by Trevor Scott
“I wonder if he’s been approached?” she asked.
“I’ll find out.”
“Hey, what about the Compound?”
“That’s mostly forested land,” Ben said. “But the hills leading up to it are open and beautiful.”
“How much of the valley does that include with the four properties?”
“About seventy-five percent,” he said. “That would push them right up against Springdale Winery.”
“I thought they were part of the southern Willamette Valley,” she said.
“They are. But some of their best pinot noir vineyards flow into our valley.”
“Maybe Vlad Grankin wants to start a vineyard.”
Ben was thinking the same thing. Ever since the Russian offered to buy Ben’s land and his neighbor’s property.
“That makes some sense,” Ben agreed. He glanced up the hill at Marlon’s place. The lights were on. “I’m down by Marlon’s house now. I’ll go talk with him.”
“Great,” she said. “I tried to call him earlier to update him on the status of his men and his computers.”
“All right. Once I get home, I’ll leave my computer on with the volume up in case you need to contact me by messenger.”
“Thanks. Be careful.”
He shut down the call and stared at the phone for a moment. Then he started his truck and headed up Marlon’s driveway.
Mister Bigfoot sounded excited when Ben called him at the man’s gate. He immediately let Ben through the gate. Moments later and Marlon was waiting at his front door.
As Ben shuffled quickly through the deluge, he noticed the front windows that had been shot out had been replaced.
Inside, Ben took off his coat and his rubber boots before following Marlon into the living room area. A roaring fire lit the room and Ben could feel the warmth as he sat down on a dark brown leather sofa.
“Would you like something to drink?” Marlon said. “I have wine and beer. Well, truth be told, I have a very well-stocked bar. Anything you might want.”
“A beer sounds good.”
“Pilsner, pale ale, IPA, porter or stout?”
“It’s a cold wet night, so let’s go with a stout.”
“Good choice. That’s what I’m drinking.” Marlon went away, but he kept on talking about everything and nothing. Finally, he came back with a pint of stout, which he handed to Ben. Then the host sat in a leather chair that matched the sofa. “What brings you by? Let me guess, you have an update on my case?”
Ben explained what had happened in Portland, leaving out the part about the car chase. No need to concern Marlon, since it could have just been the FBI putting Ben under surveillance. Or maybe Maggi.
“That’s what I thought might happen,” Marlon said. “That’s why I went and bought a new laptop, downloading everything from my cloud server. I needed my critical work.”
“Your truffle field data?”
Marlon shook his head. “That’s inconsequential. Why do you think I’m in that business?”
Ben had no idea. He shrugged and sipped his thick, dark beer. Then he said, “I don’t know. I thought it might have been your field of study at the U of O.”
“True. But it’s more than that. It’s my theory that Bigfoot eats these mushrooms and truffles at this time of year. By having my people out in likely Bigfoot territory, it’s highly possible that one of my men will come across either signs of Bigfoot, or the creature himself.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
Marlon smiled and stood, picking up his beer. “Let me show you something.”
Ben picked up his beer and followed the man to a door off the kitchen area. Marlon opened the door and a light automatically turned on, illuminating a set of stairs leading to the basement. In this part of Oregon, Ben knew, most new houses were built on a crawl space. But Marlon, having more money than the average Joe, had built his basement into the side of the hill. Ben guessed the old adage was true: money can’t buy happiness. But at least money can make a person miserable in cool places.
The two of them went downstairs and Ben couldn’t help thinking about what he had said to Maggi the first time he brought her to meet Marlon—how the man was brilliant, but could possibly have women in a basement dungeon. Now the hair on the back of Ben’s neck tingled.
But when Ben got to the bottom, all he saw was what appeared like a man cave, with a massive LED screen and a number of leather chairs for perfect viewing.
“Nice,” Ben said.
Marlon smiled and said, “Yes, this is functional.” From a small table between two leather chairs, Marlon picked up a remote and pressed a button. Instead of the TV turning on, an entire paneled wall slid to the right. Marlon hit another button and lights came on beyond the sliding door.
Ben thought for a moment, wondering how this room could exist based on the structure of the upper levels. This room would be independent from the rest of the house, built into the side of the hill behind Marlon’s home.
When Ben stepped inside the room, he gazed about and said, “Holy crap.”
31
The room was a combination of a scientist’s laboratory and a mad man’s lair. Ben’s eye immediately went to a far corner of the room where a tall Bigfoot stood, as if guarding everything in this room. Almost one entire wall contained maps of the Oregon Coast Range.
Ben walked along the wall and saw that Marlon had pins of various colors stuck into the maps. Most of them seemed to be clustered in isolated areas.
“What do the colors indicate?” Ben asked.
Marlon waved his hand. “The red pins are confirmed Bigfoot sightings. Yellow pins are the location of prints and other artifacts.”
“And the blue pins?” Ben asked. There were far fewer of this color.
“I just added those recently,” Marlon said. “Those are historical reports of UFOs. I considered what you posited as a theory. Although the alien theory is not new, I thought I should seriously consider that possibility. You see, one theory dealing with aliens includes the idea that Bigfoot passes through a portal. This could be a ripple in time or maybe a transporter to an unseen aircraft cloaked somewhere in space. I’m not sure I believe in that theory.”
“Too out there?” Ben asked.
“No, not at all. Come here.”
Marlon brought Ben to the elephant in the room, or in this case the stuffed Bigfoot in the corner.
“What is this?” Ben asked.
“This is the reason I had to build this room with ten foot ceilings. This is Gigantopithecus. Well, a reasonable replica of the giant ape found in southern China. Some believe Gigantopithecus came across the land bridge from Asia even before the Native Americans. I thought that for a while as well. But what if this was an alien species? Look at this.”
Sitting in a glass case was a huge skull that resembled a cross between a giant ape and a human with a strange-looking skull ridge that looked like a Roman helmet.
“This is obviously a replica,” Marlon said. “I bought it online.”
“And the entire body?”
“That’s a stylized design of Bigfoot based on hundreds of first-hand accounts. I had a designer in Hollywood build that for me.”
“So, you think this Gigantopithecus is Bigfoot?” Ben asked.
“Not exactly. I believe the Gigantopithecus found in southern China is actually Bigfoot, which is really a shape-shifting alien. And I plan to prove it.”
This was all great to consider. Ben liked the unknown more than most, which is probably what made him gravitate toward solving crimes in the Air Force. But he wasn’t sure what the search for the elusive Bigfoot had to do with what was currently happening in their valley.
Ben went back to the maps and pointed at areas highlighted. “What are these circles?”
“Ah. Those are my truffle and mushroom fields. Yellow highlights the truffle camps and green highlight shows various mushroom grounds. As you can see, there’s a lot of overlap.”
> “Yeah, and it seems to be right in the heart of the Bigfoot sightings,” Ben said.
“That makes sense,” Marlon said. “As I mentioned earlier, mushrooms and truffles would be a major part of Bigfoot’s diet. Of course, this is purely speculation. For all we know, Bigfoot could be a voracious carnivore.”
“You really think these creatures walk among us?”
“I do. For all I know, you could be one.”
“What about the difference in size? Humans aren’t that big.”
“True. But matter can be elastic. When they shift from Bigfoot to human form, their density could change. Much like the octopus.”
“This is really cool, Marlon. You seem very passionate about this.”
“It’s my life’s work, Ben. I was married a long time ago, but she didn’t share my passion for Bigfoot. She was an English professor stuck in the nineteenth century American canon.”
Ben needed to get Marlon back on track. First he told his friend about the data breech at the Mammoth Paper Company.
“So that’s how they found my address and the location of our truffle camps?” Marlon asked.
“It looks like it. But there’s no way of tracking down the person who hacked the paper company. They covered their tracks.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Marlon said. “But you don’t think it has anything to do with the Latin Truffle Consortium.”
“No. I think they’re happy dealing with you.” Now Ben mentioned his recent encounter with the Russian. “Have you had any contact with Vlad Grankin?”
“Not that I know of,” Marlon said. He seemed to be racking his brain for a data file. Then he said, “I have been getting a lot of those flyers from real estate agents saying they could sell my property for a shitload of money. I usually just throw those away.”
“But, you just thought about something different.”
Without saying anything, Marlon locked up his research laboratory and escorted Ben back upstairs. He rummaged through some paperwork and came up with a letter, which he handed to Ben. Reading the letter, Ben saw that this particular real estate broker from the Portland area was more than a little interested in Marlon’s property.
“Three point five million dollars?” Ben asked. “That’s a nice chunk of money.”
“It cost me about two million for the land and to build this place. So that’s a nice profit. But I have no plans to sell. As I’m sure you know, I don’t need the money.”
Ben explained that Grankin said he would have his broker send an offer his way soon. “I’m guessing the same broker will approach me.”
“Do you plan to sell?” Marlon asked Ben.
“No way in hell.”
“Well, that’s the end of that, then.”
Not exactly, Ben thought. “I think this whole thing has to do with the land. From the shooting at your house to the attack of your crew at the truffle camp.”
“But why? Especially the camp. That has nothing to do with the potential sale of my property.”
“Intimidation,” Ben said. “The first thing you thought about when the bullets started flying was the truffle cartel. Then immediately after they shot up your house they went after your crew in the mountains. They were leading you to a certain conclusion.”
“And the FBI raid of the Compound?”
“A continuation of the attack on your business. Maybe they didn’t realize your true motivation. I mean, you just told me that moments ago.”
“But why make up this child pornography charge?” Marlon asked.
“I don’t know. But if I had to guess, I’d say it’s because they couldn’t find anything else on you. The worst thing anyone can do to a man is to impugn his reputation. Once that is lost, there is no way to rehabilitate yourself. No matter how hard you try, no matter how vociferous you are at explaining the absurdity of the charge, there will always be doubt in the mind of those who have heard the original charge. It’s human nature.”
Marlon nodded with unintended regret. “I guess you’re probably right, Ben. What do we do about it?”
“First, we let the lawyers do their magic. Luckily you have the cloud backup of your entire drive. So if the FBI tries to pull some shenanigans, planting evidence to make their case, you’ll have their asses.”
“And then?”
“Then we need to talk with all of our neighbors and see if they’ve been approached. If you want, we can do that together in the morning.”
Marlon hesitated by going to the refrigerator and coming back with two new beers. “All right. But for tonight we have one more beer.” He opened them both and handed one to Ben.
32
Ben spent the entire evening on his computer digging through the case, trying his best to understand what was happening in Cantina Valley. He specifically concentrated on Vlad Grankin and his business relationships. Now Ben knew why the man simply called himself an entrepreneur. Although Maggi had said the man was a billionaire, Grankin was actually worth closer to three hundred million. Still a considerable sum.
The next morning, Ben drove over to Marlon’s place to pick him up. Instead, the Bigfoot hunter wanted to drive in his massive SUV. Ben didn’t blame the guy. Leather seats and an engine that would not crap out was far superior to his old pickup—until the first EMP strike.
Now, after having gone to all of the neighbors in Cantina Valley with smaller properties, the two of them sat in Marlon’s SUV and watched the light rain tap the windshield.
“What do you think?” Marlon asked Ben.
“Well, those with smaller acreage, have not been contacted,” Ben concluded. “I looked at a map of the valley last night. All of our properties butt up against the Coast Range—from your property to Jim Erickson’s place and on to my homestead.”
“And to the Compound,” Marlon said.
“Right. Let’s assume Grankin wants this land for wine. Is that the best land for wine in this valley.”
“I have no clue.”
“Me either. But I know someone who might know. Drive to Springdale Winery.”
“I like the way you think. Wine for lunch?”
“Something like that.”
On the way to the winery, one of the Springdale trucks passed them from the other direction. Ben made sure that Sonya wasn’t driving.
They got to the winery and saw that a sheriff’s deputy truck was one of the only vehicles in the parking lot.
Getting out of the SUV, Marlon stopped Ben with a grab to his arm.
Marlon said, “Thanks for hanging out with me. I’m guessing this is your way of providing security.”
“It’s the best way,” Ben said. “Some security types think it’s better to maintain distance emotionally with their protected. But I feel the opposite is true. I’m much more likely to take a bullet for a friend than someone simply paying me for my services.”
“Good to know. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Together they went into the winery, but nobody was there, including any sheriff’s personnel.
Then Sonya came from the back office, surprised to see Ben. “Did we have a lunch date?”
“No, Sonya. I have a question for you about wine.”
She looked disappointed. “Ask away.”
The three of them went to a small table and sat down.
Ben said, “I know that the Willamette Valley is extremely fertile, but explain why it makes such great wines.”
“It’s pretty complex, Ben,” she said. “There are three types of soil in the valley—volcanic, sedimentary and loess or silty loam.”
“What’s the difference,” Ben asked.
“Well, the taste of the wine depends on the terroir,” she explained. “That’s essentially the land, which includes the soil, the terrain and the climate.”
Marlon chimed in. “What do you have here at Springdale?”
“Most of our grapes are grown in sedimentary soil,” she said. “Which gives our pinot noir a darker color and hints of cof
fee or chocolate.”
“Would this be true of the entire Cantina Valley?” Ben asked.
“Not at all,” she said. “My guess is the flat areas along the Cantina Creek would be mostly sedimentary like we have here, but the soil on the western edge, based on only a guess, would be volcanic. Probably jory, which is basalt-based volcanic soil.”
“What kind of wine does that produce?” Marlon asked.
“Jory is high in clay and iron,” she said. “It’s a nutrient rich soil. You can grow almost anything in it. It finishes with a strong cherry.”
“You like the volcanic,” Ben said.
“Absolutely,” Sonya said. “If you put a wine from the Dundee Hills in front of me, I’ll pick it out a hundred percent of the time. It’s superb.”
Ben glanced at Marlon, who had a smirk on his face.
“What are you boys up to?” she asked.
“Do you know anything about a guy from Portland named Vlad Grankin?” Ben asked her.
Sonya backed up in her chair, almost tipping it over. “Don’t tell me you plan on working with that man.”
“What do you know about him?” Ben asked.
“I think he’s dangerous,” she said.
“Has he approached the owners of Springdale to purchase the winery?” Marlon asked.
“Yes, he has. He’s a bully. When the owners turned down a number of really high offers, he finally gave up. But then strange things started happening.”
“Like what?” Ben asked.
“Suddenly the IRS and the EPA and the Fish and Wildlife Service started coming after us,” she said.
“Sounds like my problems,” Ben said.
She nodded. “I didn’t tie the two together, but you’re right. And these were totally bogus charges.”
Ben explained what had happened in the past couple of days, from the shootings to the raid on the Compound and the confiscation of Marlon’s computers.
“Child pornography?” Sonya asked. “Where did they pull that from?”
