The Oracle (Fargo Adventures #11) - Clive Cussler Page 0,16

time he returned, Hank jogged up.

“Apparently,” Hank said, slightly out of breath, “parking around here is at a premium. Had to leave the car around the corner.” He eyed the dilapidated-looking warehouse. “Wouldn’t a bigger store get you better prices? It’d definitely get you a nicer place to shop.”

“That it would,” Sam said. “But Pete and Wendy prefer to work with the smaller businessman, trying to keep the money local.”

Hank wiped his brow, then looked out across the street at a restaurant. “Are you going to be a while? I’m starving and dying of thirst. Probably should have eaten a bigger breakfast.” He glanced at Sam. “Or am I being presumptuous? I should have asked if we had time.”

“No,” Sam said. “You’re fine. Remi and I just wanted to add a few extra things to our replacement order. They’ll still have to load the truck. Maybe an hour?”

“Plenty of time,” Hank said. “Amal? You’re welcome to join me.”

“Thank you, no. I’m going to wait here in the shade. Stretch my legs a bit.”

He crossed the street and stopped in surprise as a group of children ran up and surrounded him, some actually tugging on his shirt. At first he shook his head, but then reached into his pocket, pulling out some coins, tossing them into the air. Thinking to make his getaway, he turned, only to run into more kids coming in from the other direction. For a moment, it looked as though he’d be mobbed, but a police car drove by and the children scattered.

“Let’s hope he was smart enough to hold on to his wallet,” Sam said. He looked at Remi. “Shall we?”

“I’ll meet you inside.” She glanced over at Amal, worried about leaving her out there alone. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come in with us?”

Amal, looking at her phone, dropped it, staring almost in disbelief as it hit the ground.

Remi, concerned, picked up the phone, tried to hand it to her, but from the expression on the young woman’s face, it was almost as if Remi wasn’t even there. “Amal . . . ? Are you okay?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

No matter how good you are to a goat, it will still eat your yam.

– NIGERIAN PROVERB –

It was several seconds before Amal moved. She waved as though trying to clear cobwebs in front of her. “Throw back . . . your veils . . .” she said in French. And then, as quickly as it came over her, she seemed fine. “I . . . I think I had one of my spells.”

“It certainly looked like it.” Remi, afraid to leave her behind, guided her into the store. “Maybe you should wait in here until we’re done shopping.”

“Good idea.”

The white-haired clerk, seeing there was some sort of issue, brought out a plastic chair and placed it next to his counter. “I’ll watch her.”

“Thank you,” Remi said. She hovered over the young woman a few moments.

“I’m fine,” Amal said. “Really.”

“We’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Go. Please. I promise I’ll sit right here until you get back.”

Sam nodded toward Remi. “Sooner we get this done, sooner we can get on the road.”

* * *

—

“It was so odd,” Remi said, once they were out of hearing. “Almost as if she was looking right through me.” She followed him down the aisle, accessing the text Wendy had sent that morning of the additional items they needed for the school. “Ten buckets.”

Sam’s attention was on a boy, about twelve or so, standing near the endcap, peering at them through the shelves of liquid detergent. He’d been one of the children who’d crowded around Hank just before he’d walked into the restaurant across the street. “Buckets of what?”

“Of what?” Remi looked up, her green eyes filled with exasperation. “Seriously, Fargo. You’re beginning to worry me. Buckets for the school.”

“Sorry.” He glanced at the list on her phone, glad that the bulk of supplies were preordered, and waiting to be loaded on the truck out back. “Ten buckets,” he said.

Remi eyed him, then the boy at the end of the aisle. “You can’t think he’s any sort of problem. The first gust of wind would blow him away.”

Sam looked over at his wife, almost surprised. They were usually on the same page when it came to potential threats. “It’s not him I’m worried about. It’s his gang of pickpockets and thieves waiting outside for us. You saw them surround Hank.”

“You’re worried about Hank? Living in Tunisia, I imagine he’s got plenty of experience