The Oracle

by Clive Cussler

  “Do you remember them?”

  “The dreams? Sometimes. Especially if someone reminds me of what I did or said. Apparently, I tend to say a lot.”

  “Well, in this case, you were swatting at something while talking about throwing back veils.”

  Amal laughed. “I felt like I was in a cloud, a fog, and everyone was gone. I think I was trying to clear it away. Anyway, to answer your question, I don’t think it’s dangerous. Usually my family just makes sure I don’t fall.”

  “Sam and I can do that. I promise.”

  “Enough about me, how did you and Dr. LaBelle meet?”

  “College,” Remi said, and they spent the next part of the trip discussing dorm life. Long after the town of Jalingo had disappeared, the rough paved road turned into a pockmarked ribbon of red dirt, evidence of past flooding having washed the asphalt away. Within minutes, a thin film of dust covered the windshield, making it difficult for Remi to see. She turned on the wipers, then called Sam’s cell phone. “You mind if we switch positions? I’m Braille-driving back here.”

  “Something we didn’t think about with a second vehicle. You take the lead. I’ll hang back until you get far enough ahead to keep the dust to a minimum.”

  “Thank you, Fargo. Very gentlemanly of you.”

  He slowed, allowing her to pass. She drove alongside the truck, doing a double take when she thought she saw someone peeking out from beneath the canvas cargo cover. “Sam, there’s someone hiding in the back of the truck.”

  Sam pulled to the side of the road.

  Remi parked beside him. “Wait here,” she told Amal, setting the emergency brake, before meeting Sam alongside the truck. She pointed to the canvas covering near the tailgate. When he started to reach for his gun, she waved him off. “I think it’s our pickpocket.”

  Sam lifted the corner of the canvas.

  Nasha stared out at them, her eyes going wide, her expression one of panic. “You can’t stop,” she said. “What are you doing?”

  “What’re we doing?” Sam glanced at Remi, then back at the girl. “I’m asking you the same.”

  Hank jumped out of the cab, walking back toward them. “What the …?”

  Sam waved for him to be quiet and turned his attention to Nasha. “Why are you hiding in the back of our truck?”

  “I want to go with you. Please …”

  “You can’t,” Sam said. “You need to be at home, with your parents. Where are they?”

  “Gone. Everyone. My uncle was supposed to come back for me.” She turned toward Remi, her hands clasped together. “I know I’m only a girl. But I want to go to school.”

  Her simple statement caught Remi by surprise. “Sam …?”

  He eyed the girl, then Remi. “How about we work on getting this load secured first?”

  The load was secure, but she nodded, saying, “Good idea.” Smiling at the child, she pointed toward the one spot of shade near the front of the truck. “Why don’t you wait there, where it’s cooler, while I help my husband.”

  Nasha nodded, did as she was told.

  “Well?” Remi said as Sam pulled the canvas back in place.

  Hank looked at the two of them, his expression incredulous. “How do you know this isn’t another scam? So you don’t turn her over to the police?”

  “We don’t know,” Sam said as Amal got out and joined them.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “You can’t be seriously thinking of taking her?” Hank said. “There’s got to be laws against that sort of thing.”

  “Sam …” Remi leaned over, speaking softly. “She’s just a girl.”

  All four glanced toward the front of the truck, where the child paced nervously, her attention on the road behind them. Remi looked that direction, wondering what she was looking at. The flat road stretched for mile upon mile through the flat grassland. If there was anything out there, Remi couldn’t see.

  “Hank’s right,” Sam said. “We can’t just start yanking stray kids off the street without permission from parents or guardians or authorities. They’ll shut down our school in a heartbeat if that gets out. We’ve got to take her back. Now.”

  “To where?” Remi said. “You heard her. She has no family.”

  “The police. You know we have no choice.”

  Amal gripped Remi’s hand. “I want to go back, too. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  The last thing Remi expected was for Hank to champion her cause. “Mrs. Fargo is right. If we drive back now,” he said, “that creates another delay delivering the supplies.”

  “It can’t be helped,” Sam said. “We’re going back.”

  “Thank goodness,” Amal said, looking infinitely relieved.

  Sam pulled the knot on the canvas cover tight, then glanced at Remi, clearly unable to resist her look of pleading. “We’ll track down her next of—”

  “Hurry!” Nasha raced toward them, pointing. “You need to leave!”

  Remi shaded her eyes, seeing the glint of sun reflecting off the windshield of a vehicle in the distance.

  “Now!” Nasha screamed. “Before it’s too late. They’re coming.”

  “Who?” Hank asked, looking startled.

  “The Kalu brothers,” she said. “We have to go. Please.”

  “Remi,” Sam said.

  “Already on it,” she replied, opening the tailgate of the Land Rover and digging out a pair of binoculars from one of the packs. She tossed them to Sam.

  “A yellow car?” Nasha said.

  Sam lifted the binoculars, watching until the vehicle neared enough to see the color. “Definitely yellow. Are you a part of this? Supposed to distract us?”

  She shook her head, her eyes pleading. “They have guns. They’re going to rob you. I … I thought you might get to the school before they found you.”

  Sam glanced at Remi. “Going back’s out of the question. For now.”

  “What about the truck?” Remi said. “As heavy as it’s loaded, we’re not going to outrun them.”

  “No. But maybe we can find a better place to make a stand.”

  “A stand?” Hank said. “You can’t be serious.”

  Sam ignored him, looking through the binoculars in the opposite direction. “What the …”

  “Sam?”

  He handed Remi the binoculars, then pointed farther up, near the bend in the road. “About halfway between here and the trees.”

  Remi swept her gaze across the stretch of rutted dirt, at first seeing nothing alarming. “Empty road.”

  “Take a closer look.”

  She adjusted the focus, noticing that what at first glance appeared to be dried brush and leaves strewn across the roadway actually formed a fairly straight line. Too straight for it to be natural. Which meant it was covering something. “Tack strip? We’re being chased into an ambush?”

  “If I had to guess, the other half of that ambush is just around the bend, by those trees.”

  “What if we drove around the tack strip?”

  “We run into whoever’s waiting for us on the other side.”

  Remi glanced back at the yellow vehicle speeding toward them from the opposite direction. She looked around for cover. With nothing but long grass on either side of the road, they had nowhere to go.

  And very little time to come up with a plan.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A good plan today is better than a perfect plan tomorrow.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  Sam took one last look through the binoculars, then handed them back to Remi. “Remember that time in Mozambique?” he asked.

  “Yes. But we have two cars to move and an ambush coming from both directions. How—”

  “Put the Land Rover in neutral.”

  “You, Fargo, are brilliant.” Remi grabbed Nasha’s hand, pulling her away from the truck.

  Sam jumped into the driver’s seat, starting the engine, while Hank climbed into the passenger’s seat. “What’s going on?” he
asked Sam.

  “We’re creating a diversion for the women.”

  The color drained from Hank’s face. “Us?”

  “You should probably get out and wait with them.”

  “No. I’ll wait here.”

  Sam glanced at Remi through the open window, waiting for her to move the car.

  “Amal,” she shouted. “Take Nasha and wait by the side of the road.” Remi bent down, looking into Nasha’s dark eyes. “You stand next to my friend. Wait for me.”

  She nodded her head.

  “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

  The girl let go, then ran toward Amal. Remi hopped into the Land Rover, started it and drove about twenty feet in front of the truck, leaving the vehicle in neutral before returning to where Amal and Nasha waited. The moment she was clear, Sam hit the gas, made a three-point turn, and spun the tires, kicking up enough dust to cover for the women as they ran to the side of the road toward the brush.

  Hank glanced in their direction, but the dust hid them from his view. “Where’re they going?”

  “Trying not to be targets,” Sam said, moving his foot from the brake to the gas pedal. The truck lurched forward.

  “But …” Hank gripped the dash as the front of the truck tapped the rear bumper of the Land Rover, pushing it forward. “Are you insane?”

  “There’s a tack strip up ahead. And if that growing cloud of dust just beyond the bend in the road belongs to whoever placed it there, we’re about to encounter some very nasty people.”

  “But that kid—”

  “Thinks there are two men in that yellow car who plan to hit us from behind. In other words, we’re about to be ambushed.”

  Sam stopped the truck, allowing the rental car to drift forward on its own, hopefully far enough that their attackers wouldn’t realize that the women were hiding much farther back. With one foot on the brake, he hit the gas again, spinning the tires, raising a dust cloud so thick he hoped no one from either direction would know if anyone was hiding in the truck or had abandoned it. Which was the point.

  Sam drew his gun, checked his phone to make sure the ringer was off, then looked over at Hank. “Follow me.”

  Hank’s gaze widened at the sight of Sam’s pistol. “I … I can’t.”

  “If they come in shooting—”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Hank said.

  “Suit yourself.” Foot on the brake, he stepped on the gas again, raising even more dust, before shutting off the truck and opening the door. “If I were you, I’d get down on the floorboard. If you’re lucky, the engine block will stop any stray bullets.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Patience can cook a stone.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  Stay low,” Remi said. Amal started to part the long grass, but Remi grabbed her arm. “Not there. They’ll see the broken stalks.” She pointed to a natural break in the vegetation. “That way. Hurry.”

  Amal scrambled into the space. Remi turned to guide Nasha in after her, surprised when the girl pulled a thick but loose clump of grass from the dry ground, using the root ball to erase their tracks from the side of the road. A moment later, she scurried into the field after Amal, grabbing a handful of dirt, rubbing it into her short dark hair, attempting to blend into her surroundings.

  Remi, both fascinated and horrified that a child that young was proficient in camouflage techniques, belly-crawled next to them, drew her gun, then double-checked her phone to make sure the ringer was off. Just in time, too. She peered through the tall grass to her left, watching the yellow vehicle’s tires bouncing across the ruts in the road, jarring its occupants.

  The car drove past. It skidded to a stop about fifteen feet behind the Fargos’ supply truck. Dust rose and drifted on the wind as two men got out, their backs to the women. They stood behind their open doors, each holding a handgun, aiming at the truck.

  “That’s them,” Nasha whispered. “Two of the Kalu brothers. Bako is the one closest to us.”

  “Whatever happens,” Remi said, “keep your head down and don’t make a sound.”

  She nodded.

  Remi had a clear shot of the man standing behind the front passenger’s door just fifty feet away. Unfortunately, the driver was on the far side of the car. If she took the shot, she risked giving up their position—something she wasn’t about to do unless left with no other choice. Though she and Sam had successfully used this tactic just outside Mozambique, the two of them splitting up to take out their enemy, neither had to worry about trying to protect three other lives at the same time.

  She set her cell phone on the ground in front of her, calling Sam’s number. “We’re in place. I take it you and Hank made it to the sidelines?”

  “He wouldn’t leave.”

  Her gaze flew to the supply truck. A complication they hadn’t expected or needed. She had little time to worry about it. Another dust cloud in the distance—this one from the opposite direction—grew rapidly. Within seconds, the square front end of a white pickup came into view, the vehicle slowing as it veered around the suspicious layer of leaves and grass stretched across the road. It skidded to a stop in front of the now empty Land Rover and, beyond it, their supply truck. Both doors of the pickup opened, but no one got out. Their tinted windows blocked Remi’s view.

  Crack! Crack!

  Two shots hit the dirt in front of the white pickup. The shooter, the driver of the yellow car, draped his arm over his open door, his handgun haphazardly pointed toward the new visitors. “This cargo belongs to us. Leave.”

  “Didn’t see that coming,” Remi whispered. “Different groups?”

  “Looks like it,” Sam said. Ears ringing from the gunshots, she barely heard his low voice coming from her phone. “This is not going to end well.”

  Though she couldn’t see Sam, she knew he was positioned on the same side of the road to her right—which meant he had a far better view of the pickup’s occupants. The driver stuck both hands out his open door to prove he wasn’t armed. “Don’t shoot,” he shouted. Tall and slim, he had a scar running down the left side of his face. He stood next to his truck, staring at the Kalu brothers. “I’m sure we can work this out in a friendly manner.”

  “Scarface,” Nasha whispered.

  “Makao?” Bako seemed shocked to see him. “I … I didn’t know it was you.”

  “So I see. Turn around and we’ll just forget this happened.” Makao gave a semi-smile to his would-be attackers.

  Bako’s brother motioned with his gun. “This cargo is ours.”

  “Keep it.” Makao rubbed at the scar on his cheek, then slid behind the wheel. He backed the pickup, made a three-point turn, but instead of driving off, he stopped the vehicle. Two men pointing assault rifles jumped up from the pickup bed. A deafening rat-a-tat-tat followed as they peppered the Kalu brothers, their bodies jerking from the force of the bullets. Nasha stifled a sob as they slumped to the ground. Though Remi wanted to comfort the child, she didn’t dare let down her guard. Thankfully, Amal reached over, placing her shaking hand on the child’s shoulder, whispering something in her ear.

  “Remi?” Sam’s low voice from her phone brought a sense of relief. They were in this together. They’d get out of it the same way.

  “We’re fine,” she said as the two shooters hopped out of the pickup bed. They circled around the far side of the Fargos’ Land Rover, aiming their rifles at it. One glanced in, then pointed toward the supply truck. They walked past it, the lower part of their legs visible beneath the truck’s chassis. When they reached the cargo area, one stopped behind the rear wheel. The other continued on, eyeing the Kalu brothers sprawled on either side of the yellow car. Deciding they no longer posed a threat, he turned back toward the truck, pulling up the canvas to look underneath. “No one back here,” he shouted.

  Makao, who remained at the driver’s door of the white pickup, said something to his passenger. The man got out, walked toward the supply truck, his weapon aimed at the door behind
which Hank hid.

  Remi followed him with her gun sight. “Sam …”

  “Do not take that shot, Remi. They’ll know where you are.”

  She kept her finger on the trigger. “We can’t just—”

  “Yes. We can. There are two more gunmen on the other side of the truck. Without a way to draw them out, we’re trapped.”

  He was right. Both men had taken cover, one behind the rear wheel, the other behind the front, no doubt aiming at the truck’s door in case someone came charging out on that side. “This worked so much better in Mozambique,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, there were about five less gunmen.”

  A sharp intake of breath from Nasha caught her attention. “Look, Mrs. Fargo. Bako’s moving.”

  She followed the direction of the girl’s gaze, seeing Bako on the ground, slowly reaching for his gun. “Sam. By the yellow car. He could be our distraction.”

  “They’ll kill him before he ever gets a second shot. We need something else.”

  Once again, her husband was right. Unless they found a way to draw those other two onto this side of the supply truck, they’d still be outgunned and outmanned. Her gaze hit on the Land Rover. “Amal, where’s your phone?”

  “In the car.”

  “Get ready, Fargo.” Remi slid her phone toward Amal and raised her gun sight, taking aim. “Time to even those odds.”

  Sam’s soft laugh sounded in the phone just before Amal called the number. A moment later the faint but shrill ring of her phone sounded from the open car window.

  Scarface held up one hand. “Wait,” he said, then walked toward the Rover.

  Remi smiled to herself when she saw one of the two men on the far side of the supply truck move toward the engine block, his head and shoulders visible over the hood. “Come on …” she whispered, hoping the remaining gunman would step into view.

  To her right, Scarface reached into the window and pulled out Amal’s purse, fishing out her phone. When it stopped ringing, Amal ended the call. He narrowed his gaze, tossed the phone and purse into the car, and looked over at the man standing next to the supply truck. He nodded.