The Oracle (Fargo Adventures 11)

He who pelts another with pebbles asks for stones in return.

– AFRICAN PROVERB –

Getting to Hank without breaking cover was going to be an issue, Sam realized as he, Remi, and Lazlo worked their way down the hill toward an avenue of poplars that led from the olive grove to the ruins. The nearest tree to Hank was about thirty feet behind him. Still, if Sam could drag him back there, he might have a chance.

“No signal,” Lazlo said, looking at his phone.

Sam calculated the distance to the first tree in the line. “Cover me.”

Remi fired. With each successive shot, he ran to the next tree, and the next—all about ten feet apart—until reaching the one closest to Hank. A small hillock of dirt was the man’s only protection from the two gunmen, who’d taken cover behind a couple of boulders up on the hill.

Sam waited for Remi’s signal. The moment she fired, he raced out, then dove next to Hank. He braced his Smith & Wesson on the ground and fired twice.

Several shots followed, dirt flying up in his face.

Far too close for his comfort. “Let’s go.”

“Save yourself.” Hank gripped his thigh, blood seeping from his fingers. “They won’t kill me.”

“If you don’t get that bleeding stopped, they won’t have to.” He looked across the barren dirt toward the orchard where Remi and Lazlo hid, Remi firing the occasional shot to keep the gunmen in check. “Put your arm around me,” he said.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Remi’s shots echoed across the hillside. She paused, then fired again as Sam dragged Hank to his feet, bracing him while they ran toward the nearest tree.

Once behind it, Sam lowered Hank to the ground. “Give me your belt,” he said as a barrage of shots hit the massive trunk.

Hank fumbled at the buckle. Sam pushed his hand aside, tugged the belt from the loops and wrapped the leather strap around Hank’s thigh above the wound. “Don’t move,” he said and edged out.

Crack!

The shot hit the tree, bark flying, as Sam ducked back.

“Maybe if I give myself up,” Hank said, “they’ll stop shooting. They only want the map.”

“Any chance they realize the map is in the mosaic at the bottom of that villa?”

“No.”

“Too bad. They’re likely thinking they’ll pluck it from your dead hands.”

“I … I … hadn’t considered … that …”

His face looked a lot grayer, his wound still bleeding. Sadly, Hank might have been better off had Sam left him in the field rather than racing for cover, causing his heart to pump faster.

The only way to save him was to take out the gunmen. Even if the police arrived in time, they’d never know to come around the back and hike in from the road the same way Tarek had. They’d sweep in from the front. Assuming they didn’t mistake Remi for a shooter, they’d probably be picked off by the gunmen the moment they emerged from the trees.

He studied the hillside where they were holed up. Remi was the better shot, but it’d be impossible for her to get closer. If he could get up high enough and come at them from the right side, he might have a chance.

But how?

To his left, the row of trees led back up to the olive grove. To his right, they led to the ivy-covered ruins. Two more trees flanked either side of the temple. If he could get to that farthest tree, he could work his way past the ruins, then up the hill.

It’d have to be a perfect setup and execution or it was likely to be his last move.

Neither he nor Remi had an unlimited supply of ammo, which meant she was going to have to figure out a way to draw their fire without taking unnecessary shots. He looked at her, hoping that she’d figure everything out when she saw him moving.

If not, it was going to get interesting.