Fatal Harvest

by Catherine Palmer

  “If a person has tunnel vision, Mr. Strong,” she said, peering at him with those glittering emerald eyes, “then maybe he or she can only do one thing at a time. Some people let their jobs become their lives. They don’t leave time for family or hobbies…or volunteering…or ministry. I strive for a full, balanced life. And my enthusiasm for it spills over into my job.”

  He stared back at her. “Some people don’t have a job that demands constant vigilance—twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and no weekends or summers free to flit around having a full, balanced life.”

  “Yeah, well, some people have children, and they ought to—”

  “They ought to stop listening to people who don’t.” He reached over her shoulder and touched the computer screen. “Who are all these messages from?”

  As she swung around, her curls fluffed out, grazing the hair on his arm. A jolt of adrenaline raced up his skin, shocking him in its intensity. Irked at this as much as at her words, Cole straightened and jammed his hands into his pockets. Miss Jill Pruitt was a stuck-up little do-gooder who thought she knew how to parent Matt better than his own father did.

  “I think it’s them,” she said. “Look at this stuff they’ve written to him. This is appalling. Poor kid!”

  Drawing a deep breath, Cole bent over again and read the message Jill had pulled up on the screen. Whoever wrote it had every intention of intimidating and threatening Matt. The writer informed him that he was in violation of privacy laws and that he had better stay out of the company’s business if he knew what was good for him.

  Jill closed that message and opened another. More of the same. As she clicked chronologically backward through the long list, Cole saw that the tone of the e-mails had gone from fairly polite to downright hostile. Now she opened another window and found the messages Matt had sent.

  “Bingo!” she called out. “It’s Agrimax, all right. This is who he’s been writing to, see? In this message he’s trying to get information. And in this one he’s broaching his concept—that Agrimax participate in a global plan to end hunger. I wish we could find that plan.”

  “It’s probably in his term paper.”

  “No, Billy and I found a rough draft. It mostly addresses the problem of famine. But his solution—that’s what Matt was really immersed in. That’s what got him into trouble with Agrimax.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t his solution that troubled them. Maybe what burned them was the fact that he’d gotten into their system at all. Obviously, they didn’t want him in there.”

  She gave him a grudging nod. “Could be. He clearly wasn’t e-mailing their PR department. This person who’s been writing to him has influence. An executive, I think. Matt had gotten further inside the company somehow.”

  “Can you tell me why you taught him that?” Cole demanded. “What purpose does it serve? He didn’t need to learn how to break into a huge company’s computer system.”

  “First of all, I don’t teach hacking. Whatever code Matt used to penetrate this level of the company is something he learned from Jim Banyon. Or maybe he taught himself how to get inside their communication network. He’s quite intelligent, in case you didn’t know.”

  “Too smart for his own good, it sounds like.”

  “And second, he hasn’t actually accessed the company’s mainframe. I doubt Matt would do something like that. He’s a very ethical young man.”

  “Oh, really? I wonder where he got that?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “All right, I guess you haven’t totally blown it, Mr. Strong. Matt is a great kid.”

  Cole wished he could feel better about her compliment. True, he had taken the boy to church every Sunday of his life. They prayed before meals. And Cole had tried to model morality, patriotism and the ideal of the hardworking American male. But how much had he influenced his son in ways that really mattered?

  “Okay,” Jill said. “I’m going to take a stab at this. I think what happened is that Agrimax felt threatened by Matt, and they sent two men out here to question him.”

  “Matt—threatening? No way.” Cole hooked a thumb in his pocket. “You don’t know my son as well as you claim.”

  “I know he was pushing the company to consider his ideas. That’s obvious from the text of his messages.”

  “Pushing is not threatening. Does Matt write anything that could be called the least bit threatening to the company?”

  “I didn’t read everything.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “Okay, but—”

  “Hey, Miss Pruitt, did Matt write you back?” Billy stepped into the room. He had a bowl of thick, red-chile carne adovada in one hand and a spoon in the other. “Did you check?”

  “Just a sec. I’ll have to access my account.” Jill leaned forward and ran through a series of motions Cole couldn’t track. In a moment, a message popped onto the screen. “He answered!”

  Hope spiraled up through Cole’s chest as he bent to read his son’s words.

  hi miss pruitt im ok dont write again tell my dad dont follow me i will be home when its safe matt

  “He’s in trouble, man,” Billy said. “He’s scared. He thinks those Agrimax guys are after him.”

  “Does the fact that he wrote us mean he’s somewhere with a phone line?” Cole asked.

  “Matt’s laptop has a wireless modem,” Billy said. “You paid for it, Mr. Strong, don’t you remember?”

  “I don’t know what half the stuff he orders is all about.”

  “A wireless modem works like a regular phone connection,” Jill explained. “Matt can use the Internet or access his e-mail account without needing a phone line.”

  Cole considered this. “Still, maybe he stopped at a motel for the night. Or maybe he’s at a friend’s house.”

  “A friend? He doesn’t have any friends but me, Mr. Strong. You know that.”

  “Billy,” Cole said, “is there any place Matt would go other than his grandmother’s house? Somewhere he’d feel safe?”

  “There’s places around here where he likes to hang out, you know? Like he spends a lot of time at the cemetery—”

  “The cemetery?”

  “He goes over there before school and visits his mom’s grave. I think he talks to her, but he won’t admit it. And he comes over to my place once in a while, but my parents are like—whew. It’s bad over there, so we usually come out here to chill. He likes the library, and he likes talking to Miss Pruitt, but he wouldn’t go anyplace around this town to hide, Mr. Strong. Not if he’s afraid.”

  “He does sound scared in that message.”

  “You know what I think? I think those Agrimax guys might have killed Mr. Banyon, and Matt saw what they did, and now they’re after him. I think that’s why he took off and doesn’t want us to follow him. He thinks we’d be in danger if we got near him.”

  “You may be right, Billy.” Cole studied the computer screen, and then he straightened. “I’m going after him.”

  “I’ll go with you, Mr. Strong.”

  “No, you won’t. Get on home, and I’ll call you if—”

  “No, sir! I’m going after Matt. You don’t understand the Mattman like I do. He’s not good at stuff, you know? Regular life is what I mean. Common sense. He doesn’t know how to talk to people or do normal junk.”

  “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean he needs me, Mr. Strong. If he was blind, I’d be like his seeing-eye dog. I get him through. I help him. I’ve been doing it since forever, okay?”

  “I know you’re his best friend, Billy. But you can’t go out on the road with me. Tomorrow’s Friday. You’ve got school—”

  “You don’t get it, Mr. Strong. Matt needs me. I gotta go find him!”

  “No, Billy, I’m not taking you, and I won’t change my mind on this.”

  “You don’t ever bend, do you? You’re just like Matt said—like an old dead stump stuck out in the middle of a dry lake, good for nothing. He said there’s n
ot a single soft place on you, Mr. Strong. Not inside or out. You’re just hard and dead and cold. Well, I’m not like that. Not now, not ever. And if somebody needs me, I’m there. I’m totally there. Do you get that? Do you get it?”

  “I get it, Billy. Now, go home.”

  “I’m already gone.” He glanced at his teacher. “Later, Miss Pruitt.”

  “Later, Billy.” As the boy stalked out of the room, she pushed back the chair and stood. “It wouldn’t kill you to take him along.”

  “I don’t need another sixteen-year-old on my hands. But I do need somebody who can work a computer. I’ll get you back by Sunday night at the latest.”

  “Me?” She laughed. “Are you kidding? I’m not going anywhere except home. I’ve got a dog to walk, tests to grade, and a full day of classes to teach tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, and I’ve got a missing son who just made contact for the first time since he vanished. Now unplug the computer, and let’s go.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m an old dead stump in a dry lake bed, and the only thing around me that’s got any life has disappeared. I’m going to find him, and I expect you to come along.”

  “If you understood computers, Mr. Strong, you’d realize—”

  “But I don’t. I understand cattle. I understand hay. I know how to make a ranch productive enough to help feed all those hungry people you care about. But I don’t know how to run a computer, and you do. So I’m telling you to pack that thing up, and come with me to find my son.”

  “I could stay home and check the messages. If Matt e-mails me, then I could call you.”

  “Miss Pruitt.” Cole set both hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “I don’t know how to make this any plainer. I’m going to find my son, and you’re going to come with me. Bring the computer. Stay in contact with Matt, and tell him what I say. And go through that machine with a fine-tooth comb. Read every past e-mail he got or sent. Read all his reports, all his research, everything. If there’s anything else on the computer I need to know, tell me. We’ll find my son, and then I’ll take you home. Is that clear?”

  Her chin stiffened. “I will not do this, Mr. Strong.”

  “You will do it, because you’re the one who caused all this. You put the bug in his ear about famine relief. You fired him up about all the hungry people in the world, and your big mission trips, and your famine-relief projects. And you taught him every technological thing he needed to know to dig himself into this deep hole. So you’re coming with me, and you’re going to do your dead-level best to stay in touch with my son and help me find him. Do you understand now?”

  Her nostrils flared as she glared at him. For a moment, he thought she was going to buck him again. But he knew if she did, he’d toss the little fireball over his shoulder, throw her in the truck and make her go with him anyway.

  “I will need to make arrangements for my classes,” she said through tightened lips. “And perhaps I could be allowed to pack a few things?”

  “I’ll take you to your house.”

  “My car is at the school.”

  “You won’t need it.” He took her arm. “Let’s go.”

  FOUR

  Jill stared out at the two-lane road that stretched between Artesia and Hobbs. She could not believe what she was doing. Until this day—this simple, ordinary Thursday in May—her life had been organized and structured. She had graduated cum laude from Texas Tech, taken a teaching position at Artesia High School, joined a church, rented an apartment until she’d been able to buy herself a house, and had been content. She enjoyed her job, her garden, her mission trips, her friends. Everything under control. And then Cole Strong had walked into her classroom.

  Now they were jammed into his hot pickup, driving along in the dark, yet they had hardly spoken two words to each other. She could almost feel the rancher seething. Or was it worry that emanated from the clenched fists on the steering wheel, the bunched muscles beneath his blue shirt, the flicker of tension in his jaw? And if he was indeed worried, was it the fate of his son that troubled him—or the unfinished chores he had left behind?

  “I’d drive faster, but the antelope are thick tonight,” he commented, almost under his breath.

  “It would have been a lot quicker if you had dropped down to Carlsbad and taken the highway to Hobbs,” she said. “I’ve done it a hundred times.”

  “Matt wouldn’t go that way. He’d do the straight shot.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  Bullheaded old coot, she thought. Okay, maybe Cole wasn’t old. In fact, they were probably close to the same age. But he was definitely as hard-nosed and stubborn as they came. Handsome in a weather-beaten, sunburned sort of way, he came across as a man who chose to stand alone—who spoke his mind and hoarded his smiles. A man who didn’t need or want anyone.

  Right now, though, he needed Jill’s expertise. But he certainly didn’t want her, the idealistic computer teacher who had led his son astray. Well, he was as stuck with her as she was with him.

  Jill glanced over her shoulder to where the computer equipment was riding under a billowing tarp in the truck bed. Cole wouldn’t hear of leaving it behind, even when she insisted she could communicate with Matt through her own laptop. No, they had to haul the monster LCD monitor and the tower, not to mention the tangle of wires connecting an external hard drive, a CD burner, an optical mouse and the twin speakers. She had tried to draw the line at bringing the printer, but he refused to leave it. So it was jolting behind them, too, no doubt losing bolts and dislodging hardware with every bump in the road.

  “I’m supposed to be starting a new unit in my Web-design class tomorrow,” she said. “There’s no way a substitute can do that for me.”

  “Why bother starting something new? The kids’ brains have shut down for the summer anyway.”

  “Are you kidding? I never quit until the very end.”

  “I can believe it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Billy said you were intense. I’d call it hardheaded.”

  “Me, hardheaded? You’re the one who forced me to go with you in spite of all my other commitments.”

  “It wasn’t me who forced you into this truck. It was your guilty conscience.”

  “I don’t feel the least bit guilty for anything I’ve ever said in my classroom.” She crossed her arms, feeling hot and wishing she had a clip to pull her hair up off her neck. No doubt this old truck had never had an air conditioner. “I’m glad I told the students about my famine-relief work, and I plan to keep on telling them until they get the message.”

  “My son got your message, and now he’s missing.”

  “That’s not my fault. Matt has a tendency to take things to extremes.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “I suppose your idea of famine relief is mailing a check to some organization you don’t even know is legitimate. Or do you even do that much, Mr. Strong?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do do that much. My church has a strong missions arm. Part of what we do is feed the hungry. So my monthly tithe check goes toward that, and I’m glad to help in that way. But I don’t have time to head off to some godforsaken desert somewhere and ladle out porridge. If you do, that’s fine with me. Just don’t go foisting your ideas on susceptible young kids who don’t have the maturity or wisdom to know what to do with them. And by the way, you can call me Cole.”

  By now, the tips of Jill’s ears were on fire. She rolled down the window and stuck her head out in hopes of cooling off. Never in her entire life had she met anyone as obnoxious and self-centered as this man! How dare he blame her for Matt’s disappearance?

  “Do you need me to stop the truck?” Cole asked.

  “What?” She put her head back inside.

  “You look sick. I’ll stop if you need me to.”

  “I am not carsick—I’m angry! Do you have any idea how ignorant you sound? Ther
e is so much you could do. But you just sit there, so smug with your little tithe check.”

  “Where I sit is on a tractor or a plow or a combine. And what I do is grow hay to feed cattle and horses. And what those cattle do is get slaughtered to feed hungry people. So don’t tell me I’m not doing my part.”

  “Who buys your cattle?” Jill asked.

  “Agrimax. My chile is processed by Selena Foods, which is owned by Agrimax. And my hay goes to Homestead, a division of Agrimax. Yeah, I owe my soul to the company store. But that’s how it goes, Miss Pruitt. If you want to make a living as a farmer or rancher, you sell your product to the company that will keep you in business. For me, that’s Agrimax.”

  This news piqued Jill’s interest. She had no idea the man was in league with the devil himself. So Matt’s father—like so many others—had been forced to toe the line by one of the three huge corporations that controlled the world’s food supply. Softening a little, she drank down a calming breath.

  “You’re not angry with me,” she said. “You’re mad at yourself. You know you work for the company that is harassing your son. It’s Agrimax that frightened Matt into taking off. Not me.”

  “A company like Agrimax is not going to pay much attention to some e-mails from a starry-eyed kid who wants to feed the world. He’d be like a gnat buzzing around the head of a bull.”

  “Then why do you think Matt is on the run?”

  He paused. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I think Matt went to interview Jim Banyon for that term paper. I think he got to spending time with the old man, and they became buddies. I don’t know whether Matt realized it or not, but Banyon must have seen that his operation was in trouble. I’m sure he had invested all his retirement money into that farm, and even though he hadn’t been there long, it wasn’t panning out the way he’d hoped. I’ve seen it happen too many times to count. Men come out here thinking they can make a go of running a small ranch or farm, and then they bottom out. I figure Banyon got depressed and put a bullet through his brain. Matt must have come upon that scene this afternoon and panicked.”