The Oracle (Fargo Adventures #11) - Clive Cussler Page 0,32
the mountain of soil behind the shed doesn’t shrink.” Pete closed up the tunnel and the three men stepped out of the shed. “What we really need is to finish that second dorm and open up more beds. There’s a lot of interest from the neighboring villages.”
Considering the nearest village was over ten kilometers away, Sam was impressed. “Word’s getting around?”
“Definitely,” Yaro said.
“But,” Pete added, “until we hire more staff, get the planters built, and get the roof on the new dorm, we can’t take any more girls on. We want to make sure we have enough beds. More importantly, that the cellar can hold everyone we bring in.”
Sam gave him a hearty slap on the back. “Good thing I brought help. Speaking of, we should probably catch up to them.”
“I’m assuming you haven’t told Remi’s friends about the tunnel?”
“No. And I’m not planning to. For the same reason I don’t want anyone telling the students. All it takes is one word overheard by the wrong person when they think no one’s listening. Remi’s friends will be gone in a couple of days. None of this affects them in the least.”
Pete closed the shed. Yaro returned to help his wife, and the two men crossed the courtyard toward the classroom building. Inside, they found Remi and the others standing in the doorway of one of the main rooms, where the girls were seated at desks listening to a young woman speaking French and diagramming a sentence on the chalkboard.
Hank stood just outside the doorway, looking back at Wendy. “Why is she teaching French? Isn’t English the official language of Nigeria?”
“This close to the Cameroon border, we figured it was important for the girls to be fluent in both.”
“She seems young to be teaching.”
“Zara,” Wendy replied, keeping her voice low, “is sixteen. But she’s bright in most subjects and extremely gifted in languages, with a knack for retaining almost everything she’s ever read. Much like Mrs. Fargo,” she added, looking over at Remi. “Under normal circumstances, Zara might have been fast-tracked through the lower levels and already be at the university. Her father’s the one who brought her here. You passed his farm on the way up. He said she’d never be allowed that sort of education if she remained where she was.”
“She’ll get there,” Remi said. She motioned Sam to her side. “Look,” she whispered, pointing toward the back of the classroom where Nasha was seated, a small chalkboard in front of her on the desk, a navy backpack still strapped to her shoulders, her complete attention on the instructor.
Wendy smiled. “She’s had some schooling, but it’s clearly been a while. She reads and spells at the level of someone in kindergarten or first grade. Still, she wants to be here. That’s half the battle.”
Remi linked her arm around Sam’s as they left, the group walking down the hall toward the office. “Did you see how happy she was? She hasn’t taken that backpack off since they gave it to her.”
He saw—which was going to make it that much harder when it came time to tell the poor girl she wouldn’t be able to stay.
Remi, no doubt reading his mind, leaned in close, her voice low, heartbroken, as they walked. “You said we weren’t taking her back.”
“If we can’t find out who’s responsible for her, you know we won’t have any choice.”
She crossed her arms, her frustration evident. “Then we need to find them. Someone in this gang she was running with must know something.”
“Possibly.”
“Good. I vote you go talk to the last Kalu on your way to pick up Lazlo. I’ll see if I can’t get directions to his lair for you.”
“You realize Jalingo’s an hour and a half away from the airport?”
“Close enough, Fargo,” she said as Hank caught up to them.
“Hope I’m not interrupting.” He smiled at the group. “Just wondering about this building we’re supposed to be working on.”
It turned out that Hank was as proficient with a hammer and nails as Dr. LaBelle had claimed and they made good progress that first day and the next, finishing up some of the framing. While they worked, Amal, who was doing much better, spent time with the girls in the classroom, discussing archeology.
At their lunch break, they sat around the mess hall table, Remi nursing a blister on her hand from the hammer she’d been wielding. Sam helped apply a new Band-Aid. “A good pair of gloves should help.”
“Oh, no,” Amal said, indicating the food line where