The Oracle (Fargo Adventures 11)

“Somehow, I doubt the two that got away are going to give us up.”

“Good point.” They walked back toward the cars and Remi nodded to the tack strip farther up the road. “What about that?”

“Take it with us. I’d hate to see someone else run over it.”

They gathered the road spikes, then left as soon as Sam called the police to report what looked like a shoot-out between two groups on the road. Once again, he had Hank join him in the supply truck. If they were attacked again, Remi was armed and could protect the women.

Hank didn’t argue with Sam’s decision. In fact, he didn’t say much at all. Sam glanced over at him about twenty minutes into their trip, noting the still-pale pallor of his face. “You okay?”

“A bit shaken, is all,” Hank said. “I … I had no idea …”

“No idea what?” Sam asked, turning his attention back to the road.

“You and your wife both carry guns?” He nodded to the Land Rover driving in front of them.

“Depends on where we are.”

“What about at the school?”

“What about it?”

“Guns. Children. It seems to me that’d be a bad mix.”

“So are terrorists. Which is why some on our staff there are also armed. There’s never a time the girls are left without protection.”

“It doesn’t scare the children?”

“They’re not even aware.”

“I suppose that’s best.” He was quiet for several moments, then looked over at Sam. “You don’t think they’ll come after us? The men who got away?”

“Why would they?”

“Revenge? You killed their friends.”

“If they do, we’ll be ready.”

After several hours, they passed through bali, then serti, where the military barracks were located. Eventually, the winding road meandered through the lush forests and thick undergrowth of Gashaka Gumti National Park. The sun hung low on the horizon by the time Sam neared the property belonging to Okoro Eze, a tea farmer who lived just outside the park’s border. His property extended to both sides of the road and included the easement that led up to the mountainside parcel that the Fargos had purchased for the school.

Sam followed the single lane on the southeast border of the plantation. Down a long drive to the right, next to a stand of eucalyptus trees, he saw Okoro’s small house and an outbuilding, the solar panels on the former’s roof looking oddly out of place as electricity of any kind was a rarity this far out. The panels were there because the Fargos had paid for their installation since the Mambilla farmer, a widower, had refused money for the use of his land. A hardworking man, he was grateful that his daughter, Zara, had a nearby school to attend and could get the education he felt she deserved.

Okoro and Zara’s situation was, unfortunately, hardly unique. The lack of transportation combined with the long trek through rough terrain of steep slopes and deep gorges made it difficult for most girls living in the scattered villages this far out on the Mambilla Plateau and surrounding areas to even think of attending school. The idea had been Wendy and Pete’s after they’d spent one of their vacations hiking through the vast national park. With the Fargos’ blessing, and the Foundation’s money, the two had returned to Nigeria to bring their dream to fruition.

Just past Okoro’s home, Remi turned off onto a dirt road to the left. Sam, in the heavily laden truck, followed at a much slower pace. One day, they hoped to get the road paved, but for now it was a good thirty-minute series of sharp turns through the montane forest just to get to the school. About midway up, they passed a wooden sign announcing

LOWER GASHAKA TRAIL

WATCH OUT FOR PEDESTRIANS

About a quarter of a mile higher, just before the next hairpin turn, a second warning sign announced Upper Trail. It was another fifteen minutes before the steep, winding road started leveling off. The last half mile was a straight shot to the school, which was set on its own plateau in the forest, the landscape protecting it from flooding during the rainy season.

Pete met them at the open gate and Wendy stood on the porch just outside the office. In their twenties, they were both tall, tanned, and blond, Pete’s hair cut short and Wendy’s pulled back into a ponytail. Pete waved them in, then locked the gate behind them.

Chickens scurried as Sam idled forward across the wide graveled drive. He parked in front of the main building, a long one-story bungalow, its whitewashed siding tinged orange from the late-afternoon sunlight. It was one of four almost identical buildings—the office/staff quarters, the cafeteria/classrooms, and two dorms, one not yet finished—all constructed in a circle around a large courtyard just visible between the structures. To Sam’s right, at the far end of the grounds, about a half-dozen girls were kicking a ball back and forth in what looked like a half-field version of soccer.

The weather up here was significantly cooler than in Jalingo, something Sam noticed the moment he jumped out of the truck. He walked back to Pete, who was making his way from the gate. “A little later than planned,” Sam said, shaking hands with him. “But we’re here.”

Pete glanced at Hank as he helped the women unload their luggage from the back of the Land Rover. “I thought you were bringing three guests? Who’s missing?”