The Oracle (Fargo Adventures #11) - Clive Cussler Page 0,31

here. Eventually, we’ll do the same to the other buildings.”

Wendy nodded. “A shame we have to think that way, but with so many of these terrorist groups against educating women, it was a necessity.”

“I like the setup,” Sam said, giving a nod of approval as he looked around. He especially liked the way the buildings surrounded the courtyard, making it very defensible. He turned toward Pete. “You have that inventory list?”

Pete held up the clipboard. “I had a feeling you’d want to go over that.”

“Let’s get started.” He put his hand on Remi’s shoulder. “I’ll catch up with the rest of you in a bit. No sense boring all of you with paperwork.”

“Just make sure you’re back in time for the hard labor.” She smiled at Wendy. “Let’s go see those classrooms.”

“This way,” Wendy said, leading Remi, Amal, and Hank out of the courtyard.

Sam and Pete walked off the opposite direction, Sam looking over the clipboard, which was nothing more than a copy of the invoice he’d picked up from the warehouse in Jalingo. They pretended interest in what was on the paper until the others disappeared inside. As soon as the door closed, Sam glanced at Pete. “Let’s take a look at this thing.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

In the moment of crisis, the wise build bridges, the foolish build dams.

– NIGERIAN PROVERB –

Pete led Sam around to the back of the circular shed. To their left was the pen with a couple of dozen goats. The two full-time live-in staff members, Yaro and his wife, Monifa, were feeding the animals. When Yaro saw them looking at the dirt piled behind the shed, he said something to his wife, then walked over and joined them.

“Yaro,” Sam said, shaking hands with him.

“Glad you made it out here, Mr. Fargo.”

Sam nodded at the dirt. “I see you’ve made good progress.”

“Slow, but steady,” Yaro said.

“Let’s go see how it’s coming along.”

Yaro led them back to the courtyard garden area, gesturing to one of the raised beds, this one with seedlings planted in neat rows, some sort of squash by the looks of the leaves. “That’s how we get rid of it.”

“So far, so good,” Pete said. “No one’s seemed to notice that no matter how much dirt we shovel from the pile, it doesn’t seem to get smaller.”

“How far did this get you?” Sam asked him.

“About the size of a decent basement, which should hold everyone.”

“Stocked?”

“With the basics. Air vents hidden beneath the buildings.” He pointed to the raised foundation of the dorm and schoolroom, grilles visible under each but looking like they belonged to the main structure. “I’d say with what’s down there, they could last a good week to ten days.”

“Longer,” Yaro said, “if we can double the size and get more water stored.”

Sam studied the rows of planters, noting they were mostly complete. “There’s enough lumber in the back of that truck for at least five more planters, in addition to shoring up your cellar,” Sam said, taking a look around the courtyard. “Just not sure where you plan to put more of them.”

“Behind the dorms,” Pete replied. “Wendy calls it functional greenery. It’ll hide the goat pen.”

Yaro glanced over at his wife. “Monifa has told me that the girls are growing suspicious of the dirt. She’s told them it’s a secret project for the garden. So far, that’s kept them from asking more questions.”

Sam nodded in approval. “Looks like the two of you thought of everything. Let’s go see this cellar.”

He followed Pete and Yaro to the shed. Pete opened the door, then stepped back, giving Sam a view inside. Gardening and building tools lined the wall and shelves. The three men entered, Pete closing the door behind them. When he turned a hook on the wall counterclockwise, Sam heard a soft click underneath the wooden floor next to a wooden pallet piled high with empty burlap sacks. Pete pressed on one of the planks with his foot. Another click sounded and the trapdoor raised up slightly.

“The knothole is the handle,” Pete said, lifting it open the rest of the way, revealing a dark tunnel accessed by a ladder leading straight down.

Sam leaned over, looking in. “How long until it’s done?” he asked, his voice echoing into the space.

“At the pace we’re going . . .” Pete thought about it a moment. “Assuming we can get the extra planters built, a couple of more weeks. It’s all about having a place to hide the dirt. Like I said, no one’s commented that