The Oracle (Fargo Adventures #11) - Clive Cussler Page 0,62
armed guards stood watching the east side of the property, looking in the direction of the road leading up into the hills to the school. Sam watched them for a few minutes.
Lazlo shifted beside him, whispering, “Shouldn’t we go now while their attention’s diverted?”
“Patience. I want to make sure it stays diverted.” About two minutes later, one of the men started walking toward the farmhouse directly across the route he and Lazlo would have taken. Sam waited until he was around the corner, then motioned for Lazlo to follow. They edged along the side of the barn and hid behind the tailgate of an oxidized blue Toyota pickup parked between the two buildings. Sam peered over the tailgate toward the house. Someone inside walked past the backlit window.
Definitely too short to be Okoro.
“Wait here,” Sam whispered. “I want a better look.”
Lazlo nodded.
Sam checked both directions, then ran to a rain barrel beneath the downspout next to the window, crouching behind it. He started to rise when one of the guards rounded the corner making a beeline toward the pickup where Lazlo was hiding.
Sam, tracking the guard with his gun sight, motioned for Lazlo to remain where he was. The guard stopped by the driver’s door, pulled it open, and reached inside, retrieving a bottle of water. But instead of taking it with him back on his rounds, he stood there, drinking. As much as Sam wanted to take the guy out right then—and he might have, had he thought doing so would get the man to finish his drink—he wasn’t about to start a gunfight. Not until he knew how many people he was dealing with and whether or not the girls were anywhere on the premises.
The man capped the bottle, tossed it onto the seat of the car, and closed the door. Rather than returning to the front of the farm, he walked toward the open barn door. Just a few more feet and he’d have tripped over Lazlo to get past him. Sam moved his finger from the trigger guard to the trigger, increasing the pressure with each step the man took. Someone called out from the front and the guard stopped, pivoted, walked quickly in that direction.
The moment he turned the corner, Sam glanced at Lazlo, who was leaning his head on the rear bumper of the Toyota, clearly rattled. Finally, he looked over at Sam, giving him a thumbs-up.
Sam nodded, then moved to the window, peering in. Zara’s father sat in a wooden chair, his hands bound behind him, his lower lip cut and swollen, staring defiantly at two armed men inside the room. Okoro’s three farmhands were seated on the floor next to him, looking scared but unharmed.
Four hostages. Four gunmen. Two inside, two outside.
Returning to the rain barrel, he motioned Lazlo over.
Lazlo hurried across the dirt drive, crouching beside him. “I daresay, you and Mrs. Fargo do this all the time,” he whispered, watching Sam unsnap the pouch on his belt that held the speed loaders for his Smith & Wesson. “But . . .”
“But what?” Sam said.
“I was rather hoping we’d get through this without killing anyone.”
“That ship sailed the moment they kidnapped the girls, never mind my wife.”
“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”
“If it helps, they’ll probably try to kill us first.”
“I feel better already.”
Sam clapped his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Now, let’s go get those two guards.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Where a woman rules, streams run uphill.
– ETHIOPIAN PROVERB –
Like Amal, Remi held a thick clump of long grass to cover the footprints of the girls who’d gone on ahead—Amal working her way up the steep, moonlit trail toward the trees, while Remi worked her way back to the truck to speed the process. With as many men as Makao had working for him, it wouldn’t be long before they had their tires changed.
Remi swept her gaze over the portion of the trail visible from the road, satisfied that the prints were no longer so obvious. “I think we’re good,” she said.
Amal glanced behind her, the girls long gone from sight. When she looked down at Remi, her smile faltered. “You are coming back . . . aren’t you?”
“That’s my goal,” Remi said. The last thing she wanted to do was add to Amal’s stress and possibly induce a seizure. “But if I don’t, keep going, no matter what. And trust Nasha’s instincts. I have a feeling she’s done this before. Now hurry.”