, and they
remained one of the largest. A few others emerged, but the large
producer mentality prevailed, that is until the last decade.

Etty
claimed the Seattle coffee drinking market had a lot to do with the
shift.
Starbucks Coffee
opened up a series of
Espresso and specialty coffee outlets all over the eastern part of
Washington State. They were now opening up a store a week someplace
in the world - an extremely successful franchise. Other competitors
caught on, and Etty sighted astounding statistics on the booming
growth in Espresso-type coffee shops per capita. The European
market, long known for its obsession with deep rich coffee, also was
showing high growth. For the first few years, specialty outfits
were still dwarfed in volume next to the bulk buyers such as General
Mills and Nestle, but the tides were shifting fast. This was a new
market worth exploring.

She
noted that Brazilian coffee had not progressed as other coffees had.
Recognition of the Colombian ‘Mountain Grown’ coffee
skyrocketed with intensive brand advertising, absorbing much of the
world’s growing appetite, leaving Brazil behind.

Among
her recommendations were three main points:

First,
they needed to find new distributors, those experienced with
specialty coffee buyers. She included a list of the world’s
largest. Free trials, relaxed payment terms, other inducements, all
added to a multi-million dollar investment, but with great return.

Second,
they needed to join an advertising cooperative, a group that would
mutually benefit from a world wide campaign to increase the consumer
awareness of Brazilian Coffee. She even offered a slogan which
would capture the flavor’s smooth, not too harsh, yet bold,
taste:
“Brazilian, the World’s Perfect Coffee.”

Finally,
she suggested something McKinsey could never claim as his own,
exactly the kind of hard look which motivated him to get independent
review - she recommended John Clorice step away from the Presidency
of Clorice Coffee. As Chairman of the Board, he could influence
major resolutions, but new blood at the daily chief operating
position was needed to bring on this new era of growth. Clorice was
not giving enough autonomy to plantation foremen, causing
inefficiency.

Etty
kept a confident eye on McKinsey as she breezed through her
material. Even her hand movements appeared smooth and well
practiced. All the while, she gave lingering effort to devise a new
plan. Her future looked bleak. The ‘play along’
strategy now appeared too lengthy. Also, with Bart’s fingers
on that hair trigger, she might not last with all the best efforts.
She recalled the lighter security at the Public Hospital. An idea
struck on how to get there.

After
her concluding comments, she asked for questions, and started in on
her ruse. In her whole life, she’d never seen a woman faint,
but society and Hollywood had taught men that fatigued women often
just pass out. She also remembered how her parents once told her a
part in the school play would have no value to her career. How
wrong they were.

At
first, she wavered just slightly, and reached back to the wall to
steady herself. Then she quickly pulled out a chair, and nearly
fell into it. She took deep breaths to gather composure, and then
apologized. “Excuse me, I think I better go eat some food
after this.”

McKinsey
leaned forward. “You’re not feeling well, Miss Bishop?”

“No,
I’m fine, just a little hungry. Do you have a glass of
water?”

“Bart,
I have a pitcher of ice water on the desk in my office. Go get it,
along with a clean glass.”

While
they waited, McKinsey took the conversation as a courtesy to Etty.
“That was really spectacular. We have a courier leaving
tonight for Brazil, and I’ve decided to send a copy to John
Clorice right away. I want to get it into his hands as soon as
possible. It’s that good.”

“Thank
you.” Etty swooned a little, but kept a forced smile.

McKinsey
showed sincere concern. “Not enough food? I guess I
shouldn’t be surprised. I have never seen such a piece
completed in this short a time. I am overwhelmed, Miss Bishop - you
easily live up to your fine reputation.”

Etty
spoke in a weaker voice, and avoided direct eye contact. “Ever
since Saturday night ... .”

Bart
overheard as he walked in holding the pitcher and glass. “She’s
just looking for sympathy. Don’t listen ...”

McKinsey
intercepted. “What about Saturday night? You mean the hit to
your head?”

Etty
looked down. “If you must know, well, I’ve had a little
female trouble since that night, some cramping and other problems.
I think its wearing me down.”

McKinsey
earned a reputation to be feared at Global Growers. He made
decisions that affected the lives of hundreds of people like he was
playing a comfortable game of checkers. Yet like many eccentric
billionaires, McKinsey had certain quirks of behavior - and
demanding gentlemanly behavior to women was one. “Mr.
Maslow,” McKinsey boomed. “I’d be honored to have
a full report on the events of Saturday night. In my office after
this session.”

The moment couldn’t have been better had Etty planned it for
weeks. While the two men stood locked in a face-off, Etty let her
head fall off her shoulders toward the table. She tried not to
control any muscle, and imagined herself tumbling down a white water
current. Her head banged loudly on the heavy glass table, and then
kicked back. The chair slipped out from under her, sending its legs
hard into the wall behind. She let her arms and legs go where they
may, and flopped face down on the dark cherry wood floor. Her arms
and legs landed crooked and awkward. The unnaturalness of it all
created an alarming scene.

McKinsey
rushed around to her side of the table while Bart watched in a daze.
McKinsey yelled, “What are you doing, get over here! Help me
get this chair off her!” They lifted it up, exposing her limp
body. Her skirt had hiked up to an embarrassing level, which
McKinsey immediately covered with his jacket. “Get me a
pillow, two pillows!” Bart grabbed some from seats in
McKinsey’s main office, and jogged back in. They placed them
under her feet. “She needs blood to her head. I’ll stay
with her, go call the hospital. Have them wheel over a gurney. I
want her checked out. Completely. Tell them she needs a
Gynecologist.

Etty
lay there, amused at the surprisingly effective reaction. But she
worried that she wasn’t acting like an unconscious person.
Her breathing, her heart beat, her eye movements under the lids.
She decided she better ‘wake up’ before any
professionals entered the room, but concluded that a few more
minutes might be useful. McKinsey pulled off her heels and
unbuttoned the collar of her blouse. He then joined Bart in his
office, leaving the door to the conference room slightly ajar. Etty
listened in.