The Oracle (Fargo Adventures 11)

You must act as if it is impossible to fail.

– ASHANTI PROVERB –

A barrage of gunfire from the crest filled the small valley as Sam raced up the hillside toward the last tree—which had seemed a lot closer when he was on the other side of the ruins. It wasn’t until he was safely behind its thick trunk that he looked toward the olive grove to confirm that Remi had indeed managed to draw their fire away from him and toward her.

With little time to admire his wife’s handiwork, he focused on the gunmen.

“Give up, Fargo,” Tarek shouted. “You’ve got nowhere to go.”

“How’s Hamida?” Sam called out. “He didn’t look so good last time I saw him.”

“Your mistake, letting us go.”

“Priorities. I was in a hurry.”

Crack!

Dirt blasted up about two feet to the right of his tree. Provoking Tarek seemed to be working. “You know what I think? You had better aim that night you were drunk.”

Crack! Crack!

Tree bark splintered across his face.

Tarek laughed. “That’d be the sharpshooter who took Hamida’s place.”

Sam fired and ducked back. Tarek stopped laughing.

Sam checked the cylinder of his gun, saw the expended rounds, then looked out across the field toward Remi. If there was ever a time he needed her to read his mind, this was it. But just in case, he shouted in her direction to make sure she heard. “Hey, Tarek. You ever play poker?”

“Shouldn’t you be praying? Step out. I promise to make it quick.”

“Number one rule,” Sam shouted. “Never let them know when you’ve got an ace in the hole.” He glanced across the field at his wife.

C’mon, Remi …

&nbs

p; And there it was. Movement from the orchard drawing their attention.

Tarek and his partner fired at Lazlo’s shirt, the rat-a-tat-tat sounding like a war zone.

Sam sidestepped the tree, squeezed the trigger, killing the sharpshooter.

“Drop the gun, Tarek.”

Tarek froze. He started to lower his weapon, then suddenly stopped. “Poker …” A sly smile spread across his face as he took a step forward, raising his gun. “You’re out of ammo.”

Crack!

The man faltered, crumpling to his knees. “I … thought …”

He fell to the ground.

“Thought wrong,” Sam said as he walked up. He had put a bullet in the man’s head. He leaned down and took the gun from his lifeless hand.

Sam picked up the other shooter’s gun, making sure he was dead, and walked down the hill. Remi raced out of the orchard toward Hank, Lazlo close behind as he tugged on his bullet-riddled shirt.

“Hank,” she said, kneeling beside him. “Are you okay?”