The Oracle (Fargo Adventures #11) - Clive Cussler Page 0,121
bark splintered across his face.
Tarek laughed. “That’d be the sharpshooter who took Hamida’s place.”
Sam fired and ducked back. Tarek stopped laughing.
Sam checked the cylinder of his gun, saw the expended rounds, then looked out across the field toward Remi. If there was ever a time he needed her to read his mind, this was it. But just in case, he shouted in her direction to make sure she heard. “Hey, Tarek. You ever play poker?”
“Shouldn’t you be praying? Step out. I promise to make it quick.”
“Number one rule,” Sam shouted. “Never let them know when you’ve got an ace in the hole.” He glanced across the field at his wife.
C’mon, Remi . . .
And there it was. Movement from the orchard drawing their attention.
Tarek and his partner fired at Lazlo’s shirt, the rat-a-tat-tat sounding like a war zone.
Sam sidestepped the tree, squeezed the trigger, killing the sharpshooter.
“Drop the gun, Tarek.”
Tarek froze. He started to lower his weapon, then suddenly stopped. “Poker . . .” A sly smile spread across his face as he took a step forward, raising his gun. “You’re out of ammo.”
Crack!
The man faltered, crumpling to his knees. “I . . . thought . . .”
He fell to the ground.
“Thought wrong,” Sam said as he walked up. He had put a bullet in the man’s head. He leaned down and took the gun from his lifeless hand.
Sam picked up the other shooter’s gun, making sure he was dead, and walked down the hill. Remi raced out of the orchard toward Hank, Lazlo close behind as he tugged on his bullet-riddled shirt.
“Hank,” she said, kneeling beside him. “Are you okay?”
He looked up at her, his face ashen. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to raise his hand but lacking the strength. “Tell LaBelle . . . I’m sorry . . .”
Within moments, he was dead.
“We better wait at the house,” Sam said.
Amal saw them as they emerged from the orchard and ran out. It was clear she’d been crying. “How could he do this?” she asked. “Pretending to like Dr. LaBelle. It’ll break her heart.”
“We may never know,” Remi said.
“What if you hadn’t come along, Mrs. Fargo? What if . . . Maybe some of this is my fault for not realizing—”
“He conned all of us,” Remi said, putting her arm around Amal’s shoulders. “Who knows how long he was setting this up?”
“Remi’s right,” Sam said. “It’s only a matter of time connecting the irregularities in the books to his actions.”
Amal gave a slight nod as a faint siren sounded in the air. “I think I’ll wait inside until the police come.”
She walked off, leaving Sam, Remi, and Lazlo standing alone in the field.
“I feel bad for her,” Remi said. “First the kidnapping at the school, then this. Still, she reminds me of Nasha in a way.”
“How?” Sam asked.
“Extremely resilient in the face of insurmountable odds. I’m not sure the average graduate student could’ve handled everything the way she has.”
“I hope you’re right,” Lazlo said as the shrill sirens nearly drowned out his voice. In a moment, they were surrounded by the police.
CHAPTER NINETY-TWO
One who causes others misfortune also teaches them wisdom.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
THREE DAYS LATER . . .
You must be glad that they found Makao,” Renee said as she sat with the Fargos and Lazlo at the kitchen table. The police investigation into the shooting had consumed much of their time with endless rounds of questioning, phone calls, and visits to the Fargos’ hotel, and they were told to expect still more interviews in the coming days as the detectives pieced together everything Hank had done. Renee, at least, was finally home. “He’s dead?”
“Very,” Remi added.
Lazlo gave a small smile as he rose and moved toward the window. “Apparently, Mrs. Fargo’s shot caused a serious infection. Had he sought proper medical care, he’d be rotting in prison instead of a grave.”
“I’m sure that was foremost in his mind,” Sam said.
“Regardless,” Remi continued. “It’s making life for Pete and Wendy a lot easier. Wendy’s hoping that with the military clearing out, the school can get back to a normal routine. More importantly, Nasha and her uncle can go home.”
José walked into the kitchen, a tilt of the head to them as he made for the coffeepot. “Did Dr. LaBelle tell you that we found a wire yesterday?”
“Where?” Sam asked.
Renee brought up a photo of the battery-operated listening device on her phone, showing it to Sam. “Taped right here underneath this table. We turned it over to the police.”