The Oracle

by Clive Cussler

  The guard spun around, trying to catch her, but Remi blocked his path. He shouldered her into the doorframe, knocking the breath out of her.

  “After her,” Makao yelled.

  Nasha leaped to the drive, darting around the goats as the guard lunged toward her. Within seconds, several other guards appeared and the chase was on. She escaped them all, sending the goats into a panic, running in every direction.

  Makao, looking at the blood dripping down his hand, swore again, finally calling the guard back. “Jimi.”

  When the guard returned, empty-handed, Makao nodded at the girls. “Load them up.”

  “Her, too?” he said, jerking his head toward Amal, her expression still empty.

  “Send one of the other men back for her.” As Jimi took Remi by the arm, forcing her out the door, Makao added, “If you find that other girl, kill her.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  When you see a turtle on top of a fence post, you know he had some help.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  Amal started to come to the moment the other guard arrived to help. Makao, blood dripping down his fingers, didn’t move from the door until Jimi led the hostages to the truck. The moment the Fargo woman was safely in the cargo bed, he returned to the office, looking for a first aid kit. He found one in the bathroom, and was applying a bandage to the gash, when he heard someone traipsing around on the gravel outside the office. Pressing the bandage tight, he walked to the door, saw Jimi searching for something on the ground.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “I’m looking for the truck keys.”

  “I gave them to you.”

  “And I put them in my pocket. They must have fallen.”

  “The hostages?”

  “They’re tied up in the back of the truck.”

  Makao glanced across the graveled drive, inspecting the canvas secured over the cargo area. “You left them? Alone?”

  A loud crash somewhere in the courtyard startled the goats and sent them running.

  “The girl.” Makao took a step in that direction and stopped. “Get back to that truck.”

  “What about the keys?”

  “Forget the keys. We have two cars. Three prisoners in each. The rest of you can ride in the back of my pickup.” He started toward the courtyard.

  “Why us? Put them in the back of your pickup.”

  Makao stopped in his tracks, resisting the urge to smash his fist into the man’s head. “Imagine some farmer sees the girls as we’re trying to smuggle them out—without being seen. Get over there. Now.”

  Jimi hurried toward the truck, searching the ground as he walked. Makao took one last look around, then left for the courtyard to investigate. He had a sneaking suspicion about those buckets, almost certain he’d seen them earlier in the day, stacked inside that round building. The girl who attacked them in the office had to have moved them. Maybe she was in there now, he thought, pulling open the door to the shed. Moonlight angled in, casting its pale glow across the trail of dirt tracked across the floor planks.

  He felt along the wall for a light switch, found one, flicked it on. A bulb overhead lit up the space and the dirt trail seemed to disappear in the light. He turned it off and the trail reappeared, and led to a pallet on the far side of the room. On top of it were stacked empty burlap sacks, the pile looking disturbed …

  A child that size could easily be hiding beneath, he thought, stalking over and lifting them. Finding nothing, he tossed the sacks to the ground, distracted by the sound of a heavy engine starting. Jimi must have found the keys, he thought, seeing the footprints leading toward the pallet. Too many footprints for just one girl … He squatted for a closer look, his suspicion rising when he realized that all the prints seemed to disappear right there. A knothole in one of the floorboards caught his eye and he started to reach for it.

  “Stop! Stop!”

  Makao jumped to his feet, racing out of the shed, and through the courtyard, in time to see the Fargos’ truck rolling toward the open gate, Jimi running beside it, trying to open the driver’s door.

  The rest of his men ran into the yard. “Pili,” he called to the closest. “Climb in the back.”

  Pili ran toward the truck and vaulted onto the back bumper. The canvas whipped open. Amal, her hands no longer tied, kicked out as Pili reached for her. He missed, tried again, but she kicked him in the chest and he fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

  Jimi raised his gun, ready to shoot. “No,” Makao called out. “No guns.”

  “They’re getting away.”

  “After them,” Makao shouted as he ran to his pickup.

  He shoved his key into the ignition, starting it, waiting for his men to jump in the back, while Pili and his group got into the SUV. They sped out the gate, but Makao had to lean to his left in order to see around the egg dripping down his windshield. He accelerated, gaining on the truck, swearing at the dust kicking up, all of it sticking to the egg. When he turned on the wipers, the blades smeared the sticky substance across the glass, turning it into mud. Just able to see through a small patch on the left of the windshield, he stabbed at the gas, glad the truck was four-wheel drive. When he approached the first hairpin turn, the back end started swaying, then fishtailed as he hit the brakes.

  Figuring it was the rough road, he attempted to steer into it—until he heard the steady thump-thump of the rim and rubber hitting as they rolled down the hill.

  “What’s wrong?” Jimi asked.

  “Flat.” He slowed to a stop, got out, and saw both rear tires almost peeled back from the rims. He waited for Pili to catch up, watching the headlights bouncing wildly as it came to a stop behind his. He ran up the hill, saw the mess of egg and dirt smeared across the windshield, and knew without a doubt the rear tires would also be flat.

  Pili got out, swearing.

  Makao looked over the damage, realized they’d have to cannibalize the wheels from Pili’s SUV to get his truck working. He ordered his men to change the tires.

  “We’re going after them?”

  “Why wouldn’t we?” He walked to the side of the road, looking down the steep slope, catching a glimpse of the headlights through the trees before they disappeared farther down the hill. The sight angered him.

  They’d been set up.

  “You two, go back,” he said. “Burn the school down.”

  The two men grabbed the gas cans from the back of his truck and trudged up the hill toward the open gate, while the others got to work changing the tires.

  He took out his phone, calling Dayo down at the farm. “The hostages got away. Don’t let them get past you.”

  “We won’t.”

  He disconnected, then watched his men pull the front wheel from Pili’s SUV to put onto his truck, wondering how it was that so small a girl had done this on her own.

  Impossible. No doubt the Fargo woman had directed her every move.

  Didn’t matter. He was through working with Tarek. Once he got his money, he was going to kill them both.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  A leader who does not take advice is not a leader.

  – KENYAN PROVERB –

  Remi gripped the steering wheel, driving as fast as she dared around the sharp hairpin turn. She checked the side mirrors, grateful that they were no longer being followed.

  “I could’ve driven,” Nasha said. “We’d have gotten away quicker.”

  “I know,” Remi said, looking over at her. Had it been the Land Rover, there was no doubt. The cab of this much larger truck was an entirely different matter altogether. Remi doubted the child could even reach the gas pedal. Still, the fact she’d single-handedly set up the spikes in front of the kidnappers’ cars and stolen the keys amazed Remi. Thanks to Nasha, Remi figured they had at least a ten-minute head start. The kid was barely tall enough to see over the dash—and was, at the moment, trying not to be strangled by the shoulder strap of the seat belt. “But these roads aren’t smooth like ones in Ja
lingo. And driving a Land Rover is a lot easier than this big truck.”

  “Maybe.”

  The vehicle hit a pothole, the bump jarring her insides, rattling her teeth. “See?” Remi said.

  “I would have missed that.”

  Smiling, Remi checked her mirrors again. Still clear. After another ten minutes, she pulled over.

  “Why are we stopping?”

  “We need to come up with a plan.”

  “We can’t go to the farm, can we?”

  Remi looked at her. Nasha had already experienced her share of separation and death and that made her far more astute than the other girls. “Do not tell Zara what you’re thinking, okay?”

  “Mr. Fargo will know what to do.”

  “I hope so.”

  She and Nasha got out of the truck. Remi looked up the steep mountainside, unable to see any headlights through the trees above. They walked to the tailgate and Remi pulled up the canvas, saw the girls huddled next to Amal in the back.

  As soon as they saw Nasha, they surged forward, jumping out of the truck, hugging her.

  “Quietly,” Remi reminded them and drew Amal to the side. “How are you holding up?”

  “I didn’t have a seizure,” she said. “I was worried about Nasha. I just felt I had to do something to distract them.”

  “Nicely done, then. It worked.” She looked up the hill again, listening. So far, nothing to suggest they were being followed—yet. “We’re going to need a lot of luck. With only one road in and out to the main highway, we’d need a way to get past Zara’s farm. I’m not sure we can risk it.”

  “So how do we get out of here?”

  “Our best bet may be going out on foot, through the forest.”

  “I’d rather take my chances with the forest than kidnappers.”

  “I have to agree with you. Let’s talk to the girls.” Remi told them what she was hoping to do, that they’d all be setting out on foot.

  Zara lit up. “If we go farther down the road, we can warn my father.”

  Remi and Amal exchanged glances, Remi saying, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?” the girl asked.

  “You saw the guns those men had?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t think they’d hesitate to kill anyone who got in their way.”

  “But they didn’t kill us …” She looked over at the other girls, perhaps hoping for some agreement.

  Remi reached out, clasping her hand. “Only because we were supposed to be their hostages. I can’t say that about anyone who helps us. If we leave the truck behind, we can set out on foot and maybe find a different way. To the village. Or at least help.”

  Zara’s eyes welled up, but she nodded, saying, “My father says the footpath could take someone all the way to Cameroon.”

  Maryam added, “It crosses the road leading up to the school. There’s a sign warning to watch for hikers.”

  They all turned toward Remi, waiting for her to weigh in. “If they come searching, that sign’s going to make it easy to find us. And leaving the truck there is like putting out an even bigger sign saying Here We Are.”

  Nasha looked up at Remi. “What about the dirt trick? Like you did when the Kalu brothers came after us? We could pretend to go one way, then go the other?”

  Remi was about to explain that the only reason that had worked was because they’d only needed a short space of time to hide in order to defend themselves—never mind that she and Sam had both been armed. This was … different.

  Or was it?

  “Maybe we can trick them. Gather round, girls. I have an idea.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  If you have escaped the jaws of the crocodile while bathing in the river,

  you will surely meet a leopard on the way.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  Pete stood in the dark, his ear to the air vent, listening. The goats had settled, though he heard an occasional bleat. What he didn’t hear was the sound of men tromping across the gravel. Or talking. All of that had stopped after the shouting, the roar of their vehicles as they sped off.

  Still, he waited, wanting to make sure. He wasn’t about to risk anyone’s safety.

  Wendy moved behind him, putting her hand on his shoulder.

  He reached up, grasping her fingers in his. Though the two had been dating exclusively ever since they’d started working for the Fargos, once the girls had moved into the school, they’d both agreed that any displays of affection in front of the young and impressionable students were best kept to a minimum.

  “Anything?” she whispered.

  “I think they’re gone.”

  “What about Mrs. Fargo and the girls?” she asked.

  He put his finger to his lips, trying to listen, and glanced behind Wendy, the dim light revealing twenty pairs of eyes watching their every move. The caretakers, Monifa and Yaro, sat on the blankets with them, trying to distract the girls with a halfhearted game of cards. Fear had invaded the space as they waited to hear about their missing fellow students and Nasha, who had somehow slipped past everyone when Remi left. Pete smiled at the girls, then turned his back to them, facing Wendy. “Stay calm. They’re watching you,” he said quietly. “I’m going up.”

  “But Mrs. Fargo said—”

  “She’s gone. And we have no idea if she was able to call Mr. Fargo before they took her and the girls. Every minute we delay calling means they’ll be that much farther away. We need to let Sam know. And the only way to do that is from up there.”

  Wendy agreed, her smile anxious.

  Going against their employers’ wishes wasn’t easy. He and Wendy, having worked for the Fargos for this long, knew the dangers that seemed to follow the treasure hunters, especially considering how many millions of dollars’ worth they’d recovered over the years. That was not the career that Pete or Wendy would have chosen, no matter how much money, both content with their much simpler California lifestyle, surfing and boating, when they weren’t helping Selma with her research for the Fargos.

  But the school was different. Planning and helping to build it had brought Pete and Wendy even closer, and they found their lives enriched by working with the girls. Perhaps that’s why, for the first time since they’d started dating, Pete began to picture a very different life with Wendy. One that entailed something more than having a good job that allowed them time to play at the beach.

  He wanted time with her.

  If he couldn’t have that, the next best thing was knowing that she, and everyone at the school with her, was safe. Which made his decision that much easier. He looked at the girls. “I’m going out to call for help.”

  They nodded. Monifa looked over at her husband, then Pete. “Maybe you should take Yaro.”

  The caretaker patted his right hip, where his gun was holstered.

  Not knowing what he might find up there, Pete nonetheless said, “Turn out the light, and no talking, until the door’s closed again.”

  When Monifa switched off the battery-powered lantern, plunging the tunnel into darkness, Wendy wrapped her hand around Pete’s neck, pulling him toward her. “Be careful,” she said, kissing him.

  “I will.” He climbed to the top, feeling for the latch and sliding it over, listening for any source of noise as he pushed the trapdoor upward about an inch. Hearing nothing but the frantic bleating of the goats, Pete climbed out.

  Yaro followed. “Something’s spooked them again.”

  The two men drew their guns. When Wendy closed and latched the door, Pete nodded at Yaro and slipped out of the shed.

  Perhaps he’d misread the signs that the bandits had left. But other than the goats, the rest of the courtyard was empty, the sickle moon casting faint illumination across the flagstones and planters. Pete and Yaro crossed over toward the mess hall and edged their way out to the front of the school, alarmed when they saw an orange glow coming from the front of the building.

  They raced back into the courtyard
, into the mess hall, grabbing a fire extinguisher off the wall and the portable water pump, wheeling it out to the front.

  Heat hit them as the flames raced across the wooden porch, licking up the sides of the dorm. Yaro aimed the extinguisher while Pete primed the pump, pointing the hose at the burning building. The water hissed and turned into steam the moment it hit the flames.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  To run is not necessarily to arrive.

  – SWAHILI PROVERB –

  I daresay, you’re worried,” Lazlo said, one hand on the dash as Sam drove. “But perhaps you might slow down a tad. It’s dark out. The road isn’t exactly in stellar condition.”

  They hit a pothole, the force of impact jarring them against their seats. Sam kept his focus out the windshield. “You’re wearing a seat belt, I think you’re safe.”

  “Yes, well, that’s debatable. You get in an accident on the way there and Remi and everyone else is out of luck.”

  Sam, knowing Lazlo was right, let his foot off the gas. “I’m worried.”

  “Understandable.” Lazlo took a deep breath, leaning back in his seat. “I’ll ring Selma to see if she managed to get ahold of that farmer.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and made the call, putting it on speaker. “It’s me,” he said. “I’m with Mr. Fargo. Any word?”

  “Not since the last call five minutes ago.” She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid I haven’t been able to get ahold of anyone. I hate to say it, Mr. Fargo, but unless you want me to call the police, you’re on your own.”

  “No police,” Sam said, going over every option he could think of. Back when he was employed at the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, DARPA decided to cross-train some of their engineers in covert operations at the CIA’s Camp Peary. He’d met Rubin Haywood, a case agent, when they were partnered up for close combat weapons training. Though Sam tried not to take advantage of their resulting friendship, there were times—like now—that he had no choice. “I need to call Rube.”