The Oracle

by Clive Cussler

  Remi glanced up, shocked to see that one of the men was practically straddling the fissure. He leaned forward. She pressed back against the girls as he spit almost straight down at them.

  “Look at that,” he said. “It looks like—”

  “Listen,” Pili said. “I think I hear that helicopter again. Get to the trees. Before they see us.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief as they moved off, their voices fading. A sharp gust of wind swept across the cliff face and moaned through the rock fissure. As if in answer, a cow mooed plaintively down in the valley. Remi signaled for the girls to remain where they were, then edged out, looking between the large boulders. A herd of white longhorn cattle grazed in the meadow below.

  Remi glanced upward, grateful to see no sign of the kidnappers on the trail above. Nasha crept out next to her, pointing to the approaching helicopter. “Look. It’s coming this way.”

  Remi returned her attention to the aircraft, knowing that even if someone was looking exactly this direction, they were hidden by the line of boulders at the edge of the cliff. Somehow, they’d have to get up top.

  A sharp crack echoed across the valley.

  Nasha ducked back, throwing herself at Remi.

  The other girls looked up, thinking it was thunder.

  Crack! Crack!

  “Stay down,” Remi said as the helicopter suddenly veered off.

  “What happened?” Amal asked.

  “Someone down there’s shooting at them.” Remi wrapped her arms around Nasha, feeling her heart beating hard against her chest. “Are you okay?”

  She looked at Remi through a sheen of tears, her hand shaking as she brushed them away. “They’re the ones who killed my parents. And my aunt.”

  “Who did?” Remi asked.

  “Boko Haram.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there.

  – UGANDAN PROVERB –

  Pete watched the Land Rover bouncing up the dirt road toward the school, surprised that Lazlo was by himself and anxious to hear word on what they’d found on their way up the hill. Behind him, the military guards patrolled the gate. When one of the soldiers aimed an automatic rifle at the approaching vehicle, Pete called out to him. “It’s okay. He’s a friend.”

  Even so, the point guard didn’t lower his weapon until the car cleared the gate and Lazlo got out, at first shaking hands with Pete, then pulling him into a hug. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”

  “Where’s Mr. Fargo? I thought he and Okoro were coming back with you.”

  “We heard gunshots and he changed his mind.”

  “How far away?”

  “Mountains, rock—echoes. Almost impossible to tell. He thought it might have been northeast of where we were.”

  “Well, glad you’re back,” Pete replied, leading him to the office.

  “The children? How are they?”

  “Holding up fine. Worried about their friends, of course, but—kids.”

  “Resilient?”

  “More so than the rest of us. It helps that they saw nothing, being in the tunnel during the worst of it. They’re in class. We figured it was best to try to keep everything as close to normal as possible. To the children, it’s almost an adventure. Especially after the helicopter touched down, dropping off half their squad,” he said, indicating the soldiers manning the front gate.

  “I must say, good show on getting them to safety.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Pete said. “Mrs. Fargo’s the one who sounded the alarm. I’m not sure I’ll ever get over the guilt of letting her convince me that she should go out after the missing girls alone.”

  Lazlo gave him a friendly clap on the back as the two men walked up the steps onto the porch. “Mere mortals like us simply get in the way. Why do you think I’m here instead of with Mr. Fargo?”

  “I know you’re right …”

  “In the time it would take us to assess the danger, the Fargos have already come up with ten different plans on the off chance the other nine fail.”

  Pete laughed for the first time since the attack as he opened the door to the office.

  When Wendy saw them, she jumped from the chair to wrap Lazlo in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “There, there,” Lazlo said, seeing that she was close to tears. “We’re all fine. That’s what counts.”

  “You have good news, I hope?”

  “As Selma says, guarded good news.” He spied the tall thermos on the desk. “Is that coffee, by chance? I could use a cup.” Wendy found a mug and filled it for him as he told them about the supply truck abandoned near the lower trail. “Sam believes it was a decoy and that Mrs. Fargo fled with the girls on the upper trail into the Gashaka Gumti preserve. They’re following. How far behind, I don’t know. But I expect he’ll call as soon as he’s ready to start the air search.”

  “Thank goodness,” Wendy said. “It was horrible not knowing. Pete came out, found the supply truck gone, the building on fire, and that SUV left outside the gate on its rims. Trying to figure out what happened—”

  “My understanding is,” Lazlo said, “Nasha saved the day.”

  “I can’t tell you how relieved I was when Pete told me that she’d somehow called Mr. Fargo,” Wendy replied. “All I knew was that she was with us one minute, gone the next.”

  “I wish we knew more,” Lazlo told her. “But the call cut off abruptly. We assume since she’s not here with you, she’s with Mrs. Fargo and the other girls. Mr. Fargo’s almost positive they managed to escape. But we think they’re still being pursued.”

  Pete saw the toll that statement took on Wendy. And not just because of Remi. Wendy considered each child in her care as part of her family. He clasped his hand around hers. “If anyone can keep those girls safe, Mrs. Fargo can.”

  “I know,” she said as Lazlo’s cell phone lit up with a video call from Sam.

  “Do you have a map?” Sam asked. Zara’s father stood behind him, both beneath a thick canopy of trees filled with a chorus of birds. “Remi and the girls left the trail. I’m hoping to find the most logical route.”

  Pete glanced up at the area map tacked to the wall behind the desk, dismissed it as not being detailed enough. “Wendy, do we still have the topographical map from when we were searching for the school site?”

  “In the file cabinet,” she said, retrieving it from the top drawer.

  They unrolled the long tube of paper, tacking it to the wall next to the other map. “Any idea where you are?” Lazlo asked.

  “I’d say about two miles in …” Sam aimed his phone so they could see the area. On the left, the mountainous forest rose into a blanket of clouds. On the right, the granite-studded valley stretched out to the horizon.

  Pete looked at the map. The school was marked with an X and the trail was marked with a dotted line.

  Wendy traced it with her finger, approximating where Mr. Fargo might be. “If we’re reading this map correctly,” she said, “it looks like the trail follows a riverbed, then veers off.”

  “Remi might follow it for a source of water,” Sam said.

  “Let’s hope she didn’t head that way,” Pete replied. “If the rain is as bad as predicted, there’s a good chance of flash floods.”

  As if in warning, the first few raindrops started to fall.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  The rain does not recognize anyone as a friend;

  it drenches all equally.

  – NIGERIAN PROVERB –

  Sam and Okoro moved out into the clearing once the military Mi-17 helicopter landed, the two men ducking as the rotors whipped the rain and mud around them to a frenzy. There were four soldiers on board, along with the pilot and copilot.

  “Welcome aboard,” one of the crew shouted, handing them both helmets with headsets. The pilot glanced back at Sam as he settled into the seat and buckled the restraints. “Understand you’re experienced at this.”r />
  “Search and rescue in California,” Sam said.

  He acknowledged and guided the craft upward, giving Sam an unparalleled view out the port side door of Gashaka Gumti park and the surrounding area. At first all he saw was the endless treetops of the surrounding forest. But when he caught sight of Okoro’s farm, as well as the road leading up to the school, he was able to orient himself to the clearing they’d just left. “That’s where we lost the trail,” he said, pointing out the rain-splattered windshield.

  The pilot turned the craft. “Any idea where they might be headed?”

  “My wife would know we’re searching for them. She’d definitely head for open ground. We also heard gunshots this morning coming from the northeast. I’m assuming that was the kidnappers.”

  The pilot and copilot exchanged looks. “They were shooting at us,” the pilot said. “But I’m not sure they were the kidnappers.”

  “If it’s the same group who attacked us on the road,” Sam said, “they’re armed with AK-47s.”

  “I think the group we ran into were cattle rustlers. They were guarding a large herd. We’ll do a flyby and you can see for yourself.” He looked over at his copilot. “We better get moving before this weather takes a turn for the worse.”

  Sam nodded, then turned toward Okoro, noticing his gaze was fixed out the window. “Remi will keep them safe.”

  Okoro said nothing.

  Sam looked out his own window, praying they’d find them soon.

  The helicopter banked to the right, heading northeast, following in the general direction of the meandering creek that Sam and Okoro had seen on their first search. Eventually, it was lost in the thick growth. The pilot ascended, hovering high over the southern portion of the park. Lightning arced across the gray sky. “Up ahead, at the end of the valley,” the copilot said. “See the cattle?”

  One of the soldiers riding in the back handed Sam a pair of binoculars. Thunder rumbled as he looked out the window, seeing a thick forest and glimpses of the rocky banks of the tributary through the trees. A long grassy meadow stretched along the bottom of the valley. At the far end, he could just make out the steep cliffs jutting up from the valley floor into the forest. When he focused on the base of the cliffs, he saw the white cows. “Definitely a large herd down there.”

  “The herdsmen were the ones who shot at us.”

  “What are the chances our kidnappers are doing double duty as cattle rustlers?” Sam asked.

  “If they’re dressed like Fulani herdsmen, we’ve found our guys.”

  “You’re sure they were shooting at you?”

  “No doubt.”

  Disheartened, Sam handed the binoculars to Okoro as the helicopter continued in that direction. He took a look and returned the glasses to Sam, saying, “A week ago, a herd was stolen by armed Fulani. It would probably take them that long to get all the way out here.”

  The aircraft, caught in a sudden gust, shifted violently. The copilot looked back at Sam. “Hate to say it. Turbulence is picking up. We’re going to have to turn around. Wait for the squall to pass. Soon as we can get back out, we’ll do so.”

  The helicopter passed high over the Fulani cattle. Sam, not willing to lose one second of possible search time, focused his binoculars, seeing the armed gunmen who were tracking them with their rifles as they flew overhead. The helicopter banked away and Sam swept the binoculars across the cliffs, catching movement about midway down. “I see something.”

  The pilot hovered as best he could, allowing Sam to focus.

  The soldier sitting next to him looked through his own pair of binoculars. “Cat.”

  It took Sam a moment to make out the reddish brown fur of the African gold cat. Smaller than a cheetah, it blended into the cliff face—so much so that he was sure that wasn’t what caught his attention. But when he looked higher up, searching, a blinding flash of lightning, followed by a torrential downpour, impeded his view.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Evil knows where evil sleeps.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  The rain beat against the windows of Makao’s apartment while he waited for word on the hostages. He and his crew had driven five and a half hours straight back to Jalingo after the debacle at the school but had heard nothing since. Every minute that passed, Makao saw his profit slipping away. Anxious, he called Pili’s phone, but it went straight to voice mail. Again.

  He looked over at Jimi, who’d fallen asleep on the sofa, while his other two men had crashed on the floor next to him. They didn’t seem bothered. Must be nice. He was too keyed up to sleep, though he’d been the one who drove all night to get there.

  “Call, already,” he said, pacing. He looked over at the phone, stolen from that Amal woman, wondering if Fargo suspected anything when he’d called last night about the ransom.

  Of course he did. Which made it all the more important to find those missing hostages.

  When Tarek first hired Makao, he’d mentioned very little about the Fargos other than to say they’d be an easy mark. After a bit of quick research, Makao had thought the same. He knew better now. He also knew they were too rich and well known for law enforcement to look the other way. If Makao’s men didn’t find the hostages, not only was he going to lose his share of the ransom, he was going to have to relocate yet again.

  A gust of wind rattled his front window, drawing his attention. Parting the blinds, he saw Kambili Kalu getting out of a car parked out front.

  “Jimi …” He kicked Jimi’s foot. And those of the two men sleeping on the floor. “Get up,” he said as Kambili stormed toward the apartment. “All of you.”

  Makao drew his gun, intending to shoot the man in his tracks. But as he reached for the front door knob, the door burst open, splinters flying from its shattered frame. Startled, Makao jumped back, tripped over one of the still-sleeping men. Before he could right himself, Kambili rushed in, aiming his semiauto at Makao’s head.

  “Kamb—”

  “Drop your gun,” Kambili ordered, “or I’ll kill you right here.”

  Makao slowly lowered his weapon to the ground, surprised to see Kambili’s left eye swollen nearly shut. “What’s this about?”

  Kambili towered over Makao, glaring. “You killed my brothers.”

  “No,” he said. “It wasn’t me, I swear. Where’d you hear that?”

  “You see my face? Yesterday, the man who did this told me.”

  Makao shot a look over to Jimi, who seemed as shocked as he was by the revelation that Kambili knew what had happened. The rest of his crew who hit the Fargo caravan were dead, which meant there was only one way Kambili had learned of this.

  It had to be from Fargo himself.

  What Makao couldn’t figure out was how Fargo could possibly have known who the Kalu brothers were. “I assure you that whoever told you this was lying. There has to be some reason this man would want to blame me. What’d he tell you?”

  “He came to my home, looking for one of my boys.”

  “For what reason?”

  “He wanted to know what village he’d come from.”

  Makao, seeing Jimi slowly move his hand to his holstered gun, was torn between letting him kill Kambili and wanting to know what Fargo was up to. From everything he could tell, Fargo was a straight shooter, his business dealings above board. Why, then, would a man like that purposefully seek out a man like Kambili just to find out about one of his thieves?

  It didn’t make sense—until he caught sight of Jimi’s injured arm. He looked down at his own bandaged hand, recalling how that girl had jabbed them both with the road spike as she raced out the door. Suddenly he wondered if Jimi had been mistaken about losing those keys. “One of your pickpockets?”

  “My best one.”

  “Where is this kid?”

  Kambili seemed taken aback by the simple question. “Ran away. Two days ago, after he got caught trying to steal a Land Rover.”

  “The man who killed your brothers was driving a Lan
d Rover,” Makao said. “Isn’t that right, Jimi?”

  He nodded in agreement.

  “Why would this man kill my brothers?”

  “To pin it on me and start a war between us.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Why would I lie to you? We have an agreement, you and I. But I know how we can get back at him.”

  “How?”

  Makao smiled when Kambili lowered the gun. “Jimi, take the boys to lunch. And find someone to fix that door,” he said as rain splashed its threshold. “Mr. Kalu and I have some business to discuss.”

  “What business?” Kambili asked after the other men left. He had, thankfully, put his gun away.

  “About your pickpocket.” The cut on Makao’s hand started to throb with the memory of how she’d clawed him with that tire spike. “Tiny thing, darts around like a gazelle fleeing a cheetah?”

  “Nash? He’s my best pickpocket.”

  Which explained how she got the keys from Jimi. “That pickpocket was definitely a girl.”

  Kambili stared a moment. “You sure we’re talking about the same boy?”

  “Why else would the Fargos have taken her to a school for girls?”

  “A girl … Always thought he was small. What about him—her?”

  “Tell me everything you know about the kid.”

  “Comes from a village up north. His—her uncle paid for her and some other boys to come here because of Boko Haram.”

  “How do I find her uncle?”

  “One of my boys, Chuk, came from the same village. They were friends.”

  “Good. We’ll need him to get to the Fargos. Here’s my plan …”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  You may be disappointed if you fail,

  but you are doomed if you don’t try.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  Remi left Amal and the girls to search for better shelter. Eventually, she found a deeper overhang where they could ride out the storm without worrying about being seen by the kidnappers from the trail above. The climb to the top of the cliffs from there would be easier for the girls. But the crevice they’d shimmied down seemed to be a channel for runoff and she worried that if the steady rain continued, what was now a thin stream would soon turn into a full-fledged waterfall.