Freedom TM

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.”
    “And they’re not gangs?”
    The sheriff shook his head. “No. And they have legal counsel, too. We started investigating them, and the DA made us back off. I don’t know whether they’re a cult or—”
    “What does this have to do with Jenna?”
    “She’s one of them, Hank. That’s where she spends most of her time. I just thought you knew.”
    Fossen gazed down at the fertile but unplanted soil. He nodded to himself. “Tell me where.”

Chapter 10: // Corn Rebellion
    Henry Fossen waited in the dark in his F-150 pickup truck on the outskirts of Greeley. He was parked beneath the awning of an abandoned gas station across from a fenced yard shop. According to the sheriff, the yard had become a hive of activity in recent months.
    Fossen watched the road for the arrival of Jenna’s subcompact car. One she’d saved up to buy with her own money before college. In the meantime, he listened to AM talk radio.
    The news was all bad. Inflation was on the rise, with the dollar falling against overseas currencies. This had sent gas prices soaring. Unemployment—already dismal—was getting worse. Tent cities had begun to spring up outside Des Moines. The financial crisis was supposed to be easing up, but instead it was only getting worse. And yet the stock market was still moving upward. It didn’t seem to make sense.
    Across the road Fossen saw silhouettes of people moving beneath flood lamps among tarp-covered pallets in the fenced-in perimeter of the yard shop. He occasionally saw forklifts moving pallets. A semitruck carrying shipping containers arrived at one point, and a lift truck pulled the containers off swiftly—sending the semi on its way.
    But there was no printed sign to indicate it was a business. The sheriff said investigation of this site had been halted by the interference of a high-priced Des Moines law firm.
    Fossen stared at the place. He needed to be certain the sheriff was right about Jenna before he confronted her. What had she gotten herself into? She had always seemed levelheaded—even as a teenager. Future Farmers of America, 4-H Club. Had he become complacent? Expecting her to never need his help? She excelled in school. Got a partial scholarship to ISU. Graduated with honors in biology—and walked straight out into the worst job market since the Great Depression. Here it was almost nine months later, and she was still living at home with no hope for work. She’d said she was volunteering at a nonprofit political action committee. Would she actually lie to—
    Someone suddenly rapped on his passenger window, startling him. He turned to see his twenty-three-year-old daughter, Jenna, standing in a peacoat and scarf alongside his truck. She had a scowl on her face. Even so, she looked as pretty as ever.
    Fossen sighed, turned down the radio, and unlocked the passenger door.
    She rapped on the window glass again.
    Exasperated, Fossen lowered the passenger window. “Jenna, just get in the truck.”
    “Dad, why did you come here?”
    “Because I need to know what you’re doing.”
    “It’s not what you think.”
    “Damnit, Jenna, I don’t ever interfere with your life, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”
    “I’m twenty-three. I’m an adult, and I don’t need you babysitting me. I haven’t needed anyone to babysit me since I was eight.”
    “What do you expect me to do? Just ignore this? Is that what people who care about each other do? As long