Coffee (39 page)

Clorice
smiled. “You accept?”

She
ignored his interruption. “But I need more time to weigh the
alternatives. I had a life in the United States. A family, friends,
a doctoral program uncompleted. This is a foreign land, a different
culture.” Etty watched his eyes. She was stalling, but also
testing his reactions to her independence. If she really did take
the position, she would need her own space, her own style. Clorice
had never shared power in any way with another, all the way down to
his plantation foremen - a style Etty thought was burdening the
company’s progress.

“You
weigh equally the President of Clorice Coffee with a life in a small
apartment, trudging through snow to hear meaningless lectures and
write papers with no purpose but to be graded? This disappoints me.”

“I
was torn from that life, captured and imprisoned. The wounds are
healing, but I need time. I need the full week.”

“A
week?”

“Yes,
as you originally offered.”

Clorice
clenched is jaw. Etty could tell he was not accustomed to
hesitation, less so to rejection. Clorice stood and looked down.
“I’ve changed my mind. I must know tomorrow.” He
marched out. Anna and Catalina had to spring back to leave him a
path.



A
similar meeting began Sunday morning as Etty continued to stall.
What little patience John Clorice had, wore even thinner. Etty’s
cavalier attitude worried Anna. Causing the Meneer obvious
frustration created imbalance. Anna woke Etty on Monday morning
with an ultimatum, delivered by phone. “Ittie, come. You must
get ready. He says to be there in one hour, and not to be late.”
Etty rolled over once keeping her eyes closed. “Please
Ittie, for me. His secretary said to tell you that ‘this is
the day.’”

An
hour later, a navy blue Mercedes Benz dropped her off at the front
of Clorice’s estate. She dressed in pants and blouse, with a
colorful vest. Anna tried to convince her to wear a more typical
skirt or dress, but Etty refused. A sharply uniformed young man
greeted her at the door, and without saying a word, escorted her to
Clorice’s sea-scaped office. Clorice seemed much taller
behind the oval desk. He looked her up and down while she sat.

“I
hope you are prepared to respond. President Barros will be returning
to Brasilia next week,” he lied. “I need to give
attention to my possible future in politics, and must settle this
issue here first. What have you decided?”

Why
had the FBI not come? Maybe the message came from too far a
distance. Maybe no one in the world knew where she was. Clorice
glowered at her like an angry eagle. She stood to address him.

“John
Clorice, if I accept, I have two decisions you must adopt
immediately.”

He
nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Number
one. You must sever all ties with Global Growers. They are
polluted with corruption. If not for me, do it for yourself. The
FBI is about to take them down, and you should not go with them.”

“Knowing
what I do about how they treated you, I understand and share your
opinion. But Harriet, you must understand that Global Grower’s
radio released fertilizer program is paramount to our success. I
will personally hold Bill McKinsey accountable, and have him removed
from office. Others involved will also suffer the consequences. As
for the FBI, you are wrong - there will be no charges filed, from
Police or Government. I have assurance from the President of the
United States himself. Global will survive, and remain strong. To
stop now, and cut our most important advantage ...”

“So
you won’t honor my request.”

“No.
I have every right. You said yourself in the paper, that I would
continue in a Chairman capacity, with influence on strategic issues.
This rises above the day to day that you will control.”

“All
right, then number two. I will change the production schedule
during Carnival, reduce the crew to skeleton only, and allow workers
to join in the festivities. To make up for down time, we will
institute a four week double shift period to bring us back in line.”

Clorice
smiled slightly. “I see you have been talking to the workers.
I respect, once again, your thorough research techniques.”

“Thank
you. What do you say?”

He
found a pen on the desk top and inspected it closely, then looked
up. “You don’t understand this country, Etty. The
Carnival is an excuse for drunken nights and lazy days, under the
guise of spiritual cleansing. If I allow such a change to
accommodate Carnival, there would be a line of workers at the door
demanding equal treatment for other ridiculous events.”

“So,
once again, you will not honor my request. This is clearly a ‘day
to day’ operational item, but you choose to override me.”

“Give
it time, Harriet. Join me and I will teach you. Eventually you will
learn to think as I do.”

“So,
as long as I think as you do, which is the same as doing exactly
what you want me to do, I’m fine. Now I’m starting to
understand why I am so perfect for the job. An outsider, a woman,
no experience, someone you think you can puppet while you expand
your power in politics. You have no intention of reducing your
control over Clorice Coffee.”

“Where
does all this come from? I have offered you an opportunity beyond
measure.” Clorice straightened some papers on his desk,
hinting that he had other things to attend to.

“It
comes from that same perceptive mind that you were so eager to
compliment only a few days ago. No, Mr. Clorice, the answer’s
no.” Etty turned and pushed aside a chair to head for the
door. Looking back, “I expect a car to take me to the airport
immediately. I’m flying home.” She stormed out, and
headed for the front entrance.

Clorice
picked up a phone and dialed. “Get me Milpeau on the phone.
Now.” Seconds later, “Good Milpeau, you’re in the
building. Get some men to the front. My young guest has decided
she wants to leave the compound. You must not let her go. I have
officials arriving shortly and do not want an incident during their
visit. Contain her until this evening, and then you must deal with
her. She has become a nuisance and must be put away.”

His
secretary knocked lightly. “Meneer Clorice, the Secretary of
the Treasury and his team from Brasilia have arrived.”

“Show
them in.”

The
guards at the entrance of the mansion had not yet been informed to
stop Etty when she waltzed through the front door. Police vehicles
and flag bearing limousines lined the edge of the circular drive.
Guards and army personnel tended to a group of dark suited men, who
hustled past her. Her treacherous predicament suddenly became
clear. She’d been living in a fantasy, unconsciously
expecting the US Army led by the FBI to sweep her to a heroic
escape. In her denial, she hadn’t thought through the next
step. She should have accepted Clorice and waited, but she let her
ideals get in the way of rational thinking. Obviously Clorice would
not take her to the airport. “What am I doing!” she
scolded herself. Her only hope was to find a way out.

The
Police escort drivers who’d led the way for the dignitaries
through the city streets, turned around and headed for the front
gate. They kept their sirens on and lights spinning. A group of
children and curious adults followed them along the driveway,
cheering. All the activity gave some cover. She tried to blend in.

Her
spirits sank when she heard a new commotion behind her - men yelling
and tires screeching. Clorice guards. Any lingering hopes
disappeared. She ran in desperation. The road curved left, out of
the line of sight. She knew within moments they would catch up and
surround her, maybe even gun her down like an escaping convict.

A
small access road veered sharp left - she remembered it led to the
old storage facility and turned down. Treetops from each side of the
less maintained road touched overhead like a canopy, letting in only
green and white splotches of light. She sprinted at full speed,
ambivalent to the snakes slithering into the brush in front of her.
She heard vehicles roaring up the hill toward the front gate. The
old storage building came into view. Not stopping, she slammed into
the small door. The locked knob would not turn, but her impact was
enough to break off the rotted door liner near the bolt, so it swung
open. She threw it shut behind her, and dropped across a wooden
bolt.

She
remembered her tour from the first day, but looked now for places to
hide behind the looming boxes and heavy machinery. Her quickly
conceived plan was to keep out of sight until dark, and then take a
chance on one of the fences. The cluttered storage room provided
ample cubby holes.

Outside,
she heard sounds of two, maybe three, jeeps pulling up to the
building. Car doors slammed shut like gun shots, followed by
rumblings of many boots and the clicking of metal rifles. Etty
searched frantically. The Von Enes pulping machine towered over one
section of the room. She ran to it. A long conveyer belt led into
one side. She pried up one of the heavy metal hinged tops which
covered large hoppers designed to catch the slough. She climbed in,
and crammed herself as far back as possible.

First
she heard them try the door, followed by a loud crash. She regretted
locking the door from the inside, leaving a clue that she had
entered. The men fanned out. Etty twitched with every noise as they
tipped over boxes and threw aside small tables. The advancing line
approached her machine. Only a thin strip of light shined through
the imperfect fit between top and bin, but enough to see that her
hiding place extended up under the belly of the pulper. Long
claw-like knives rotated around a shaft, like a huge egg slicer.
She hoisted herself up inside, and lay lengthwise on a row of
blades. She couldn’t help the horrible image of them turning
it on. A bitter sweet aroma of long faded fermenting fruit, mixed
with heavy machine lubricant smell, filled her space. Voices became
louder, some speaking in Portuguese.

The
hopper top opened. Light flooded in below her. She froze and held
her breath. More voices. The deafening boom when they dropped it
shut brought relief.

The
men moved noisily down the line - kicking, clanging, yelling. Their
voices faded as they must have entered a different part of the
building. Soon she heard more sounds, now beneath her. It
surprised her that an old out building like this, in such a marshy
jungle terrain, would have a basement. Soon they returned to the
main floor. They passed her place once again, but didn’t
check. Finally, they exited, spinning their tires as they sped off.

Etty
remained for some time, listening for any clues of remaining guards.
She climbed back into the hopper, and pushed the heavy top up only
enough to view the room. The outside door of the building was not
fully closed. She could see the back of a uniformed soldier,
standing at attention in the yard, with rifle ready.

While
deciding what to do, a vehicle arrived, but this time she heard a
new frightening sound - dogs whining and snarling. Her hiding place
was no longer safe, not from the gifted noses of hounds. She pushed
aside the top and jumped out. The front door offered no chances, so
she headed farther into the building. What few windows it did have
were the ventilating type, too high on the wall to reach. Every
possible box or corner seemed like child’s play for the dogs.
The door opened behind her, and now barking echoed off the far wall.
She spotted a stairwell and scrambled down into darkness, leaving
lights off.

She
felt her way along the walls, and noticed a striking difference in
the material and smells. This was no longer the aging, splintery
walled storage facility. Her hands slid along a smooth, recently
painted wall. Her sandaled feet sensed a buffed, hard coated floor,
and she smelled chemicals and drying lacquer. She quickly patted
the wall as she rushed along until she felt a cold stainless steel
door with a levered metal handle. She opened it. A light within
came on, and a blast of icy air billowed out. ‘Not another
freezer!’ As she was about to shut it, she noticed a figure
wrapped in plastic, a man. Colorful objects pushing up against the
material caught her eye. She leaned in and brushed aside the
accumulated frost. There before her lay an ornately uniformed
soldier, guilded with gold and silver medals. A medallion pinned
prominently above the others read
Presidente - Republica
Federativo du Brazil.
“So this is where you’ve
been.”

The dogs yelped louder, picking up her scent. Etty shut the door
and ran further down. Another storage door, this one of wood, on
iron wheels. She pushed it aside and flipped on a old heavy switch
with a loud snap.

Five
rows of florescent light fixtures, running the length of the
auditorium sized room, flickered to life. Towers of army green
canisters stacked to the ceiling stretched as far as she could see.
Only a few thin corridors, like crevasses in a strange symmetric
canyon, allowed passage. She secured the door behind her by
lowering three metal latches, not seconds before she heard dogs
barking on the other side. She tried to ignore helplessness, hoping
this new room would offer a way out. The guards banged on the
doors, yelling. Etty ran between the towers. She noticed the
lettering on each canister as they flew by -
Global Growers,
Fertilizer Program AL5
.

The
room ended in wire fence separating a locked area. Inside, a
honeycomb of cubby holes brimmed with rifles. Green metal
ammunition boxes arranged in circles built little walled fortresses.
Long wooden crates stacked to the ceiling formed the far wall.
Etty slammed into the fence. Her fingers curled through, holding her
steady. Even the simplest rifles bristled with complex scopes and
latches. The daunting arsenal would outfit an army. Sturdy locks
prevented her entering, but even if she could, she didn’t have
a clue how they worked. She felt beyond her means, out of control,
lost in a terrible nightmare.