He pulled out his own cell phone. “I’m calling my lawyer.”

“Donald Petersen is in court at the county seat right now. You won’t be able to reach him.”

The other two men chuckled.

Fossen lowered his phone and felt the anger rising. “You have no right to be here. I don’t believe you about that state ruling.”

One of the other men walked up to him aiming a digital video camera, laughing. “You willing to bet the farm, Hank?” He was a burly high-testosterone type. Most likely an ex-cop from St. Louis, where Halperin’s private detective firms were based. They always got pushy assholes for this.

“We got an anonymous tip that you’re using Mitroven 393, Hank.”

“Planting isn’t for another six or seven weeks. I’m just laying down fertilizer.”

One of them was now taking soil samples. “Well, genetic material from last year is hard to get rid of.”

“You pricks are planting Mitroven, aren’t you?”

“Are you accusing us of dishonesty, Hank?” The man with the video camera laughed.

“Why would we need to do that when there’s an experimental field a couple miles upwind?”

The third guy, who’d been talking on the cell phone, came up. “Don’t do this to yourself, Mr. Fossen. You know Halperin will spend whatever it takes to make an example out of you. Just stop growing heirloom seed and settle. Otherwise, they’ll take your farm away.”

The man with the camera laughed again. “That is, unless you’ve got another dad waiting in the wings to kill himself for the insurance mo—”

Before he even realized it, Fossen had taken a swing at the man with the axe handle, sending the video camera flying in two pieces and damned near cracking the goon in the side of the head.

“Whoa!”

The two other men immediately closed ranks with their colleague, dropping their gear. The cell phone man was apparently the one in charge. “That was stupid, Hank! You want to wind up in jail? How do you think this will look to a judge—you attacking investigators trying to establish theft of intellectual property? Why would you behave this way if you have nothing to hide?”

Fossen wielded the axe handle in one hand, although they weren’t advancing on him. “Go ahead. Show the video! No jury would convict me. You’re on my land illegally.”

The ex-cameraman was still dabbing at the side of his head, looking for blood. “Let’s face it, Hank, your old man bought you some time, but you’re one fuck-up away from making his sacrifice pointless. And I hear stupidity is genetic.”

“Time is on their side, Mr. Fossen. Accept their offer, or the lawsuits will never end.”

Just then the county sheriff’s patrol car pulled up behind the SUVs at the road.

Everyone straightened up as the sheriff got out. He was about Fossen’s age, with a trim, military look about him. He pointedly left his shotgun in the car. He put on his Stetson and walked calmly out to the field to join the assembly.

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.”