Daniel Suarez - Freedom (TM)

He gestured to the axe handle in Fossen’s hand. “A bit early in the season for baseball, isn’t it?” The sheriff looked to the others. “Everyone all right?”

Fossen kept his eye on the private detectives. “Who called you out, Dave?”

“You wanna do me a favor and put that axe handle down?” He looked to the three strangers, one of whom was retrieving the pieces of his wrecked camera. “As much as these fellas probably deserve a beating, you and I both know you can’t afford it.”

“They’re on my land illegally.”

“No. No, they’re not, Hank. They got the state court involved. Brigitte just told me on the radio. They’ll call out the state police if necessary to enforce it.”

The three men chuckled and started gathering up their equipment.

Fossen took a deep breath to calm himself. “I don’t know how this is legal. How is this legal?”

The sheriff came closer and gently lifted the axe handle out of Fossen’s hands. He spoke quietly so the others couldn’t hear. “Hank, listen to me. Just get back on your tractor and finish spraying. They want you to lose your cool. Hank Senior wouldn’t have wasted his time with these idiots.”

“My father did everything right. And they still almost bankrupted us. Hell they would have if . . .” Fossen stared with hatred at the men. “He never stole anything in his life. My father was cleaning seeds for people in this county for decades. And his father before him. You need to know that, Dave.”

“I know it, Hank.”

“Why doesn’t anyone else fight back? Why do they let them do this?”

“Because they’re afraid. People are hurting. They’re one lawsuit away from losing everything.”

“Halperin drove my father to do it. He only did it so we could keep the farm.”

The sheriff nodded grimly. “Everyone knows that. No one was more respected than Hank Senior.”

One of the men called out. “I hope your son is smarter than you, Hank. Or some jihadi’s gonna blow him to smithereens.”

The sheriff turned to them. “Hey, I’m a veteran. You want to make sick jokes about soldiers? What if I slapped you with a disorderly conduct charge? Who do you think your employer will believe? You or me? And you think any of your bosses might be veterans?”

They just glared.

“That’s what I thought, now pack up your shit and come back later. I’m all of out of patience with you three.”

They gave him the evil eye and dragged their feet as they went. The lead one called out before he got in the car. “Uncooperative local officials find themselves outspent in elections, Sheriff.”

The sheriff stood alongside Fossen as they watched the men get in their SUVs and drive off. He handed Fossen back his axe handle. “Damn good thing you didn’t have a head on that, or you might have been in serious trouble.”

“Thanks for talking me down.”

“I’ve been wanting to come out and talk to you and Lynn anyway.”

“What about?”

“Do you and Jenna talk much, Hank?”

Fossen narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean? What’s she been up to?”

“Look, I don’t mean to pry into your business, but I’ve been seeing her hanging out with some strange characters here in Greeley.”

Fossen sighed. “Damnit. It’s like I don’t even know her since she came back. She’s just been moping around the house for months since she graduated. There aren’t any jobs—here or anywhere else.”

“Look, I know things are terrible right now, but it’s even stranger than that.” He thumbed in the direction of his patrol car. “Remember when Sheriff Pearson patrolled this county? He had a pistol and half the time he didn’t even wear it. Well, I carry a shotgun, an M16, and two pistols in the car. Crystal meth changed everything. Our department’s been in eight shootouts in four years.”

“Jesus, you’re not telling me that Jenna is involved with drug gangs?”

“Jenna? No, that’s not where I’m going with that.”

“Thank god.”

“My point is that suddenly—like in a single month—the meth gangs are all gone , Hank.”

Fossen frowned. “That’s good. Isn’t that good?”

“Yeah—in a be-careful-what-you-wish-for sort of way. I mean, that doesn’t happen. Think about it. The ruthless, prison-controlled meth gangs in the state are almost completely gone. And nonprofit treatment facilities are popping up.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me, Dave—but I wish you’d tell me already.”

“There are things going on in this county that . . .” He tried to find words, then looked up. “Well, things that don’t make any sense.”

“Less sense than outsiders having more rights to my land than me?”

“In a word: yes. There’s some sort of strange force at work. Strange equipment is showing up—and people are tearing up their fields. Strangers—mostly young people—are moving back into the county and establishing businesses. But businesses that don’t seem to accept money. They have lots of high-tech, expensive gear—but I’ll be damned if I can tell what it is they do.”

“And they’re not gangs?”

The sheriff shook his head. “No. And they have legal counsel, too. We started investigating them, and the DA made us back off. I don’t know whether they’re a cult or—”

“What does this have to do with Jenna?”

“She’s one of them, Hank. That’s where she spends most of her time. I just thought you knew.”

Fossen gazed down at the fertile but unplanted soil. He nodded to himself. “Tell me where.”

Henry Fossen waited in the dark in his F-150 pickup truck on the outskirts of Greeley. He was parked beneath the awning of an abandoned gas station across from a fenced yard shop. According to the sheriff, the yard had become a hive of activity in recent months.

Fossen watched the road for the arrival of Jenna’s subcompact car. One she’d saved up to buy with her own money before college. In the meantime, he listened to AM talk radio.

The news was all bad. Inflation was on the rise, with the dollar falling against overseas currencies. This had sent gas prices soaring. Unemployment—already dismal—was getting worse. Tent cities had begun to spring up outside Des Moines. The financial crisis was supposed to be easing up, but instead it was only getting worse. And yet the stock market was still moving upward. It didn’t seem to make sense.

Across the road Fossen saw silhouettes of people moving beneath flood lamps among tarp-covered pallets in the fenced-in perimeter of the yard shop. He occasionally saw forklifts moving pallets. A semitruck carrying shipping containers arrived at one point, and a lift truck pulled the containers off swiftly—sending the semi on its way.

But there was no printed sign to indicate it was a business. The sheriff said investigation of this site had been halted by the interference of a high-priced Des Moines law firm.

Fossen stared at the place. He needed to be certain the sheriff was right about Jenna before he confronted her. What had she gotten herself into? She had always seemed levelheaded—even as a teenager. Future Farmers of America, 4-H Club. Had he become complacent? Expecting her to never need his help? She excelled in school. Got a partial scholarship to ISU. Graduated with honors in biology—and walked straight out into the worst job market since the Great Depression. Here it was almost nine months later, and she was still living at home with no hope for work. She’d said she was volunteering at a nonprofit political action committee. Would she actually lie to—

Someone suddenly rapped on his passenger window, startling him. He turned to see his twenty-three-year-old daughter, Jenna, standing in a peacoat and scarf alongside his truck. She had a scowl on her face. Even so, she looked as pretty as ever.