The Oracle

by Clive Cussler

  Judging by the sky, they had a very narrow window before the storm started up again. The rain, however, concerned her less than the severe wind gusts that could easily knock them off balance. After a quick perusal of the area, making sure she wasn’t invading the home of some jungle cat, she returned to the girls. “We don’t have much time. Let’s get moving.”

  Amal gave her an odd look as she and the older girls stepped aside. Nasha, the child that Remi had come to think of as her warrior princess, sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking back and forth.

  “Nasha.” Remi held out her hand.

  “It’s never coming back,” Nasha said, to no one in particular.

  “The helicopter?” Remi smiled. “Of course it’s coming back.”

  Unfortunately, the other girls keyed in on Nasha’s fear, their concern moving to the patch of angry gray sky above them. “Why’d it leave?” Jol asked. “It was almost all the way here.”

  Nasha’s eyes welled with tears. “Because Boko Haram were shooting at them. They’ll never come back. They can’t.”

  Remi kneeled down next to Nasha, drawing her close. She’d never seen the girl this frightened. “I don’t think they’re Boko Haram at all. I think they’re Fulani cattle rustlers.” Though she’d heard tales of some Fulani herdsmen being equated with Boko Haram, killing anyone they deemed a threat to their pastureland, she wasn’t about to mention that fact now. The girls had enough to worry about. “They probably thought that helicopter was trying to bring them in for stealing the cows.”

  Jol turned in panic toward Remi. “They won’t kill us, too, will they?”

  “No,” Remi said, looking at each girl in turn. “I won’t let anything happen to any of you.”

  “You can’t promise that,” Nasha said, pulling away from her. “You don’t even know.”

  Zara’s eyes widened. “You’re scaring me.”

  “You should be scared. They killed everyone in my house. The only reason I didn’t get killed was because I got scared and ran away.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. Remi stood. “We have to leave.”

  Nasha shook her head, turning away, tears running down her face. “I don’t want to go.”

  Jol crouched down in front of her. “We can’t go without you.” She tried to pull Nasha to her feet.

  “We’re just girls,” Nasha whispered. “They have guns.”

  Maryam crouched down beside Jol. “But you tricked the Kalu brothers.”

  “Because I was pretending to be a boy,” Nasha said. “If I was being a girl, they would’ve …” She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, then looked away. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Zara, perplexed, said, “But you saved us. You’re the brave one.”

  “I’m not. I’m afraid all the time,” she said. “I’m afraid right now.”

  The girls stared at her, their eyes wide with surprise. Zara’s sought Remi’s. “Are you ever afraid?”

  “Of course,” Remi said, anxious. “What matters is what you do with that fear.”

  “I’d run away,” Zara said. The other girls agreed.

  Nasha said, “I wanted to when Mr. Hank said I stole those nails. I didn’t steal them. I found them.” She gave a firm nod to prove her point. “It’s his fault we’re here. If he hadn’t gotten sick, Mr. Fargo wouldn’t have had to leave. He would’ve saved us.”

  Amal offered her a timid smile. “We got in trouble because of me. Something happens and I shut down. You saved us because you didn’t run away.”

  “But I wanted to,” she said, her voice small as she wiped away tears.

  “Sometimes,” Remi said as a gust of wind swept in, “that’s the right thing to do. The secret is to know when.” She held out her hand, breathing a sigh of relief when Nasha grasped it. What she couldn’t ignore was the sound of rushing water deep within that crevice and the growing stream filling their path. “Watch your step,” she told the girls.

  Remi led, Amal brought up the rear. Though the trek to their new shelter hadn’t taken long, it was slow-going with all the girls in tow. The runoff from the mountain above channeled down the numerous crags. Rivulets of water splashed across the ledge, creating treacherous silt-covered fissures that gave way, ready to catch the unwary traveler.

  About thirty minutes into their journey, one of those rivulets widened considerably, washing a two-foot gap in the trail. Remi stopped, poked the other side with her walking stick, felt solid rock, and jumped across. She turned, holding her stick out toward Nasha. “If you slip, don’t let go of the stick. I’ll pull you up.”

  Nasha grabbed the staff but hesitated as thunder echoed across the mountains.

  “It’s okay,” Remi said.

  Nasha jumped. Each of the girls followed. The sky let loose, rain pelting them, as they continued up the cliff. As they neared the shelter, Remi stepped over a narrow rivulet, then turned to make sure the others saw it. She called out, her voice lost in the rush of wind, but Nasha nodded, easily stepping over. Jol followed. As Nasha’s foot hit the other side, the ledge disintegrated, plunging her downward in a torrent of water and mud.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  He who learns, teaches.

  – ETHIOPIAN PROVERB –

  The girls screamed as the ground disappeared beneath Nasha’s feet. Remi grabbed her arm and dragged her back as the crevice widened at an alarming speed. When she looked down, she saw Jol about twenty feet below, precariously balanced on a narrow outcropping of rock.

  “Don’t move,” Remi shouted to her, then turned her attention to the other girls. She held the stick out across the open space. “Grab it, Maryam.”

  “What about Jol?”

  “I’ll get her.”

  Maryam wrapped her fingers around the thick staff but didn’t move, her eyes locked on her fallen friend.

  “Don’t look down. Look at me. You can do it.”

  She gave a hesitant nod and jumped.

  When everyone was across, Remi shouted to Amal, “The cave’s not much farther. I’ll be right behind you as soon as I get Jol.”

  Amal nodded. “Let’s go, girls. They’ll be fine.”

  Remi moved to the edge of the gap and slid down the cliff, the progress slow as she braced herself with her walking stick in some spots and blindly felt for solid finger- and toeholds in others. Finally, she reached Jol, the poor girl’s eyes wide with fright. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Take my hand,” she said, reaching down. She wrapped her fingers around Jol’s slim wrist. When she was safely in front of her, Remi instructed her where to place her hands and feet as they slowly worked their way up to solid ground. Several times Remi searched the horizon, praying the helicopter would return while they were there on the open cliff where someone might actually see them. But as they ducked to the ground with each wind shear that threatened to rip them from the ledge, she knew help would not be arriving by day’s end.

  At least they’d have a safe and fairly dry spot to spend the night, she thought as she hustled Jol beneath the overhang. Amal tore off more strips from her shirt, wrapping one around a cut on Nasha’s leg, and another on Jol’s right forearm, scraped raw from her fall.

  Remi, grateful the injuries weren’t worse, took the first watch.

  As night fell, Amal suggested the girls try to get some sleep, but they were too keyed up to rest. After a while, Jol said, “Mrs. Fargo, you promised to tell us about your treasure hunting.”

  Remi looked back, just able to make her out in the dim light. “Tomorrow maybe.”

  Jol turned to Amal. “Have you ever found any treasure?”

  “Once. When I was a little girl.”

  The girls clasped their hands together, chorusing, “Tell us. Tell us.”

  “It happened back when I spent the hot summers at my grandmother’s home.”

  “Where did she live?” Maryam asked.

  “Near Bulla Regia. In the heart of Tunisia.”

  �
��Where’s that?” Nasha asked.

  “Tunisia? Way up north at the very top of Africa. It’s much hotter there than here in the mountains. Hot like the desert, but my grandmother’s house was shaded by a large olive grove that’s been there for hundreds of years.”

  “Hundreds?” Tambara said.

  “Many hundreds,” Amal said. “And in that house was the lid of an old charcoal burner that had a Sator Square palindrome engraved into the metal.”

  “What’s a palindrome?” Nasha asked.

  “Words or phrases that can be read forward or backward. Madam is a one-word palindrome. The Sator Square is a five-word palindrome—sator, arepo, tenet, opera, rotas. It’s supposed to be magical.”

  “Why?”

  Tambara put her finger to her lips. “Shhh.”

  “It’s a good question,” Amal said. “In this case, I think whoever was using it wanted the people to think it was magic. When the charcoal burner was lit, it would shine the words onto the wall or ceiling of a very dark room, probably to make people think something very mystical was going on. Anyway, when my grandmother was a girl, her grandmother used to tell her bedtime stories of the lost treasure of the last Vandal King. His treasure was hidden somewhere in our olive grove.” The girls leaned forward as she lowered her voice. “The day my grandmother found that Sator Square, ten people had passed it by, not one of them seeing it right there in front of them.”

  “Why didn’t they see it?” Maryam asked.

  “Because the treasure,” she said, looking at each of them in turn, “is protected by a curse. If the wrong person takes it, they or someone they love will die a horrible death.”

  “Why didn’t your grandmother die?”

  “Because the ancient oracles were charged with watching over the missing treasure,” she said, lowering her voice, “until one who is of royal blood could return it to its rightful place.”

  The girls’ eyes widened as she imparted this bit of news, Nasha asking, “Are you an oracle, too?”

  Amal smiled. “I’m not sure they were ever real to begin with. My mother told me that our overly creative storytelling comes from our oracle blood.”

  Nasha crossed her arms. “So you do believe in oracles?”

  Amal laughed softly. “Intuition, yes. The rest of that stuff? Not so much.”

  “Did you ever find anything?” she asked.

  “No. And though I was hoping I’d discover the lost treasure from the last Vandal King, the only thing I ever found were bits of potsherds. Nothing so wonderful as the piece my grandmother unearthed, but it was enough to feed my love of archeology.”

  “I want to be an archeologist,” Maryam said. “Maybe I can find treasure.”

  “Me, too,” Tambara said, Jol in agreement.

  Zara shook her head. “I want to teach.”

  The four girls turned toward Nasha, who gave a slight shrug, saying, “I don’t know what I want to do yet.”

  Tambara’s smile held a hint of awe. “You’re good at sneaking around. You could be a spy.”

  “She can’t be anything,” Zara said, “unless she goes to school.”

  “I am going to school,” Nasha said, turning a determined gaze toward Remi. “Aren’t I?”

  “Everyone is going to school,” Remi said, wondering if they’d have a school to return to. “Time to get some rest. We have a long walk ahead of us in the morning.”

  The girls settled down, then slept. Remi sat down next to Amal, whispering, “You did a nice job distracting them.”

  “They’re so brave. And that one,” she said, looking at Nasha. “Amazing. I hope you’re able to find out where she’s from and get her into the school.”

  “I hope so, too,” Remi said with a calmness she didn’t feel. Watching the growing water running across the front of their shelter, what she really hoped was that the ledge they’d used to get here would still be there come morning.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Hope is a good thing and good things never die.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  Rain pounded on the roof of the school’s office, then poured across the overfilled gutters like a waterfall, flooding the ground in front of the door. Sam looked out the window at the soldiers standing beneath the porch, refusing to come into the building even though Sam offered it.

  He turned back inside where Okoro, Pete, and Lazlo sat, studying the topographical map of Gashaka Gumti and the surrounding area. Pete gave a tired sigh. “I don’t see any other direction they would’ve taken.”

  “I agree,” Okoro said. “Northeasterly along that creek. Which worries me.”

  “Why?” Wendy asked.

  “The river.” He traced his finger from the path he and Sam had taken, up toward the mountains. “If they followed as we believe, along this stream, they’ll come out here. Their only choice is through this valley where we saw the Fulani herdsmen. That or up into the mountains.”

  Pete studied the map a moment. “Couldn’t they go around?”

  “They could,” Okoro said. “But they’d have to cross the river. In this weather, that wouldn’t be advisable. Flooding.”

  “Remi,” Sam said, “would know that.”

  Wendy leaned into Pete. “But if they were being chased, she’d take the risk.”

  “She would,” Sam said. Which made the search for them even harder. Remi would do whatever it took to keep those girls safe, even if it defied logic. “Either way, she’d know we’d be sending out a search party. She’s going to head to where they can be seen.” He walked back to the window, looking out at the front of the school in the growing dark, where, beyond the gate, he could just make out the abandoned SUV that sat in the middle of the muddy road. “Has Rube gotten back to us with who that vehicle belongs to?”

  “Not yet,” Pete said. “He was still waiting on information from his contacts.”

  Sam called Rube’s number. “Hope I’m not disturbing you?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait,” Rube said. “I figured you’d be out searching or I would’ve called earlier.”

  “Weather break,” he said. “About that truck left behind?”

  “Hold on.” A few seconds later, he was back on the line. “Sorry. Had to clear the office.” Sam heard him shuffling through papers. “The truck belongs to a Pili somebody-or-other. I’ve got the file here somewhere. He’s got an extensive criminal history in Taraba State.”

  “What sort of history?”

  “Mostly robbery. No connection to these Kalu brothers.”

  “What about this Makao?”

  “If it’s Makao Oni, he’s wanted out of Lagos State after the police tied his gang to a string of murders about a year ago. That, at least, gives Taraba State a place to start searching now that they believe there’s a connection to Pili. They’re gathering intel on his known associates in hopes of finding out where they might be hiding out. Hold on …” A few minutes of silence followed before he was back on. “I’ve got a couple of fires here to put out. Just know that the guards and search team are yours until they round up everyone involved. They’re committed to bringing everyone home and making sure the school is safe. I’ll get back to you if I hear anything else.”

  “Thanks, Rube.”

  Sam disconnected and immediately called Selma, this time on video, deciding she looked as tired as he felt. In her fifties, her short hair worn in spikes, she looked at him over her dark-rimmed glasses, which she wore on a chain around her neck.

  “Anything new on your end?” he asked.

  “Nothing related to the kidnappers,” she said. “I do have a bit of information on that village where you think Nasha’s uncle lives. There was an article that came out a little over a year ago, about an attack by Boko Haram, which fits the time line of when you think she was brought to Jalingo. Whether or not her uncle survived is unknown. The article isn’t too detailed, other than mentioning that after the terrorists burned down half the village, the military was brought in to roust them from
the area.”

  “That’s a start. Soon as we find them, we’ll follow up.”

  Wendy walked in a couple of minutes later. “Dinner’s ready.”

  Though Sam wasn’t the least bit hungry, he knew he needed to eat. If the weather prevented them from doing an air search, he was going out again on foot.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Do not follow a person who is running away.

  – KENYAN PROVERB –

  As soon as it was light, though it was still raining, Remi led the girls out onto the ledge. The path continued between two massive boulders twice as high as the others, flanking either side of the trail. The flat-topped rocks created a natural overhang that gave some protection from the rain. Remi had the girls wait there while she continued on a short distance to see if the Fulani were still waiting below. Heading down through the meadow and then up the other side would save significant time. When she climbed out far enough to see into the valley, she realized that avenue of egress was no longer an option. The river was rapidly encroaching across the meadow, the current too strong to cross. Their only choice was to continue onward and upward.

  Back when Wendy and Pete had first proposed the school, Remi recalled them telling her about the location they’d found, an isolated plateau that would protect the compound from any flooding during the rainy season. Out here in the wilderness, what might flood was anyone’s guess, especially considering the nonstop rain.

  She returned to the girls, looking at the overhang and the rivulets of water coming down from the mountain above. They couldn’t depend on the search team finding them in time. If they didn’t get off that cliff, they’d soon be standing in a waterfall.