The Oracle

by Clive Cussler

  “Definitely.” She grabbed her crutches. “Let’s go take another look.”

  They followed her into the front room and she took a seat at the desk, swiveling the chair around, searching the shelves again, pulling several identical-looking ledgers from the shelves and placing them on the desk, going through them one by one.

  Remi looked at Sam. “Why the grim expression, Fargo?”

  “Hate to say it, I think someone sabotaged the deck.”

  “Warren …” Renee said. “Had I known that, I might’ve pushed him myself—” She stopped midsentence when Amal walked in the door.

  “Where’s Nasha?” Sam asked her.

  “With my mother.” She looked at the bookshelf, her face turning ashen. “Excuse me. I forgot something in the field.”

  Before anyone could comment, she hurried out the door.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  If you listen to the noise of the market, you won’t buy anything.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  Remi watched through the window as Amal hurried off. “Wonder what that was about?”

  “Perhaps,” Hank said from behind her, “a little post-traumatic stress leftover from Nigeria? It’d certainly explain her odd behavior since she’s been back.”

  Sam put his arm around Remi’s shoulder. “You can find out what’s going on when you pick her up later.”

  “Me?”

  “I volunteered you to drive her to the market this afternoon.”

  “How’s Nasha?” Remi asked as she drove Amal into town a couple of hours later. “She hasn’t complained that you’re keeping such a close watch on her?”

  “I’m not sure she’s noticed. Everything here’s so new and strange to her.”

  “Glad to hear that. And how are you doing? You seemed a bit upset when I saw you walk into the office earlier.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I … I left my new phone in the field.”

  Certain Amal wasn’t being truthful, Remi let it slide. “Send us the bill. Sam and I intend to pay for it.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “This is an argument you won’t win. The only reason Makao got your phone was because you were at the school, as a favor to us.”

  When they reached the market, Remi parked. Amal checked her watch, then led Remi through a few narrow streets, stopping in front of the bright fruits and vegetables displayed in front of a store. “First thing, dates. Then malsouka.”

  “Malsouka? For brik à l’oeuf?” Remi asked. Though it had been years and years, Remi had never forgotten the triangle-shaped deep-fried pastries filled with tuna, capers, and egg that she and Renee had enjoyed during their study-abroad trip. “One of my favorite memories of Tunisia.”

  “I hope you’ll like these. My mother adds a touch of crumbled goat cheese. Nasha’s beyond excited about helping her make them.”

  “Can’t wait to try it.”

  She and Remi wandered toward the next stall, where Amal picked up a fig, replaced it, and checked her watch once again.

  “Are we okay on time?” Remi asked.

  “Sorry. I think it’s a nervous habit when I’m out shopping. I’m always worried about missing the bus.” She quickly gathered a dozen dates, paid for them, and smiled at Remi. “Since we actually have extra time, there’s a wonderful little shop not too far from here that I’ve always loved but never had much time to visit. Dr. LaBelle says it reminds her of an old-fashioned general store. It has a little bit of everything.”

  “Sounds fun. Maybe I can find something for the girls back at the school.”

  The two women worked their way through the pedestrians, then around the corner. “Here,” Amal said, stopping in front of a two-story shop painted a deep turquoise. Racks of postcards and trinkets were displayed out front. Inside there was, as Amal said, a variety of goods, and she immediately gravitated toward the corner where bright bolts of cloth were stacked on shelves. She pulled out one, feeling the smooth texture of the material. “I’m tempted to get a few yards.” She smiled again. “I bet they have better gift items upstairs. I’ll meet you up there after I look over the material.”

  “Take your time.” Remi passed by the tables filled with textiles and sewing notions, taking the winding tile stairs to the upper floor. A breeze swept in through the open arched doors of the balcony, causing the wind chimes hanging outside to tinkle merrily. A rack of wooden puppets on strings stared back at Remi. She thought of the girls at the school, wondering if they were too old for such a thing.

  The chimes stirred again, drawing her to the balcony. Some were made from colored glass, others from brass bells. Those, she decided, would make for a nice gift, hanging in the trees outside the school. She started to reach for the bells but noticed Amal in the street below her, quickly walking away. As the young woman reached the corner, she looked back toward the shop.

  Curious, Remi hurried down the stairs and followed. When she arrived at the corner, she looked around it. Amal, who had been striding at the same fast pace as Remi, had stopped about midway down the street and was knocking on a door. She started to turn away but stopped, pulling something small from her pocket—a slip of paper, possibly—and holding it toward whoever answered the door and she was talking to. After a bit of back-and-forth, she nodded, then started in Remi’s direction.

  Remi hurried back to the shop and up the stairs, picking up a horse puppet. Amal appeared just a couple of minutes later and Remi asked, “Find what you were looking for?”

  “Sadly, no. I think I’ll wait. Did you find anything?”

  Remi held up the puppet. “As cute as this is, I think the girls might be a bit too old.”

  “Even Nasha?”

  “Old beyond her years.” She replaced the puppet and picked out a couple of wind chimes. “These, however, will be perfect for the courtyard trees.”

  “I agree.”

  They walked downstairs and Remi paid the merchant. As they left the shop, she looked over at Amal. “Your bags. Where are they?”

  “I asked the shopkeeper to hold them while I looked around. I’ll run back in and get them.” A moment later, she returned with both shopping bags and the two women walked through the market. Amal seemed quieter than usual.

  “Everything okay?” Remi asked.

  “Fine. Just a bit tired. I was up early.”

  They passed a shop filled with incense, several sticks burning outside to lure in visitors, no doubt. Remi breathed in the pungent, sweet scent. “I’d forgotten how wonderful the market can be. So much to see … In fact, I thought I saw you taking off.”

  Amal stopped. “I …” She took a deep breath and looked at Remi, her smile fading as the scent of incense grew overwhelming. “I …” Her knees buckled and she sank to the ground, landing in a heap between her bags.

  “Amal.” Remi kneeled down beside her, checking for a pulse. Relieved when she found one, she scooped Amal into her arms as the passersby gave them wide berth. “Amal,” she said, nearly choking on the strong incense herself as the smoke drifted up and over their heads.

  A tall man with white hair and a goatee stepped out of the shop, saw them. “Do you need help?” he asked in French.

  “I think she needs fresh air.”

  He nodded and picked up Amal, carrying her to a bench a few doors down. Remi grabbed the shopping bags and followed. “Merci, Monsieur …?”

  “Cussler,” he said. “Would you like me to call the medics?”

  “I think we’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  He waited until he was sure Amal was okay, then returned to the shop. Remi patted Amal’s cheek as the younger woman came to. “Are you okay?”

  It took a moment before Amal answered. “I … I think so. One of my attacks, no doubt. One minute we were walking, the next I felt as though I’d stepped into another world. At first, I was looking down at water, seeing my reflection. But I realized I was really beneath the water, looking up.” She sat up on her own, looking toward the shop. “I shoul
d know better than walking too close to that incense. I never could abide the stuff. It always made me feel … But this was different. Like a sense of panic.”

  Panic? Or more of a distraction because she knew that Remi had followed her?

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  A patient person never misses a thing.

  – SWAHILI PROVERB –

  Amal seemed anxious,” Remi said, calling out from the bathroom.

  Sam, seated on the sofa in their hotel suite, heard Lazlo knock at the door. “About what?” he asked, getting up to answer it.

  “I have no idea. From the moment we arrived to the moment she snuck off, she wasn’t her usual self. Definitely hiding something.”

  “She never said where she went?”

  “Not a word. And I couldn’t really press the point when she fainted. I was more worried about getting her home after that.”

  “If we get a chance, we can ask her tomorrow at the dinner.”

  Remi walked out, clipping a barrette in her hair, as Sam and Lazlo took a seat at the table. “I’m not sure she’ll even admit to it. I tried bringing it up again right before I dropped her off at her mother’s house and she totally evaded the subject. It’s all very strange,” she said, then smiled at Lazlo. “Did Selma get back to you?”

  “I just rang off with her. Unfortunately, the investigator you’ve hired has failed to find anything on Warren. If the man was in dire straits before he died, he hid it well. But Selma mentioned he has a few leads left.”

  “Let’s hope they pan out,” Remi said.

  “What about Makao?” Sam asked.

  “If Remi’s shot actually hit him—”

  “It did,” she said with a firm nod.

  “He hasn’t shown up at any hospitals in Nigeria. Nor at any airport.”

  “Does she have any good news?”

  “Possibly. She was able to dig up an address on that black market website that may give you enough to work with. Apparently, she matched up the listing from the stolen mosaic piece to a shop that specializes in hard-to-find antiques. Open by appointment only.”

  “Imagine that,” Sam said as Remi took a seat next to him at the table.

  “I’ll text the address to your phone.”

  “You’re not going with us?”

  “As unexciting as that sounds,” Lazlo replied, “I’m going to spend the rest of my afternoon doing some research. I’m intrigued by this jump rope song that Nasha was singing. I never could resist the lure of a hidden treasure, even if there is a curse attached to it.”

  “Your loss,” Sam said. He brought up the address Lazlo sent on his phone’s map and showed it to Remi.

  “That’s not too far from where Amal and I were today,” she said.

  In fact, it was very close, they realized after heading out. Remi pointed to the wind chimes tinkling from the balcony above them as they walked past. “She made a point to tell me I needed to look at what they were selling on the upper floor. No doubt to keep me from seeing her leave.”

  “Let’s find the address,” Sam said, following the directions on his phone.

  When they turned the corner, she said, “That’s definitely where Amal was. I’m sure of it.”

  “There?”

  “About midway down on the right. I stood here, watching her.”

  They continued onto the narrow street. Sam stopped in front of the address listed on his phone’s map. “Is this it?”

  “Definitely the same place.”

  Sam rapped on the door. When there was no answer, he approached someone who was sweeping the area in front of the adjoining shop. “Excuse me. Do you know what sort of business this is?”

  The man stared blankly.

  Remi repeated the question in French.

  “Antiquités,” he replied.

  Remi thanked him and he went back to his sweeping.

  “I have to say,” Sam said, “I didn’t expect that from Amal.”

  “There’s got to be a good explanation.”

  Sam studied the shop for a few moments. “Ask him if anyone will be there if we return this evening. We’d like to talk to the owners.”

  Remi repeated the question. “Unfortunately, no. The shop is closed at night. He believes the man who owns the place lives out in the country, but he has no way to contact him.”

  Sam looked at the man, nodding. “Merci,” he said. “We’ll stop by tomorrow.”

  He and Remi left. At the corner, he stopped to look back at the shop.

  “Tomorrow?” Remi asked, almost in disbelief.

  “Give or take a few hours.”

  Just after midnight, in fact. As in the past, they used a Bluetooth earpiece with their cell phones to communicate. They strolled down the narrow street where the antiquities shop was located, glad to see the area was completely deserted, every window dark. That bode well. Last thing they needed was a witness who might call the police.

  When they reached the shop, Remi stood as lookout while Sam picked the lock and opened the door. Once they were inside, he checked for a control panel on the wall but found none.

  “You’d think they’d have an alarm,” Remi said as he locked the door behind them. “Especially if they’re dealing in stolen antiques.”

  “Maybe they’re not worried about anyone stealing from them.” He took a quick look around. The front room was filled with artwork, Roman vases, and knickknacks artfully placed upon the antique furniture.

  Remi lifted an Etruscan vase. “No wonder they don’t have this place alarmed. These are fake.”

  “So why is a place dealing in fraudulent antiques selling the real deal?”

  She returned the vase to the shelf. “Who’s to say they aren’t trying to sell these as the real deal?”

  “I’ll check down here, you check upstairs.”

  Sam began his search in the front room. Finding nothing of interest, he moved down the hall to a small office, seeing a scarred mahogany desk covered with papers. Invoices, he realized as he shined his flashlight across them. Apparently, the Roman antiques they were selling out front were made in China.

  As he looked them over, he heard a scrape coming from the floor above him. “Remi? Everything okay?”

  “Fine. Looks like this is mostly inventory, still boxed up. Guess where all their antiquities come from?”

  “China?”

  “How’d you know?

  “Psychic,” he said, finding a piece of paper tucked in the corner of the desk blotter. He slipped it out, saw what looked like a hand-drawn map of the archeological park with an arrow pointing at the far end.

  LaBelle’s site.

  He put the map into his pocket and opened the top desk drawer, finding several more invoices clipped together along with a note that said Envoi.

  “Sam.” Remi’s soft voice in his earpiece held a note of tension. “There’s someone coming.”

  He grabbed the stack, rolled it into a tube, and shoved it into his back pocket, then drew his gun. “On my way.” He moved into the hall, gun at the ready. “I don’t hear anything, Remi. You’re sure?”

  “I’m at the balcony. They’re walking this way from the corner,” she said. “Hold on … Definitely coming this way.”

  “How many?”

  “Two. They’re at the door.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  Don’t seek to hurt any man;

  but if any man seeks to hurt, you may break his neck.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  Sam heard the sound of keys dropping, then someone fumbling with the lock.

  Finally, the door opened.

  Sam slipped behind an antique bureau and edged his way around it, keeping it between him and the two men as they entered. One of the men stumbled down the hallway, his words slurring as he said something about using the bathroom. The other stood a few feet away, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He dropped the pack, swore, and leaned down to pick it up. Sam couldn’t be positive, but he looked like the sa
me man who tried to steal Renee’s purse at the ruins.

  “Hamida? … That you?” the man said as his unfocused eyes landed on Sam’s shoes. Slowly, he straightened, reaching for his gun. “You’re not Ham—”

  Sam, gripping his revolver like a set of iron knuckles, drove his weighted fist into the guy’s jaw. His head snapped back, slamming into the wall, his gun firing into the ceiling as he slumped to the ground.

  “Tarek?” Hamida called out as Remi appeared in the stairwell. “What’s going on out there?”

  Sam took her hand as Hamida stumbled from the hall.

  “Sorry.” Sam guided Remi through the doorway. “Looks like your friend had a bit too much to drink.”

  “You …” He tried to draw his gun from his holster.

  Sam rushed out, pulling the door closed.

  Crack!

  Wood splintered behind him as he raced after Remi. A second shot rang out as they turned the corner, the sharp retort echoing between the buildings.

  “That was close,” Sam said once they reached their car.

  “You realize who they were? The two from the hotel.”

  “Had I known earlier, I would’ve clocked the other guy, too.”

  “Considering they tried to kidnap me,” she said, buckling her seat belt, “your restraint is exemplary.”

  “Only because we were the ones breaking in. Not exactly the time or place to kill anyone.”

  “I suppose you’re right. It would take a lot of explaining.” She sighed. “I just can’t see Amal being involved in this.”

  “Well, she’s involved somehow. Which means we’re going to have to confront her about it. Especially after finding this.” He handed Remi the slip of paper. “A map to the house—and the dig site where Warren’s body was found.”

  Remi turned on the cab light for a better look. “Oh no … There has to be a logical explanation.”

  “I can’t wait to hear it. I also found a bunch of invoices for assorted antiquities that were possibly shipped out. It’ll give us a good place to start our search for the stolen fragment.”