The Oracle (Fargo Adventures 11)

The following morning, when Sam pulled into the drive in front of the archeologists’ house, Remi looked out the car window and sighed as he parked. “I feel guilty coming over here to drink coffee while Renee’s sitting in jail.”

“She knows we’re doing everything we can,” Sam said. “When we get back from the airport, Amal can pretend to have her vision.”

“And while you’re gone,” Lazlo said as they got out of the car, “I’ll have Hank give me a proper tour of the underground villa. Familiarize myself with the area before we implement our plan.”

“Or look for a map?” Sam said.

“If, by chance, I stumbled across it, I wouldn’t be disappointed.”

“No doubt.”

Hank, looking worn, let them in. “Have you heard anything about LaBelle, yet?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Sam said.

“Neither have I. I only wish there was something I could’ve done,” he said, leading them into the kitchen, where José and Osmond sat at the table. “Had I not gotten sick at the school, I could’ve come back here with her. She wouldn’t have been alone when she found Warren. They would’ve believed her and gone after the real killer.”

“It’ll work out,” Sam said.

Hank brought a coffeepot and three mugs to the table, then went back to the stove and dumped a plate of chopped potatoes into the frying pan. They sizzled as soon as they hit the surface, the scent of onion and bacon filling the air. “We’re having a bit of a late start, but you’re welcome to join us for breakfast.”

“No, thank you,” Remi said. “We’ve eaten.”

“I haven’t,” Lazlo said. “I’d love a plate.”

Hank used a spatula to stir the potatoes. “Off to the airport this morning?” he asked, looking back at them.

“Sam and I are picking up Nasha’s uncle,” Remi said.

“Ah. Not you, professor?”

“No,” Lazlo said as someone knocked at the back door. “Thought I’d stick around here. Mr. Fargo mentioned that you might need some help clearing some of the rubble.”

“I’ll take any help I can get.” Hank tipped his head at Amal and Nasha as they walked in. “Breakfast?”

“Yes,” Nasha said.

Amal laughed. “You just ate.”

“I’m still hungry.”

Hank looked at the coffeepot, then at Amal. “Stir the potatoes. I’ll put another pot of coffee on.”

Amal took the spatula from him. “Any word yet on Dr. LaBelle?” she asked, adjusting the flame.

“No,” he said. “I don’t know how long these sorts of things take. Do you, Mr. Fargo?”

“I wish I did. I’ll try to call the embassy and see if we can get an update after we get back from the airport.”

The pan flared. Amal stepped back as smoke filled the stovetop.

Hank rushed over, turned off the burner, and covered the frying pan with the lid, smothering the fire. “Are you okay?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he waved his hand in front of her face. “Amal …?”

Nasha stepped closer to Remi. “It’s happening again.”

Amal stared, unseeing, out the window toward the olive grove, then in a soft, monotone voice said, “Beyond the pagan tombs … Before Saturn’s temple, he points to the water. Beware … Death to he who is not worthy.”

“Amal?” Hank said again. He took her by her hand, leading her to the empty chair next to Lazlo.