Peter Jackery was tired, but he couldn’t sleep. He sat up slowly so as not to wake Mae Lin, who was gently snoring on the other side of his Alaskan king mattress. He was exhausted from the day’s events—not to mention the vigorous pairing with the girl beside him. By all rights, he should be sleeping as soundly as she was. But his mind wouldn’t cooperate, churning over the situation in Dixon.
He slipped out of bed and padded naked across the room and into the hall. As he walked to his home office, his thoughts went to the auction scheduled for the next afternoon. So much was riding on its successful completion. The next thought was of the mysterious Barb, the only possible roadblock to his plan. He wondered if Marcy had made any progress while he’d been at the god-awful award ceremony. Not only had the night been crushingly boring, he hadn’t even been able to arrange a moment to talk with the guy. It had been most frustrating.
He sat at his custom ironwood desk and fired up his laptop. Sure enough, there was an email from Marcy. The girl really was a find, and he congratulated himself again on plucking her out of the onslaught of resumes that constantly came his way. He opened the email and skimmed through her report. He was struck by how much she’d learned in so short a time. It looked like she’d uncovered a plot by a group calling themselves “Barb,” which was apparently short for something called “Barbarossa.”
Jackery’s formal education had been spotty, to say the least. His were street smarts. But who needed a PhD when the entirety of the world’s information was now available at the click of a mouse? He quickly found the entry for “Operation Barbarossa” and read the contents, following the trail to something called the “Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact,” whoever they were. Reading a little further, he saw it was also known as the “Hitler-Stalin Pact.” Those names he did know. Apparently, those two bastards had signed a non-aggression agreement at the beginning of World War II only to have old Adolf turn around and stab his buddy Joseph in the back.
He thought of all the agreements he’d made with men he considered allies—not to mention those he’d already invited to join his new community. Would any of them turn on him?
In a heartbeat.
That’s why he’d been carefully vague when inviting them. How had the bastards sniffed out the details of his operation plans in time to organize against him? A wave of tiredness washed over him.
Why did creating the future have to be so fucking hard?
A hand touched his shoulder from behind, and he almost jumped out of his skin. He whirled in his chair. There was Mae Lin, as naked as he was, half asleep and cringing from his violent reaction.
“You startled me,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay.” He gave her a smile to say it truly was all right. Doing so, he became more aware of her youthful body, naked and vulnerable.
Suddenly he wasn’t tired anymore.
#
The next morning he let himself sleep in. Mae Lin was already gone by the time he got out of bed. He hadn’t said anything to her last night about ending their arrangement. That was something he would have to take care of today, but it was far down the list. First, he needed to go back over Marcy’s report with a clear head. If what he’d gleaned from skimming it last night was true, he had to adjust his plans to deal with an organized opponent.
He checked the time. It was almost noon. The report would have to wait. He needed to prepare for the auction. It was scheduled for 1:00. His plan was to call in and make his bid over the phone. As the only registered bidder, that would conclude the auction, and the sheriff would declare him the winner. He would assume ownership of the Sanchez property and immediately move to evict the residents. Then he would proceed to the next stage of his plan, repeating the process with the second property on his list. One by one, he’d take them all until he was the sole landowner in Dixon County.
He considered how Marcy’s findings might affect that next stage. The sheer length of time involved would offer his opponent time to interfere and cause trouble. Maybe he needed to speed up the process. He could bundle the properties into groups and have them condemned en masse. It would mean extra work for the sheriff, who would undoubtedly complain. Jackery would have to mollify him by kicking some extra cash into the man’s “reelection fund.” Ah well, it couldn’t be helped.
Jackery dressed quickly and stepped into his office. He slipped on his wireless headset and called in to the auction at exactly 12:55.
“Mr. Jackery?” came the answering voice, a woman.
“Yes.”
“This is Deputy Powers. I’ll be handling the remote bidding for you.
“Very good,” said Jackery. “Is everything good on your end?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
He paced, feeling an unaccustomed anxiety. He’d already done the tough part. This next stage was merely a technicality, and yet so much was riding on its successful conclusion. He’d feel much better when it was a done deal.
After a couple of minutes in which he continued to pace nervously, the sheriff’s voice came through in the background. Jackery’s pacing picked up speed as he followed along with the recitation—first of the auction rules and then of the legal description of the property to be auctioned. Finally, at long last, the sheriff arrived at the beginning of the auction itself.
“Do I have any bids?” said the sheriff.
“Mr. Jackery?” said Deputy Powers.
“$10,000,” said Jackery.
“The caller bids $10,000,” said the deputy.
There. It was done.
Except Jackery heard another voice, a woman, speaking in the background.
“$20,000,” said the woman.
“What just happened?” said Jackery to the deputy.
“It looks like there’s a bidder here on site,” said the deputy. “Do you want to enter another bid?”
“$30,000,” said Jackery.
“The caller bids $30,000,” said the deputy.
“$100,000,” said the woman’s voice.
“What the fuck is going on?” said Jackery.
“Do you wish to make another bid?” said the deputy.
“$200,000,” said Jackery.
“The caller bids $200,000,” said the deputy.
By now, Jackery was pacing furiously. This was rapidly turning into a disaster.
“$300,000,” said the woman’s voice.
“Do you wish to make another bid?” said the deputy.
“Get the sheriff on the line,” said Jackery. “Now!”
“Sir, I don’t think—“
“Do it!”
There was a thud as the deputy apparently put the phone down. Jackery waited impatiently until the sheriff came on the line.
“Peter?” said the sheriff
“What the fuck is going on over there?” said Jackery.
“There’s another bidder. A woman I haven’t seen before.”
“How the hell is she even participating? You told me any bidders have to be pre-registered.”
“Apparently, she registered herself earlier today.”
“And you didn’t think to call me?”
“I didn’t know about it until just before the start of the auction.”
“This is turning into a monumental disaster,” said Jackery.
“What’s the matter? You can afford it, right?”
“Of course I can fucking afford it. But I didn’t get where I am by throwing money away unnecessarily. There’s no telling how high this crazy bitch will bid. I’m pretty sure she’s a front for some well-funded assholes who are trying to fuck with me.”
“What do you want me to do?” said the sheriff.
“Shut it down,” said Jackery. “Call off the auction for now.”
“How can I do that?”
“Say you discovered some kind of irregularity.”
“What irregularity?”
Jesus, did Jackery have to do everything? He stopped his pacing and stood stock-still in the middle of his office. He lowered the phone from his ear and let his mind free-associate.
“Peter? Peter?” The sheriff’s voice was barely audible from the phone down at Jackery’s side.
It took a moment, but once again his mind came through for him. He lifted the phone back to his ear.
“The irregularity is that the auction is being held without adequate notice ahead of time as required by law.”
“But you were the one who told me to hold it today.”
“And now I’m telling you to call it off. Everything we planned for is in jeopardy. This is no time to go soft.”
“I’ll look like a fool.”
“You’ll look like a hero. A founding father of our movement. Future schoolchildren will read about you and your courage to do the right thing.”
Any sensible person would know he was being bullshitted, but Jackery had taken the time to study the sheriff and sniff out his vulnerabilities. The man felt chronically unappreciated. A classic wounded narcissist. A type overrepresented in politics. Give him the right strokes and he was putty in your hands. Jackery waited while the Sheriff digested his words. He was pretty certain his little speech had done the trick, but if not, he was ready to lay it on even thicker.
“All right,” said the sheriff. “I’ll do it.”
“Good man,” said Jackery, grimacing.
He stayed on the line to make certain the sheriff followed through on his words.
“The auction is canceled,” came the sheriff’s voice in the background. “It has come to my attention that the statutory notice period has not been observed. Therefore, the current bids are null and void. The auction will be rescheduled to conform to the legal requirements.”
Satisfied, Jackery ended the call. He had narrowly avoided disaster, but now he had the larger problem to deal with.
Barb.