The Oracle (Fargo Adventures 11)

Remi glanced at Sam and then Amal, unsure what

to think.

A few seconds later, Amal blinked and looked down at the spatula in her hand. “What’s going on? Why do I have this?”

Hank took the spatula from her, setting it on the table. “I think you had one of your seizures.”

Lazlo, watching the entire episode with interest, said, “Actually, I think you were giving us a location of some sort.”

“I don’t remember …”

“You were saying something about the temple ruins.”

Hank went back to making the coffee. “We’ve been out there a million times.”

“Exactly where are these ruins?” Lazlo asked.

José pointed out the window in the direction Amal had been looking. “Down the hill, past the olive grove. But unless someone thinks they can move a few tons of marble, there’s nothing to be found out there.”

“Exactly what were you looking for?” Sam asked.

José shrugged. “I’m not sure anyone really knows. Os, weren’t you talking about it?”

Osmond, busy texting on his phone, glanced up in surprise. “What? No. I just remember everyone talking about a map, not what it led to.”

Once the coffeepot started up, Hank joined them at the table. “I’m not sure anyone really knows. It’s …” He looked at Sam. “You don’t think it has anything to do with what’s going on with LaBelle, do you?”

“It’s worth mentioning to the police,” Sam said. He checked the time on his watch. “We better hit the road if we want to get to the airport in time.” He and Remi rose. “You’re sure you want to stay, Lazlo?”

“Quite.”

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

Do not look where you fell but where you slipped.

– AFRICAN PROVERB –

I’ll pick you up in five minutes,” Tarek said, then pocketed his phone.

Hamida, groggy from the pain pills, stirred on the sofa. “Who called?”

“No one,” he replied, doubting Hamida would remember they’d had a conversation at all. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

As he walked out the door, the sight of Hamida’s thick cast reminded him how dangerous Fargo was. The only thing that was going to stop that man was a barrage of bullets—and Tarek looked forward to making it happen.

A time and place for everything. First, he had a debt to collect.

When he arrived at Ben Ayed’s apartment, Ben was waiting out front, holding a hard-shell briefcase. Ex-military, an expert in hand-to-hand combat, Ben was also a former sniper, which made him invaluable should things not work out as planned.

The pair drove out to the archeological park, then continued past it until they reached the back road, parking in the same location Tarek had chosen that night he’d followed—and lost—the Fargos. The temple ruins were located beyond the olive grove on the same property belonging to the graduate student’s family. It was a hike from this direction. The hilly terrain beyond the vast grove meant there was no easy route to the ruins and excavation site. But the road would allow them to approach without being seen from the archeologist’s house.

Tarek parked and looked over at the briefcase on Ben’s lap. “I hope you brought extra ammo.”

“More than enough.” Ben opened the case, loaded up three magazines, and inserted one into his Vektor SP1 9mm, the South African version of the Beretta 92F. He pulled back the slide, chambered a round, then slid the gun into his holster, the magazines into his belt pouch, pulled his shirt over that, and shoved the gun case beneath the front seat. “Doubt I’ll need that much.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Tarek said, checking his own weapon. “If the Fargos get back before we’re done, you’ll change your mind.”

“If you’re so worried, why not wait?”