Behind The Curve-The Farm | Book 3 | The Farm Craven Boyd (the reading list book .txt) 📖

“Maybe not,” Andrea said. “We sorta know where the FDA and Homeland were working out of roughly, and if Thomas knew this much, he probably knows his digits.”

Bailey was nodding along. Understanding dawned on everybody’s faces. They were grinning and nodding.

“How well does the state police cooperate with the FBI now a days?” Leah asked Jeff.

“Um… quite well actually,” he stammered.

Thomas, or Malin Thomas as his mother named him, was hiding out. He’d met Jeff at his house and had promptly been dropped off on the way to the farm to Jeff’s family’s old homestead. Nobody lived there now, and the forty acres that Jeff had owned still was leased out to another farmer. The barn was still his, as was the storm shelter underneath it.

As far as storm shelters went, this one was not glamorous. The rocks had been hand-mortared in place. It was dark, musty, and spiders were running all over the place. He’d found the plastic bins Jeff had told him about, and gotten the battery powered LED lantern out. Once that was lighting the place, he attacked the cobwebs and spiders with a broom. Then he cleaned up. He’d found the mattresses in more or less good shape. They had been zipped into thick plastic covers to keep the dust, must and mice out of them. He’d seen no evidence of mice thankfully, and went ahead and set up the bed frame and mattress and put his bag on that.

“I hope this was worth it,” Malin said softly.

Malin was part of a group called the Oath Keepers, and had been becoming more and more alarmed at the lawless power grab that the government, as well as his fellow officers, were enjoying. Arresting people for not wearing a mask. Making up rules as they went, claiming they were part of the emergency powers act. A pandemic had given everybody with a thirst for power the opportunity to flex and try to grab more.

He’d known Homeland was closing in on the mole in its ranks. He’d known it because he was on the short list of people it could be. He’d been warned by others who took their Oaths seriously. He’d planned on bugging out somewhere, when he’d literally stumbled upon the information that Doc Khamenei was on the move again. He’d used his burner phone to take a picture of the orders, and sent them up the chain of command like he’d been doing all along. Asset is moving into base of operations. Check. Then he started digging.

What he’d told and shared with Daniels had proved that Khamenei wasn’t a US citizen, but he was connected with the CIA. He’d been an agent of theirs off and on for decades. He was wanted in many middle eastern countries for supposed war crimes, for his part in helping one regime overthrow another for money, oil, and power. Interpol wanted to talk to him about some bombings that they had originally blamed on the IRA back in the day, and lastly, the Aussies had been looking for him for something Malin couldn’t figure out.

Malin had known that little bit of digging would be found out as soon as he disappeared, so he had to get gone and stay gone. The world was crazy, and after the election, it was going to get worse. Much worse. The riots in Kenosha and Memphis were nothing compared to what he prayed never came, but thought would.

“One month, maybe two. Hopefully, I can get in witness protection,” he mumbled to himself and shivered.

It was cool in the storm shelter. He thought about leaving the doors cracked upstairs, letting in warmer air and sunlight, but being stationary right now was making him nervous. He’d given his burner phone and all the info he could to Daniels. He knew if the folks at the state police were clever, they could warn the folks at the farm and get them all into hiding. He’d been pissed when he’d been tarred and feathered by their group, but he didn’t really blame them.

He’d been a double agent, for all intents and purposes. He just felt glad he hadn’t been killed. Having volunteered for that operation he’d thought he’d thrown a red herring in the way of his boss. Would the mole volunteer to go on a raid? With giving them a heads-up warning, he knew the raid was doomed to fail, but he’d not been expecting having to spend days scrubbing his skin raw to get the stink of the rancid pig lard off himself, and the subsequent infections he’d fought from where the solution had gotten into a shaving knick and a busted open knuckle.

“After the elections, it’ll be all chaos. I can make my way to Mexico.”

His voice was comforting to him. He hadn’t dared bring any electronics with him, and this side of the country was so quiet. He’d even ditched his car at the airport and stole a rental to make sure his car hadn’t been bugged. With flights halted, unless somebody saw him on the security cameras, nobody was going to miss the car for days and days. When they did, he would probably still be underground. Literally.

“I wonder where the tote is that he said had food and water in?”

Malin Thomas started digging through supplies.

Thirty-Seven

Doc Khamenei and Sammy were going over satellite images in the small hotel. They wanted to do their final prep and staging away from the usual command center. This wasn’t a mere snatch and grab, or a black bag takedown. This would be full out war. The agents were being assembled, and in the morning, he would do the final briefing. They were at a chain hotel, spread out a little bit. He felt naked without all the extra cameras and security that came with working out of a secured area, but he’d done it so much it was a worry, not a fear.

“First