The Oracle (Fargo Adventures 11)

“Lucky for us, we’ve brought the cavalry.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

A snake can shed its skin but it still remains a snake.

– AFRICAN PROVERB –

The village was much smaller than Makao had anticipated, but he hoped they’d be able to use that to their advantage and quickly find the girl’s uncle. The sooner they found him, the sooner they’d be able to lure the Fargos into his scheme.

“How do you know the man?” Makao asked, looking in the rearview mirror at the young boy sleeping in the backseat.

“Never met him,” Kambili said. “Word got out that I took in homeless boys.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart. They forget to mention the way you help them is by turning them into street thieves?”

“They’d starve to death if not for me.”

More like Kambili would starve to death if not for the kids, Makao thought, ignoring the stares of the people as he drove past. One problem with a village this small was that everyone knew everyone. He and Kambili would definitely stand out. “We need to think of a good reason why we’re searching for this guy.”

“Trying to bring Jonathon Atiku’s nephew home.”

“Niece.”

Kambili shifted in his seat, looking back at the sleeping boy. “What about him?”

“What do I care? Take him back with you when we’re done. We need to find Atiku’s farm. Once we have Atiku, we can contact the Fargos and give them our ultimatum. When they bite, we move in.”

It didn’t take long to drive the length of the village. There was one dirt road through the center, and there were a number of burned huts in the south part of the village. Most of those that still stood were made of mud, some with corrugated tin roofs, others with thatched. “Wake him,” Makao said.

Kambili reached back, slapping Chuk’s knee. “We’re here.”

The boy stirred, sitting up. He looked around, confused. “Where are we?”

“This is your village, isn’t it?” Makao asked. “Where does Nash’s uncle live?”

Chuk shrugged. “I don’t know. This doesn’t look right.”

Makao, seeing a woman carrying a jug on her way toward the well, rolled down his window. “We’re looking for Jonathon Atiku.”

She shook her head and quickened her pace. After several more attempts to ask other locals, Makao and Kambili got out, Kambili pulling Chuk from the cab, holding his hand tight as they walked along the street. Chuk seemed baffled, unable to determine where the Atiku farm was located. “Everything looks different,” he said, staring at the burned-down huts.

Makao tried offering money to some of the locals for information. Even then people backed away.

“I don’t understand,” Kambili said. “Why won’t they tell us what we want to know?”

Makao stepped in front of a young man, holding several bills out to him. “Where do we find Jonathon Atiku’s house?”

The young man gave Makao an odd look. “It’s your money,” he said, grabbing the bills. “This way.” He led them past a few huts and pointed to the east. “That’s his farm. A year ago, Boko Haram burned it because he hid the boys working his fields.”

There was nothing left but a blackened shell of crumbling walls.

“Where is he?” Makao asked.

“Dead, I guess.” He backed away, then ran off.

“Hey.” Kambili started to follow.

“Let him go.” Makao looked down at the boy, noting the fear in his eyes. “Where would Nash’s uncle go?”