Fatal Harvest. Catherine Palmer

it until Matt told him about his teacher’s work in famine-stricken lands. Jim Banyon had spent his career in research and technology development for Agrimax. He had climbed the corporate ladder until he was rewarded with a vice presidency—and had lost his marriage and family in the process. But then he found a new life in Christ. Sickened at what he had been involved in through the years, Mr. Banyon told Matt, he was filled with remorse and anger. Finally, he had taken early retirement and moved to New Mexico to start over.

      Mr. Banyon said until Matt came along, he hadn’t thought anything could be done to change the corporation’s practices. Not until the high school sophomore had knocked on his door to interview him for a term paper. Matt talked to Mr. Banyon about I-FEED. About the starving children. About his passion to feed the hungry. And somewhere in there, he mentioned the tiny USB flash drive he had his eye on at the computer store. Just plug it in and copy anything you want.

      Anything? Mr. Banyon had gotten excited then. He knew the password system at Agrimax. He could get into the company’s mainframe, couldn’t he? He could download technologies still under development, products waiting to be patented, top secret plans that threatened the world’s ecology and would keep the poor on the brink of starvation. He could copy the details of Vince Grant’s elaborate monopoly scheme, his design for control of the world’s food supply and the ensuing global domination. He could blow the whistle on all the corruption—and in doing so, bring attention to the plight of the hungry. Mr. Banyon knew he could make it all happen, he had acknowledged to Matt. He could do this. He would do this for righteousness’ sake.

      Matt had bought the flash drive and showed him how to use it. Then Mr. Banyon made one last visit to Agrimax, copied the data onto the USB key, and began preparing to deliver it anonymously to Josiah Karume at I-FEED. Once leaked to the media, the information would devastate Agrimax. Mr. Banyon said the company would be forced to its knees by a public outcry. Legal and media pressure would force Agrimax to change its policies and practices. The World Health Organization would get involved, and so would every environmental group worth its salt. Public attention would fall on the corrupt practices of the World Trade Organization and the food companies that controlled global food supplies. Vince Grant’s plan to monopolize this system would be exposed and derailed. All this…because of the USB key that now lay in Matthew Strong’s pocket.

      Matt covered the small shape with his palm. If Jim Banyon had lost his life in trying to do this good work, could Matt do any less than risk his life to finish it? People were hungry. Children were starving. Babies were dying. For months Matt had been able to think of little else.

      Now the answer lay in his grasp. What would he do with it? As the two cars pulled to a stop in the driveway, Matt recognized his father’s tall profile, his hat, his broad shoulders. Was that Miss Pruitt? How did she get into this? And Billy?

      Disbelief twisted through Matt’s chest. Had his father really come looking for him? They hardly ever spoke these days. He wasn’t sure his dad even remembered he had a son. But there was Cole Strong, striding up to the door of Jim Banyon’s ranch house.

      Had he decided to suddenly play the concerned parent? Matt frowned. It was a little late now. His son was grown—sixteen—and more than old enough to make his own decisions about his life. Matt had a job to do. As the others went into the house, he shifted the truck into reverse and eased out of the thicket. The gas tank was full, and he could drive all night.

      “Hold it, Cole!” Sheriff Holtmeyer came around the corner of the living room in the foyer. “Don’t take another step, none of you. I’ve got a body here.”

      Cole stiffened. “Is it—”

      “It’s not your boy. It’s the old man—Banyon.”

      “So where’s my son?” Cole started to edge past the sheriff, but Holtmeyer stopped him.

      “This is a secured area, Cole. You can’t go barging in on it. I’ve got to get my people out here.”

      “My boy may be in this house, and I intend—”

      “Let us just look around for Matt, Sheriff,” Billy cut in. “We won’t touch anything.”

      “I’m sorry, folks. These things have to be done the right way.”

      “Sheriff, are you sure Mr. Banyon is dead?” Jill Pruitt asked.

      “He’s dead all right. Suicide, I reckon.” The lawman shuddered. “You never get used to this kind of thing.”

      Cole stared past him at the entrance to the living room. Suicide? Had problems with the farm been that bad for Jim Banyon? And what did Matt have to do with this—if anything? Did he know something about Banyon that had led him to call Billy in a state of panic?

      “Cole, you’ve got to step back outside,” Holtmeyer said, hands at his belt. “I don’t think your boy’s anywhere around here. This looks pretty cut-and-dried to me.”

      “Come on outside with us, Mr. Strong,” Miss Pruitt said, laying a hand on Cole’s arm. Her fingers were soft, startlingly warm against his skin. “Surely there’s something we can do to find Matt.”

      Cole stared blankly at the teacher as she followed Billy out into the night. Vibrant with energy that radiated from her wild blond hair and compact figure, the young woman moved as though on a mission. His own body felt stiff, but his brain spun with questions. Where was Matt? Did he know about Banyon’s suicide? Who were the two men who took Matt out of class? What had they wanted with him? Did their conversation have anything to do with the suicide? Or had Banyon been just another desperate farmer watching his life savings slip away?

      “Mr. Strong?” Corkscrew curls framing her green eyes, Miss Pruitt stuck her head back through the door. “I’ve had an idea. Why don’t you come on out, and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking?”

      Like a tin soldier, Cole forced his legs down the foyer and out the front door. A dead man lay behind him in that house. Was Matt also in there somewhere? Was he dead, too? Images of his wife swirled upward like dry leaves caught in a dust devil. How ill Anna had looked, lying in bed day after day as the cancer that had begun in her ovaries swept through her body, invading blood and organs and bone. Clouds of dark, curly hair fell out in clumps, but the chemotherapy did no good. How desperately Anna had wanted to live. Not only for Cole, but for Matt. Such a small boy, and so in need of a mother. Cole’s greatest fear rose up inside him…Matt—he couldn’t lose the boy….

      “Mr. Strong, drive me to your house,” Jill Pruitt was saying, her hand on his arm again. Touching him, drawing him back. “I’ll take a look at Matt’s computer. Try to see what he’s downloaded recently. Go back over his e-mails, websites he’s visited.”

      “Hey, Miss Pruitt,” Billy said, “I just thought of something. Matt probably has his laptop with him. He used to take it to class so he could write programs when he got bored.”

      “It wasn’t in his room this afternoon,” Cole said, the realization snapping him back to attention. “Remember, Billy? You mentioned that it had the most recent copy of his term paper.”

      “Yeah, that’s right!” The boy’s face broke into the first grin Cole had seen in hours. “If Matt’s got his laptop, we can e-mail him!”

      “Okay, I’ll take you to the house, Miss Pruitt. Billy, you can go on home, and I’ll call you if—”

      “No way, Mr. Strong! I’m not going home until we find the Mattman. I’m with you guys.”

      “Billy, there’s no point. Go do your homework.”

      “You think you can just run me off, Mr. Strong?” Billy stepped closer, his chest swelling with bluster. “I know more about Matt than you or Miss Pruitt. I know what he’s thinking, where he likes to go, what he wants to do. And I know what he believes in, too. His mind works weird, and nobody can figure him out any better than me.”

      “Yes, but, Billy, you’re a boy. You don’t need to get involved in this. I’m not happy you even know about this suicide