“Oh, you’re from the government, and you’re here to help?” I said with a completely deadpan voice. “Why didn’t you say so? Michael, why don’t you open the gate for this lady and her escort? And I’m sorry, deputy, but I never did catch your name.”
“I’m Sergeant Bailey, and that is Corporal Baines and Deputy Krueger,” the lead thug said by way of introduction, still exasperated by the delay. “Now get this fucking gate open so we can go about our jobs.”
“How about you remove your chain,” I proposed, “and Michael here can push open the gate. It’s a pain to get open since that vandal the other day damaged the mechanism. Then we can all go up to the house and get this cluster straightened out. Ma’am, if you’ve got some kind of paperwork to back up your story, I’d really like to see it so I can discuss it with my lawyer.”
When she saw the sergeant was about to complain, I heard the impatience in the woman’s voice as she gave her reply.
“Fine, fine, Mr. Hardin. I’ve got some documents you will need to retain for your records,” she snapped waspishly, “and we can look them over at your house. Honestly, I would have expected more cooperation on your part.”
“Ma’am, I’d be more inclined to cooperate if I knew these deputies,” I lied, since I obviously didn’t trust any of Landshire’s goons further than I could toss them. “Since all this has started, I’ve seen things I never thought I would witness in my life. That includes a shootout on Main Street of New Albany, raiders murdering entire families in their homes, and people trying to kill me. If that makes me paranoid in your eyes, then I’m sorry. How are things going in Houston, by the way?”
Ms. Stockton tried to shrug but it turned into a flinch, and I saw a shadow of fear flash for just a second. She tried to look away to evade my gaze as Mike pulled the pins and heaved the gate back along its track after the sergeant disconnected his chain from the lower bar. We could have easily just triggered the gate via remote, or given the deputies the access code, but this took longer, and Mike and I were playing for time. We had the numbers, but I would like to have Wade handy if this went sour.
I also noticed that everyone still had their rifles out, except me, and held at low ready. When Bailey slung his rifle, I saw Mike tense, but he let the moment pass. As a calculated gesture, I had left my rifle on the ATV in what was apparently a misplaced gesture to reduce the tension in our little meeting. Now I was feeling outgunned again, damn it.
“Michael, can you call ahead and let the ladies know to expect company?”
“You got it,” he replied crisply.
On the rough ride across the fields, Mike and I had decided to work at keeping his identity close to the vest, and the same with Marta and the kids. At the time, we didn’t know what the deputies wanted, but giving them details about who was living on the property didn’t seem to be a wise decision. If the deputies thought Mike was a hired hand, that might reduce the risk of them using my family as leverage. This new party, Ms. Stockton, did nothing to alleviate my fears, and heck, who knew, maybe the deputies really would play it straight. For all our concerns about the sheriff and his alleged criminal connections, I’d yet to see any real proof.
Mike called the house over the radio and used some key phrases to let Nikki know they needed to block off the basement door, close up the inner pantry shutters, and generally look like a group of refugees scratching out their last meal. Nikki caught all that just from Mike’s simple comment that they needed to get some coffee in the percolator ‘since Uncle Alan was in the kitchen’.
Of course, no one listening in on that frequency except for immediate family would know that Uncle Alan, our mother’s brother, was a consummate mooch who showed up unannounced when he’d drunk up his Social Security disability check. What that disability was, none of us knew, but he seemed spry enough when he showed up at our house when we were kids, poaching one of our deer out of season and proceeding to process it on the back patio. I remember our mom finally talking dad out of calling the game warden, only after he forced Alan to clean up the hide and entrails he’d left in a bucket out back.
So, the signal was sent and received.
When we reached the house, I found the window shutters closed and not a soul stirring out in the weak sunlight. While the Suburban parked out in the circle drive, I quickly guided the ATV into the covered parking and killed the ignition. We had a few moments of privacy as the two of us unassed from the ATV.
“What are we going to do?” Mike asked as he adjusted his pistol belt and slung his rifle. I copied the gesture, adjusting the sling on the big FAL so the rifle hung under my right arm, out of the way but in easy reach. I didn’t plan on going on a killing spree, but I couldn’t count on the sheriff’s boys showing us the same courtesy.
“Get on your cell and call Wade right now,” I said quickly. “Have him and whoever he’s got over at his place infiltrate through the pasture gate. Ask him to come on foot, but to come heavy. I don’t think they plan on taking us out, but I want some backup. Also, see if he recognizes the names of those deputies. I’ve seen that sergeant around but never heard his name until now. Then call Andy and give him the lowdown. See if he knows anything about this new initiative from the governor. This whole thing smells fishy.”
“Bailey, Baines and Krueger,” Mike repeated softly, and offered me a tense smile.”Sounds like a bunch of ambulance chasers. You notice the body armor?”
I nodded.
“The FAL might punch through, but warn Pat and Marta about it. Tell them to go for headshots if…”
“If they get froggy. Where you want the fuzz?”
“In their ride, preferably, but if not, on the front porch. Play nice and offer them coffee, but they don’t get inside the house. I’d like to peel Ms. Stockton off by herself if possible and pump her for information, or at least direct her survey a bit.”
“Yeah, she looks like she could give a good pumping…”
I elbowed Mike in the ribs as we hustled out of the garage, to find all four doors of the Suburban already thrown wide, and the unexpected, and unwelcomed, guests already climbing out. Mike faded back, heading to the side door into the kitchen, and I figured it was time for me to buy him another few minutes, so I made a show of checking my cell phone before heading over to join the four.
Waving my phone carefully, since cops tended to shoot people with cellphones in their hands with frightening regularity even before the world went to shit, I approached Ms. Stockton with my lips pressed together in an unfriendly manner.
“I just spoke to my lawyer, ma’am, and he advised me to throw you off my property while he goes and files for a TRO from the district judge,” I lied. Last I’d heard from Butch, he was headed out of town for his lake property outside of Brooklyn, a flyspeck of a community north of Jasper. They didn’t need to know that.
I then slowly held up my off hand to quell the grumblings. The lady from the Department of Agriculture didn’t seem surprised, but the three deputies looked ready to renew their threats. Or escalate things.
“I told him to go marshal up his briefs, but since you’d come all this way from Houston, I wanted to learn more about what’s going on,” I explained, directing my comments to the Ag inspector. “So first, do you have any identification that says you are who you say you are? And second, what did you mean before about having some paperwork for me?”
“What’s a TRO?” asked the youngest of the deputies. I thought he’d been introduced as Krueger, but I couldn’t see his name tag from this side.
“Temporary Restraining Order,” I supplied helpfully.
“And she doesn’t need to show you shit,” Sergeant Bailey barked, the same sneer he’d worn before returning to his face, and I wondered if that was his default setting. “This is a State of Emergency and we’re acting under Martial Law.”
“Again, I understand we’re in a State of Emergency, but that pertains to Federal and State agencies. Has Governor Hicks placed Albany County under the control of
the Department of Public Safety? Or has the president appointed the sheriff as dictator of our county? No, I didn’t see that on the morning news either, but please, all I’m asking for is some identification and a little clarification. Work with me here, Ms. Stockton.”
With her cheeks slightly reddening, the young government worker fished around in her purse for a few seconds before withdrawing a plastic ID card with her photograph and name appearing on one side, and a bar code embossed on the other. Studying the picture and buying Mike a little more time, I matched the photo to the young lady. Right name, too.
“Let me guess. Before the quakes, you were driving around from one gas station to the next, checking for skimmers and rigged gas pumps. And now here you are, surveying my little hobby farm so the governor can figure out how to confiscate the last of the rutabagas coming out of my garden. Sorry, my garden is under two feet of water, and that greenhouse hasn’t produced anything but radishes yet. Not enough sunlight,” I lied with a straight face.
“Oh, no, Mr. Hardin, that’s not what this is about,” Ms. Stockton protested, looking up and away as she responded. “We are simply checking on our farmers to see how the recent events have impacted the crops, and what we can do to help.”
“What do you mean by crops?” I asked, again watching as her cheeks seemed to redden at my simple question. I waved around me in emphasis.
“My farm doesn’t sell commercially, and I’m still waiting to see what type of tomfoolery the governor is playing at here. And I’m really curious why my little acreage here is the first to fall under official scrutiny, when you can clearly tell this place is not set up for large scale operations. And everything is under water,” I repeated with an exasperated tone.
“Mr. Hardin, my sources inform me that in addition to your corn crop, you are also a cattle rancher and also maintain swine and poultry operations on site,” Ms. Stockton continued, glancing around the yard and examining the multiple buildings erected in a rough semi-circle around the house. “Also, I can tell from these barns, you are set up to be much more than simple hobby farmer, as you put it.”
“Ah, so now the truth comes out,” I responded in a neutral tone, making sure not to raise my voice or otherwise incense the government lady’s three watch dogs. Since we’d left the confrontation at the gate behind, I noticed the deputies had begun relaxing their vigilance. We were talking, not physically resisting, and despite the firearms on display, no one was aiming at anybody else. At least, as far as the deputies could tell.
“I don’t think I understand, Mr. Hardin. What truth is that?”
“I’m just a newcomer to the community, and a lawyer to boot, so the local bully boys decided if anybody was going to get screwed by the State, let them start with the new guy. And if you’re thinking about quartering a bunch of displaced citizens in my house, think again. I’m already so packed with refugees you’d think this was a party rental on Padre Island for Spring Break.”
Despite what others might think of my profession, this was new ground for me. I wasn’t accustomed to lying to representatives of our government. I negotiated, of course, and I considered myself pretty good at getting my clients what they deserved, or at least the best outcome I could achieve, but never in an illegal or unethical manner. I always stood for the side of law and order, but I was weaving fact and fiction as fast as I could pull it out of my ass.
Now I was standing here, under the weak rays of the late morning sun, debating the relative merits of killing the four of them where they stood and hiding the bodies. The old country school of handling unwanted guests: shoot, shovel, and shut up.
I felt, to my amazement, that I had no qualms about snuffing out the three deputies. With no evidence to link them to their employer’s shady activities, I found the mere fact they’d forced themselves onto the farm represented enough justification, in my mind, to end their existences. This revelation made my knees weak for a second as I weighed the odds. I would have the element of surprise and a pistol I knew had a round chambered and ready to fire, while their relaxed stances told me they expected no trouble.
Fifty-fifty, I decided. Not great odds, but better than I’d faced my first time in that alley behind my office. However, Ms. Stockton represented the only drawback. Despite her words, I just couldn’t consider her a valid target at the moment.
That’s how Andy had trained me on the shoothouse floor. He’d reduced the world down to two categories for his classes. Targets and invalid targets. Pretty self-explanatory, and it made me realize I was coming to rely on that training more and more. I thought about that mess at the storage facility, and how I’d had to decide in a split second if that shape coming into sight was a target or not before I pulled the trigger.
“So you want to search my farm without a warrant, without my consent, and without my attorney being present. Did I get that right?”
Something passed over the woman’s face as I spoke, a look I had to work hard to identify. Dread, I realized after a moment of contemplation, and I suddenly realized Ms. Stockton wanted to be here just about as much as I wanted to see her here. What I’d taken for her fear of me at the gate, now became something much more sinister. I realized in that moment, her fear lay elsewhere. She wasn’t afraid of me. She was after for me. And herself.
“That’s correct, Mr. Hardin. If we could just go inside, I can show you the paperwork you requested. The governor really is trying to help the farmers in the state in any way possible.”
I shook my head. “No, get your papers out and we can look at them right here,” I countered. I gestured to one of the benches arranged in a semicircle around the front yard. Scared or not, I wasn’t letting this woman in the house. After seeing her fear, I worried about even allowing the deputies up on the porch.
With a sigh, Ms. Stockton gave a reassuring wave to the sergeant and picked up her briefcase, then trudged over to the nearest bench. Unlike the heavy planters I’d posted around the yard as a last-ditch barrier to prevent someone from getting too close to the house or the barns, these simple, five-foot long wooden benches weren’t affixed to the ground with concrete bases and locking bolts, and they resembled backless church pews as much as anything.
After the hurricane cleanup, Mike had decided to drag these benches back out to free up storage space as much as anything, but with the weather clearing even the tiniest bit, these seats were already getting use. Before Rockfall, I’d used these benches for the infrequent barbeques when the family came to visit, but now, all of the adults could be found on these seats at one time or another, trying to soak up a little of that elusive sunlight.
I noticed Ms. Stockton claimed one end of the bench and I took the other, leaving an open space for her briefcase and the promised documents. While the Department of Agriculture functionary fumbled with the lock on her case, I noticed the trio of deputies were gradually drifting closer, making sure to remain within earshot while pretending to ignore us. Curious about what else I might be missing, I looked around and caught sight of a rifle barrel protruding ever so slightly from the second-floor auto parts room. Or as Mike and Pat liked to call it, our sniper’s roost. I didn’t have to wonder if Mike had my back. Now I just needed to figure out how to expel these interlopers without giving them a guided tour.
I had little doubt this whole charade was masterminded by Sheriff Landshire. Though they could have been out here freelancing, looking to make a score, I suspected little went on in this county without the man hearing about it. I suddenly remembered a conversation with Buddy Cromwell, and the police chief’s comment about Landshire’s apparent poor reaction to a briefing from FEMA, or more properly, Homeland Security, at the governor’s behest. I knew Andy had likely attended that briefing as well, but I wondered if the sheriff had the chance while there to learn more from other sources.
As I feared, this was beginning to smell more and more like a scouting expedition on the part of the sheriff as he was getting ready for the conditions to worsen. He was checking
in on his constituents, but I doubted he was calculating their welfare into his plans. All my previous concerns about raiders preying on clueless preppers came back with a vengeance, and I wondered what mistakes I had made, other than being an outsider, that’d drawn the sheriff’s attention to our door.
“Look, here,” Ms. Stockton gestured, lightly touching the cover of the first stapled document with her blue pen, creating the lightest of hashmarks on the cover sheet. Her words jolted me out of my thoughts, and I looked down where her pen touched the paper. She was talking about crop yields and fertilizer mixtures, but I was drawn to the words on the paper.
Under the heading of HELPING FARMERS MEET THEIR NEEDS, I saw two short blue strokes under certain words, as if stressing the message. I chanced a look up in the young lady’s eyes, and I finally saw the naked fear reflected in her face.
HELP ME, she’d underlined repeatedly.
I cast a quick glance over her shoulder and saw the three deputies striding closer, as if growing tired of waiting. Her lips barely moved as she silently mouthed one word.
“Kidnapped.”
Well, hell.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
After dropping this little bombshell, Ms. Stockton’s determined attitude made much more sense. She was acting, yes, but her motivation stood only a few steps away. If she was telling the truth, then convincing me to cooperate was the only thing keeping her alive in the long run.
What to do now? I pondered the question as we pretended to go over the paperwork. Sure enough, Governor Hicks had deployed the Department of Agriculture, along with co-opted members of the Agriculture Extension Agency, or Ag Agents as we called them around here, to offer assistance to the farmers in every county throughout the state. What that assistance might be, no one, not even Madeline, knew for certain.
Tertiary Effects Series | Book 2 | Storm Warning Page 26
