The Oracle (Fargo Adventures #11) - Clive Cussler Page 0,3
Tzazon’s neck.
Gelimer’s heart clenched. His pulse roared in his ears. He charged faster, driving his sword into the giant’s chest, watching as he stumbled backward, dead before he hit the ground.
Gelimer slid from his horse, staring at his brother’s fallen body. The battle raged on around him. The sounds dimmed, the world darkened.
“My Lord,” Euric called. “We need orders.”
Gelimer heard nothing.
“My King,” Euric grabbed him by his shoulder. “Your men await your orders.”
“All that is left is shadow . . .” He dropped to his knees. The battlefield was littered with the Vandal dead. His men. Tzazon’s men. “Naught remains but vanity . . .” He struggled to breathe. “Tzazon . . .”
“He’s dead,” Euric said. “And you will suffer the same fate if we don’t get out of here.” Euric pulled him to his feet.
Gelimer remembered nothing afterward. Somehow, he found himself on horseback, following Euric, while the remnants of the Vandal Army fled in every direction.
CHAPTER ONE
A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.
– CHINESE PROVERB –
THE PRESENT DAY
La Jolla, California
Sam Fargo checked the figures for the second time. No doubt about it. There were several discrepancies in the accounting of the money that the Fargo Foundation had sent to fund an archeological dig in Tunisia. “It doesn’t look good.”
His wife, Remi, leaned toward the computer screen, her green eyes troubled as she scrutinized the numbers. She tucked a lock of auburn hair behind her ear, then suddenly rose, pacing the floor behind him. “How could this have happened? Renee LaBelle is one of my oldest friends. I can’t just pick up the phone and start asking all these questions. It’ll sound like I’m accusing her.”
Sam swiveled his desk chair around to face her. Remi and Dr. Renee LaBelle had been roommates at Boston College and friends ever since. “As long as you two have known each other? I doubt she’ll take offense. But if we don’t reconcile our figures with hers, we’re all going to have issues at tax time.”
Remi stopped, looking at the monitor. “At least she backs up everything with ledgers. I remember her saying they had problems when they switched over to that new accounting program. That was right around the same time. Maybe there was a glitch. Something must have gotten entered wrong.”
A very big glitch. And several somethings, Sam thought. A year ago, when Remi had suggested that the Fargo Foundation fund Renee LaBelle’s archeological dig at Bulla Regia, he’d been against it from the very beginning. Though he and Remi had started the charitable organization to take on worthy projects of this type, he knew from experience that good friendships didn’t always survive the discovery of bad money management. He’d mentioned this at the time, but Remi had her heart set on helping her friend, and had assured him that Renee LaBelle’s past archeological projects had been very successful.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case now. “We won’t know anything until we sit down with her and go over the figures,” he said. “Tell Renee our accountant is the one asking the questions. Like a tax thing. Which it is.” Sam glanced at the clock. Just after ten in the morning. “What are they, eight hours ahead?” He picked up Remi’s smartphone from the desk, handing it to her.
She pulled up a chair next to Sam. “Phone call or video? Video,” she said before he could answer. “That’s a little more personal. Don’t sit too close. If she sees you, she’ll think we’re ganging up on her.”
Sam leaned away from her as she made the call. Her friend’s face filled the screen, her expression one of mild surprise. “Remi. Hold on. Let me step outside where it’s a little quieter. I’m at dinner with the crew.”
“Finish eating. It can wait. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the books. For taxes.”
“No. No. I’ve been meaning to call—”
“Who is it, LaBelle?” came a male voice in the background.
“Remi Fargo,” she said. “Questions about the books.”
A man’s face appeared on the screen next to Renee’s. “I’ve been telling LaBelle she needs to call you to set up a meeting.”
Her friend nodded. “He has,” she said, then seemed to realize that Remi had no idea who the man next to her was. “Sorry. This is Hank, our new site manager. Hank, Remi Fargo. She and her husband head up the Fargo Foundation. I’m sure Sam can’t be too far away.”
“Right next to me,” Remi said, turning the screen to show