The Oracle

by Clive Cussler

  Hank was about to comment when instead he glanced at Renee. “Are you okay, LaBelle? You seem a little pale. It’s not your ankle, is it?”

  “No.” She gave a tired smile. “I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning, but after the conference and my accident, I’ve hit a wall.”

  “I’ll go up with you,” Hank said, helping her with her crutches.

  She nodded. “I think what I need is a good night’s sleep.” She put her hand on Remi’s shoulder as she looked at Sam. “What time do you want to leave in the morning?”

  “Nine should work.”

  “See you then.”

  The next morning, everyone but Renee had gathered in the lobby. Amal paced the floor, talking softly to herself. “You can do this. You can do this …”

  Remi and Sam gave her space, pretending not to notice. Hank watched her a moment, then joined them. “I hope she’ll be okay. The convention was a big step for her. The stress exacerbates her anxiety, which apparently causes these mild seizures.”

  “Does she take medication for it?” Remi asked him.

  “I’m not sure,” he said as the elevator door opened.

  Renee stepped off, her face pale, her eyes watery. “I hate to cancel at the last second, but I’ve been sick to my stomach all night. I’ve definitely caught some bug, and my ankle’s a bit more swollen.”

  Amal took a tentative step toward her. “I’ll stay with you, Dr. LaBelle.”

  “I don’t think it’s anything serious, but you probably shouldn’t get too close. I’ll be fine. What I need to do is prop my foot up and rest, just like the doctor said. You should go.”

  “Without you? What if something happens?”

  “If we had a crystal ball and knew everything bad that was coming down the chute, we’d all be paralyzed. Venture out, spread your wings.”

  “But—”

  “Have faith in yourself, Amal. You might be surprised. Besides, the Fargos will take good care of you.”

  “But the girls,” Hank said. “They’re expecting you, LaBelle. Never mind that you can’t stay here alone.”

  “I’ll be fine. I checked with the hotel. They’re actually happy to have me stay.” Renee gave a tired sigh. “I’m sorry, Remi. Maybe I’ll recover in a day or two …”

  Remi looked at Sam as though he had some power over the situation.

  “Her health is more important,” Sam said. “If she gets better, we’ll swing by and get her after we pick up Lazlo from the airport. Until then, the girls are going to have to make do with a site manager and graduate student.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  A difficult journey will make you daring and harden your will.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  Makao clutched the steering wheel of his white extended-cab Toyota Tundra pickup as it bounced from one pothole to another on the long stretch of washed-out road a couple of hours outside of Jalingo. A thin film of red dust covered everything inside the cab, including the black dash bearing the smudged fingerprints from his passenger Jimi, who braced his left hand against it while gripping his right around the barrel of his assault rifle.

  Makao glanced in the rearview mirror to the backseat where two more men rode, both cradling their rifles in their laps. All three passengers were agberos, criminals he’d trained from a young age after picking them up over a decade ago on the streets of Lagos.

  Men who would do his absolute bidding, no questions asked.

  Every one of them had started off as Area Boys, the name given to the mostly harmless pickpockets and thieves that infiltrated every busy street in the populous city. Most worked in loosely based gangs run by low-level crooks. That was how Makao got his start, rising through the ranks, making enough money to buy some form of respectability, even a position in the local government. And, it was where he learned that law enforcement tended to look the other way unless their hands were forced, usually due to the actions of those boys with a predilection for violence.

  That was why he and his crew had to flee Lagos. To avoid being arrested for murder after a series of robberies gone wrong. A helpful tip from one of his police friends on the take had allowed them to escape, until such a time when all the witnesses could be eliminated.

  His reputation, thankfully, preceded him, and it didn’t take long before he dominated the larger criminal enterprises in Taraba State. And though he was trying to maintain a low profile, when Tarek called him about the job, it was one he simply couldn’t pass up. The potential payoff was too great, with his share making the predawn departure into the middle of nowhere very much worth it.

  “There.” Jimi pointed out the dusty windshield toward a stand of trees to their left at the base of the rolling hills that led up to the forest in Gashaka Gumti.

  Makao slowed the pickup and rolled to a stop. “This should work. There’s nothing but grass for miles. We’ll see them the moment they try to run—if they try.”

  He set the parking brake, left the engine running, then waited for the dust to settle before opening his door. To the north, the direction they’d come from, a few trees dotted the savanna that stretched out on either side of the road beneath a cloudless blue sky. They were headed southeast, and he turned that direction, eyeing the road where the pavement—or what remained of it—started again just before the bend. A half mile past, a thick stand of trees created some natural cover.

  He slapped the side of the truck. “You two gather leaves and grass. Jimi, get the bag. We’ll set up here.”

  The men left their guns behind, hopped out of the truck.

  Jimi walked around to the back, lowering the tailgate, grabbing a large black vinyl satchel by its strap. The contents jangled as he dragged it from the bed of the pickup. “Where do you want me to drop them?”

  Makao pointed to the narrowest stretch of road. “There.”

  Jimi trudged over, shaking the contents of the bag into the road, the dark gray tire spikes scattering across the ground. Once the bag was empty, he kicked dirt across the spikes until they were nearly as red as the road.

  Makao leaned against the side of the truck, lighting up a cigarette, waiting for the men to finish tossing grass and leaves over everything to hide the hazard. “Not too high,” he said. “We don’t want them driving around it.”

  If they did, his men would shoot out the tires, the plan of last resort. In his opinion, these things always worked best when no shots were fired.

  A few minutes later, he took a final drag of his cigarette, then blew out a plume of smoke, eyeing their work. They’d done a fairly good job camouflaging the spikes. He dropped his cigarette into the dirt and stomped it out with his boot heel. “Let’s go.”

  The men jumped back into the Toyota and he drove around the hidden spikes, following the bend past the trees, searching for an area wide enough in the forest’s edge to park the truck where it wasn’t visible from the road.

  His vehicle hidden, they found a spot beneath the trees and settled in for the long wait. Makao checked the message from Tarek on his phone, looking at the pictures of the Fargos and their Land Rover, smiling to himself.

  This was going to be easy money, no doubt about it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  If you want to go quickly, go alone.

  If you want to go far, go together.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  After breakfast, Sam, Remi, Amal, and Hank stopped to pick up the new supply truck, with its canvas cargo cover, that Selma had purchased for the school. The sight of the Mercedes Zetros 4×4, meant to handle the rough mountain roads, seemed to make Amal nervous. Perhaps, Remi thought, it was a reminder that they’d be miles away from anywhere should she have one of her attacks. The moment Sam took possession of the keys, Amal turned a worried glance Remi’s way. “I hope you won’t be upset, but I’m just not sure about going. I can stay with Dr. LaBelle until she’s better.”

  “Of course I’m not upset,” Remi said. “Disappointed, yes, because I know the girls will love you. But y
ou have to do what’s right for you.”

  Sam walked up a moment later. “We’re ready to go.”

  “Amal’s changed her mind. We need to take her back to the hotel.”

  “Honestly,” Amal said. “I’d be glad to take a taxi.”

  Hank, overhearing Amal, looked up from his phone. “Remember how you worried about the conference? That turned out okay. And in a couple of days, Dr. LaBelle will be joining us.”

  Remi gave her an encouraging smile. “He’s right. We’ll have fun. And if, for some reason, you feel as if you need to come back, we’ll bring you home.”

  The moment she nodded in agreement, Sam held out the Land Rover key fob to Hank. “Any chance I can have you drive the car to the surplus store? It’ll give me a chance to go over the truck controls with Remi. Just in case.”

  “Absolutely,” Hank replied.

  Remi climbed into the truck, then turned a shrewd glance toward her husband. “You didn’t seem terribly broken up when you thought Amal wasn’t coming.”

  “Let’s just say I was being pragmatic. If she didn’t come, Hank wouldn’t come. We’d probably get a lot more work done without entertaining a couple of outsiders.”

  “Spoilsport. A slight inconvenience to us, but worth the trouble. Think how much those girls would benefit talking to a young university student like Amal.” She gave an exasperated sigh as she buckled her seat belt. “Not that I intend on driving this thing unless I absolutely have to, show me what I need to know.”

  After a quick lesson, Sam headed into the central part of town, eventually reaching a crowded street filled with vendors selling goods beneath large umbrellas, their bright colors faded from the sun.

  Pedestrians and motorbikes weaved in and out of the slow-moving traffic. Horns beeped, music blared, and the cacophony of bartering between shoppers and sellers filtered in through Sam’s open window as he navigated his way down the street at a snail’s pace.

  “There it is,” Remi said, pointing to a storefront farther down the block.

  Sam stopped in front of the building to let Remi out, motioning for Hank to pull up alongside him. “Find somewhere to park and come back here.”

  Hank nodded, started to idle forward, stopped to let Amal out of the car before taking off again.

  “Watch out for pickpockets,” Sam called out. Remi waved to him as he drove to the back of the store, parking the truck in front of the loading dock. By the time he returned, Hank jogged up.

  “Apparently,” Hank said, slightly out of breath, “parking around here is at a premium. Had to leave the car around the corner.” He eyed the dilapidated-looking warehouse. “Wouldn’t a bigger store get you better prices? It’d definitely get you a nicer place to shop.”

  “That it would,” Sam said. “But Pete and Wendy prefer to work with the smaller businessman, trying to keep the money local.”

  Hank wiped his brow, then looked out across the street at a restaurant. “Are you going to be a while? I’m starving and dying of thirst. Probably should have eaten a bigger breakfast.” He glanced at Sam. “Or am I being presumptuous? I should have asked if we had time.”

  “No,” Sam said. “You’re fine. Remi and I just wanted to add a few extra things to our replacement order. They’ll still have to load the truck. Maybe an hour?”

  “Plenty of time,” Hank said. “Amal? You’re welcome to join me.”

  “Thank you, no. I’m going to wait here in the shade. Stretch my legs a bit.”

  He crossed the street and stopped in surprise as a group of children ran up and surrounded him, some actually tugging on his shirt. At first he shook his head, but then reached into his pocket, pulling out some coins, tossing them into the air. Thinking to make his getaway, he turned, only to run into more kids coming in from the other direction. For a moment, it looked as though he’d be mobbed, but a police car drove by and the children scattered.

  “Let’s hope he was smart enough to hold on to his wallet,” Sam said. He looked at Remi. “Shall we?”

  “I’ll meet you inside.” She glanced over at Amal, worried about leaving her out there alone. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come in with us?”

  Amal, looking at her phone, dropped it, staring almost in disbelief as it hit the ground.

  Remi, concerned, picked up the phone, tried to hand it to her, but from the expression on the young woman’s face, it was almost as if Remi wasn’t even there. “Amal …? Are you okay?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  No matter how good you are to a goat, it will still eat your yam.

  – NIGERIAN PROVERB –

  It was several seconds before Amal moved. She waved as though trying to clear cobwebs in front of her. “Throw back … your veils …” she said in French. And then, as quickly as it came over her, she seemed fine. “I … I think I had one of my spells.”

  “It certainly looked like it.” Remi, afraid to leave her behind, guided her into the store. “Maybe you should wait in here until we’re done shopping.”

  “Good idea.”

  The white-haired clerk, seeing there was some sort of issue, brought out a plastic chair and placed it next to his counter. “I’ll watch her.”

  “Thank you,” Remi said. She hovered over the young woman a few moments.

  “I’m fine,” Amal said. “Really.”

  “We’ll only be a few minutes.”

  “Go. Please. I promise I’ll sit right here until you get back.”

  Sam nodded toward Remi. “Sooner we get this done, sooner we can get on the road.”

  “It was so odd,” Remi said, once they were out of hearing. “Almost as if she was looking right through me.” She followed him down the aisle, accessing the text Wendy had sent that morning of the additional items they needed for the school. “Ten buckets.”

  Sam’s attention was on a boy, about twelve or so, standing near the endcap, peering at them through the shelves of liquid detergent. He’d been one of the children who’d crowded around Hank just before he’d walked into the restaurant across the street. “Buckets of what?”

  “Of what?” Remi looked up, her green eyes filled with exasperation. “Seriously, Fargo. You’re beginning to worry me. Buckets for the school.”

  “Sorry.” He glanced at the list on her phone, glad that the bulk of supplies were preordered, and waiting to be loaded on the truck out back. “Ten buckets,” he said.

  Remi eyed him, then the boy at the end of the aisle. “You can’t think he’s any sort of problem. The first gust of wind would blow him away.”

  Sam looked over at his wife, almost surprised. They were usually on the same page when it came to potential threats. “It’s not him I’m worried about. It’s his gang of pickpockets and thieves waiting outside for us. You saw them surround Hank.”

  “You’re worried about Hank? Living in Tunisia, I imagine he’s got plenty of experience avoiding—”

  “Not him. Us. We’ve been marked as a target.”

  “Noted,” she said, going back to the list. “Except I’d amend that to you being marked as a target. I seriously doubt that I have anything they want.”

  In that respect, Remi was correct. Prepared for their trip into the bush, she was dressed in khaki slacks and an olive green button-down shirt. They both knew this area of Jalingo was rife with gangs, which was why Remi wasn’t carrying a purse or wearing any jewelry. Amal, Sam noticed, had taken the same precautions. Remi, like Sam, was carrying a concealed gun, hers in a slim holster beneath her shirt, his holstered behind a secret panel in his safari vest. Other than that, the only thing Sam carried that might fall prey to a pickpocket was his wallet—not that he was worried. He’d moved his billfold up to his top vest pocket, zipping it tight, before he ever left the supply truck.

  With the last item checked off, they reached the front of the store, where Amal still waited. Sam paid for the supplies, arranging to have everything boxed and stacked on pallets for delivery. The clerk read the name on the purchase order. “F
argo …” he said. “That sounds familiar. We just filled this earlier in the week. The girls’ school near Gashaka Gumti, yes?”

  “It never made it,” Sam said. “This time, we’re delivering it personally.”

  The man turned a dubious glance toward Remi and Amal, then back to Sam. “These days, the roads can be dangerous. It might be better to pay someone to deliver it for you.”

  “We appreciate your concern, but we’ll be fine. What time will it be ready?”

  The man looked over the paperwork, picked up the phone, talked to someone in a melodic language Sam didn’t recognize. “They just started to load the truck. Maybe an hour?”

  “We’ll see you then.”

  The clerk nodded, caught sight of the boy, who was pretending interest, reading the label on a jug of bleach near the front door. “Out of here, you.” The boy left, and the clerk turned to Sam, handing over his copies of the purchase order and receipt. “Terrible thing, what is happening here. It used to be only in the big cities like Lagos. Now, it’s everywhere. I’ve heard that the boys are forced to steal.”

  “Who’s forcing them?” Remi asked. She had a particular soft spot for children and championed any cause that might help.

  “Street gangs. And now we have Boko Haram.”

  Sam perked up. “You think they’re responsible for the robbery of our supply truck?”

  “Boko Haram? No. Around these parts, that’d be the Kalu brothers. Those kids work for them. Be careful, whatever you do.”

  “We will,” Sam said, tucking the invoices into his pocket. “Thank you.”

  He, Remi, and Amal left. Amal nodded toward the restaurant. “Hank’s still in there.”