The Oracle

by Clive Cussler

  “Already did. Waiting on his return call,” Selma said.

  “Thanks. We may need his help before this is over.”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear from anyone,” she said as Sam’s phone started ringing.

  “See who it is,” he told Lazlo, too intent on driving to answer.

  Lazlo picked it up from the console, checking the number. “It’s Pete.” He held the phone toward Sam, saying, “Go ahead. Mr. Fargo’s here.”

  Pete’s voice came out in a rush, saying, “They have Remi and some of the girls.”

  “I know,” Sam said. “For ransom. The kidnappers called from Amal’s phone.”

  “I’m so sorry. We didn’t see them coming until too late. Remi went back for the girls who didn’t make it into the tunnel.”

  “Who, besides Remi?” Sam asked.

  “Tambara, Maryam, Zara, Jol, and Amal. Everyone else made it. No cell reception or we would’ve called sooner.”

  “Six?” Sam confirmed.

  “Wait. Seven missing. Nasha. She wasn’t in the tunnel with us.”

  “You’re sure she’s not somewhere on the grounds? What about the shed? She called me from Remi’s phone. I think it died on her—”

  “No,” Pete said. “I haven’t seen her. If she was here, she’d find me, I’m sure.”

  Sam, checking the clock on the dash, hoped she was hiding somewhere safe. “We’re almost two hours away. About how long ago did the kidnappers leave?”

  “Less than fifteen minutes ago. Our supply truck’s gone, so I’m guessing they took that to move the hostages. I doubt they’ve made it down the hill yet. What do you want me to do until you get here?”

  “Keep everyone in the tunnel. We’ll reevaluate once I get there.”

  “Will do. Yaro and I are going to hole up on the roof to watch in case they come back.”

  “Pete …”

  “Yes, Mr. Fargo?”

  “Be careful.”

  “I will be.”

  The phone beeped as the call ended. Sam glanced at the other phone that Lazlo held. “You catch all that, Selma?”

  “I did.”

  “Good. When Rube gets back to you, have him call me on Lazlo’s phone. I want mine open in case Remi or the kidnappers call.”

  A little over an hour later, Sam reached the edge of Okoro’s farm, seeing lights in the distance. He let his foot off the gas, trying to get a better look.

  “Something wrong?” Lazlo asked, following the direction of his gaze.

  “I’m not sure. That farm belongs to the man Selma’s been trying to reach. So why isn’t he answering his phone?”

  “Maybe it died.”

  “He’s got power. He’d certainly be able to charge it.”

  Sam slowed as they passed the long drive. Instead of heading left up toward the school, he continued on the main road until he passed the stand of eucalyptus trees, then parked out of sight. He grabbed his gear bag from the back.

  Lazlo strapped on a holster. “You’re sure this is a good use of our time? The school—”

  “Pete and Yaro are there. They’ll call. But something’s wrong.” He lifted the night vision binoculars, saw several figures moving around the grounds. “Not a good sign,” he said, handing the glasses to Lazlo.

  The professor focused them. “Exactly what am I looking at?”

  “Men. Who don’t belong there.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m fairly certain Okoro’s farmhands aren’t in the habit of carrying rifles to guard his tea crop.” Sam suspected they were using the farm as an outpost to watch traffic in and out of the school. What he didn’t see was the supply truck, which he assumed the kidnappers had taken to hide their hostages in as they fled.

  Lazlo lowered the glasses. “By my estimation, the kidnappers left the school well over an hour ago. If these men are working with them, shouldn’t they be long gone by now?”

  “That, Lazlo, is a very good question. Let’s go find out why.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Restless feet may walk into a snake pit.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  Sam and Lazlo moved in on foot through the thick eucalyptus grove that grew up alongside the farm. Thankfully, the dagger-shaped leaves that had fallen from the trees and left to rot on the ground acted like a sound-dampening barrier. When they neared the edge of the grove, Sam held up his hand, motioning for Lazlo to stop.

  The two armed guards stood watching the east side of the property, looking in the direction of the road leading up into the hills to the school. Sam watched them for a few minutes.

  Lazlo shifted beside him, whispering, “Shouldn’t we go now while their attention’s diverted?”

  “Patience. I want to make sure it stays diverted.” About two minutes later, one of the men started walking toward the farmhouse directly across the route he and Lazlo would have taken. Sam waited until he was around the corner, then motioned for Lazlo to follow. They edged along the side of the barn and hid behind the tailgate of an oxidized blue Toyota pickup parked between the two buildings. Sam peered over the tailgate toward the house. Someone inside walked past the backlit window.

  Definitely too short to be Okoro.

  “Wait here,” Sam whispered. “I want a better look.”

  Lazlo nodded.

  Sam checked both directions, then ran to a rain barrel beneath the downspout next to the window, crouching behind it. He started to rise when one of the guards rounded the corner making a beeline toward the pickup where Lazlo was hiding.

  Sam, tracking the guard with his gun sight, motioned for Lazlo to remain where he was. The guard stopped by the driver’s door, pulled it open, and reached inside, retrieving a bottle of water. But instead of taking it with him back on his rounds, he stood there, drinking. As much as Sam wanted to take the guy out right then—and he might have, had he thought doing so would get the man to finish his drink—he wasn’t about to start a gunfight. Not until he knew how many people he was dealing with and whether or not the girls were anywhere on the premises.

  The man capped the bottle, tossed it onto the seat of the car, and closed the door. Rather than returning to the front of the farm, he walked toward the open barn door. Just a few more feet and he’d have tripped over Lazlo to get past him. Sam moved his finger from the trigger guard to the trigger, increasing the pressure with each step the man took. Someone called out from the front and the guard stopped, pivoted, walked quickly in that direction.

  The moment he turned the corner, Sam glanced at Lazlo, who was leaning his head on the rear bumper of the Toyota, clearly rattled. Finally, he looked over at Sam, giving him a thumbs-up.

  Sam nodded, then moved to the window, peering in. Zara’s father sat in a wooden chair, his hands bound behind him, his lower lip cut and swollen, staring defiantly at two armed men inside the room. Okoro’s three farmhands were seated on the floor next to him, looking scared but unharmed.

  Four hostages. Four gunmen. Two inside, two outside.

  Returning to the rain barrel, he motioned Lazlo over.

  Lazlo hurried across the dirt drive, crouching beside him. “I daresay, you and Mrs. Fargo do this all the time,” he whispered, watching Sam unsnap the pouch on his belt that held the speed loaders for his Smith & Wesson. “But …”

  “But what?” Sam said.

  “I was rather hoping we’d get through this without killing anyone.”

  “That ship sailed the moment they kidnapped the girls, never mind my wife.”

  “I had a feeling you were going to say that.”

  “If it helps, they’ll probably try to kill us first.”

  “I feel better already.”

  Sam clapped his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Now, let’s go get those two guards.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Where a woman rules, streams run uphill.

  – ETHIOPIAN PROVERB –

  Like Amal, Remi held a thick clump of long grass to cover th
e footprints of the girls who’d gone on ahead—Amal working her way up the steep, moonlit trail toward the trees, while Remi worked her way back to the truck to speed the process. With as many men as Makao had working for him, it wouldn’t be long before they had their tires changed.

  Remi swept her gaze over the portion of the trail visible from the road, satisfied that the prints were no longer so obvious. “I think we’re good,” she said.

  Amal glanced behind her, the girls long gone from sight. When she looked down at Remi, her smile faltered. “You are coming back … aren’t you?”

  “That’s my goal,” Remi said. The last thing she wanted to do was add to Amal’s stress and possibly induce a seizure. “But if I don’t, keep going, no matter what. And trust Nasha’s instincts. I have a feeling she’s done this before. Now hurry.”

  As Amal disappeared into the trees, Remi looked up at the sign marking the hiking trail, then the four-inch-thick wooden post. The last piece of evidence. She climbed into the truck, putting the gearshift in reverse, backing until she heard a loud crack followed by a thwump as the sign fell into the shrubs at the side of the road. She got out, threw some brush over the stub, and dragged the sign from the bushes and hauled it into the back of the truck.

  Though she wanted to throw more brush over the trail, the rumble of Makao’s approaching vehicle just up the hill told her she was out of time. She jumped in the truck, shifting to drive. About a quarter mile downhill, she reached the second sign that indicated Lower Trail. Parking just beyond it, she shut off the motor, pocketing the keys as she hopped out, wishing she had the time to remove the Upper Trail sign from the truck and hide it somewhere in the forest. If she was lucky, they’d give the cargo area a cursory glance, see it was empty, and head down the lower trail into the valley, allowing the girls enough time to get to safety.

  The revving engine grew louder, and she waited until the beam of headlights swung around the curve, illuminating the back of the truck. Careful not to look into the headlights and ruin her night vision, she did her best to appear shocked at being discovered—remaining a second longer than prudent to make sure they saw her.

  The tires skidding across the dirt as they sped up, then braked, gave her hope that her plan had worked.

  Racing down the trail far enough to draw them in, she doubled back and hid near the road behind some low bushes. She needed to be able to get back up that hill.

  And if she couldn’t, so be it. As long as the girls made it, she’d be good with whatever happened next. Dropping completely flat on the ground, she closed her eyes against the settling dust, evened her breathing, and listened to the sound of the men as they tromped down the footpath, searching for her.

  “This way,” one of the men shouted. “She moved off the trail.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  By the time the fool has learned the game,

  the players have dispersed.

  – ASHANTI PROVERB –

  Makao looked up at the Forest Service sign and down the trail where the Fargo woman had disappeared. “Get a flashlight.”

  Jimi retrieved one from the truck, handing it to him. He shined it on the ground at the trail’s entrance, seeing waffle-style footprints leading from the back of the Fargos’ truck and onto the trail. He followed for a short distance, but the prints disappeared about twenty feet in.

  Interesting. He stomped his foot on the ground, then checked to see if it left a print in the thin layer of dust on the hard-packed earth. Not much of one, which made him wonder if the girls, weighing much less, could possibly have gone that way without leaving a mark.

  Somehow, he doubted that, and he shined the light into the thick growth on either side of the trail to see if they were hiding there.

  Realizing it would take them all night to search beyond the immediate area, he returned to the road.

  “Where else would they go?” Jimi asked him.

  “Good question. Bring the map,” Makao said.

  The wind rattled the corners of the paper as he spread it out on the open tailgate of his pickup. He held it down with one hand while Jimi angled the flashlight toward it. The location of the school was marked with a red X. Neither it nor the road they stood on appeared anywhere on the map, probably because both were privately funded. But a dotted red line clearly marked the winding hiking trail that led into the protected national park forest. It appeared that someone could follow it from the main road near the farm all the way up into the reserve and on to the Cameroon border.

  He glanced over at the lower trail where he’d seen the Fargo woman disappear. Why no other footprints? He wouldn’t put it past her to lift every child from the path, then have them walk for a time off trail to hide their prints. The question was whether they were headed down to the farm or doubling back up to the school. “Pili, you and Den follow the trail to the end and keep an eye on both sides in case they’re hiding.”

  The two men headed down the trail, their flashlight beams swinging across the path and into the trees. The sound of distant gunshots brought them to a halt. “What was that?” Jimi asked.

  “The farm,” Makao said. “Find out what happened.”

  Jimi made the call while Pili and Den continued down the serpentine trail carved into the thick forest.

  It didn’t make sense that seven women and girls could disappear so quickly—which made him wonder how well his men had checked the bed of that truck.

  He walked over, lifted the canvas, the beams from his headlights shooting in. At first, he saw nothing but his own shadow cast across the cargo area. As he started to turn away, he realized something was in the back of the truck. He reached in, pulled a thick post up and over the tailgate, cursing when he saw the large Forest Service sign bolted to its top reading Upper Trail.

  “Pili, Den,” he shouted. “Change of plans. Get in the back of the truck with the others.”

  “They’re not answering,” Jimi said as the two men jogged back up the trail.

  Den glanced at the sign hanging out of the back of the Fargos’ truck. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re getting our hostages back.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Ears that do not listen to advice

  accompany the head when it is chopped off.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  Sam stepped over the slain guard, planting the barrel of his gun in the back of his new hostage. “Anyone tell you that smoking’s hazardous to your health?”

  Lazlo eyed the dead guard with distaste. “What happened to killing him quietly?”

  “This seemed more expedient.” The guards had been surprisingly uninspired to carry out their duties, lighting up their third cigarettes instead of patrolling the grounds. Sam decided to hurry matters along. The disadvantage, unfortunately, was that with the gunshots they’d announced their presence. Sam forced his hostage toward the bungalow-style farmhouse, saying, “Let’s hope one of your friends comes out to see what happened.” He leaned in close, adding, “I need one of you alive. I don’t much care which of you it is.”

  The man said nothing.

  Lazlo glanced into the window. “What if they don’t come out?”

  “I go in after them.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  “Good news is, you get to stay here.”

  “What if something happens to you?”

  “Find Remi and the girls, make sure they’re all safe.” Sam watched the front door of the house, wondering what was taking so long. Those gunshots should have brought them out by now. He gripped the guard’s collar. “What’s your name?”

  “Deric.”

  “Deric, tell them you need help.”

  “They won’t come.”

  “You better hope they do or it’ll be the last time you walk. Now call them out.” Sam jammed the barrel against his spine. “And make it convincing.”

  “Urhie,” he shouted. “Joe. I need you both. Hurry.”

  Sam glanced over at
Lazlo, who stood by the window, watching the room with the hostages. Lazlo gave the OK sign and pointed toward the door.

  Good. They were coming.

  Sam sidestepped, making sure Deric was between him and the door.

  “Fargo,” Lazlo said. “Only one’s leaving. He took a hostage.”

  “You know what to do.”

  Lazlo took a deep breath, steeling himself.

  Sam dragged his prisoner back, whispering into his ear. “Save a hostage, save your life.”

  “It’ll never work. He’ll kill you first.”

  “You better hope otherwise because I’m not the one who’s going to die tonight.”

  The knob turned, the door opened inward, silhouetting the man holding a gun on Okoro.

  “Easy,” Sam said. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Just want to exchange hostages, then find my wife and the missing kids.”

  “Good luck. You have one, I have one. My friend Urhie has three more.” Which told Sam that the missing girls weren’t there. “Gun. Down. Now,” Joe ordered, pressing the barrel of his semiauto into Okoro’s temple.

  Sam slipped his finger into the trigger guard, letting the weapon swing down, dangling it from his index finger. Slowly he held it out, proving he was no longer a threat. “Here you go,” he said. “Where do you want it?”

  “Give it to Deric.”

  “How about I give you Deric.” Sam drove his foot into the back of Deric’s knee, shoving him forward. As expected, Joe forgot about his hostage, aiming for Sam, who by this time had swung his Smith & Wesson upright. The butt landed against Sam’s palm, he gripped it, and fired. Joe stumbled back, letting go of Okoro, falling to the ground. Deric scrambled for Joe’s gun. He grabbed it and aimed.