It would be perfect.
He’d be surrounded by men who would defend him and their way of life against anyone who threatened it. Anyone. No government was going to stick its nose in his business. If it did, soon he would have his men well drilled to fight for the property and their God-given rights.
But he needed more men to form his regiment.
Slowly. Take it slowly. Build up my force with the best.
This wasn’t a project to be rushed. He’d do it right.
He took another burning sip and started down the steps to get a late breakfast, hoping that the bacon wasn’t gone. Food was expensive. Especially bacon. But soon they’d be producing everything they needed. Maybe I should start rationing some of the meat. He’d noticed yesterday that Chip had taken as much bacon as his plate could hold.
This is no place for greed.
A small dust cloud billowed behind a low hill far off to his right, and he stopped to watch. The dust meant a vehicle was coming. A moment later a truck came around the bend, and Tom squinted, not recognizing the heavily built vehicle.
Shit.
The truck had a light bar on top of its cab, and even though it was completely blurred, he recognized the Oregon State Police logo on the side of the vehicle. Tom glanced around, feeling exposed. Where are Al and Deke? Usually the two men weren’t far from his side, but his morning hadn’t officially started, and he insisted they leave him alone until the beginning of his workday.
No doubt they’re eating all my bacon.
The truck came closer, and Tom strode over to meet it. By the time he reached the flat parking area, he was panting heavily, and he knew sweat beaded his forehead. The truck was a utility vehicle with a bulky covered back end to store equipment. After the truck parked, a stocky man in his thirties wearing the navy clothes of an OSP officer hopped out. A second officer stayed in the cab, talking on a phone. “Tom McDonald?” asked the first man.
“You found him.” Tom held out his hand, and the other man gave it a firm shake. “What can I do for you?”
“Nathan Landau. OSP Arson and Explosives. I understand you’ve got some dynamite you want us to take off your hands?”
Tom nearly dropped his coffee. “What?”
Nathan frowned. “Dynamite. We got a call that you found some old dynamite and want it off your property.”
Sweat ran through his eyebrow and stung his eye. “I didn’t call you.” He rubbed at the stinging eye. “Who said I called you?”
“You did according to the report, but we don’t care where the dynamite came from, you know,” the man said carefully. “All we care about is that it’s disposed of properly. Old dynamite isn’t something to play around with. It’s common that people discover boxes of dynamite in Grandpa’s barn. They used to sell the stuff in feed stores all the time, but we like to get the call so we can take care of it.”
Tom struggled to speak, his mind spinning away from him. “I don’t have any dynamite, and I didn’t call you. I don’t know who told you I had some.”
“None?” Nathan was skeptical, lines forming across his forehead. “Maybe someone didn’t tell you they found it and called us first.”
“There’s no dynamite on this property,” Tom said from between clenched teeth. Who called the police? “I don’t need to ask my men. If one of them had found dynamite, they would have let me know. I’m afraid you received a prank call.”
“You’re shitting me,” Nathan pulled out a pen and made notes on his clipboard, shaking his head. “Why in the hell would someone do that?”
“Either they thought it’d be funny to see you waste your time, or they thought it’d be funny to see me get harassed,” Tom stated, fury replacing his earlier confusion. “I suspect it’s the latter.”
Nathan looked up from his clipboard, his eyes narrowing. “Someone getting back at you for something?”
“Something like that.”
“You know who? We take false calls like this pretty seriously.”
“I wish I knew.” His brain spun with possibilities. Who would do this to me? And how did he know about the dynamite?
Because he works here.
“Crap.”
“What?” Nathan asked.
“Nothing. Just pissed. Now I have to figure out who thought it’d be funny to see me squirm.” He forced a laugh. “I’m sorry you wasted your morning driving all the way out here.”
Nathan sighed and held out a business card. Tom glanced at it and saw Nathan was some sort of certified hazardous device technician. They made some more polite talk, and Tom spoke on autopilot, not registering any of it. His brain was preoccupied. As the truck drove away, anger filled him again as his brain focused on one question.
Who?
Silas? Would he cause trouble for me?
Tom had believed he’d left his arguments with Silas Campbell in Idaho. He’d left the state to put more room between the two of him. At one time Silas had been his closest confidant and he’d thought he was Silas’s. But it hadn’t taken much to shatter the fragile trust between the two men. Especially given how paranoid Silas was.
He’d learned a lot from Silas in their decades together. He’d been drawn to the man’s philosophies before he’d ever met him. He’d known most of his life that the government had brainwashed the general public into believing that it cared about them. During his time with Silas, he’d watched and listened, learning to be a leader of men.
It’d been a big deal for Tom to leave, but he’d seen the writing on the wall. Either you were with Silas or you were against him; there was no other option in Silas’s book. When the two men no longer saw eye to eye on some key issues, their relationship was over. Tom had stood at a crossroads, carefully deciding which road to take. He’d thought through all the options, deliberated all the possibilities, and committed to his decision a year ago.
Echoes of another huge crossroad had briefly clouded his mind at the time, but he’d made the right decision back then, and it had given him confidence to move forward last year. He’d gathered the men who supported him and believed in his philosophies and moved to the ranch in Oregon.
He’d been hesitant to return to Central Oregon, but he’d spent time here decades ago and believed enough time had passed that residents wouldn’t be startled when they saw his face. He’d known he’d find the right men in this part of the state. Men who thought and believed as he did. He’d been right.
It hadn’t been easy. He’d started from scratch and been careful to toe every legal line.
Until recently.
That wasn’t my fault.
To create a strong base, he’d had to surround himself with the right people. When one of those people had turned poisonous, he’d had to sever the infected limb. If he allowed active dissent, he’d lose all respect. Enforcing discipline and creating examples of naysayers were the ways to maintain control. If everyone respected everyone else, then they would live in harmony. When the dissenters caused problems, they needed to leave. And if they wouldn’t leave, they needed to be forced.