The Oracle (Fargo Adventures #11) - Clive Cussler Page 0,24

it into her short dark hair, attempting to blend into her surroundings.

Remi, both fascinated and horrified that a child that young was proficient in camouflage techniques, belly-crawled next to them, drew her gun, then double-checked her phone to make sure the ringer was off. Just in time, too. She peered through the tall grass to her left, watching the yellow vehicle’s tires bouncing across the ruts in the road, jarring its occupants.

The car drove past. It skidded to a stop about fifteen feet behind the Fargos’ supply truck. Dust rose and drifted on the wind as two men got out, their backs to the women. They stood behind their open doors, each holding a handgun, aiming at the truck.

“That’s them,” Nasha whispered. “Two of the Kalu brothers. Bako is the one closest to us.”

“Whatever happens,” Remi said, “keep your head down and don’t make a sound.”

She nodded.

Remi had a clear shot of the man standing behind the front passenger’s door just fifty feet away. Unfortunately, the driver was on the far side of the car. If she took the shot, she risked giving up their position—something she wasn’t about to do unless left with no other choice. Though she and Sam had successfully used this tactic just outside Mozambique, the two of them splitting up to take out their enemy, neither had to worry about trying to protect three other lives at the same time.

She set her cell phone on the ground in front of her, calling Sam’s number. “We’re in place. I take it you and Hank made it to the sidelines?”

“He wouldn’t leave.”

Her gaze flew to the supply truck. A complication they hadn’t expected or needed. She had little time to worry about it. Another dust cloud in the distance—this one from the opposite direction—grew rapidly. Within seconds, the square front end of a white pickup came into view, the vehicle slowing as it veered around the suspicious layer of leaves and grass stretched across the road. It skidded to a stop in front of the now empty Land Rover and, beyond it, their supply truck. Both doors of the pickup opened, but no one got out. Their tinted windows blocked Remi’s view.

Crack! Crack!

Two shots hit the dirt in front of the white pickup. The shooter, the driver of the yellow car, draped his arm over his open door, his handgun haphazardly pointed toward the new visitors. “This cargo belongs to us. Leave.”

“Didn’t see that coming,” Remi whispered. “Different groups?”

“Looks like it,” Sam said. Ears ringing from the gunshots, she barely heard his low voice coming from her phone. “This is not going to end well.”

Though she couldn’t see Sam, she knew he was positioned on the same side of the road to her right—which meant he had a far better view of the pickup’s occupants. The driver stuck both hands out his open door to prove he wasn’t armed. “Don’t shoot,” he shouted. Tall and slim, he had a scar running down the left side of his face. He stood next to his truck, staring at the Kalu brothers. “I’m sure we can work this out in a friendly manner.”

“Scarface,” Nasha whispered.

“Makao?” Bako seemed shocked to see him. “I . . . I didn’t know it was you.”

“So I see. Turn around and we’ll just forget this happened.” Makao gave a semi-smile to his would-be attackers.

Bako’s brother motioned with his gun. “This cargo is ours.”

“Keep it.” Makao rubbed at the scar on his cheek, then slid behind the wheel. He backed the pickup, made a three-point turn, but instead of driving off, he stopped the vehicle. Two men pointing assault rifles jumped up from the pickup bed. A deafening rat-a-tat-tat followed as they peppered the Kalu brothers, their bodies jerking from the force of the bullets. Nasha stifled a sob as they slumped to the ground. Though Remi wanted to comfort the child, she didn’t dare let down her guard. Thankfully, Amal reached over, placing her shaking hand on the child’s shoulder, whispering something in her ear.

“Remi?” Sam’s low voice from her phone brought a sense of relief. They were in this together. They’d get out of it the same way.

“We’re fine,” she said as the two shooters hopped out of the pickup bed. They circled around the far side of the Fargos’ Land Rover, aiming their rifles at it. One glanced in, then pointed toward the supply truck. They walked past it, the lower part of their legs visible beneath the truck’s chassis. When they reached