The Oracle

by Clive Cussler

  The gunman yanked open the truck door, pointing his weapon inside.

  Hank cowered on the floorboards, covering his face with his arms. “Don’t shoot,” he cried.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A fight between grasshoppers is a joy to the crow.

  – BASOTHO PROVERB –

  Sam, his finger on the trigger of his Smith & Wesson .38, watched with clinical detachment as the gunman pulled Hank from the truck’s cab. Like Remi, Sam was belly-down in the grass, his phone set out in front of him. The screen lit up as Remi called him back. He answered, then gave a quick glance toward the lone survivor sprawled in the dirt near the yellow car. The man slowly lifted his gun in a vain attempt to take down his four attackers. He was bleeding out fast and Sam didn’t know if he’d even have the strength to get off a shot.

  “Hold …” Sam said softly into his phone. Remi, an expert sharpshooter, could easily drop the man holding the gun to Hank, and was no doubt worried about his safety. At the moment, Sam didn’t care if Hank lived or died. He wasn’t about to risk his wife’s life, or that of Amal and Nasha, because the man was too stupid to follow instructions.

  The gunman pointed his weapon at the archeologist’s chest. “Where are the others?”

  Hank scooted back, hitting the side of the truck, looking around in desperation, whether for them or to escape, Sam couldn’t tell.

  “Tell … me … where … they … are …” With each word, he shoved the barrel of his gun against Hank’s chest.

  “They just ran.”

  “Which direction?”

  “I … I didn’t see.” Hank’s gaze flicked to the side of the road. “Too much dust.”

  Crack!

  Bako’s shot went wild.

  The two gunmen on the other side of the truck spun around, spraying bullets at the yellow car in a deafening barrage. The third gunman grabbed Hank, using him for a shield, blocking any chance of Sam taking him out. “Remi,” Sam shouted into the phone.

  She fired before he finished saying her name.

  The gunman fell to the ground, taking Hank with him. The man near the front of the truck stepped out into the road, belatedly realizing the shot came from the grass. He swung his rifle in Remi’s direction. Sam fired twice. He fell back against the truck.

  Makao, seeing his men fall, ducked behind the Land Rover, then raced to the pickup, jumping in. The lone surviving gunman raced after him, grabbing on to the tailgate as the vehicle sped off.

  Sam kept his sights on the truck, waiting until the dust settled to make sure it wasn’t circling back. Finally, he glanced in Remi’s direction, not yet seeing her in the tall grass.

  He grabbed his phone. “Remi …”

  “Here.”

  “Keep the others down. Let’s make sure it’s clear.”

  They rose at the same time, guns at the ready, and walked toward the three vehicles.

  The only thing moving was Hank, his breathing shallow, his face pale, as he struggled to his feet, trying to push the dead man off him.

  “Stay there,” Sam ordered and moved to the right as Remi moved to the left, checking the downed men, kicking any weapons out of reach in case anyone had miraculously survived.

  They were all dead.

  “Clear,” he called out.

  “Same,” Remi said as they met on the other side of the supply truck. They circled back. “It’s safe,” she shouted. “You can come out.”

  Amal and Nasha slowly rose, the young girl reaching for Amal’s shaking hand as they made their way through the tall grass.

  Sam eyed the dusty pair. “Nice job blending in.”

  “The child’s a natural,” Remi said, then, in a lower voice, added, “I hate to think how she knows what she knows.”

  That sort of knowledge didn’t come from living in the city—or a peaceful village. “Definitely makes you wonder,” Sam replied, leaning down to pick up one of the fallen assault rifles. He turned on the safety and slung the gun across his back.

  Hank rose to his feet, leaning against the truck, his frightened gaze landing on Nasha. “You stole my keys. Those men were after you.”

  Nasha ducked behind Amal.

  “Pointing fingers gets us nowhere,” Sam said, not wanting to spend any more time there than necessary. The longer they remained, the greater the risk those robbers would return with reinforcements. “Remi, make sure we haven’t missed any stray guns. Hank, why don’t you have a seat in the car, turn on the AC. Amal …” He was about to order her to join Hank. Seeing her ashen tone, he tempered his voice. “Are you going to be okay?”

  She gave a faltering smile. “I … I think what I need is fresh air.”

  “Nasha,” Sam said. “Come with me.” He started walking toward the Kalus’ bullet-riven car, then stopped when he realized the kid hadn’t moved from Amal’s side. Instead, she watched him with a healthy dose of suspicion and wariness.

  Remi cleared her throat and he looked at her blankly, raising his brows in hopes she’d clue him in to whatever she was thinking.

  “Nasha,” Remi said. “I think my husband wants to ask you a few questions in private. You can trust him.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t trust any man.”

  Of that, Sam had no doubt, especially coming from a child who knew the skills she knew. “Remi?”

  She held her hand toward the girl. Nasha took it and Remi guided her toward Sam, who was standing near the dead men by the supply truck. The girl refused to look at the bodies.

  As much as Sam hated what he was about to do, he didn’t have much choice. “I need you to look at them. Do you know them?”

  She hesitated, slowly turned, her gaze skimming across their faces before turning back, pressing herself into Remi’s side. “No,” she whispered.

  He led her past the supply truck toward the yellow car. “You know them?”

  She glanced at them, then quickly looked away. “Yes.”

  “Who are they and why are they here?”

  “I told you. The Kalu brothers. They came to rob you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you stole their car.”

  “You mean you stole the car.”

  “I found it. I only stole the keys. But the Kalus said it was theirs. And they wanted your truck. They stole the last one.”

  “Did they send you?”

  She shook her head but refused to look at him.

  “Nasha …” He saw her shoulders tensing and kneeled down in front of her. “Why did you come?”

  She stole a glance at the dead man on the passenger’s side and looked at Sam, her dark eyes welling with tears. “Bako wanted to smash my fingers because I … I tried to hide the money that Mrs. Fargo gave me.”

  Had the man not already been dead, Sam would have killed him right then and there. He stood, trying to reconcile what had happened with what little he’d learned from her. “You think they called some friends to help them?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “The men in the white truck. You’re sure you’ve never seen them before?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve only ever heard of Scarface. The Kalus work alone. They have no friends.”

  Sam gave her shoulder a gentle pat. “No more questions. Why don’t you wait in the car. You’ll be much cooler in there.”

  Nasha shook her head again. “I don’t like that man.”

  “Hank?” Remi asked. “Why?”

  “Because he doesn’t like me.”

  “To be fair, you did steal his keys.”

  “He was easy.” Nasha glanced toward Amal. “What’s wrong with your friend?”

  Remi saw Amal’s distant gaze. She was either in the middle of one of her seizures or about to have one. “She’ll be okay. Do you think you can hold her hand and get her to the car?”

  Nasha, no doubt anxious to get away, nodded, then hurried toward her.

  Remi joined Sam by the Kalus’ vehicle. “Amal had another seizure.”

  “
All things considered, it’s not surprising. If she’s not better by tomorrow, we’ll bring her back.”

  “What about Nasha?”

  “There is no way in hell that I’m taking her back to Jalingo. You heard what she said he was planning to do to her.”

  Remi looked at the dead man. “I suppose it would be a total waste of ammunition to put another bullet in him.”

  “Definitely. More importantly, Nasha said the Kalu brothers worked alone. So who is this Makao that the Kalu brothers seemed to know?”

  “You have to admit that the two groups meeting here in the middle of nowhere is an interesting twist of fate.”

  Sam was a firm believer that twists of fate were a very rare occurrence. “Whoever this other group was, it had nothing to do with the street thieves from Jalingo.”

  “Agreed.” Remi nodded toward the guns she’d collected in the back of the supply truck. “We’ve got enough firepower. I say we go find these guys.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  We desire to bequeath two things to our children;

  the first one is roots, the other one is wings.

  – SUDANESE PROVERB –

  Easy does it, Annie Oakley,” Sam said, noting the fire in his wife’s green eyes. “We’re not turning vigilante with a kid in the car.”

  “We can send her ahead with Hank and Amal. You and I can—”

  “Remi.”

  “Fine,” she said. “We call the police. But what about Nasha? All that’s going to do is involve her and us in a lengthy investigation. What if they try to take her back? You heard what she said. There’s a third Kalu brother waiting for her.”

  “We skip the part that says any of us were involved.”

  “Until they realize that the bullets in half of the bad guys don’t match the bullets in the other half.”

  Sam took a good look around, trying to make sure there was nothing that could tie them to the scene. “Considering that we’re taking all the guns with us, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. This is what the cops back home call no human involved.”

  “And what if they start investigating?”

  “Somehow, I doubt the two that got away are going to give us up.”

  “Good point.” They walked back toward the cars and Remi nodded to the tack strip farther up the road. “What about that?”

  “Take it with us. I’d hate to see someone else run over it.”

  They gathered the road spikes, then left as soon as Sam called the police to report what looked like a shoot-out between two groups on the road. Once again, he had Hank join him in the supply truck. If they were attacked again, Remi was armed and could protect the women.

  Hank didn’t argue with Sam’s decision. In fact, he didn’t say much at all. Sam glanced over at him about twenty minutes into their trip, noting the still-pale pallor of his face. “You okay?”

  “A bit shaken, is all,” Hank said. “I … I had no idea …”

  “No idea what?” Sam asked, turning his attention back to the road.

  “You and your wife both carry guns?” He nodded to the Land Rover driving in front of them.

  “Depends on where we are.”

  “What about at the school?”

  “What about it?”

  “Guns. Children. It seems to me that’d be a bad mix.”

  “So are terrorists. Which is why some on our staff there are also armed. There’s never a time the girls are left without protection.”

  “It doesn’t scare the children?”

  “They’re not even aware.”

  “I suppose that’s best.” He was quiet for several moments, then looked over at Sam. “You don’t think they’ll come after us? The men who got away?”

  “Why would they?”

  “Revenge? You killed their friends.”

  “If they do, we’ll be ready.”

  After several hours, they passed through bali, then serti, where the military barracks were located. Eventually, the winding road meandered through the lush forests and thick undergrowth of Gashaka Gumti National Park. The sun hung low on the horizon by the time Sam neared the property belonging to Okoro Eze, a tea farmer who lived just outside the park’s border. His property extended to both sides of the road and included the easement that led up to the mountainside parcel that the Fargos had purchased for the school.

  Sam followed the single lane on the southeast border of the plantation. Down a long drive to the right, next to a stand of eucalyptus trees, he saw Okoro’s small house and an outbuilding, the solar panels on the former’s roof looking oddly out of place as electricity of any kind was a rarity this far out. The panels were there because the Fargos had paid for their installation since the Mambilla farmer, a widower, had refused money for the use of his land. A hardworking man, he was grateful that his daughter, Zara, had a nearby school to attend and could get the education he felt she deserved.

  Okoro and Zara’s situation was, unfortunately, hardly unique. The lack of transportation combined with the long trek through rough terrain of steep slopes and deep gorges made it difficult for most girls living in the scattered villages this far out on the Mambilla Plateau and surrounding areas to even think of attending school. The idea had been Wendy and Pete’s after they’d spent one of their vacations hiking through the vast national park. With the Fargos’ blessing, and the Foundation’s money, the two had returned to Nigeria to bring their dream to fruition.

  Just past Okoro’s home, Remi turned off onto a dirt road to the left. Sam, in the heavily laden truck, followed at a much slower pace. One day, they hoped to get the road paved, but for now it was a good thirty-minute series of sharp turns through the montane forest just to get to the school. About midway up, they passed a wooden sign announcing

  LOWER GASHAKA TRAIL

  WATCH OUT FOR PEDESTRIANS

  About a quarter of a mile higher, just before the next hairpin turn, a second warning sign announced Upper Trail. It was another fifteen minutes before the steep, winding road started leveling off. The last half mile was a straight shot to the school, which was set on its own plateau in the forest, the landscape protecting it from flooding during the rainy season.

  Pete met them at the open gate and Wendy stood on the porch just outside the office. In their twenties, they were both tall, tanned, and blond, Pete’s hair cut short and Wendy’s pulled back into a ponytail. Pete waved them in, then locked the gate behind them.

  Chickens scurried as Sam idled forward across the wide graveled drive. He parked in front of the main building, a long one-story bungalow, its whitewashed siding tinged orange from the late-afternoon sunlight. It was one of four almost identical buildings—the office/staff quarters, the cafeteria/classrooms, and two dorms, one not yet finished—all constructed in a circle around a large courtyard just visible between the structures. To Sam’s right, at the far end of the grounds, about a half-dozen girls were kicking a ball back and forth in what looked like a half-field version of soccer.

  The weather up here was significantly cooler than in Jalingo, something Sam noticed the moment he jumped out of the truck. He walked back to Pete, who was making his way from the gate. “A little later than planned,” Sam said, shaking hands with him. “But we’re here.”

  Pete glanced at Hank as he helped the women unload their luggage from the back of the Land Rover. “I thought you were bringing three guests? Who’s missing?”

  Sam followed the direction of his gaze as Wendy joined them. “Dr. LaBelle fell ill. She’s hoping she can make it later in the week.”

  “Probably best,” Wendy said. “Last thing we need is a bunch of sick kids.”

  “We did, however, pick up a hitchhiker.” Sam nodded toward Nasha as she slid out of the backseat of the Land Rover.

  Once the introductions were made, Remi gave Wendy a hug, then hugged Pete. “Good to see you both. We’ve missed having you at the house, but, boy, this is amazing. To think that six months ago it was nothing but an empty meadow.”
<
br />   “It’s coming along,” Pete said. “Hoping to finish the roof and—”

  Wendy, apparently noticing Amal’s shaky stance, said, “We can talk about that later. Let’s get them settled. Looks like you all had too much excitement for one day.”

  “I think everyone needs a little down time after our experience on the trip here,” Remi agreed.

  As she herded everyone through the door, Sam and Pete remained behind, Sam calling out, “We’ll catch up with you in a moment.”

  “You got it,” Wendy said, then followed the others in.

  Pete saw the bullet holes in the side of the truck, glancing over at Sam.

  “A little trouble on the road here. Long story. I’ll tell you later,” Sam said, looking back to make sure they were alone. He waited until everyone disappeared inside, the door closing behind them. “They’re gone. Now, about this other project you and Yaro are working on … No one knows?”

  “No one,” Pete said. “Wendy’s managed to cover for us. Just like you asked.”

  “Good. Let’s have a look.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The child of a rat is a rat.

  – MALAGASY PROVERB –

  Pete led Sam toward the courtyard, stopping when he saw several girls racing toward them from the picnic benches. “Then again,” Pete said, “maybe tomorrow morning will be a better time to discuss that project. They’ll all be in class.” He glanced back at the holes in the supply truck. “I’m definitely curious to know what happened there.”

  “That should probably wait, too,” Sam said as several more girls emerged from one of the buildings to join them.

  It wasn’t until they all sat down to dinner at a separate table from the students that Sam explained about the attempted robbery.

  Pete sat back in his chair, looking from Sam to Remi. “You think it was the same group who stole our last truckload of supplies?”

  “In fact, the same yellow car followed us after we left the city. The girl we brought in was part of it. She’s the one who tried to steal our Land Rover.”