“In the file cabinet,” she said, retrieving it from the top drawer.
They unrolled the long tube of paper, tacking it to the wall next to the other map. “Any idea where you are?” Lazlo asked.
“I’d say about two miles in …” Sam aimed his phone so they could see the area. On the left, the mountainous forest rose into a blanket of clouds. On the right, the granite-studded valley stretched out to the horizon.
Pete looked at the map. The school was marked with an X and the trail was marked with a dotted line.
Wendy traced it with her finger, approximating where Mr. Fargo might be. “If we’re reading this map correctly,” she said, “it looks like the trail follows a riverbed, then veers off.”
“Remi might follow it for a source of water,” Sam said.
“Let’s hope she didn’t head that way,” Pete replied. “If the rain is as bad as predicted, there’s a good chance of flash floods.”
As if in warning, the first few raindrops started to fall.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
The rain does not recognize anyone as a friend;
it drenches all equally.
– NIGERIAN PROVERB –
Sam and Okoro moved out into the clearing once the military Mi-17 helicopter landed, the two men ducking as the rotors whipped the rain and mud around them to a frenzy. There were four soldiers on board, along with the pilot and copilot.
“Welcome aboard,” one of the crew shouted, handing them both helmets with headsets. The pilot glanced back at Sam as he settled into the seat and buckled the restraints. “Understand you’re experienced at this.”
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“Search and rescue in California,” Sam said.
He acknowledged and guided the craft upward, giving Sam an unparalleled view out the port side door of Gashaka Gumti park and the surrounding area. At first all he saw was the endless treetops of the surrounding forest. But when he caught sight of Okoro’s farm, as well as the road leading up to the school, he was able to orient himself to the clearing they’d just left. “That’s where we lost the trail,” he said, pointing out the rain-splattered windshield.
The pilot turned the craft. “Any idea where they might be headed?”
“My wife would know we’re searching for them. She’d definitely head for open ground. We also heard gunshots this morning coming from the northeast. I’m assuming that was the kidnappers.”
The pilot and copilot exchanged looks. “They were shooting at us,” the pilot said. “But I’m not sure they were the kidnappers.”
“If it’s the same group who attacked us on the road,” Sam said, “they’re armed with AK-47s.”
“I think the group we ran into were cattle rustlers. They were guarding a large herd. We’ll do a flyby and you can see for yourself.” He looked over at his copilot. “We better get moving before this weather takes a turn for the worse.”
Sam nodded, then turned toward Okoro, noticing his gaze was fixed out the window. “Remi will keep them safe.”
Okoro said nothing.
Sam looked out his own window, praying they’d find them soon.
The helicopter banked to the right, heading northeast, following in the general direction of the meandering creek that Sam and Okoro had seen on their first search. Eventually, it was lost in the thick growth. The pilot ascended, hovering high over the southern portion of the park. Lightning arced across the gray sky. “Up ahead, at the end of the valley,” the copilot said. “See the cattle?”
One of the soldiers riding in the back handed Sam a pair of binoculars. Thunder rumbled as he looked out the window, seeing a thick forest and glimpses of the rocky banks of the tributary through the trees. A long grassy meadow stretched along the bottom of the valley. At the far end, he could just make out the steep cliffs jutting up from the valley floor into the forest. When he focused on the base of the cliffs, he saw the white cows. “Definitely a large herd down there.”
“The herdsmen were the ones who shot at us.”
“What are the chances our kidnappers are doing double duty as cattle rustlers?” Sam asked.
“If they’re dressed like Fulani herdsmen, we’ve found our guys.”