Lazlo’s eyes practically gleamed at her announcement. “I’m ready to hear every one of those old legends.”
Before she could launch into one, Sam asked, “Did Warren know about this connection?”
“It wasn’t really a secret. He was one of the first people I told. I have to admit, he was very keen on the idea of looking for it.”
Remi and Sam exchanged glances. Sam knew Remi was thinking exactly the same thing that had crossed his mind. Ancient maps are valuable. Even more so when they lead to ancient treasures. And that usually drew all sorts of unsavory characters into the mix.
“Amal,” Sam said. “What about Dr. LaBelle? And Hank? What’d they have to say about it?”
“I don’t think Dr. LaBelle ever took it seriously. Not the curse or the map. She was all about preserving the mosaic floor and the architecture.”
“And Hank?”
“He was more concerned about Dr. LaBelle. Doing whatever she wanted.” Amal’s dark eyes looked troubled. “How do we make this right? If I’d ever thought that talking about family history would start any of this …”
“Understandable,” Sam said. “But learning the background will only help.”
“How?” she asked.
“Because now we know what we’re dealing with. Which means we can force Tarek and Hamida to play their hand and we can expose them to the police.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
A big fish is caught with big bait.
– SIERRA LEONEAN PROVERB –
As the waiter once again left the table, Remi said, “One problem, Fargo. How do we know they’re the only ones involved?”
“We don’t,” Sam said. “Which is why we don’t discuss this with anyone until the time is right.”
“Oh no.” Amal looked from Sam to Remi. “I hate to even suggest it, but what if it’s Osmond or José? They both live in the house with Dr. LaBelle and Hank. Those two would know every move they made, including the trip to Nigeria. And José’s always borrowing money.”
“Money,” Lazlo said, “is always a strong motivator. Did anyone else find it odd that out of all the people at the dinner table, José alone knew that the police had determined Warren’s death wasn’t an accident?”
“We need a plan,” Remi said.
“Something that will bring the players into the open,” Sam said. “The best way to set it up is at the house when everyone’s there.”
“That’s hardly a plan, Fargo.”
Amal looked disappointed. “Neither of you have any idea how to draw them out, do you?”
“No,” Sam said, reaching for the last of the banatages. “But that’s not unusual.”
Lazlo gave her a grim smile. “They do better under pressure.”
“I don’t,” Amal said. “But I do have an idea. What if I had one of my attacks and revealed a certain location and drew them to it?”
“That could work,” Remi said, imagining the possibilities.
Sam turned a bemused look Remi’s way. “Sorry. How does that help?”
“Visions, Fargo. Amal sees things that aren’t there.”
“Not sure that clears it up.”
“You heard her. She’s a direct descendant of the ancient oracles.” Remi eyed Amal. “That’s where you’re going with this, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I pretend to have one of my visions about where the map’s supposed to be.”
“Brilliant,” Lazlo said. “One question. Any chance your family legends have ever hinted at the actual location of this map?”
“Sadly, no,” Amal replied.
“I’ve got an idea,” Remi said. “What about something hidden in all that rubble? There must be a ton of it down there.”
Lazlo nodded. “Entirely plausible that something might be hidden beneath it.”
“If we really want to make it realistic,” Remi said to Amal, “you should reveal it in a riddle, since that’s how the ancient oracles used to talk. Assuming you think you can sell it, that is.”
“I think I can.”
“Perfect. What about tomorrow morning? They’re expecting us to show up for coffee.”
“One big flaw in that plan,” Sam said.
“What flaw?” Remi said. “Amal said she could pull it off.”
“We have to pick up Nasha’s uncle from the airport tomorrow morning.”
“Not a problem.” Remi smiled at Amal. “We’ll do it the moment we get back.”
Amal’s smile in return did not reach her eyes.
The following morning, when Sam pulled into the drive in front of the archeologists’ house, Remi looked out the car window and sighed as he parked. “I feel guilty coming over here to drink coffee while Renee’s sitting in jail.”
“She knows we’re doing everything we can,” Sam said. “When we get back from the airport, Amal can pretend to have her vision.”
“And while you’re gone,” Lazlo said as they got out of the car, “I’ll have Hank give me a proper tour of the underground villa. Familiarize myself with the area before we implement our plan.”
“Or look for a map?” Sam said.
“If, by chance, I stumbled across it, I wouldn’t be disappointed.”
“No doubt.”
Hank, looking worn, let them in. “Have you heard anything about LaBelle, yet?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Sam said.
“Neither have I. I only wish there was something I could’ve done,” he said, leading them into the kitchen, where José and Osmond sat at the table. “Had I not gotten sick at the school, I could’ve come back here with her. She wouldn’t have been alone when she found Warren. They would’ve believed her and gone after the real killer.”
“It’ll work out,” Sam said.
Hank brought a coffeepot and three mugs to the table, then went back to the stove and dumped a plate of chopped potatoes into the frying pan. They sizzled as soon as they hit the surface, the scent of onion and bacon filling the air. “We’re having a bit of a late start, but you’re welcome to join us for breakfast.”
“No, thank you,” Remi said. “We’ve eaten.”
“I haven’t,” Lazlo said. “I’d love a plate.”
Hank used a spatula to stir the potatoes. “Off to the airport this morning?” he asked, looking back at them.
“Sam and I are picking up Nasha’s uncle,” Remi said.
“Ah. Not you, professor?”
“No,” Lazlo said as someone knocked at the back door. “Thought I’d stick around here. Mr. Fargo mentioned that you might need some help clearing some of the rubble.”
“I’ll take any help I can get.” Hank tipped his head at Amal and Nasha as they walked in. “Breakfast?”
“Yes,” Nasha said.
Amal laughed. “You just ate.”
“I’m still hungry.”
Hank looked at the coffeepot, then at Amal. “Stir the potatoes. I’ll put another pot of coffee on.”
Amal took the spatula from him. “Any word yet on Dr. LaBelle?” she asked, adjusting the flame.
“No,” he said. “I don’t know how long these sorts of things take. Do you, Mr. Fargo?”
“I wish I did. I’ll try to call the embassy and see if we can get an update after we get back from the airport.”
The pan flared. Amal stepped back as smoke filled the stovetop.
Hank rushed over, turned off the burner, and covered the frying pan with the lid, smothering the fire. “Are you okay?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he waved his hand in front of her face. “Amal …?”
Nasha stepped closer to Remi. “It’s happening again.”
Amal stared, unseeing, out the window toward the olive grove, then in a soft, monotone voice said, “Beyond the pagan tombs … Before Saturn’s temple, he points to the water. Beware … Death to he who is not worthy.”
“Amal?” Hank said again. He took her by her hand, leading her to the empty chair next to Lazlo.
Remi glanced at Sam and then Amal, unsure what
to think.
A few seconds later, Amal blinked and looked down at the spatula in her hand. “What’s going on? Why do I have this?”
Hank took the spatula from her, setting it on the table. “I think you had one of your seizures.”
Lazlo, watching the entire episode with interest, said, “Actually, I think you were giving us a location of some sort.”
“I don’t remember …”
“You were saying something about the temple ruins.”
Hank went back to making the coffee. “We’ve been out there a million times.”
“Exactly where are these ruins?” Lazlo asked.
José pointed out the window in the direction Amal had been looking. “Down the hill, past the olive grove. But unless someone thinks they can move a few tons of marble, there’s nothing to be found out there.”
“Exactly what were you looking for?” Sam asked.
José shrugged. “I’m not sure anyone really knows. Os, weren’t you talking about it?”
Osmond, busy texting on his phone, glanced up in surprise. “What? No. I just remember everyone talking about a map, not what it led to.”
Once the coffeepot started up, Hank joined them at the table. “I’m not sure anyone really knows. It’s …” He looked at Sam. “You don’t think it has anything to do with what’s going on with LaBelle, do you?”
“It’s worth mentioning to the police,” Sam said. He checked the time on his watch. “We better hit the road if we want to get to the airport in time.” He and Remi rose. “You’re sure you want to stay, Lazlo?”
“Quite.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
Do not look where you fell but where you slipped.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
I’ll pick you up in five minutes,” Tarek said, then pocketed his phone.
Hamida, groggy from the pain pills, stirred on the sofa. “Who called?”
“No one,” he replied, doubting Hamida would remember they’d had a conversation at all. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
As he walked out the door, the sight of Hamida’s thick cast reminded him how dangerous Fargo was. The only thing that was going to stop that man was a barrage of bullets—and Tarek looked forward to making it happen.
A time and place for everything. First, he had a debt to collect.
When he arrived at Ben Ayed’s apartment, Ben was waiting out front, holding a hard-shell briefcase. Ex-military, an expert in hand-to-hand combat, Ben was also a former sniper, which made him invaluable should things not work out as planned.
The pair drove out to the archeological park, then continued past it until they reached the back road, parking in the same location Tarek had chosen that night he’d followed—and lost—the Fargos. The temple ruins were located beyond the olive grove on the same property belonging to the graduate student’s family. It was a hike from this direction. The hilly terrain beyond the vast grove meant there was no easy route to the ruins and excavation site. But the road would allow them to approach without being seen from the archeologist’s house.
Tarek parked and looked over at the briefcase on Ben’s lap. “I hope you brought extra ammo.”
“More than enough.” Ben opened the case, loaded up three magazines, and inserted one into his Vektor SP1 9mm, the South African version of the Beretta 92F. He pulled back the slide, chambered a round, then slid the gun into his holster, the magazines into his belt pouch, pulled his shirt over that, and shoved the gun case beneath the front seat. “Doubt I’ll need that much.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Tarek said, checking his own weapon. “If the Fargos get back before we’re done, you’ll change your mind.”
“If you’re so worried, why not wait?”
“Because I have a reputation to protect. What good is my word if I allow one person to get away with dictating the terms of repayment?”
“A shame that whole ransom thing didn’t work,” Ben said as they started the long walk toward the ruins.
The very thought of it angered Tarek. What should have turned a profit ended up wasting both time and money. The plan had been doomed from the beginning—his fault for not doing a better search of the Fargos’ background. And as much as he’d like to recoup his losses, he was willing to write it off in exchange for putting a bullet in Sam Fargo’s head. The original debt, though?
Not a chance he was willing to let that go. The only way to ensure that no one ever tried to take advantage of him was to send a very clear and unmistakable message.
He didn’t care how old or how young, male or female—if the money wasn’t there, he was going to put a bullet in every one of their heads.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
Life is lived forward, but understood backward.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
The timing of Amal’s seizure bothered Sam, but Nasha’s presence prevented him from discussing it with Remi, who managed a simple “That was odd” as the three got into the car, then drove to the airport.
“I’m glad Lazlo’s there to keep an eye on things.” No doubt, they’d sort it out after they got back.
“How was the flight, Mr. Atiku?” Sam asked once they were in the car on their way to Bulla Regia.
“Much smoother than my last trip.”
Nasha’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you’ve been on a plane before. It was my first time.”
“Many years ago when I was in the army … Will we see Professor Lazlo? Chuk’s parents wanted me to personally thank him for helping to get Chuk away from Kambili. He was—what’s the American term?—fly man.”
“Wingman,” Sam said as he slid in behind the wheel.
“What’s a wingman?” Nasha asked.
“A helper,” Sam said.
“Was I a good wing girl?”
Sam glanced at her in his rearview mirror. “The best. Maybe even better than Lazlo.”
She beamed as she sat back in her seat.
“Buckle up,” Sam said as he pulled away from the curb.
A few minutes into the trip, his phone rang.
Remi looked at it where it sat in the console. “Wendy,” she said. “Probably wants to make sure we picked up Nasha’s uncle. She’s turned into a regular mother hen, taking care of those girls.”
Sam laughed. “That she has.”
He navigated through the airport traffic while Remi spoke to Wendy. After a minute of back-and-forth, she said, “I’ll put it on speaker and you can tell him yourself … Go ahead.”
“Something wrong?” Sam asked.
“More like perplexed,” Wendy replied. “Remember the missing nails?”
Sam surveilled Nasha in the rearview mirror, then her uncle. “I thought we’d decided that was all water under the bridge.”
“We did,” she said quickly. “But Yaro found about forty or more boxes of nails buried in the dirt pile behind the shed. He thinks that—”
Nasha sat up, gripping the seat back. “I didn’t take them, Mr. Fargo.”
Sam cleared his throat loudly. “Did I mention you’re on speaker and Nasha and her uncle are sitting in the backseat?”
“That’s why I’m calling,” Wendy said. “I believe her.”
“Why do I detect there’s more to this than Nasha’s hurt feelings?”
“Because everything she took when she first got here had to do with food or little things that she found and claimed. And all of it went straight into her backpack. Hiding forty boxes of nails—I’m not sure she could’ve carried them by herself. As many as Yaro found, they probably weighed as much as she did.”
“Weren’t they in boxes?”
“Yes. But they were all hidden inside a large burlap sack, which would make the load a bit heavy for a girl her size. And then there’s the bottle of pills.”
“I didn’t steal those,” Nasha said. “I found them.”
“What kind of pills?” Sam asked Wendy.
“Some morphine derivative. Amo … Avo … I don’t recall.”
A feeling of dread worked its way into Sam’s gut. Praying that he was wrong, he checked his mirror and pulled to the side of the road. “Wendy, I need to see that bottle. It’s important.”
“I’ll get it and call right back.”
The moment she disconnected, Sam looked over at Remi. “Call Lazlo.”
Nasha’s uncle leaned forward. “What’s this about Nasha taking things?”
“I only took things no one wanted.”
“Voice mail,” Remi said. She left a message for him to call immediately, then texted the same.
A minute later, Sam’s phone lit up with the video call. Wendy’s face filled the screen. “Here it is, Mr. Fargo.” She held the bottle in front of the camera, the black letters on the label clear and crisp.
Sam’s gut twisted at the sight and Remi caught her breath. “Apomorphine,” Sam said. “That’s not a pain pill. It’s an emetic to induce vomiting.” He shifted around in his seat. “Nasha, where’d you find them?”
She crossed her arms, tucking her chin to her chest, refusing to meet his gaze.
Her uncle placed his hand on her shoulder. “My sweet Nasha. If you know something, you need to tell them.”
She looked at Sam, then Remi, her eyes shimmering with tears. “I didn’t steal anything.”
“I know you didn’t,” Sam said.
Remi, her voice soft, asked, “Where did you find the pills?”
Tears streaked her cheeks as she looked at her uncle. “Do I have to tell?”
“If you know the answer,” he said.
Nasha brushed her eyes with the back of her hand and looked at Sam. “I found them on the floor in the office bathroom.”
That was the last thing Sam wanted to hear. “You’re sure this is the same bottle that you found?”
She glanced at the phone screen, where Wendy held the small container. “Yes.”
“Thank you, Nasha. You’ve been a big help.”
“A wing girl?”
“More than you know.”
The Oracle Page 30