Coffee by gren blackall Page A

could hardly
make a fist. She hid herself getting out of the tub and dressed
under the bathrobe. She dried her long black hair with a wall
mounted hair dryer. She wore her one business outfit - a dark blue
skirt and jacket with a simple white blouse. Jagged crease lines
crumpled the suit, but she didn’t bother searching for an
iron. They had taken her heels and other shoes, so she wore only
nylon hose on her feet.
    She
stared at herself, eye to eye, in the mirror. She was trapped in
some kind of strange unreal world. Nothing matched - killer thugs
yet posh surroundings, a happy planned community harboring deadly
secrets, a doctoral dissertation turned into a living nightmare.
She had no plan, no way out. She had no allies. She could trust no
one. She wanted to cry, to jump into the big bed and sob
uncontrollably. But she knew her only rational alternative was to
go with them, talk to them, try to remain strong. Somehow, there
must be a way out, and escape seemed to be her only salvation.
    She
picked up the phone and dialed McKinsey’s extension. A
receptionist patched her through. “Miss Bishop? Wonderful,
you’re ready. I’m tellin’ you, brace yourself for
being impressed. You’ll see. I’ll have Mr. Maslow come
by immediately to escort you to my office.”
    Etty
hung up without saying a word. She wondered how she could have a
professional conversation with the individual who orchestrated this
whole diabolical scheme. The idea disgusted her.
    Bart
soon arrived, continuing his ruse as the friendly little helper.
His forced puckered smile clashed with his bulky face. “Hi
Etty! It’s time to start your first day on the job.”
    “Job?
This is a job? So you use kidnapping as a form of recruitment?”
she asked, wanting to claw his face.
    Bart
had no good answer so he changed the subject. “Anything you
want me to carry for you?” he said as he opened the door and
gestured for her to pass.
    Etty
sneered, and then asked, “What I really need are some shoes.
This is ridiculous, a business suit and no shoes.”
    Bart
looked down, agreeing with a nod. “I’m not sure where
they ended up. Let’s meet with McKinsey first, and then I’ll
take you down to get some new ones.” They walked to the
elevator, returned to the spacious lobby, and entered the great
domed Rotunda. They turned right, and approached one of the
security stations.
    Based
on the sign below the guard’s high-tech console, she was now
entering “World Investment Corporation.”
    “And
to think I believed you were the Securities and Exchange
Commission.” Bart didn’t respond. The guard gave her a
visitor’s pass to clip to her blouse. They entered another
set of hallways, but with completely different decor from her prison
area or the apartments. A beautiful dark wood paneled the walls.
Doors leading off the main hallway looked thick and heavy. Ornate
moldings traced along the top of the corridor. They passed a perky
receptionist, poised behind a rounded front desk of solid glass.
Bart nodded slightly and the two continued to an elevator lobby.
    While
they waited, Etty asked, “So who is Mr. McKinsey?”
    “President.
He’s one of the biggest guys around. There are only two
Division Presidents, and he runs WIC - a big money maker.”
    “I
can understand how he got to the top. I bet he left a few bodies
along the way.” Bart swung around to see if others had heard
her comment. The elevator arrived and opened. A few well-dressed
business types exited, and two men entered. After pushing six, the
top floor, Bart looked hard at Etty. He passed his finger back and
forth in front of his tight lips.
    Mr.
McKinsey’s office occupied the south west corner of the top
floor. The opulent modern decor startled Etty, a stark contrast to
the more staid dark wood style of the business lobby. Bronze
sculptures, white and green marble floors, multi-million dollar oil
paintings by names such as Warhol, Hundertwasser, and Lichtenstein,
blown glass