Fatal Harvest (24 page)

She drew down a last big lungful of cigarette smoke and
mashed the butt in a crystal bowl on a curvy-legged table near the gold sofa. Then she lifted the hem of her sweater, and for a second, Matt thought she was going to take out a gun and shoot him. But it was a cell phone.

Punching some numbers, she studied the USB key in her lap. Matt thought about grabbing it and taking off. That’s what he should do. He should snatch it from her lap and run.

“Who’re you calling, Mrs. Loiseau?” he asked, feeling anxious. “Don’t call the police. Please, I—”

“My husband,” she mouthed, her painted lips forming the words. When her husband answered, she began speaking in French, holding up the key as if the man on the other end could see it as she waved her red-nailed fingers around in the air. She said
oui-oui
about fifteen times, and it sounded like
way-way.
After a while, she stopped talking, lit another cigarette and drummed her nails on the table. When she spoke again, it was to say,
“Merci,”
and then she hung up.

“Josiah Karume,” she announced. “He is headquartered in Sudan, but he travels everywhere in Africa. My husband finds his current location.”

Before Matt could even start to think about what to say next, a butler stepped into the room and told her something, all the while glancing warily at Matt. Mrs. Loiseau let out a bark of anger.

“The men who chase you,” she informed him, “they ask about me at the bistro. And now they find the address of my house.” She pulled another cigarette from a slim gold case on the table. “They tell my valet they will inform the police. They say you are a fugitive—that you run from America because you murdered somebody.”

“I didn’t! I swear I didn’t kill Mr. Banyon—”

“Arrêtez!”
She held up a hand. “I shall send them away. Stay here.”

She stood, slipped her long, elegant feet into her pointy-
toed shoes and walked across the room carrying the key. Matt thought he was going to faint.

“Wait—you can’t give them that!” he said, following her out into the courtyard. “I have to take it to I-FEED. I’ve come all this way—”

“Go back into the house, Matthew Strong,” she hissed. “Do it now!”

Matt couldn’t obey. He hung near the fountain with the fat statue and watched as the valet opened the long gray door for Mrs. Loiseau. There stood Dr. Sloane and Pierre—and Billy.

“Billy!” Matt blurted.

“Mattman!” Like a demented linebacker, Billy bulldozed right through the two Agrimax men and barreled past Mrs. Loiseau. She gave a shriek, then began shouting at the men as she jabbed with the USB key. Her valet lunged forward, slammed the door and dropped an iron bar across it. He swung around and went after Billy, but Matt spread his arms to protect his friend.

“It’s okay!” he shouted. “He’s with me.”

Madame Loiseau called off her valet. The man stood back as she struck a pose, lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply. She brushed back her brown hair and tottered across the courtyard, hips swaying in her brown skirt.

“Who is this boy?” She pointed at Billy.

“He’s my friend,” Matt said. “He came with me from America.”

“
Je m’appelle
William Younger,
madame,
” Billy said.
“Enchanté.”

She laughed. “What kind of French do they teach in America?
C’est mauvais!
” Beckoning the boys, she strode toward the house again. “The men will return. I shall take you to the home of my sister. Follow me quickly.”

Matt glanced at Billy, glad to have him back. More than glad.

“Mrs. Loiseau,” Matt said as she led them through a series
of rooms, all of them furnished as if the king of France himself lived there. “Mrs. Loiseau, why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”

She halted and stubbed out her cigarette in one of the dozens of crystal ashtrays scattered around her house. Her brown eyes clouded for a moment as she gazed at Matt. She glanced away, her lower lip trembling. Then she shrugged.

“You are a boy,” she said. “What you have told me is too…how would you say?…too much complication to be a lie.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Monsieur Strong—” she set her hands on her hips “—if God chooses to send you help, shall you ask Him why?”

Matt gawked at her, trying to see the chain-smoking, shouting Frenchwoman as a helper from God. But she was vanishing down a staircase, and he knew he’d follow her anywhere.

J
ill woke to the warble of her telephone. For a moment she thought the sound was coming from her TV set. She reached for the remote control, realized she was in her bedroom and lifted the receiver.

“Miss Pruitt, this is Matt Strong,” a husky voice said. “I’m in your computer tech class. You know?”

“Of course I know.” Jill sat upright and fumbled for the switch on her lamp. “Matt, where are you?”

“Well, I’m in Paris with Billy Younger. Weird, huh? I can tell you that because Agrimax already found out. They thought they’d caught us, but we got away, thanks to a lady who—”

“Matt, where in Paris are you?”

“We’re not staying here in France, Miss Pruitt. We’re going someplace else.”

“Where?”

“I can’t tell you. But, Miss Pruitt, will you please talk to my dad and tell him not to come looking for me? I’ll be home in a few days. Tell him I’m sorry about the credit card, and I’ll get a job and pay him back. And that I feel really bad about him making that trip to Mexico—”

“Matt, your father is already on his way to Paris to find you!” Jill tried to keep a tone of hysteria from her voice. “I
mean right now he’s driving to Lubbock to get on a plane and fly over there.”

“How’d he find out I was in Paris?”

“We knew you went to Mexico to look for Hector Diaz, and we learned that he’d gone to France for a conference. Then Josefina told us you came home and got your passport.”

“She
told?
”

“Matt, this isn’t a game. You’re in a lot of trouble, young man. Your father is flying to Paris, and you have got to stay put!”

“I can’t, Miss Pruitt. Billy and I…we just have to do this one thing, and then we can come home. And Mrs. Loiseau—I can say her name because they already know it—she’s helping us.”

“Who? Who’s helping you?” Jill rummaged in the drawer of her bedside table for paper and pen.

“Mrs. Loiseau. Clotilde Loiseau. She’s nice, even though she’s kind of…well, you’d just have to meet her. Anyhow, this is her phone, and she’s not going to make me pay for the call, but it’s long-distance, you know? Like
really
long-distance. So I’ve gotta go—”

“Matthew Strong, don’t you dare hang up.” Jill put on her sternest teacher voice. “I want to know
this minute
where you’re going!”

“Miss Pruitt, they’ve got your phone tapped. If I say anything, they’ll know. It’s not like I don’t want to tell you, but—”

“Matt—”

“Billy’s talking to me…just a sec.” He paused. “Okay, Miss Pruitt, you remember the paper trail?”

Jill reflected on the moment in Geneva Strong’s house when they had figured out
paper trail
referred to Matt’s term paper on hunger relief. “Yes, I remember.”

“Okay, the person we’re going to see is my third source.”

“I see.”

“So you’re good?”

“Matt, I wish you would stay in Paris. Please let your father help—”

“No, no. Don’t let him come. Do whatever you can to stop him, Miss Pruitt.”

“He loves you, Matt. He loves you so much. You know, he nearly died in Mexico.”

“Died?”

“We were in a terrible car wreck. Agrimax people drove us off the road, and your father was badly injured. This is not a lark, Matt. This is serious business. You need to stay where you are and let an adult help you.”

“Yeah, Mrs. Loiseau is—”

“You need
your father,
not a stranger you just met. And your dad needs you, Matt. He really does. Stay with Mrs. Loiseau until he gets there. Then the two of you can—”

“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 the 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.”