Coffee (35 page)

Although
they heard no sirens, red and blue flashing lights created blinking
marks on the roofs of the houses around them. They hid behind some
bushes while the boys climbed into the Toyota. First they heard a
loud whining, so high Bryce thought it might blow the engine, and
then a furious screeching as the car peeled out of the driveway. As
requested, the boys banked left and headed full throttle down the
street.

Bryce
ran for it in the other direction, crossing yard after yard,
occasionally climbing a yard fence. He kept out of sight of the
street. Warren sprinted after. Bryce talked between breaths. “It
may not be an Indy car, but I’ll bet they’ll be tied up
for awhile chasing that kid.”

“Was
he old enough to drive?”

“Oh,
he was no stranger to hot rods. He had one of his own on the other
side of the house, big supercharger air intake on the hood. He just
likes his Dad’s.”

“Based
on their house, I’d say Dad can afford to bail him out of jail
and get him off.”

Bryce
nodded. “Plus, he has enough money to temper just about any
lecture he might get.” They periodically ditched into hedges
to avoid a passing car, but made good progress out of the
residential area. “We’re going to the nearest hotel,
pick up an airporter.”

“Fly
out, just like that?” Warren asked, apprehensively.

“I’d
love to, but they might know you were mailed your passport. They’ll
probably have the airport crawling with people in ten minutes. We’re
taking a bus.”

“I
hope you know what you’re doing.” They jogged along,
side by side. “If we don’t make it through all this
Bryce, don’t blame yourself for whatever happens to me. I’m
here on my own steam.”

“I’m
saving my own ass - you’re just the lucky guy who gets to run
after me.”

“Oh,
how stupid of me. I thought for a moment you gave a shit. Of
course, not you. Etty, Knut, me - you couldn’t care less. You
just came to be a hero in Texas so some office manager in Washington
writes a nice memo.”

“Slow
down, look respectable. Let’s do this DoubleTree Hotel.”
They caught their breath while they walked into the parking lot. A
blue van marked
D/FW Transport Service
sat in the front
entrance. Warren paid and they took a seat. Police cars passed
back and forth constantly. Warren kept his face down, away from
direct visual contact.

The
van pulled out. Warren kept ‘having to’ scratch his
ankle whenever a Police car passed. The van’s route included
a stop at the Hyatt, in the center of Dallas. Bryce spotted the
blue and white
Greyhound Bus Lines
building. They made an
excuse and left the van.

“I
hope you like busses. You’ll be in one for at least a day, if
not more.”

“I
hate busses.”

A
man swept the cigarette butts off the passenger terminal floor. A
woman looking homeless reached over a collection of boxes and
blankets in an adjacent seat so the men wouldn’t sit. They
bought a Southwest road map in a vending machine, and spread it out
on a bench. While Warren kept an eye on the windows, Bryce planned
their trip.

Across
the street, a Police car pulled up onto the sidewalk. Two uniformed
officers jumped out, leaving their doors open and surrounded two
men. They’d been walking at a good clip, obviously in a
hurry. A heated discussion ignited.

“We
have to get out of here Bryce. They’re stopping people across
the street who fit our description.”

Bryce
stood to see the source of the muffled shouting. “We better
stay separate. Here.” He handed over the map. “Get to
Nogales, Arizona. Any way you can. Don’t go too straight,
make some detours. Plan on two days, meet there on Monday. Check
the bars when you arrive. I’ll do the same.”

“Why
Nogales?”

“Border
crossing into Mexico. They’ll consider it a low probability
exit route. But it’s still dangerous.”

“And
if one of us doesn’t make it?”

Bryce
brushed aside the question. “We’ll be no worse off than
we are now. Get going. There’s a bus leaving over there, you
can flag it down.”

A
Police van stopped behind the squad car. Four more officers joined
the other two.

Warren
scanned the room for eaves droppers. Seeing none, “Be careful
you crazy rookie.” He touched Bryce’s elbow.

Bryce
waved him away. “Go. It’s pulling out. Keep that hat
on. Remember they ID’d you with thinning hair.” Warren
sneered, then sprinted off. Alone, Bryce whispered, “You be
careful too.”

Warren’s
bus headed North for Oklahoma City. He paid all the way through,
but planned to get off in Gainsville, and then head west to Lubbock
through Wichita Falls, eventually passing through New Mexico and
into Arizona.

- Chapter Twenty One -

Wake
up, please Miss, wake up!” Etty opened her eyes into the
uniform of a female official who firmly shook her shoulders. She
found herself sitting up in a wide First Class seat of a mid-sized
passenger jet. A blanket wrapped around her, tucked under her chin.
A blurry shape clarified into the anxious face of the persistent
attendant. “You must fill out this form and I need to see
your passport, please. We will be arriving in Brazil in less than
twenty minutes.”

“I
... I pffink I ....” Etty tried to speak but found the words
coming out of her mouth didn’t match the ones her brain sent
to it. More of the small compartment came into focus. A man in a
military uniform sitting to her left reached a heavy arm across
Etty’s face, holding some papers. A charcoal black sleeve
with bright brass buttons pushed up under her nose with moth ball
smell.

He
spoke with a foreign accent. “You will find everything in
order here, Ma’am. She is traveling on a Diplomatic Passport
with our entourage.” As he waved his arm to point around the
room, Etty dizzily traced his finger through the air. More
uniforms. Men with broad shoulders rose up above the seats around
her, garbed in decorated uniforms.

Anger
brewed behind her glassy eyes. She breathed heavily, trying to get
more oxygen and gain control. She wrenched to free her hands, only
to find them crossed over her chest and strapped firmly to her body
with some kind of straight-jacket.

“What
- is - going - ON!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Conversations stopped all over the plane.

Her
neighbor spoke quickly. “You will see in the papers, Ma’am,
she has a special medical authorization for passage to Brazil, to
return to her family.” He nodded across the aisle to one of
the officers, who instantly surfaced a black leather medical bag.
He surfaced a syringe and filled it with liquid from a small vile.

Etty
saw him preparing the needle. “No. Not that,” she
barely whispered. She must remain conscious. No more outbursts.
She collected her best posture and faced her officer. “Please.
I’m sorry. No more needles. I have been knocked out, shot
up, drugged - I can’t take it again. I promise, I will be
calm. And please take this jacket off me.”

The
man looked her up and down. Etty’s hair stuck out in many
directions, full of knots. Her pale skin gave a high contrast to
her bright red eyes. The man with the syringe approached, holding
the needle and a swab. Her seat mate ordered, “Go back.
She’ll be fine for the time being.” Turning to Etty, “I
must leave on the constraint. But if you contain your behavior, we
will hold off on the sedative.”

The
flight attendant returned the paperwork, satisfied, and left. Etty
let her head fall back. ‘So close. So close,’ she
thought, imaging her friends still waiting at the car in front of
Global. Where to begin. Where was she. “Brazil?” she
finally realized. “Did you say we’re going to Brazil?”



Two
men guided Etty down the aluminum stairs to the tarmac. The
blinding sunlight stung behind her eyes, after so many hours of
unconsciousness. Other passengers filed out a second door near the
middle of the aircraft, while this one emptied in front of a cadre
of military officials standing near a long black limousine. At
least ten heavily armed jeeps and military vehicles created a
barrier behind the limo, each with a full compliment of rifle
carrying militia staring attentively toward Etty.

An
attractive older man, small yet commanding, rose from the limo door.
He walked toward the plane, while the officials separated and stood
at attention forming a pathway for him to follow. As he approached,
he pointed to her chest, and addressed an attendant. “Remove
these binds immediately.” His low, sophisticated accent
demanded attention. The officer unbuckled the jacket. Etty bent
over and shook it off, then flapped her hands to regain blood flow.
He continued, now looking at Etty. “I could not be more
regretful for this poor treatment, Miss Harriet Von Enes Bishop.
Our corporate jets were not available under such short notice,
requiring this shameful handling.” He took her hand in his,
and bowed his head slightly. “I am honored to meet you. I am
John Clorice. Please, let me welcome you, to Brazil.”

“John Clorice, President of Clorice Coffee?”

“The
same.”

Etty
and Clorice sat in the spacious back compartment of the limo.
Clorice provided eloquent commentary on the passing environs of
Recife. Etty hardly listened, still trying to cope with this latest
outrageous development. “Also called the ‘Venice of
Brazil,’ this fourth largest city in the country is known for
its winding waterways and magnificent beaches.”

They
drove north, past the bustling sea port, through Recife Centro, and
beyond to the lovely Olinda. Their stretch limousine hardly managed
through the tight streets of the preserved colonial city. Groups of
ornately costumed dancers shivered the frenzied
frevo
, a
specialty of the world renown Carnival.

“Olinda
means ‘Oh beautiful’ - a name well suited, as you can
see.” Clorice pointed out the window to the rows of colorful
clay homes. Their view from the hilltop stretched south to
Recife’s port, and east toward the vast Atlantic. “My
ancestors built the country’s capital here in the mid 1600’s.
They turned this area into an agricultural and industrial center,
shipping sugar and coffee to all parts of the globe.” Etty
remained silent.

Farther
north along the coast, they crossed a bridge onto an island.
“Welcome to Clorice Island. Once called
Ilha de Itamaraca
,
this used to be home to hotels and wealthy Recife commuters. I
purchased every lot, razed the buildings, and built all you are
about to see. You are entering the world headquarters of the Clorice
Coffee empire.”

They
passed an impressive gate, covered with a tangle of flower bearing
vines. Armed guards looked front and back through an open window,
saluted Clorice, and flagged them on. Grand palms lined each side
of the pompous entrance road. A series of heavy construction
factory-like buildings were visible at the bottom of a valley to
their left. “Those buildings are used for final processing of
coffee brought in from the fields to the north and west.”

Etty
cut in. “Yes, you centralized everything requiring heavy
equipment, and you put it here near the port for easier shipping.”

“Exactly.
You have studied us well.”

Although
Etty gave only marginal attention, she couldn’t help admiring
the view from the final bend. Brilliant green lawns led down to
deep blue ocean, lined with powdered sugar-white beaches. Central
to the view, a monstrous structure pushed up through the sand and
grass, a mansion of indescribable complexity in architecture, more
breathtaking than any she had ever seen. A labyrinth of white and
salmon colored sections, designed with ornate colonial-European
styled stucco and wood, were connected in a wandering arrangement
that flowed beautifully around lush gardens and quaint courtyards.
To the north, another tremendous home, unsurpassable if not for the
first, hung precariously on a bluff over a private beach. Clorice
noticed Etty’s awed face. “When we have dignitaries
with us, they stay there.” Wanting to impress his host, he
added, “The President of Brazil is there at this moment.”
He watched for a reaction, but saw she stared unmoving toward the
sea. “This below us is my home. Do you like it?”

“Do
I like it? Excuse me, but, I’m still back at ‘Welcome
to Brazil.’ ”

“You’ll
find out why you are here in due course.”

Clorice
addressed the driver. “Take us to the old storage building in
Oeste
.”

“Yes
Sir,” he snapped back. The car turned down a single lane dirt
road. Overgrown trees and shrubs scraped the windows as they bumped
along. They pulled up to an older style cement building with few
windows. Clorice stepped out, gesturing the guard to stay put, and
came around to open Etty’s door. He waited for her to stand
on the dirt drive. Etty continued to study his face for clues.
“Please, follow me. I want to show you something,” he
said, in a gentlemanly voice. Etty followed as he unlocked an old
door, and entered the musty storage facility. He weaved through a
number of large pieces of equipment until he stopped at one
particularly large apparatus. He brushed away some cobwebs with a
handkerchief, clarifying the front of a large machine.

Etty
wasn’t sure how to react. Why would he take her to this odd
place. “What is this?” she asked.

Clorice
waved his handkerchief high on the front and removed the years of
dust from an embossed label which indicated the manufacturer. Etty
noticed the lettering.

“Von
Enes? That’s my middle name,” she realized.

Clorice’s
eyes matched the level of Etty’s. “Your grandfather
built this machine.”