Fatal Harvest

by Catherine Palmer

  “Dad doesn’t understand what this is about. All he cares about is his farm.”

  “He may not completely understand, but he’s learning. He’s not like you think, Matt. He’s a good man, and you need to give him a chance to be a father to you.”

  “He already had a chance.”

  “Give him another one.” The phone fell silent for a moment, and Jill worried they had been cut off. “Matt?”

  “Yeah, Miss Pruitt, I hear you. But Jesus said you have to be willing to leave your father and mother—leave everything and everybody you love—and follow Him. I’m trying to do what God wants, just like you, Miss Pruitt. Mr. Banyon believed that what I’m doing right now could make a difference. He thought…at least he hoped…we could really feed the hungry.”

  “Matthew,” Jill said gently, “you’ll never feed all the hungry. Jesus said the poor will always be with us, remember? This world is Satan’s realm. Sin and evil and all of Satan’s tools—disease, famine, drought, pestilence, war—these things will last until Christ returns. Do you understand that, Matt? You can’t win this battle all by yourself.”

  “Miss Pruitt—” Matt sounded impatient “—I know that. Jesus didn’t tell us to win the battle. That’s His job. But He did tell us to feed the hungry—and that’s what I’m trying to do. So I gotta go now. I’ll see you in a week or so. And Miss Pruitt?”

  “Yes, Matt?”

  “I really don’t want to flunk tenth grade. Do you think you could talk to the principal about me and Billy?”

  Jill sighed, knowing this was the least of the boys’ problems. “We’ll work it out, Matt.”

  “Okay—bye.”

  The phone went dead, and she sat on the edge of her bed staring at her bare feet. What to do? Whom to call first? And how had she ended up in the middle of this? Lord, am I supposed to be involved in this for some reason? Why? What do You expect from me?

  Jill studied her phone again. If Matt was right—and she suspected he was—then Agrimax had indeed put a surveillance device in it. The whole idea gave her the creeps. When had they gotten into her house? And what else might they have done?

  What would Agrimax do now, if indeed they had listened in on Matt’s call from Paris? Perhaps they had traced it to the home of this mysterious Clotilde Loiseau. If so, they would capture Matt and Billy before Cole’s plane ever left the States. And what about Cole? She had a terrifying flashback to the crash in Mexico. Would the nightmare be repeated on a Texas highway? Should Jill try to reach Cole’s cell phone? Was it bugged, too?

  Letting out a cry of frustration, she stood and pulled on some jeans, a T-shirt and a pair of tennis shoes. The thing to do, she decided, was to find out where Matt was planning to go and then try to track down Cole. If she drove to Lubbock—if she broke the speed limit the whole way—maybe she could catch up to him in time. But he would still insist on going after his son.

  She knew that about him now.

  Jill grabbed her bag, took out the key on which she had downloaded Matt’s term paper, and slipped it into the slot on her own computer. What if Agrimax had accessed her hard drive somehow? What if they could read everything she had on file? Feeling physically queasy from the thought, she quickly disconnected her cable modem.

  The term paper materialized on her screen, and Jill scrolled to the bibliography. As it came up, she suddenly had a terrible feeling that a camera might be watching everything she did. Paranoia filling her, she leaned close to shield the screen with her body and scanned the text. Matt’s first source was Jim Banyon. His second was Hector Diaz. And his third…

  Jill’s mouth went dry. This was insane. Matt Strong couldn’t possibly be planning to go to Sudan!

  Closing out her computer, she snatched the key and shoved it back into her tote bag. She would have to break every speed-limit law in the state of New Mexico and Texas to catch Cole. But she would. They had to stop Matt.

  Jill raced for her front door, her mind filled with images of the country she had visited as a volunteer with I-FEED. Sudan—bordered by Libya, Egypt, Eritrea, Ethiopia and other unstable and hostile governments—was a battleground between rebel armies and the muraheleen, the bands of irregular militia backed by Sudan’s Muslim-dominated dictatorship. More than four million people had been displaced in a civil war ongoing for more than twenty years. At least two million more had been killed.

  Two naive American sixteen-year-olds would stand as much chance of survival as a couple of scrawny chickens in one of Sudan’s countless refugee camps. Without protection and an approved escort, Matt and Billy would likely be shot on sight. Or they would be taken hostage and used to extort a ransom from the American government. Their U.S. citizenship would give them little standing in the eyes of the rebels or the militia—envoy John Danforth had visited Sudan on two separate peace missions and had won no support whatsoever from that government.

  Her heart slamming against her ribs, Jill threw open her front door and dashed straight into the path of a huge black horse galloping headlong up her driveway. Hooves shooting sparks into the blackness, the animal thundered toward the house at top speed. Transfixed in disbelief, Jill clapped her hand over her mouth in a silent scream.

  A shout sounded over the hoofbeats, and the big horse reared. Hooves churning the air, it hovered over her for a single terrifying moment. Then it dropped to the driveway, prancing and snorting, its nose blowing hot steam into the night.

  “Jill? Is that you?”

  Cole’s voice jangled down through her bones, unreal and impossible. She was in some kind of dream, wasn’t she? Surely she would awaken, her nightgown drenched and her hair damp.

  “Jill, they’re after me,” Cole gasped. He swung a leg over the horse and slid to the ground, wincing at his sore ankle. “Listen, can I borrow your car? They came to the house and tried to stop me, but I got away…so would you mind if I took your car to Lubbock…Jill? Are you all right?”

  She swallowed. “You have just scared me to death!” She pummeled his chest with her fists. “What are you doing riding a horse up to my front door in the middle of the night? And how can you ride, anyway, with that hand—”

  “I told you, I—”

  “Forget it. Just get in the car. Get in the car!” She stomped over to her little Chevy, whipped open the driver’s door, and hurled her bag into the backseat.

  “Wait,” he said, “I can drive myself—”

  “Get in! I’ll take you to the airport. I have things to tell you, and besides, you’ll never be able to…”

  She fell silent, hearing the answer to her own prayer for clarity. What am I supposed to do, Lord? What do You expect me to do?

  “Just a minute,” she told Cole. “And hold on to that horse! I don’t want it stomping on my flower beds.”

  “Can I put him in your backyard? Hernando will come get him.”

  “Why not?” she answered. “I’m going to be the talk of the neighborhood anyway.”

  Dashing back into the house, she jerked open her file cabinet, located her travel documents, and lifted the packet from the drawer. In moments, the file had joined her tote bag in the backseat of her car. She scooted in next to Cole and started the engine.

  “Jill, where are we going?”

  “Sudan,” she said. “Listen, did you bring your cell—”

  “Sudan?”

  She wheeled out into the street. “I don’t think we should fly out of Lubbock. I mentioned it on the phone, and Matt says Agrimax has me bugged. Let’s head for Albuquerque.”

  “You talked to my son?”

  Cole’s voice was rising with every question. Jill glanced across at him. He looked pretty awful. Unshaven, his face was haggard and his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. He’d lost his hat somewhere, and twigs were scattered through his brown hair. The bandage on his hand was filthy and tattered. He smelled horsey—a mix of leather and animal—not all that bad, actually. She sensed he was running on adrenaline.

  She peeled out of town in th
e direction of Roswell. With clear roads, they would make it to Albuquerque in time to catch an early flight to a city with an international hub. Perhaps Dallas, or Denver. They would be hard to spot in a huge airport.

  “A few minutes ago, Matt called me from Paris,” she informed Cole.

  “Paris! Why did he call you? I’m his father, for goodness’ sake!”

  Jill reached across and laid a calming hand on his arm. “He’s afraid you’ll be mad at him. He did use the credit card to buy his and Billy’s tickets to France. He wanted me to apologize for that and for all the trouble he’s caused you. And he asked me to tell you not to follow him.”

  Cole rubbed his hand across his eyes, his broad shoulders sagging. “How is he?”

  “He’s fine. A couple of Agrimax people apparently met the boys’ flight, but they escaped. A Frenchwoman is helping them. I don’t know if she’s trustworthy.”

  “She might be with Agrimax. They showed up at my house tonight—two of them. Used Tom Perry to get to me. I couldn’t believe it. I thought he was a friend.”

  “They’re desperate, Cole. Matt must have something really big.” She ventured another look at the man beside her. Head back on the seat, he was cradling his injured hand. He must be in terrible pain, but he would say nothing.

  “So Matt’s going to Sudan?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

  “Yes.”

  He gave a mirthless laugh. “I don’t even know where the country is.”

  “Northeast Africa. It’s landlocked, except for a little strip on the Red Sea. Sudan is where I-FEED operates a major feeding station. Matt’s looking for a man named Josiah Karume. He runs the Africa division of the program out of Khartoum, and he’s just been elected international chairman of the organization.”

  “I thought Matt was hot on the heels of Hector Diaz.”

  “Sounds like he’s changed his tack. Now that Matt’s in Europe, Josiah would make a lot more sense than Hector. He has a great deal of power.”

  “Power for what?” He gritted his teeth. “My son is sixteen! Why is he going to Africa? Why does he need this man?”

  “I’m not sure, Cole.”

  She reached toward him, but he brushed her hand away. “No! Why did you do this?”

  “Cole, I—”

  “Why has this happened? He’s a child. A boy!”

  “He’s old enough to—”

  “No, he’s not! If you had a kid, you’d know. He’s barely old enough to function on his own. He can’t find anything around the house. He’s always tripping over his own shoestrings. He loses all his jackets and caps. He doesn’t know how to cook or wash his own clothes or balance a checkbook—not one adult thing. He’s never held a job or gotten himself to a doctor’s appointment. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes,” she said softly, hurting inside at his words.

  “It seems like yesterday he was in diapers,” Cole went on. “He was crawling around on his hands and knees. Drinking from a sippy cup. He learned how to walk and then run, and now he thinks he can fly to Africa? No!”

  “He’s still your baby.”

  “Yes, he is. He’s my baby—and he is a baby.”

  “Not in his own mind.”

  “It doesn’t matter what’s in his mind. I know him.”

  “Do you, Cole?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I know him a lot better than you think. I may have spent a lot of time out in the field, but I’m not blind. I’ve watched him. Josefina talks to me about him, and I listen. You don’t have to be with a kid every minute of the day to know what he’s capable of—and what he’s not. You see these boys in the classroom, so you have a distorted view. If you had a child of your own, you’d know what I’m saying.”

  “I don’t,” Jill said. “I don’t have a child.”

  He was silent, his chest rising and falling with emotion. “Well, why haven’t you gotten married?”

  “Nobody’s asked.”

  “Then they’re a bunch of idiots.”

  She cracked a smile. “You’re in a fine mood.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did—about you not having kids and all that. It’s none of my business.”

  “It’s okay. There’s no big dark secret. I’ve dated, but I haven’t found the right person. Or he hasn’t found me. So I don’t have children.”

  “You’d make a good mother.”

  “I think so, too.”

  He laughed. “Always the confident Miss Pruitt.”

  “That’s probably why I’ve turned away potential husbands. I haven’t been meek enough.”

  “Who wants a meek wife? Not me.”

  She couldn’t help looking at him. “You’re not the average man.”

  “Never said I was. You met my mother. I grew up around a strong woman. I like a lady who knows her own mind.”

  “I guess Penny is a strong woman.”

  He dropped his head back on the seat. “Penny…she’s probably pulling up to my house about now. She’ll go ballistic when she finds out I’m gone.”

  “Strong is good…ballistic is not.” Jill studied the road. She shouldn’t have said that. Cole had chosen to marry Penny, and he must feel good about his decision. Who was she to cast aspersions on his fiancée?

  “She just doesn’t get certain things,” Cole spoke up. “Like the fact that sometimes I have to take care of other things. Like that I have a life beyond her. I cannot ignore my farm. And I will not stop searching for my son.”

  “You’re willing to follow Matt to Africa?”

  “Of course. But I just don’t see why he’s so fired up to go to this…this…” He paused. “Where is it again?”

  “Sudan.”

  “I do understand why he’s running, though. Those men will hurt him, Jill. They’ll kill him if they have to. You’ve seen how far they’ll go. Tonight when they came after me with the car—they wouldn’t stop. They were shooting out the window. They’d have run me down….”

  His voice trailed off, and Jill instinctively touched his arm again. “Do you have your pills, Cole?”

  “I can’t take anything that would knock me out.”

  “At least have an Advil.” She reached behind the seat and fished in her tote bag. “Here—take a couple of these.”

  Swallowing the pills dry, he took her hand and pressed it between his, as if that might somehow relieve his discomfort. “Jill, do you know much about Sudan?”

  “I’ve been there.”

  “How hard is it going to be to get into the country?”

  “Hard.” She forced herself to switch gears. In a way, she felt relieved to move away from the personal tone of their conversation. Though she couldn’t deny she enjoyed talking to Cole, the intimacy of the topic felt dangerous.

  “Khartoum is the capital,” she explained, “and it’s an Arab-dominated government. Tourists are practically unheard of—too much violence and little to see but rubble. The Sudanese people have been at war for twenty years. Civil wars, religious war, tribal war—it’s a mess.”

  He nodded. His hands felt comforting around hers. Despite the uncertainty that lay ahead, Jill sensed security in Cole’s presence. Accustomed to taking care of herself, she had expected to reject any man who wore an aura of strength and old-fashioned male protectiveness. But somehow, with Cole clearly so unthreatened by her own bold spirit, she welcomed it.

  “Surely they’re fighting about something you can point to,” he said.

  “Oil, mostly.”

  “Surprise, surprise.”

  “It was discovered in 1978 in the south,” Jill said. “That region is considered African rather than Arab, and it once had a lot of autonomy. When the government moved to control the oil, war broke out.”

  “So the northern army is trying to take over the southern oil land. Is the southern army legitimate?”

  “Guerrillas. The south is controlled by rebel troops, some of which have organized themselves into the Sudan People’s Liberation Army.
They want full independence.”

  “How are these people going to react to two American teenagers roaming around their country?”

  “Not well, I imagine. Neither side is friendly with the U.S. We passed a law banning trade with Sudan, for one thing. Mostly it’s because both sides have committed horrific human rights abuses—scorched-earth raids on villages, abductions, slavery. They use child-soldiers. I met seven-year-olds with battle scars.”

  “You went to Sudan to feed the kids?”

  “Everyone is hungry. When I was there, several relief agencies were operating. But in November 2001 most of them left. They anticipated a big grain harvest that didn’t pan out. I-FEED is about the only agency left now. The last time I talked to Josiah Karume, he told me most of the people were down to eating peanuts and nothing else. Whole villages have been deserted for lack of food.”

  Cole’s grip on her hand tightened. “It was all just stories in the newspapers to me. I never even read them. More interested in football scores and commodity prices.”

  “They’re real people, though. Somehow Matt understands that.”

  “But he doesn’t understand reality, Jill. I’m telling you, he doesn’t even know how to live in America—he’s a fish out of water at the local high school. He’ll never survive a place like Sudan.”

  Jill’s stomach tightened as she heard her own fears echoed in his words. She tried to think of something reassuring. The very idea of Billy Younger acting as Matt’s guide through the war zone of Southern Sudan gave her nightmares. And this stranger the boys had met…what comfort was an unknown Frenchwoman?

  “God is with Matt,” she said finally. “We can count on that. We just have to keep praying.”

  He nodded. “I wish my faith was stronger.”

  “It’s pretty easy to trust God when nothing’s at stake. I guess I’ve grown my faith by leaning on it through some dicey situations.”

  “I lost my wife. I ought to be a faith giant.”

  Jill fell silent, absorbing his words and the pain that accompanied them. “Sometimes normal life takes over,” she said. “Teaching school is like that for me. I get into the swing of it, and most of the time I’m just zipping along doing what I do. But the faith that grew inside me during the rough times is still there. I may not be talking with God the way I did down in Mexico when I was so scared you were dead, but my faith in Him hasn’t faded.”