The Project 04 - Black Harvest

pleased Ben Franklin or Thomas Jefferson.
    A man came into the room from the den. He saw them, pulled a gun and fired at Selena. Korov shot him, the sound an unexpected offense in that elegant room. Footsteps pounded on the ceiling above.
    A second man came out of the den firing. Something plucked at her sleeve. She dove to the side. Korov went the other way. She rolled to her feet and brought her Glock dead center on the man's chest and squeezed off three quick rounds. The shots drove him backward into the table with the globe, sending it tumbling across the rug. She got up and ran to the den. It was empty. She went back into the library.
    Korov went to the door of the library and ducked back as bullets splintered the enameled frame over his head. Selena heard Nick's heavy .45. She heard shots from upstairs. Two, maybe three shooters.
    She pictured the house, the stairs, the hall. She was directly across from the open dining room door. She dropped low, breathed and somersaulted across the hall, firing at a shape on the stairs. A body tumbled down the wooden steps. She rolled into the dining room and ended up at Nick's feet.
    "Nice move. Where'd you learn that one?"
    "Aikido." She reached around the corner, fired blind up the staircase. "How many?"
    "Three. You got one, I think."
    A sudden tearing sound ripped the air, followed by a yell and heavy thumping as another body rolled down the stairs.
    "What was that?" Lucas said.
    "Our Russian buddy. He's got a neat toy."
    They heard the tearing sound again, then silence. The acrid scent of the guns was strong in the air.
    Korov walked into the dining room. "Safe, I think."
    "Still the basement."
    They stepped into the hall. Blood trailed down the steps in thin red waterfalls from two bodies sprawled on the stairs. A third was draped over a balcony railing on the second floor. The top of his head was missing. Blood dripped in a steady stream from the wound, splashing on the parquet floor below.
    "They were kind of determined," Lucas said. "Something's not right." He looked at one of the bodies. "I recognize this guy. He was kicked out of the Agency two years ago."
    "Someone came out of the den shooting," Selena said. "We didn't have a choice."
    "Don't worry about it." Nick moved to the door leading to the basement. He put his hand on the knob.
    "Ready?"

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

    Bob Elroy stood in the bed of a red Ford pickup, looking out over his wasted fields. Two other men stood next to him. Jack Wemberly was the local Farm Bureau man and USDA's man on the spot. He and Bob went back a long ways. Wemberly wore Levis and a light yellow checked shirt open at the collar. His sandy hair was covered by a brown Bailey felt hat, well worn, the brim curled like a Stetson.
    The second man was as out of place as an elephant in a pigsty, or so Bob told Mae later over supper. The second man had introduced himself as Agent Brown. He didn't say what agency and Bob didn't ask. What difference did it make? Brown wore a black suit, a white shirt and a dark tie. His sunglasses were smoky, almost black. His shoes were shiny black, or had been, before he'd trudged through the fields with Elroy and Wemberly. Now the shine was covered with dust and debris. The debris came from dead, black plants stretching away as far as any of the men could see.
    Men in white hazmat suits walked through the field taking samples. Government experts. As if hazmat suits made a damn bit of difference.
    "This is awful." Wemberly shook his head.
    "Yep." Bob couldn't take his eyes away from the blight. "It's gone way past my property. Showing up miles away from here. Everywhere the wind blows, seems to me."
    "And everything is dead?"
    "Everything that grows, anyway. Doesn't seem to bother the animals. Doesn't do anything to the feed corn we got stockpiled, or the hay. Just the live crops." His voice was bitter. "I'm finished. All of us around here are."
    "Those are experts, Bob. They'll figure this out."
    "They will? That going to put food on the table, Jack? Pay my loans?"
    "I'll talk to the bank. The government will help."
    Bob snorted. "Sure it will. Whyn't you have a nice talk with Agent Brown, here. He's from the government. I gotta feed the pigs."
    He jumped down from the truck and stalked toward the barn. Brown watched him go.
    "What's his politics?"
    Wemberly stared at him. "His politics? What the hell has that got to do with anything? Bob's a farmer, for Christ's sake. He votes for the land."
    "This started