The Oracle

by Clive Cussler

  The girls reluctantly tore their gazes from the shade tree and watched as Makao pushed open the door. A clatter inside sent him and the other men back a step, all of them pointing guns into the building. As Makao nodded to the man on his right to go in, she prayed the girls down in the tunnel stayed silent.

  The guard entered, his weapon at the ready.

  Remi forced herself to breathe evenly. If Amal or the girls suspected that building was anything more than an empty supply shed, they’d all be in trouble.

  The guard finally appeared in the doorway—then stopped to pick up something from the floor before stepping out.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  Please don’t let it be my phone …

  “What is it?” Scarface asked.

  He held up something too small for her to see. “Nails. I think they fell from the shelf when the door hit it.”

  Scarface nodded.

  Thanking the stars that Hank had stacked the nails in so precarious a place, Remi let out a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding. Nasha was safe. Wendy, Pete, and the students hadn’t been discovered.

  For the moment.

  Amal leaned toward her again. “What if Nasha can’t figure out how to work the phone?”

  “Sam will know something’s wrong when he can’t get in touch with me.” No doubt Sam had dropped off Hank at the hotel and was on his way to town to find out what he could about Nasha from the remaining Kalu brother. She only hoped the delay wasn’t going to cost them, since he still had to pick up Lazlo from the airport. If—and it was a big if—Pete and Wendy somehow had cell reception in the tunnel, Sam already knew of their plight and was on his way back. If not, it was up to Nasha to tell him—assuming she could get back into the shed, then find and work the phone.

  Right now, though, they needed to get into the office. Without those truck keys, they’d have no way of getting out of there. That part of the plan was going to take a little more finesse, she thought, watching as the man tossed the nails back into the shed. When he returned to stand guard over them, Remi said, “How long are we going to be here?”

  “Long enough.”

  “And when we have to use the bathroom?”

  “Do you think I care?”

  “You better do it soon. Or whoever ends up riding with us is going to wish they’d listened.”

  Maryam glanced at Remi, then at their guard. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “So do I,” Zara said.

  “I do, too,” Tambara added.

  Makao looked over at Remi, suspicious. “You put them up to this.”

  “I assure you, I said nothing. Lock us in the dorms, if you must. We can use the bathrooms, and the girls’ beds are there. They can rest while you’re … doing whatever it is you’re doing.”

  “Where else are there bathrooms?”

  “In the small building, out front. But there’s only one door and it’s crowded. We’d have to sit on the floor.”

  “I don’t care where you have to sit.” He looked over at Pili. “Move them there. They’ll be easier to watch.”

  Pili ordered the hostages to stand, taking hold of Remi’s arm. “Get going.”

  The girls filed out of the courtyard and across the graveled drive toward the office, Remi, still held by the guard, bringing up the rear. Makao walked in first, taking a look around on his own, then exiting. “Leave them inside.”

  “What about our hands?” Remi asked. “At least tie them in front.”

  “I’m sure you’ll make do.” He looked at the guard. “No one in or out. You do not leave this doorway.”

  “Understood.”

  The moment he walked out, leaving Remi and the girls alone, she smiled.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The strong do not need clubs.

  – SENEGALESE PROVERB –

  The two boys led Sam through a maze of streets and pointed down a narrow alley. “It’s a secret where Kalu lives,” one of the boys said. “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “Promise,” Sam said, paying them. They ran off and he continued past the dilapidated buildings, most with rusty corrugated tin roofs. Not much of a secret, he thought, reading the sign over the door, its faded red paint peeling and flaking from the warped wood.

  KALU & SONS

  FURNITURE REPAIR

  To the right was a broken window, the shattered glass glittering on the ground just below it. Checking the alley in both directions and seeing no one, Sam stepped up to the door, pounding on the frame.

  No answer.

  He pounded again, then waited. Reaching down, he turned the knob. It was unlocked and he stepped to the side and pushed it open, looking into a workroom piled high with broken chairs. Judging by the thick dust and cobwebs, he doubted anyone had attempted to repair anything there in years. “Kalu,” he shouted.

  A boy, maybe a year or two younger than Nasha, poked his head out of a room near the end of a dim hall and ducked back when he saw Sam. A moment later, a man stepped out of a different room. He bore a striking resemblance to the Kalu brothers. He closed the distance between them, crossing his muscular arms as he towered over Sam. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice deep.

  “Sam Fargo. I’m here for information.”

  “If you were smart, Sam Fargo, you’d leave. I don’t invite strangers into my home.” Kambili seemed to be sizing him up. Apparently, Sam didn’t appear to be much of a threat because the guy didn’t draw the gun that was clearly in his waistband. His gaze flicked out the door, then back. “Who’s with you?”

  “I came alone.”

  “A shame.” He picked up the leg of a broken chair.

  “Here, now,” Sam said, putting his hands out. “Just trying to have a civil conversation.”

  Kambili leered. “I’m not the civil type.” He swung.

  Sam jumped to one side as the club whistled past.

  “Look,” Sam said, grabbing a broken chairback. “All I want is a little information—”

  Kambili swung again. Sam lifted the back. The club bounced off the top and flew from Kambili’s grasp, clattering against the wall.

  Eyes narrowing in anger, he reached for his gun.

  Sam charged, ramming the broken chair into Kambili’s gut.

  He doubled over, grabbing at the chair. Sam drove it up, smashing his jaw. As Kambili staggered back, Sam grabbed the man’s gun, then shoved him into an old desk chair on casters. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I want information.”

  Kambili glared at him. “I’ll kill you.”

  “In the meantime,” Sam said, tossing the chair back onto the pile of broken furniture and pointing Kambili’s gun at him, “I need you to answer a few questions about a boy who used to work for you.”

  “I have”—his voice came out as a rasp—“a lot of boys. In and out. Who can keep track?”

  “A boy named Nash.”

  “Thief.”

  “Where did he come from?”

  “I don’t know. A man who brought him and the others, just dumped them on the street.”

  Sam reached over and picked up the fallen chair leg. “Let me jog your memory a little.”

  “No, I swear.”

  Sam took a step forward.

  “Wait. There is someone. I just remembered. Chuk. One of the boys who arrived with Nash is from the same village.”

  “Call him.”

  “Chuk,” he shouted, never taking his eyes off Sam. “Get in here.”

  A moment later, the same boy Sam had seen earlier walked into the room, his eyes widening at the sight of the oldest Kalu brother sitting in the chair, his face injured.

  “Tell him,” Kambili ordered.

  “Tell him what?” the boy asked, looking at Sam.

  “Nash,” Sam said. “Do you know him?”

  He nodded.

  “Where’s he from?”

  Chuk’s gaze flicked from Sam to Kambili, then back. “He lived with his uncle on a farm.”

  “Wher
e?”

  He shrugged. “Near Maiha.”

  Kambili gave a sharp tilt of his head and the boy ran off. “There. You got what you came for.”

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Sam said, backing toward the door.

  “You ever show up in Jalingo again, I’ll kill you. My brothers will kill you.”

  “Not likely.” Sam emptied the rounds from the man’s pistol, shoving them into his pocket along with the empty gun. “Is this a good time to offer condolences? Wait. You don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?”

  “Your brothers are dead. If you’re wondering, it wasn’t me.”

  Kambili stared, shocked. “Who?” he asked.

  “Good question. You know a guy with a big scar running down his face? Drives a white pickup?”

  Several seconds ticked by as Kambili just stared. “You lie. Why would Makao kill my brothers?”

  “Apparently, they were squabbling over my supply truck. The second one, since your brothers stole the first.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “That your brothers stole my truck?”

  “No. That Makao would. He wouldn’t waste his time. My brothers would know not to mess with him.”

  “Not sure they got the memo. About this Makao—I killed two of his men. You think he’ll take that personally?”

  Kambili gave a wary smile but the gleam in his eye was real. “I think he’ll kill you. Slowly.”

  Sam drew his own gun and aimed at Kambili’s chest. He closed the distance between them. Sweat beaded on the man’s forehead. Sam lifted his foot onto the chair and shoved it back so hard, Kambili’s head slammed into the wall. Dust rained down from the ceiling. He sat there, too stunned to move.

  Sam pushed open the door, then looked back at him. “By the way. If I ever hear that you hurt one of these boys, or any others, I’ll come back and smash every one of your fingers right before I kill you.”

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” Renee asked after Sam returned to the car.

  “I did,” he said, texting the information he’d learned to Selma. He checked the time. Lazlo was probably wondering where he was. “Let’s get you to the airport.” He pulled out into the street, noticing the kids were decidedly absent. Word traveled fast.

  Renee leaned back in her seat, suddenly looking over at him. “Does this have to do with the people who tried to steal your truck?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Remi told me what happened. I’m surprised Hank wasn’t insistent on you taking him back right then. I swear, he’s afraid of his own shadow.”

  “Considering one of the men put a gun to his head, he did surprisingly well.”

  “They did what?”

  He looked over at her and back at the road. “Remi didn’t mention that part?”

  “Apparently not.” Quiet descended for several minutes and then she sighed. “Look, Sam—”

  “We don’t have to talk about that now. It can wait. Really.”

  “No, it can’t,” she said. “And maybe it’s better Remi’s not here. I know we should’ve said something earlier, but Hank was hopeful we’d figure out where the money went. He did. It turned out Warren had a gambling problem—and, well, it wasn’t like we could’ve returned the money.”

  “No word to anyone?”

  “A note. Apologizing and saying it was his fault.”

  “To think I actually liked that guy.”

  “Really?” Renee said. “He was so unassuming and quiet.”

  “That’s what I liked about him.” He glanced in the rearview mirror, then at her, curious. “Excavations of that nature aren’t cheap. How’re you getting by?”

  “Let half the crew go, utilize graduate students, like Amal, and tapped into my retirement. We’re not exactly in a position to complain. Nor were we about to ask for more money until we knew what happened to it.”

  He slowed for a truck that turned in front of him. “I had Selma hire an investigator to find him,” he said as his phone rang. He picked it up from the console, not recognizing the number except that the area code was Tunisia. He angled the screen toward Renee. “Someone you know?”

  “That’s Amal’s number.”

  No doubt she was calling to see what he’d found on Nasha, he thought. “Hello.”

  “I have your wife.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The tiger that prowls quietly doesn’t mean it’s intimidated.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  Sam felt as if someone had gut-punched him. Unable to breathe as he processed the words, he let his foot off the gas.

  “Sam,” Renee whispered. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head at her, checked the mirror and pulled over, hoping, praying, he’d misunderstood. He put a finger to his lips, signaling for Renee to remain quiet. “Who is this?” he demanded.

  “Makao.”

  “Put my wife on the phone.”

  The man gave a cynical laugh. “In case there’s any confusion, I’m the one who gives the orders. I’ll decide when and if you get to talk to her.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “Aren’t you the least bit interested in who else I have?”

  Sam forced himself to take deliberate, even breaths, quelling the fear and anger coursing through him. “Who else?”

  “Some very scared girls. How much would that be worth to a man of your means?”

  “That depends on the proof that my wife and the others aren’t hurt.”

  “She mentioned that might be an issue.” Sam heard Makao’s voice, muffled, then saying, “Your husband wants to talk to you.”

  “Sam?”

  “Remi. Are you okay?”

  “I’m … we’re fine. There’s si—”

  The sound of the phone being moved quickly, air hitting the mic, then Makao saying, “Satisfied?”

  “Let’s cut right to it,” Sam said. “What is it you want?”

  “One million.”

  “Naira?” he asked.

  “Dollars. U.S.”

  “If I find out you’ve harmed my wife or anyone else at that school, not only won’t you see the money, I’ll kill you and everyone involved.”

  “You have twenty-four hours. If you involve the police, we’ll kill them all.”

  The line went dead. Sam immediately called Selma, listening to the line ring.

  “Sam?” Renee said, watching him. “What’s going on?”

  “Someone’s kidnapped Remi and the girls.”

  “Amal?”

  “I’m assuming so since it was her phone.”

  Renee’s hand went to her mouth, shocked. “Now I know why Remi never answered my texts.”

  He wanted to tell her it would be fine, but Selma answered and he briefed her on what he knew. “No one’s called you?” he asked, thinking that surely if Pete or Wendy were safe they would have phoned him or Selma immediately.

  “No one,” Selma said. “What would you like me to do, Mr. Fargo?”

  “Two things. First, go through the school contacts. Is there anyone there we can trust who might be able to get us intel?”

  “Zara’s father’s the closest. I’ll see what I can find. What else?”

  “I need a million dollars ready to go.” He’d do everything he could to save his wife and the girls with her. As much as he wanted to head straight to the school, taking the extra time to get Lazlo first was a wiser course of action. “I’m on my way to the airport now.”

  “I’ll text Lazlo to let him know. The police—?”

  “Can pick up the pieces when I’m done.”

  “Understood. I’ll get on it right away, Mr. Fargo.”

  Sam dropped the phone into the cupholder on the console, forgetting for a moment that Renee had been there listening the whole time. He looked at her. “We better get going.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to cancel my flight?”

  “Positive,” he said. “Lazlo’s already
here. And you have your own emergency to handle.”

  “Is that a polite way of saying I’ll only get in the way?”

  He attempted a smile. “Sorry, but yes.”

  “Don’t apologize for the truth.”

  The rest of the trip was made in silence, Sam replaying the phone conversation in his mind, trying to determine if there was anything he’d missed, some bit of information that he could use.

  Nothing came to mind.

  When they reached the airport, Sam texted Lazlo to meet him out front. When he walked out the doors, his duffel slung over his back, Sam idled forward, parked at the curb, and pressed the hatchback release.

  He got out, retrieved Renee’s crutches as Lazlo walked over, offering to carry her bag into the airport for her.

  “It’s not heavy,” she said. “You need to get going.”

  Sam gave her a quick hug. “Take care, okay?”

  She clasped his arm. “I don’t want to call and tie up your line or Remi’s while you’re in the middle of all this. Let me know as soon as you find them. Please.”

  “I will. Hope you get everything straightened out yourself.”

  Lazlo dropped his duffel into the cargo area, slammed the tailgate shut, then got in the passenger’s seat. “Selma told me. Have you heard anything?”

  “Not yet. We’re heading to the hangar to pick up my gear bag from the jet. If we’re going after these guys, you need a gun.” Sam started to pull out, looking in his rearview mirror, surprised to see a stranger running after them, shouting. He hit the brake, looked again in the rearview, and saw Renee waving one of her crutches at him.

  He backed toward her and lowered Lazlo’s window. “What’s wrong?”

  She leaned inside the car. “I just received the strangest text from Remi. Hep.”

  “Hep?”

  “There’s a photo.” She held the phone out showing him an underexposed image on the right-hand side of what he assumed was the inside of the supply shed, with a view out the door to an overexposed image of the courtyard and several people seated on the ground in front of the dorm.

  At first glance, it appeared that someone had taken the photo by mistake—and he would have thought exactly that were it not for the ransom demand he’d just received. He enlarged the picture. Though blurry, there was no doubt he was looking at Remi, Amal, and four girls seated next to them.