Freedom TM

applicator and the tank trailing behind were still in good order. He kept running the numbers in his head, wondering if he could timethe corn market correctly. He actually had a chance at a decent profit this year if the planets aligned just right.
    And then he saw them.
    Fossen hurriedly switched off the applicator and brought the tractor to a stop in the middle of his field.
    There, by the county road, were two black SUVs parked on the shoulder. Three men with clipboards were walking and kneeling in his field.
    “Goddamnit!” He killed the engine and grabbed an axe handle he kept in the cab for knocking mud off tires. In a few moments he’d jumped to the ground and was jogging the couple hundred yards toward the men across bare, loamy soil.
    “Get the hell off my land!” he shouted.
    The men didn’t budge. One of them took out a video camera and started filming him as he approached. Another was already on his cell phone.
    So much for scaring them off. At forty-seven, Fossen didn’t have the running stamina he’d had even five years ago. He’d put on a belly for the first time in his life with all the stress of recent years. By the time he reached the three men, he was breathing hard. The intruders were beefy types in expensive-looking GORE-TEX jackets. Their GMC SUVs were brand-new—most likely rentals out of Des Moines.
    Fossen pointed the axe handle at the nearest of them. “You have no right to be here. I want you off my land. Now!”
    The nearest one was taking close-up photos of the soil with a powerful-looking lens. “We’re investigators with Bosch and Miller, Mr. Fossen, here to confirm a potential patent infringement violation on behalf of Halperin Organix. We have a legal right to be here.”
    “Bullshit! The judge ordered a stay on physical searches pending reasonable suspicion of infringement.”
    The guy didn’t even look up. “Well, Halperin got a state judge to reinterpret the meaning of ‘reasonable.’”
    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.