Читать книгу Seeds of the Bitter Harvest - John Sheppard - Страница 5

The bright morning sunlight found its way into Andy’s sleeping bag; working through the cracks where the top of the bag and the bottom of the bag no longer met. The noise of the refugee camp also assaulted his ears, forcing him awake. Andy Whitman, the oldest child of Carl and Jackie Whitman, and sole surviving member of the family, was still in shock from the loss of his family, home, and fall of the Capital City to the Enemy. As with most mornings since arriving at the camp, he would have rather remained in this cocoon than face yet another day.

Having been a member of a prominent lineage, he had enjoyed all the material trappings and advantages such a social position brings. While his parents hadn’t spoiled him, he had never wanted for the basics, like food, clothing, and shelter. Now he stood in long lines just to take a shower or have a simple hot meal. He was like the rest of those in the camp, adjusting to a new world of shortages, want, crowding, and inconvenience. All of Andy’s earthly goods were to be found in the knapsack he and his mother had packed on that day when he and his friends made their escape from the Capital.

He, Jimmy Moore, and Cody Holts had made a daring, if not dangerous exodus from their homes, less than twenty-four hours before the Capital fell. Jimmy was Andy’s next door neighbor. They had grown-up together. Even though Jimmy was a shy nerd, skinny, and not at all like Andy, he made a great friend. Cody came from an athletic, outdoors loving family who lived a couple of blocks from Andy’s house. Cody, a year older than he, took the lead in everything the threesome did jointly.

Jimmy and Cody were already up and out exercising with guys from the military base a couple of miles away. Cody was trying to get the three of them to enlist together. Andy wanted no part of it. He knew his country’s military needed young men his age to join, but too much had happened. Andy felt lost, without purpose; he’d rather just sleep.

His bed was an army cot, about six foot long and less than three feet wide. A sleeping bag was on top of the cot. His knapsack, a small canvas bag for dirty clothes, and a single pair of hiking boots were underneath the cot. Andy was one of 25-30 men crammed in to a large tent.

With his stomach rumbling in protest at not being fed, he decided he should get up and get something to eat. In a quick series of smooth motions, he reached for his knapsack, pulled it up to the cot, threw back the top of the sleeping bag, sat up, and swung his feet to the ground.

It was while he was rummaging through his knapsack, looking for clean, but crumpled clothes to wear for the day that Andy found it; a small white envelope, about the size of a Thank You note. The envelope was sealed, and it must have been there since he and his mom packed the knapsack, but he hadn’t found it until now.

His name was neatly printed on the outside, and he recognized his mother’s printing. With the speed of a starving man grasping for his first morsels of bread, he tore the envelope open and took out a simple white note card. His heart stopped. It was indeed a note from his mom. A business card fell out of the note and spun softly to the hard-packed ground floor at Andy’s feet.

Just seeing that his mother’s elegant penmanship graced the inside of the note brought an endless flow of memories, and lead to a flood of tears. He quickly blinked his eyes trying to stop the flow, and with the back of one hand brushed the remaining tears away from his face. He was longing for things he couldn’t have; home, mom, dad, and his sisters.

Andy picked up the business card with one hand, and held his mother’s note with the other. Placing the business card on the cot next to him, he began to read his mother’s last communication to him.

Her note simply stated how much she and his dad loved him, wished him a safe journey to the Port City, and a long, happy life. Included in her message were instructions of what to do with the business card. Andy let out an involuntary sob as his fingertips ran gently over the last written communication from his mom.

The instructions were to find the man whose name appeared on the business card. His office was in the Port City. She mentioned that if the Port City was invaded, and Andy had to evacuate, he should contact this man’s main office in Zurich, Switzerland.

Andy picked up the business card. It belonged to a Mr. Chadwick Lange, of the KML International Holdings Group. It had been a year or two, maybe three, but he had been in this man’s office in the Port City. His mother had started to introduce him to the world of finance, and thought the contact with Mr. Lange would be helpful. It was about this time that his mother had started transferring large amounts of their investments to overseas accounts. She was trying to secure the family’s financial future, if the outcome of the war resulted in the loss of their homeland.

The card itself was of an extremely high grade of paper, trimmed in what looked like a very thin line of gold-leaf. KML appeared as a watermark background in the upper right-hand corner, with Mr. Lange’s business information embossed on the remainder of the card.

At the moment, Andy, like so many of the refugees, was destitute. Perhaps, Mr. Lange could help me. It can’t hurt me to contact him, he mused. It’s not like I’ve got too much to do.

He was broke and there didn’t seem to be any work in the Port City for those in the camp. The refugees were locked in a sort of purgatory; living on hand-outs from the government; with little chance of returning home, but even less hope of having a life outside of the camp. The welcome from the residents of the city had been anything but warm. The infrastructure had been stretched to the breaking point; housing and food prices had skyrocketed with the influx of the additional population. The sense of kinship the refugees had expected from their fellow citizens had not been forthcoming.

Andy waited in line to eat and shower. He did his best to make his clothing and his appearance look more presentable, and headed out to look for Mr. Lange’s office downtown. The gleaming business district could clearly be seen from the camp, and since he lacked both a car, and the money for a cab, he decided to walk to downtown.

After hours of effort, several wrong turns, and requests to numerous people passing by for directions, Andy stood in front of the KML International office building. He guessed the structure to be one of the tallest in the city, perhaps thirty-five to forty stories tall.

Most of the exterior was a dark reflective glass, which muted the images of the surrounding buildings. At the street level, the external walls were clear glass, with highly polished chrome pillars supporting the upper floors. The combination of clear glass and pillars at this level gave the appearance that the upper portion of the building was floating in midair.

Once inside the lobby, the visitors were treated to the playful splashes from several large, rectangular fountains inset into the floor. Andy found the KML offices on the lobby directory. They were on the 25th floor so he headed towards the elevators. It was hard for him to ignore the stares of the well dressed office workers. There he was in rumpled clothing, hiking boots, needing a haircut, and looking more like a street beggar than the son of one of the nation’s prestigious families and a possible heir to a vast fortune.

The ride up on the elevator was equally uncomfortable. None of the other passengers spoke to him. Andy felt like some sort of social leper. He was almost surprised that one didn’t suggest that he get off and find a freight elevator up to his destination. To avoid the discomfort, he focused on the screen flashing the floor numbers, as he and the other passengers rode to the upper floors of the office tower. Mercifully, the elevator door finally opened to the 25th floor.

The lobby of this level was an extravagant display of contemporary elegance. Andy had seen it all before, but it still took his breath away. While he had exited at the 25th floor, the KML suite of offices actually took up five floors, but could only be accessed through the lobby on this floor. The lobby walls soared up to all five floors. The glass exterior walls to the left and right of the elevators offered unobstructed magnificent views of the port, and the ocean beyond to the right, and the view of the mountains to the left were equally stunning.

Opposite the elevators, the walls were covered in black marble and dark smoked glass alternating vertical panels. The doors to gain access to the offices were skillfully inset into this wall, so as to make them difficult to see to the casual observer. A massive, multi-tiered, contemporary crystal chandelier hung overhead. Andy quickly estimated that it was at least twenty-five yards or so, from the elevator doors to the receptionist desk.

The receptionist desk was made of black and grey granite, with deep red veins of color. It stood in contrast to the gleaming, spotless, white marble floors. A lone receptionist sat at a desk so large, that it almost appeared to swallow her. She was a petite, beautiful young woman that Andy guessed to be somewhere in her mid-twenties. Her waist was about a size zero, and she gazed at him with cold, hard eyes, as she beheld him.

The young woman made no attempt to smile at him, but Andy approached her anyhow. Her contempt for someone dressed like he was, remained painfully obvious; by the scowl which deepened the closer he got to her.

“What may I do for you”, was the best she could manage, with a voice inflection which indicated she would rather not do anything for him, other than maybe drop him out with the trash.

Andy fumbled for the business card, and she let out an impatient sigh. As he handed the card to her, she took it as if it were a dead rat.

“Could I please see Mr. Chadwick Lange?” he inquired in a voice so weak, it embarrassed him.

The receptionist glanced at the card, then at him, then back to the card. Finally, she said in a voice as cold and detached as ever, said she would see what she could do, but that Mr. Lange was a very busy man. She doubted if Andy could see him any time soon, and she was certain it wouldn’t be today.

“Go, um. . . stand over…. there,” she said, pointing to a spot out of sight of the elevators, on the other side of some large potted plants. Andy moved to his assigned spot, and she picked-up the phone, dialed a number, and turned her back to him.

He overheard her say a few mumbled “I’m sorry, sir”, followed by “… of course. . . right away”. Before the receptionist could turn to face Andy, Mr. Lange burst through the double doors, which lead to the corporate offices. He moved like a man with his clothes on fire directly towards Andy, with his right hand extended in greeting.

“ANDY, son, I’m so very glad to see you!”

Chadwick looked much as Andy had remembered him. The man appeared to be in maybe his mid to late fifties, and about six foot tall. He had a slight paunch, which his expensive, well tailored, charcoal-grey, suit covered well. There was a bit of a double chin starting to form on a tanned face. Broad shoulders and a thick neck hinted that the man once had been an athlete. Mr. Lange was just starting to have a receding hairline, with hair color that varied in shades of almost a white-grey to grey-black.

Before Andy could acknowledge the greeting, his hand was caught in an iron-grip handshake, and Mr. Lange threw his left arm around Andy’s shoulder. At the same time, the older man briskly moved the two of them through the double doors, into the corporate offices.

“See that refreshments are brought to my suite, ASAP!” snapped Mr. Lange, as they passed a very pale receptionist.

After being swept past cubicles of various types, and some smaller private offices, they entered the well appointed outer office of Lange’s personal administrative assistant, who stood as they entered. Before she and Andy could exchange even a “Good Morning”, he was taken into Mr. Lange’s office. The office suite was much as Andy remembered it. It was an office befitting one of the two vice-presidents of KML for this region.

The expansive corner office’s north and east walls were glass from floor to ceiling. The panoramic view stretched from the port in the east, to the northern portion of the port city and the land far northward. His sizeable desk sat in the northeast corner, facing visitors as they entered the suite.

A heavy, ornate, rosewood conference table, which could seat ten, was to the right of the desk. Like much of Mr. Lange’s office it represented a contrast in styles from the most up-to-date to antiques. It was a look that only the most professional interior designer could pull off successfully.

To the left of the desk, was a small grouping of four low slung chairs around a glass topped coffee table. Mr. Lange directed Andy to the seating area, and motioned for him to take a seat, while he moved to the windows. Chadwick stared out the window for a long moment, his gaze focused on several thin columns of grey-white smoke coming from a point far to the north. The younger man knew he was staring at smoke rising from the Capital.

“I never thought I’d live to see this; I was here in the office the night the Capital fell, I couldn’t believe the terrible orange glow in the sky that night…We thought we were next…”, commented Mr. Lange, his voice breaking a little as he spoke. He was still facing the window, and it was as if he was speaking to himself, rather than Andy.

“When did you get out…. and your family?” he said in a soft voice, turning to face him.”I’ve been pray…, uh, um, thinking of them.”

“I got out…. Friday night. . . just. . . before the Capital fell. . . my family didn’t, as far as I know.” Andy choked on the words, hoping he would not fall apart in front of this man who was almost a stranger to him.

Mr. Lange sensed the need to change the topic a bit, and inquired.

“Where are you living?”

“The camp.” was the clipped reply.”I’m there with two of my friends who escaped with me.”

The older man slid into a chair facing Andy. Deep concern was etched in the man’s face. It was obvious that he was trying to process some thoughts, and carefully frame his next words.

“I have an extensive knowledge of your family’s holdings, and have spent much of my life working directly with your mother. I have a great deal of leeway in dealing with her accounts, not to mention your father’s. They trust…, trusted me, and I think I know what they would have me do.”

At that moment there was a light rap on the door, a pause, and the door opened, the receptionist appeared, with a chrome serving cart. She wheeled the cart to the coffee table. Without looking at either man, she carefully arranged its contents on the table. Two dessert dishes of very fine china, trimmed with gold, the company emblem in the center, and matching cups and saucers. There was a small tray, filled with pastries, linen napkins, and a carafe of coffee, plus cream, sugar, and an etched crystal water pitcher filled with ice, water, and sliced lemons.

Andy felt like he had entered another world. Their Capital was in ruins not forty miles from this place, more than three-quarters of the country was in enemy hands. For all anyone knew here this could all meet with the same fate as the Capital. Yet, these people seemed to be disconnected from it. It was like having Disney World in the middle of a ghetto of terrible poverty, and those within the theme park are pretending the world outside the gates didn’t exist and wouldn’t encroach on the fun within.

“Should I pour or would you like anything else, Sir?” asked the receptionist, still not making eye contact.

“No…. . thank you,” responded Mr. Lange.

She left the room, took the cart with her, and quietly closed the door. As she did so, Chadwick offered Andy the refreshments. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed such fare. He struggled to remember the manners his mother had instilled in him since his earliest years. The delicate pastries melted in his mouth, subtle flavors mingled with light, sweet crusts. The coffee was rich, hot, and full flavored.

Andy looked over at Mr. Lange, wondering how long he had been fully wrapped-up in these tasteful delights, and ignoring his host. Mr. Lange just sat smiling like a doting grandfather who was watching his favorite grandchild unwrap a carefully chosen present. His host apparently had only taken a couple of sips of his coffee, and eaten less than half his Danish.

“There’s something I need to take care of, Andy. I could be gone awhile, please make yourself comfortable. There’s my private washroom through that door to the right of my desk, if you need it.” With that, Chadwick rose from his chair, and touched Andy firmly on the shoulder, as he left the office.

Andy sat and enjoyed another pastry and some more coffee. After a bit, he too rose, and moved to the windows, taking in the view of the Port City, and the port itself. He tried not to look in the direction of the smoke; the thoughts that came to mind were too painful.

Finally, he needed to use the washroom. Entering the door Chadwick had pointed out, even this room bespoke of Mr. Lange’s position within the company. Dark, real wood paneling of some kind graced the walls. Travertine tile on the floor contrasted with the paneling. The commode, sink, and private shower were of a neutral marble. The room was large than some bedrooms Andy had seen and even boasted its own cedar-lined closet, with several changes of clothing waiting the owner.

Exiting the washroom, Andy wandered the office and took time to examine the various pieces of artwork skillfully placed about the room. Indirect lighting highlighted some of the work. It was like a visit to a private art gallery. Eventually, he ended up back at the panoramic view from the windows. It was in these quiet moments that he felt an emptiness which went deep within his being.

He was at the windows another ten or fifteen minutes or so, when Mr. Lange reentered the room with his administrative assistant following close behind. The assistant was a trim, middle-aged woman. Her hair was closely cropped with wisps of light grey in otherwise jet-black hair. She was fashionably dressed, and walked with an air of self-assurance. In her left hand was a large leather bound folder of some sort.

As they neared Andy, Mr. Lange motioned towards his assistant.”This is Ms. Detwiler. She is to be your main contact with the firm. If there’s a question she can’t answer, she’ll defer to me. I will still be here for you Andy, but Ms. Detwiler should be able to address the majority of your day-to-day concerns.”

As Ms. Detwiler smiled, and nodded towards Andy, Chadwick directed them to the conference table, and asked them to be seated. As she sat, Ms. Detwiler slid the folder to her boss. He carefully reviewed the contents, and then pivoted the open folder so Andy could see.

“You have a trust, and other assets, Andy. In addition, once the disposition of your parents and sisters can be established, you stand to inherit a sizeable fortune….”

Disposition of your parents and sisters, Andy thought, that sounds like lawyer for when we can confirm them as dead. He was reeling at the idea, but didn’t interrupt his host.

The documents within the folder showed that Mr. Lange had set up a monthly stipend for Andy and his friends to live on. In addition, he had arranged for a furnished apartment, with two bedrooms and two baths, to be rented out of funds from the trust. Chadwick explained that the apartment probably wasn’t up to the standards Andy had known, but that the surge of refugees coming into the Port City had driven housing costs sky high. There was also a large bank draft with which the three young men could purchase an initial stock of food and clothing for each of them.

Finally, Andy was instructed that if the Enemy were to attack the Port City, he and his friends were to drop what they were doing, and head to this building. The same warning system would be used here, as had been used for the Capital. Warning sirens would wail as soon as the Port City’s defenses came under attack. There would be choppers landing on the roof to help with evacuations.