The Oracle

by Clive Cussler

  He double-checked the phone number showing as the sender of the text.

  Definitely his wife’s.

  But if Remi was being held captive, who had sent the photo?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The brave man is not he who doesn’t feel afraid,

  but he who conquers that fear.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  Nasha gripped the phone in her hand. Getting into it was easy. But working it was an entirely different matter. She had no idea who she’d sent the photo to. Or if they’d even know what it meant. The only other photo she’d ever sent was to Mrs. Fargo and Miss Amal had helped her do it. But when Nasha pressed the button that showed the little white cloud, all she saw was a list of names—and the one at the top was not Sam. It started with an R. Confused, she wondered for a moment if it was Remi spelled wrong. But it couldn’t be because this was Mrs. Fargo’s phone.

  She tried to blink away the tears that threatened, worried she’d made a terrible mistake. Suddenly the phone buzzed, the screen lit up, and she saw Mr. Fargo’s face in a small circle near the top. Her fingers shook as she touched the green phone button at the bottom and his picture filled the square like a small movie.

  “Nasha?”

  She nodded.

  “Where are you?”

  “In the shed. Miss Wendy rang the bell and everyone got into the tunnel, but Mrs. Fargo went back because some of the girls didn’t come. I didn’t want to leave her, so I hid.”

  “You did good. Who’s there?”

  “Scarface. He brought a lot of other men. They were looking for all the other girls, but Mrs. Fargo told them they left. Miss Amal is with her, and some of the older girls, but I don’t remember their names.”

  “Can you show me?”

  “They’ll see me.”

  “Not if you stay hidden. Turn the phone so my picture faces out. I’ll see what the phone sees.”

  She turned the phone, showing him the inside of the shed.

  “Is there a way I can see outside?” he asked.

  She pulled aside more of the burlap she’d been hiding under and crept toward the partially open door, careful to avoid the spilled box of nails. She held the phone low, waving it around, before backing toward her hiding spot, afraid to remain too long in the doorway.

  “Where’s Remi and the girls? I don’t see them.”

  She turned the phone around so that she could see Mr. Fargo’s face again. “I think they moved them to the office.”

  “Nasha, do you know how many men there are?”

  “A lot. There were two cars. The big white truck and another one. They have the big guns like when they killed the Kalus.” The memory frightened her, but she tried not to cry. “Are you coming back?”

  “It’s going to be a while. I’m in Yola. At the airport.”

  A tear trailed down her cheek. “I’m scared.”

  “Nasha,” he said. “Whatever happens, you stay in the shed. Understand?”

  She nodded.

  “If they take Remi and the others, she’ll know what to do. Do not let them see you. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m coming for you. Stay—”

  The picture turned black. “Mr. Fargo? Are you there?”

  Her heart clenched. She was supposed to tell him about the farm and the men waiting there.

  Worried, she pulled the burlap over her head, leaving a space big enough for her to see out the door. For the next hour she waited and watched, eventually realizing that these men were just like the Kalu brothers. Because they carried guns, they didn’t seem to care about their surroundings.

  One of the bandits passed yet again just a few feet away from her. He had done it over and over. In a moment, he’d walk between the buildings to smoke and talk to another man coming from the opposite direction. They wouldn’t move until they finished smoking. And they’d leave in the same direction every time.

  That was something she knew how to work with.

  Mr. Fargo had told her to stay put, but she didn’t think she should wait. She looked at the phone screen to make sure that his face was no longer there, worried that he’d try to stop her.

  The screen was still black—even when she tried to push the buttons—and she shoved the phone into her pack, then looked out the door, waiting until the man with the gun met up with his friend. As soon as their cigarette smoke drifted into the courtyard, she crept out.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The length of the rope determines the movement of the goat.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  Makao sat on the edge of the desk, scrutinizing the two women and four girls who were seated on the floor against the wall beneath the window. He lit a cigarette, then tucked the lighter into his pocket, as he focused on the red-headed woman. “You must know the combination to the safe.”

  Her gaze flicked to the storage closet behind him on the other side of the desk. Next to it, against the wall, was a tall safe, too heavy to move. A small bathroom was located next to that, the window open to let in fresh air.

  “I don’t know it,” she said. “I’ve been here only a few days.”

  “New? You seem to be the one in charge. The school is named after you,” he said, walking toward the open doorway, looking out. The sun had dipped behind the trees, the long shadows across the grounds disappearing as darkness descended. Two of his men were standing beside one of the trucks in the drive, one lighting a cigarette. Makao started to turn away, when his eye caught on something moving low across the ground behind them. He could’ve sworn he saw a very small girl out there. About to call out to his men to take a better look, he paused when a chicken strutted from beneath the pickup. Shadows playing tricks, he decided. Watching a moment longer, he turned back toward the Fargo woman. “I asked around in the village. There was a man who bought every last box of nails, apparently for the Fargos’ school for girls. I’d think that if a school is named after you, you’d have the combination to the safe.”

  “You’d think wrong.”

  “Is there money in there?”

  “If there is, there can’t be much. Everything is paid for by credit card.”

  “Even in the village? I find that hard to believe.” He took a long drag on his cigarette, watching her as he blew out the smoke. Her green eyes held his, but she didn’t rise to the bait. She held no fear, he noticed. In fact, everything with her seemed calculated. He glanced at the other woman and the girls, all who refused to look at him.

  “Where are you taking us?” she demanded.

  “Somewhere safer. As I said, you’ll be held for ransom.” He walked to the door, again looking out. The two men had returned to their patrol and he scanned the grounds, once again seeing something or someone moving around their cars. Whatever it was, it was far too big to be a chicken. “Jimi.”

  The young man who’d been stationed at the open gate looked back at him.

  “Stand here at the door. No one in, no one out.”

  Makao strode across the graveled drive toward their parked trucks, circling each one, ducking to look underneath. Chickens. He kicked some gravel at them, sending the birds running, and looked over at the large truck he’d tried to ambush several days back, noting the canvas covering the cargo bed seemed to be moving. He walked up, pulled the canvas up, and looked inside, unable to see anything in the dark interior.

  Deciding it was empty, he dropped the flap and turned as two of his men emerged from the courtyard to investigate the noise. “Did you see anyone out here?” he asked.

  The men glanced toward the office, where Jimi stood outside the door, then at the now unguarded gate. “No,” one said as they heard loud bleating in the courtyard.

  A moment later, three goats came trotting out between the buildings and toward them. “What the …” He glared at his men. “Where’d they come from?”

  “There’s a pen behind the buildings, on the other side.”

  “Go close it up.”

 
The pair took off, running through the courtyard. When they started yelling and swearing, he gave a quick look toward the office and ran after them into the darkened court. The bleating grew so loud, he couldn’t hear what his men were saying. He didn’t need to. Dozens of goats poured into the yard, some jumping up onto the planters, others darting past him. The ruckus brought his other men running. They stared at first, then suddenly tried to herd the goats, holding their arms wide, attempting to block the animals from going around them.

  “You fools,” he said. “What’re you doing?”

  “They’re getting away. You said you didn’t want any noise.”

  “I meant no shooting.” While there wasn’t much down the hill beside the long, winding dirt road between the school and the main highway, he knew full well that there were plenty of scattered and remote enclaves. Gunshots were bound to be noticed. More importantly, his boss, Tarek, wanted the hostages alive and unharmed.

  The goats calmed for a moment until one of them knocked a couple of tin buckets stacked on the edge of a planter to the ground, sending them into a frenzy again. Suspicion grew as he surveyed the chaos and then the buckets, which he didn’t recall seeing before. He grabbed the arm of the nearest man. “If one of you didn’t open that pen, there’s someone else here. How many hostages do we have?”

  “Six. Two adults and four girls.”

  A flash of memory hit him from when the hostages were lined up against the building, right before they’d moved them all into the office “I saw five girls earlier. One of them’s missing.”

  “Why would they let the goats out?”

  “A distraction, you idiot.” He pushed him away. “Go find whoever did this.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To make sure the rest of our hostages are still there.”

  One of the goats brushed up against his leg and he tried to knee it. The creature merely jumped out of the way and trotted out of the courtyard. Cursing, Makao followed it to the front of the compound and feigned lunging at it, watching in satisfaction as it trotted across the drive toward the open gate.

  He glanced at the office door, where the light spilled out across the wooden porch onto the gravel. The man he’d posted stood guard, oblivious to his growing unease as he hurried that direction.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  A flea can trouble a lion more than a lion can trouble a flea.

  – KENYAN PROVERB –

  Two things taunted Remi. The orange-handled scissors jutting up from the penholder on the desk a mere six feet away and the keys to their supply truck, hanging on a hook by the door just over her head. The odds were against her from the beginning, but she wasn’t willing to give up. Nasha, she hoped, would make her way here, get the keys, and … Well, Remi hadn’t yet worked out how they were going to get to the truck. They’d need one heck of a distraction. And until that moment, getting to either the scissors or the keys without being seen by the guard posted outside would be impossible.

  Redoubling her effort to loosen the plastic ties binding her hands behind her back did little more than chafe the skin at her wrists. Amal, who was trying to do the same, was so far holding up well. Remi couldn’t help but worry about her since she was the weak link in her plan. If it was stress that triggered Amal’s episodes, then she could have one at any moment. “How’s it going?” she whispered to her.

  “No luck.”

  Remi looked at the other girls. Tambara and Maryam shook their heads. Jol was clearly attempting to get free. Zara had her head on her knees, undoubtedly worried about the mention of her father’s farm. “Zara,” Remi whispered. “You have to try.”

  “What if something happened?”

  “Sam will check on your father. I promise. Keep trying,” Remi said, hearing the bleating of the goats coming from the yard. A lot of bleating, she realized.

  Maybe the distraction she was hoping for.

  Scooting closer to the door, she leaned far enough to see past the threshold between the guard’s legs. Goats everywhere. One hopped up onto the porch, its hooves clopping on the wood. The guard chased it off, momentarily leaving his post.

  Didn’t matter how they’d gotten loose, she was going to take advantage of it.

  Tucking her legs beneath her, she maneuvered onto her feet and backed toward the desk, keeping her focus out the door, grateful the guard was engrossed in the livestock and not them. A quick glance over her shoulder, she saw the scissors and reached back, linking one pinky through the handle. With one eye out the door, she lifted them from the cup.

  A scraping noise from the bathroom alerted her to Nasha’s arrival. Remi looked back to see her little face peering out.

  Remi gripped the scissors, then eyed the guard, worried by the sight of Makao cursing the goats as he strode from the courtyard to the drive. Realizing they had very little time, she glanced toward Nasha. “Did you call Sam?”

  She nodded.

  “What’d he say?”

  Her eyes downcast, she clasped her hands together. “To stay in the shed, that he was coming.” When she looked up at Remi, it was as though she was hoping for forgiveness. “But the screen turned black before I could tell him about the farm and I couldn’t hear him anymore.”

  Zara leaned forward, her expression imploring. “How will Mr. Fargo know to warn my father?”

  “He’ll know,” Remi said. She didn’t have the heart to tell Zara that the warning was for Sam. If Makao’s men were holed up down there, chances were good that Zara’s father was already a prisoner—assuming they hadn’t killed him first. “Sam’s very resourceful.” She indicated the hook. “Nasha, the keys to the truck.”

  Nasha glanced up at them, then back, clearly troubled. “Do you think Mr. Fargo will be very mad that I didn’t tell him?”

  “No. Of course not.” Hoping to get Nasha back on task, Remi was about to remind her of their mission. But when she looked outside, she saw Makao bearing down on them fast. “You need to hide.”

  “But the keys.”

  “Now,” she whispered and hurried back to the corner, sliding against the wall and to the floor. Remi slid the scissors toward Amal and looked over at the girls, their eyes wide as they watched Nasha scurrying beneath the desk.

  “Look away, girls,” Remi whispered.

  None too soon. Makao stormed in, pulling Remi to her feet. “Where is she?”

  “Where’s who?”

  “The girl. The little one.”

  “There’s just us. Everyone else is gone.”

  His eyes bored into hers. “What were you doing by the desk?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “I heard the goats and wondered what was going on. That’s it. I was worried they were getting loose.”

  “I don’t believe you. There were five girls outside. One was sitting between you and her,” he said, nodding toward Amal. “Where’d she go?”

  “Makao.”

  He turned to see one of the men walking in, carrying a cardboard box. “Look what I found sitting by the round building.”

  Makao shoved Remi against the wall, grabbed the box, then tossed it onto the desk with such force it tipped over, scattering road spikes across the floor. “Why would I care about that?”

  “I don’t think it was there earlier. I saw something moving by the cars.”

  “Something moving?” He pointed out the door. “There’s a lot moving out there. Goats. Everywhere.”

  The man looked, nodding. “But—”

  “But what?”

  “I saw a bunch of buckets there, too. They weren’t there before. And someone was throwing eggs at our cars.”

  Eggs? Definitely not part of Remi’s plan. Apparently, Nasha had been busy, using the distraction with the goats to move around the compound without being seen.

  Makao strode toward the door, looking out, glaring at Remi as he pulled her along with him. “Where … is … the … girl …?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

&n
bsp; He pointed out the door. “Then who did that?”

  “Did what?” She stepped forward, drawing the attention toward her instead of the desk where Nasha hid. “You realize we have a lot of chickens? They lay eggs all over the place.”

  “On our windshields?”

  Remi looked at the truck keys just inches from her face, then slid her gaze past them out the door.

  Right now, her priority was to keep Nasha from being discovered since she was the only one who had a chance of getting the keys without being seen. “Chickens … Pesky little things.”

  Makao ignored her, his attention on the man who found the box. “See if there’s anyone else out there.” After he left, Makao returned his attention to Remi. “Where are the keys to that truck?”

  “Our truck?”

  He took a step forward, putting his hand on the butt of his holstered gun. “Play dumb and see what happens.”

  “Hanging on the wall by the door,” she said.

  He plucked the keys from the hook. “Jimi.”

  The guard at the door stepped inside.

  “Load them in the back,” Makao said, tossing him the keys. “We’re getting ready to move out.”

  The man tucked the keys into his pocket and took Remi by the arm. “Let’s go.”

  He shoved Remi toward the door, then ordered Amal to her feet. “Get up,” he demanded again when she failed to move.

  Remi looked back, saw Amal’s vacant stare, worried, not only about her but the scissors. “She can’t hear you.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “It’s like a seizure,” Remi said. “You need to give her a few moments.” When the other four girls glanced toward Nasha’s hiding place, Remi cocked her head toward the door. “Everyone up,” she said. “Amal will be fine.”

  As the girls stood, Nasha, gripping a road spike, burst from beneath the desk, screaming like a banshee. Makao tried to catch her. She jammed the spike into his hand. He jumped back, swearing. She charged full force into the other man, driving the spike into his arm. By the time he realized what was going on, she was through the door.