Coffee (34 page)



The
two men stayed with the TV late into the night until the national
anthem played behind a waving flag. Neither talked. The walls of
the windowless room flickered with pale TV light. Remnants of a
haphazard dinner lay on a cookie sheet.

Bryce
stretched his arms back to ward off a near trance. He stood, and
began sweeping potato chip and pretzel crumbs off the small table
with one hand, catching them with the other. Warren remained still,
slumped deep into the couch.

“Com’on
Warren, let’s get some sleep. We need to be clear tomorrow.”
Bryce tapped Warren’s stocking feet. “I’m going to
find a bed - you going to stay here?”

Warren
finally mumbled, eyes half closed, “We’re in deep shit,
Bryce.”

“There’s
nothing we can do about it right now. Get some sleep, we’ll
talk about it in the morning.”

“Etty’s
in deeper shit, maybe dead. When are you going to call in the FBI?”

“I
want to wait a few more hours, then I’ll sneak out and find a
pay phone. I’ll get your bag too.”

“It
may be too late.”

“I
can’t call from here, we have to wait. I’m not even sure
whose side they’re on.”

“Fuck! I can’t believe this!”

“Remember,
Global has some powerful reasons to want her around, so why would
they kill her?” Bryce hid his own doubts. “We’ll
get her.”

Warren
fired back with sudden flair. “Get her? We’re hiding
like rats in somebody’s house, nibbling at their food. We’re
being framed for brutal murders. We’re fugitive criminals
with every cop in Texas looking to bag us. We’re not even sure
Etty’s alive, and even if we were, we wouldn’t make ten
feet in her direction. Get real, Bryce, we’re out of the
picture. We might as well turn ourselves in and do the time.”

“I
know it looks bleak.”

“Bleak?
Unless we walk into FBI headquarters holding her hand, we’re
doomed. There’s not a court in the State that wouldn’t
convict. And we’re in Texas, execution central.”

“Tomorrow.
Just wait until tomorrow.” Bryce switched off the TV, then
all the lights, leaving Warren in darkness where he sat. Bryce
groped his way out the door and toward the stairs, but turned around
for a last comment. Warren could see his silhouette, head bowed.
“I’m scared too, you know.”



Warren
couldn’t resist taking a long hot shower the next morning,
even though he risked leaving a steamy trail for Alfred. He found
Bryce in the kitchen munching on some corn flakes while he read the
morning paper he’d retrieved from the mailbox. “More
pictures. Here you are again.”

“That’s
my Dartmouth employee picture. So they know too.”

“You’ve
gone national, my friend. After this is over, you’ll be
getting calls from Oprah.”

“I’m
thrilled. She’ll interview me over my cell phone. Your
picture out yet?”

“No.
I’m still the ‘unidentified man.’ I guess I owe
one to Lange. Even though he’s doing it to save his own ass.
You sound a little more lively this morning. Feeling better?”

“No.
But then again, I can’t imagine being worse off. It’s
almost liberating. I have absolutely nothing more to lose, and
finding her’s our only chance. So, I guess I’m ready for
whatever’s next.” He pulled up a chair. “Have you
called the office?”

“I
tried. Got your bag too. Over there.”

“What’d
they say? They coming to get us?”

Warren
changed out of the blue hospital clothes.

“I
only trust Brooke for now. I had to leave a message, left her our
phone here in code. So I don’t know yet, we’ll have to
wait ‘till she gets in and calls.”

“I
thought you said we couldn’t use this phone?”

“I
didn’t have any better ideas.”



When
the phone rang, Warren was still studying the photos in the paper.
Bryce waited for the answering machine to screen the call. Warren
flipped a page around, “Hey wait! Look at this!” He
pointed at one of the newspaper photos, taken from the front of the
hospital. The photo focused on firemen and police collected in the
parking lot. But off center a helicopter was clearly visible on the
heli-pad. Two uniformed men were pushing a wheelchaired patient to
its open cargo door. Although the patient slumped forward, the long
tangled black hair and small frame implied a woman.

“That’s
not a medical helicopter, it looks like military transport,”
Bryce said, face bent close to the paper.

Brooke’s
voice sounded through the speaker. “Bryce?”

Warren
continued, “That woman’s out cold. No IV, no Doctor
standing by. It’s Etty.” He pushed himself away from the
table. “Where are they taking her!”

“Hey
Brooke. You on a safe line?”

“Bryce!
What the hell happened? I thought you were in Brazil - this is a
Texas number!”

“Brazil?
What do you mean?”

“Bryce,
you have this place turned upside down. I can’t even imagine
how one person could get into so much trouble.”

“You
can say that again. We’ve been framed, Brooke. We had her in
our hands, almost to the car, but ....”

“Slow
down, Bryce, I want to know why we just received an emergency
evacuation call from Brazil with your ID.”

It
finally sunk in. Warren begged, “Bryce, what! Tell me!”

Bryce
cupped the phone and whispered, “Etty’s in Brazil.”
Warren moved closer, mouth gaping.

Brooke
spoke sternly to Bryce. “That makes another one on the pile,
giving out your security code. That alone is mandatory expulsion
from the Agency. Not to mention that Lange is about ready to track
you down and kill you himself.”

“Did
you answer the call? Send help to Brazil?”

“Are
you kidding? Lange got buzzed right away, and immediately pulled it
- along with your records. You don’t exist anymore, Bryce,
not from the FBI’s perspective. Bad enough that you got caught
interfering in Global against direct orders. Top that with a couple
of murder indictments. Now he thinks you’re messing with
Brazil. He’s sure you’re going to personally start a
world war. And you won’t believe where in Brazil she is.”

“Where?”

“Right
in the middle of the Clorice Coffee headquarters in Recife. That’s
where the President of Brazil is staying.”

“Jesus.”

Warren
looked with a hands out gesture.

“Brooke,
you believe me, don’t you? We had Bishop. She’s alive
and well, they must have taken her to Brazil. Get Lange, I’ve
got to talk some sense into him.”

“I’m
telling you, Bryce, absolutely not. Do
not
call him. He’ll
trace it and come after you with tanks and jets. In his mind, you
have personally jeopardized national security and guaranteed him a
retirement condo at a Federal Penitentiary. The only reason he
hasn’t turned you in himself is he hopes you die or get
caught, at which time we’ll claim we’ve never heard of
you. I don’t know what else to say.”

Bryce
sighed and rubbed his stubbled scalp. “All right. I
understand. Brooke, I don’t want to suck you into this, but I
need a couple of favors.”

“There’s
little I can do.”

“You
can intercept future messages from her, and keep them from Lange or
anyone else. I’ll call in and check when I can.”

“Maybe.
Lange doesn’t want to hear them anyway, I can talk to my
friend in communications. But no promises.”

Bryce
reached for a phone book and leafed through the yellow pages. He
passed his finger down the
Convenience Store
entries, and
found one in Las Colinas, in the same strip mall as the tavern they
had visited earlier. “I need my passport.”

“You’re
not going to Brazil!”

“Please,
just do what I say. No one will know who sent it. Put it in an
overnight packet, care of me, at
Redi Mart
at 15012
Caballero, Las Colinas. You’ll have to find the zip. The
passport’s in my desk.”

“What
kind of music do you want at the funeral?”

“Won’t
be Brazilian, I promise. If Clorice Coffee has Etty, then they’re
in with Global. And if the President of Brazil is in the same
place, then we’ve got bigger problems than anyone realizes.
If Lange wants to put his head in the sand, fine. It might be more
than Etty’s and my ass I’m saving. Don’t breathe
a word. I’ll be calling you.” He hung up.

Warren
asked, still in disbelief, “She’s in Brazil?”

“Yup.
She’s vacationing at Clorice Coffee.”



Warren
called a good friend at Dartmouth - he needed his passport as well.
The school bristled with news of the Texas incident, but he still
managed to convince her that the murder charges were false. He
instructed her to mail his passport to the same
Redi Mart
,
c/o Bryce Applegate, and not tell a soul - lest she put herself in
danger. She’d find it, along with some money to pay for
overnight delivery, in his office desk.

The
only event that broke the monotony of the rest of the day and night
was Alfred’s evening inspection. Right on time, they heard
his shuffling feet at the back door. Bryce jumped off the couch, and
pointed to a few acceptable places for Warren to hide, like a father
directing a child. He had to suppress a laugh, though when he
realized Warren was bent over, and imitating Alfred looking absent
mindedly through the rooms. “Hide you idiot! He’s
coming!”

“Oh
quit worrying. He’ll never find us. I could put a lamp shade
on my head.” Warren pushed himself into the front hall closet
behind some overcoats. Bryce threw the newspaper and a few other
things from the kitchen table into the trash can under the sink, and
then climbed behind an easy chair in the corner of the TV room.
Alfred wandered through, humming a tune. He mumbled something as he
passed the front hall closet, sending Warren into stifled hysterics.
Eventually he finished up and left.

They
reunited in the kitchen. “Hey, we left a box of cereal on the
table. Alfred didn’t notice.”

“Warren,
if you’re half that coherent and pleasant at his age, or even
alive, you’d be a lucky man. You shouldn’t laugh.”

“I’m
not making fun of him - the opposite - I like him. Hell, I talk to
myself all the time too, and I’m in my 30’s.”



They
awoke the next morning to loud revving sounds from a powerful
automobile engine. They found, to their relief, that it was only
the next door neighbor’s teenager sitting behind the wheel of
a formula stock car.

Warren
stood by the window, still in his underwear. “A dreamer.
Look at him. He wants to take that baby out for a spin so bad he’d
sell his soul to the Devil.”

Bryce
pointed up to one of the windows in their house where a man’s
face pressed up against the glass. “He’d have to pay
extra to have the Devil take out Dad first.”

They
returned to the kitchen and searched for food among the much reduced
supply. “We might have to resort to the canned beets in the
storeroom,” Warren moaned.

Bryce
hung up the phone. “Don’t worry, we’ll be leaving
today. You pick up the place, and pack our stuff. I’ll go
get the passports - they’ve arrived at the
Redi Mart.
Give
me a wad of your millions.”

Warren
fished a wallet out of his bag and grabbed a short stack of
hundreds.

“Nice
traveling with a big wheel finance guy. We government employees are
lucky to afford the rent on a place you could wall paper with this
stuff. I need tip money for the store.”

“I’ve
been in this business long enough to know it doesn’t buy you
much. Help yourself to whatever you need.”

Bryce
pulled out two bills from the stack. “I owe you.”

“Hell
you do.”

“Play
house maid while I’m gone.” Bryce put on some running
shoes and left.



An
hour later, he returned, out of breath and covered with sweat. “You
should have seen the store clerk. He was all ready to give me a big
pitch about how he was going to charge me for receiving my mail.
Then I slapped a hundred on the counter. It’s fun being the
big spender.” Bryce scanned the two envelopes. “Here’s
yours ... wait, what’s this?” He inspected the small
writing on the receipt. “Oh shit - she used a credit card to
pay for it. I hope it’s not your card.”

Warren
looked over his shoulder. “That’s my number all right.
This is bad, huh?”

“If
the Police have any sense, they’re monitoring your credit
cards. They could find out in a second that it was tied to the
address at the
Mart
, stake it out, and follow me here.”

“You
mean they might be here? Right now?”

Bryce
ran to the front window and peered through a crack in the curtains
to see a car parked a block down with two men facing them. Bryce
somberly assessed the situation. “My guess is they used one
car to watch the store, but I bet they’ve radioed for backup
before they storm the place.”

The
words took hold. “So you’re telling me, we’re
seconds away from being surrounded by swat teams?”

“Something
like that.” Bryce ran into the kitchen and pulled more bills
from Warren’s wallet. “Get the stuff, we’re about
to run for it!” He barged out the door and down the stairs.
Warren collected what he could carry, and followed.

Bryce
was already in the neighbor’s yard, talking to the teenager
and his friend who were looking under the hood of the stock car.
Warren couldn’t make out the conversation, but he could see
there was some quick negotiating going on. Bryce pointed back
toward the garage where the damaged Toyota still sat. Bryce took
the boys’ baseball caps, and flipped one on his own head. The
boys ran toward Warren, one fondling a wad of money with a huge
smile. Bryce sprinted by them, and opened the garage door. He
ducked in and pulled out his black bag. “This way, hurry,”
he said, motioning to Warren.