The Oracle (Fargo Adventures 11)

She again picked up her drink, stirring the stalk of celery in the glass. “As I said, the police think he came to steal another piece of the mosaic when he fell. The deck repair wasn’t quite finished. It is now, but I should have had made sure it was done before I left.”

“That’s hardly your fault.”

“How could he have been so desperate that he couldn’t come to me if he needed money? I know it wasn’t drugs, so what was it that drove him to steal?”

“Maybe he had a gambling problem.”

“Maybe …” The two women sipped their drinks in silence, staring out at the pool, where a middle-aged man was swimming a slow lap down the length. “What I really need is to get back to work. I’m worried the university’s going to find out about Warren’s death, the embezzlement, my accident, then cut their funding and send us all home before we finish.”

Hearing the worry in her voice, Remi decided to hold off asking any more questions about the books or about Warren. “Forget everything else. Tell me about the villa.” For the next hour, they let their imaginations run wild about what they might find beneath all the rubble once it was cleared. Hearing her friend so animated over the project reaffirmed Remi’s belief that she’d taken the right course of action. Plenty of time to address the embezzled funds later.

When the waiter appeared, they ordered refills of their drinks. Remi watched him walk across the grounds toward the gate, stopping to talk to two men, one wearing a white shirt and black slacks, the other in khaki pants and a green shirt. She wouldn’t have given them more than a look in passing except that the hotel employee suddenly looked in their direction, giving Remi the distinct feeling that she and Renee were the topic of conversation. “Do you know either of those men?” Remi asked.

Renee shaded her eyes and shook her head. “No clue.”

Curious, Remi watched as the two strangers walked through the gate. They seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place them.

The two men smiled as they neared, yet their implied friendliness failed to reach their eyes. Remi looked around for something she could use as a weapon. The only thing remotely adequate were Renee’s crutches—unfortunately, on the other side of the lounge chair out of reach.

It wouldn’t have mattered. The men quickly closed in, one grabbing an abandoned towel from the back of a poolside chair as he walked past. He used it to cover the gun he pulled from beneath his shirt.

“Come with us,” the man said, the barrel of his gun level with Remi’s head. “And don’t make a sound.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

Noise and hunting don’t go together.

– AFRICAN PROVERB –

Nothing on Makao?” Sam asked, looking down at his phone, which was propped against the lamp on the desk for his video call. Pete shook his head. “Not yet. But they’re following up a few leads on some of his known friends. I did get some good news, though. Yaro was telling Okoro about Nasha’s uncle. When Okoro heard how Boko Haram invaded the village and burned down his farm, he suggested leasing a part of his tea fields to him. That way, Nasha can still attend the school, and he’ll be a lot closer. He’s agreed to come look at Okoro’s land to discuss a possible lease, then take a tour of the school.”

Lazlo, seated on the couch behind Sam, absorbed in something on the screen of the computer tablet he was holding, looked up at the news. “Good show,” he called out.

“Remi will be glad to hear that,” Sam said, glancing out the fourth-floor window. The hotel room overlooked the pool where Remi and Renee had taken up residence beneath an umbrella under one of the tall palms. What he didn’t expect to see was two men standing over the women, one with a towel draped over his hand. Had the man been a waiter, Sam might not have been so concerned. But the hotel staff wore uniforms, and neither man looked as though he was dressed for lounging around the pool.

“Once things settle down,” Pete said, “Yaro and I plan to head out and—”

Sam drew his gun and rushed to the balcony.

“Mr. Fargo?” Pete called out. “What’s going on?”

“Remi’s in trouble. Lazlo, call the police.” Through the palm fronds, he saw both women rise from their chairs, the two men taking up a position on either side. He heard Lazlo on the phone, but he knew the police would never get there in time. Nor would he, for that matter.

Those men would have his wife and Renee out the gate to the parking lot before he ever made it downstairs.

He aimed at the man closest to Remi, the one holding the towel, but the breeze gusted. The row of palm trees swayed, obscuring his vision. If he waited until they cleared the trees, his trusty .38 wasn’t going to cut it. There were too many guests scattered about on lounge chairs. And he didn’t dare leave the balcony to retrieve his wife’s Sig.

“Remi,” he shouted.

The man next to Remi looked up. She rammed her elbow into his side and swept upward, knocking his gun from his hand. He pushed Remi and dove for the weapon. Sam fired at the ground.

The gunman jerked to a stop. A few guests looked around, unsure what the sharp noise was. Sam fired about a foot behind the second kidnapper. The shot ricocheted, hitting the planter behind him. Guests screamed. Remi pivoted, grabbing one of Renee’s crutches, swinging it against the other man’s knees. As he stumbled forward, the first gunman lunged at the two women. Remi swung the crutch again, knocking him into the stone planter. He scrambled to his feet and dashed after his partner.

Several hotel employees ran out, surrounding the women, helping Renee to a chair. Lazlo was still on the phone as Sam raced to the stairs, taking them down two at a time. He burst through the door to the pool. “Remi.”

“I’m fine,” she said, looking at him. “We’re both fine.”

She looked at Renee, then walked over to Sam, speaking quietly. “Just a run-of-the-mill kidnapping attempt.”