The Oracle Page 6

  Sam glanced over, seeing several of the children, including the boy who’d been watching them inside the store, mingling around the door of the restaurant. “Time to collect him,” Sam replied. Hank walked out the door almost as soon as Sam stepped off the curb. One of the children shouted, and Sam heard a corresponding shout farther down the block. “That can’t be good,” he said to Remi.

  A group of kids raced up to them, clearly a distraction, as they tried to cross the street toward Hank. Remi elbowed Sam. “Don’t let them steal the truck keys. If anything happens to that—”

  “We’ll never hear the end of it from Selma,” he finished. He dug the keys from his pocket, gripping them tight, as several boys ran straight for him, holding their hands out, begging for money and candy in heavily accented English.

  No sooner were the three of them surrounded than Sam spied their Land Rover driving by, a boy, barely tall enough to see out the windshield, at the wheel.

  Remi stopped short. “That’s ours!”

  “Call the police,” he said, breaking into a run as the vehicle continued down the street, its progress hampered by pedestrians and traffic.

  The distraction had never been about taking anything from them. It was about delaying them long enough to find the car after they’d stolen the keys from Hank’s pocket.

  The pretend beggars scattered like rats as Sam gained on the slow-moving vehicle. The boy at the wheel panicked when he saw Sam chasing him. He hit the brakes, threw open the driver’s door, about to jump out. When Sam came closer, he scrambled toward the passenger’s door instead. With no one at the wheel, the car rolled down the street, angling to the right—directly toward a flimsy-looking chain-link fence surrounding a massive liquid petrol tank with a bright red Danger. Explosives sign posted on it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Do a good deed and throw it into the sea.

  – EGYPTIAN PROVERB –

  Sam sprinted faster, reached into the open door, grabbed the steering wheel, yanking it to the left, away from the liquid petrol tank. He jumped inside, guiding the truck to a stop just inches from the fence. The kid, eyes wide, threw himself at the passenger’s door, working the handle.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Sam said, turning the car ignition off.

  The boy, unconvinced, rammed his shoulder into the door, the chain links rattling as he tried to force it open.

  Remi ran up. “Nice save, Fargo.” She peered into the still-open driver’s door at the boy, his futile efforts to escape hampered by the fence. “No one hurt, I hope?”

  “Not that I can tell,” Sam replied as a police car pulled up behind them.

  A uniformed officer approached, standing next to Remi, peering in at the boy, then saying something, his tone harsh.

  The boy’s dark eyes widened and he shook his head, pressing himself farther into the door.

  Sam, who barely understood the thickly accented English, was surprised when Remi smiled sweetly at the officer, saying, “You’re mistaken, sir.” Her gaze landed on Sam as she added, “This boy wasn’t the thief at all. He was waiting for us in the car when it rolled away. It’s our fault for leaving the keys in the ignition. Isn’t that right, Sam?”

  It didn’t matter that Sam had no idea what his wife was talking about, or that they’d caught the boy dead to rights. He recognized that look in his wife’s eyes. “Exactly. I must have left it in neutral.”

  The officer, not convinced, focused on the boy. “You didn’t try to steal it?”

  Again, the boy shook his head.

  “No harm, no foul,” Sam said.

  Finally, the officer gave a curt nod. “Let me get my report form.”

  Sam, at the driver’s door, blocking the kid’s only route of escape, waited until the officer was out of earshot. “What gives?” he asked Remi. “He almost got away with the car and all our luggage in the back. We’re just going to let him go?”

  “Not him. Her.”

  Surprised, Sam took a closer look. A fine layer of dust covered the child’s dark skin and close-cropped hair. She was a good half head smaller than the other boys, thinner, more delicate-looking, and her dark eyes widened in shock as though surprised they had discovered her secret. “Regardless. The girl’s a car thief.” He turned the full force of his glare on the kid. “Why’d you take our car?”

  She hesitated for the barest of seconds, looking from Remi to Sam, perhaps sensing that whatever answer she gave could make the difference between being arrested or turned loose. “I found it.”

  “You found it?”

  Before he could question her further, she turned a pleading gaze toward Remi. “If they find out I’m a … You won’t let him take me, will you?”

  “Of course we won’t,” Remi said. “What’s your real name?”

  “Nash … Nasha.” The girl, seeing the officer returning with his clipboard, covered her face with her hands, making a loud sobbing noise.

  “Do something,” Remi whispered. “We are not letting them arrest her.”

  It didn’t matter that Sam was certain the girl was faking tears for their benefit. What did matter was that Remi had made up her mind. Hoping he wasn’t going to regret this decision later, he headed off the officer a few feet from their car. “Look,” Sam said. “There’s no damage to our car. Or the fence. Any chance we can make a quick report and be on our way? We’re delivering supplies to a girls’ school that’s being built out near Gashaka Gumti. It’d be nice to get there before dark.”

  Remi, doing a superb job of blocking an immediate view of the girl, smiled at the officer as he mulled it over. He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, angled it over the clipboard, then looked at Sam. “Name?”

  “Sam Fargo. My wife, Remi Fargo.”

  “What’s the boy’s name?”

  “Nash,” Remi said.

  “Nash …?”

  Sam looked at Remi, who in turn looked at Nasha. The child wiped her tears. “Atiku.”

  “Age?”

  “Eleven.”

  The officer turned his attention to Sam. “You understand there’s a fine for leaving your keys in the car?”

  Paying on the spot was standard fare in this country. “Of course,” Sam said as Remi gave a subtle nod to her left. He looked that direction and saw Hank patting his pockets, his expression turning to one of disbelief as he realized the keys had been stolen from him. Sam handed Remi his wallet, then left to divert Hank before the officer saw him. “Why don’t you wait with Amal in the shade. No sense all of us getting involved. Remi can take it from here.”

  Realization dawned on Hank, the moment the officer took off in his patrol car, without their thief in custody. “That pickpocket stole the keys from me. He should be in jail.”

  “Easy,” Sam said as Hank tried to move past him. Though he wasn’t drunk, Sam could smell the alcohol on his breath. “It keeps us all from having to come back for court.”

  “Court?”

  “Exactly. Remi and I don’t have that time. Do you?”

  He shook his head. “No,” he said, leaning around Sam, trying to see what Remi was doing. “Is your wife really giving that kid money?”

  “Of course not,” Sam said, though knowing Remi, she probably was. He led Hank back across the street. “Don’t you think it’s a little early to be drinking?”

  “Apparently not,” he said, patting his pockets once more. “What if they got my wallet?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  You cannot beat a child to take away its tears.

  – AFRICAN PROVERB –

  Nasha stuffed the money into the pocket of her pants, not even bothering to count it, half tempted to say nothing about where it came from. Something told her that if any of the Kalu brothers learned of the generosity of the Fargos, they’d try to exploit it, then punish her because she had the misfortune of getting caught stealing the car. It’d be worse if one of them somehow discovered how it was she’d managed to avoid being turned over to the police. She’d su
rvived this long on the streets because no one had realized the secret she’d taken such great pains to hide, especially from the Kalu brothers.

  Being a girl was bad enough. Being an orphaned girl was worse. They were the ones who disappeared, never to be seen again.

  Racing across the street, she dodged a car that suddenly pulled away from the curb. She didn’t stop until she reached the alley, out of sight of the police, the Fargos, and anyone else who might see her. When she was alone, she dug her hand into her pocket, counting the thick wad of bills, and almost crying real tears when she realized how much the Fargo woman had given her.

  Chuk, one of the boys from her uncle’s village, ran up behind her. “Did you get anything?”

  She nodded.

  Small, like Nasha, his eyes widened when he saw the wad of bills she pulled from her pocket. “How much?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” She handed a few bills to him, then gasped when she saw his swollen cheek. “Who did that?”

  “No one,” he said, crumpling the money in his fist. “I fell.”

  She didn’t believe him for a moment, but she was too excited by the Fargos’ gift. “Put that away before someone sees it or they’ll take it from you.”

  He stuffed it into his pocket, then walked alongside her. “You won’t leave me here, will you?”

  Nasha was surprised by the hurt in his voice. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because now you have enough money to go home.”

  What she didn’t have was enough to take him with her. “I promised we’d stay together. I meant it.” They reached the door of the ramshackle furniture repair shop where she and all the other boys lived. The moment they entered, Chuk ran down the hall. Nasha hung back in the front room, filled with broken chairs. Counting off half the money to go toward their bus tickets, she stuffed that into her pocket, kept out the rest to turn over, and knocked on the door to Bako Kalu’s room.

  Bako lowered his beer can, his eyes narrowing as she walked in. “What are you doing back? Why aren’t you with the others?”

  She held out the paper bills.

  He snatched them from her hand, tossing them onto the table next to a heap of coins and wrinkled bills. The sight of that other money surprised her. Frightened her. When she looked at him, he leaned forward, pointing at her with his can. “You’re not holding out on me?”

  Heart thumping, she told him no.

  He cocked his head toward the door. “Get out.”

  She backed to the door, then hurried down the hallway to the small room she shared with Chuk and some of the other boys. Checking to make sure no one else was in there, she moved the rags that doubled as her bed, pulled the money from her pocket, and lifted the floorboard.

  Her breath caught.

  Empty. All of it gone.

  “So, it’s true.”

  Nasha spun around, seeing Bako glaring at her from the doorway. And behind him, Chuk and one of the older boys, Len. Chuk wouldn’t even look at her.

  Bako crossed the room, grabbing her by the arm, ripping the cash from her hand. “You steal from me? After all I’ve done for you?” His grip tightened, his face filled with disgust, as he held out his hand for the rest of the money.

  “That’s all there is, I swear.”

  He eyed it, then her. “If you weren’t so small and nimble, I’d toss you back where I found you.” He shoved her against the wall, pain shooting across her shoulder as she hit the wood siding. Gritting her teeth, she tried not to cry out.

  “Quit your whining,” he said, before turning his attention toward Len. “Go get my brothers. We’re going to get that truck and their car.”

  “How?” Len asked. He’d been the lookout in the store. His job was to delay their marks, giving them time to steal the Land Rover.

  “Same way we took the last one.”

  The boy shifted on his feet.

  “What is it?” Bako asked him.

  “I don’t think you should. This man. He’s not like the others. He watched us. He knew. I think he’s—”

  “He’s what?”

  “Dangerous.”

  Bako’s black eyes narrowed as he lifted his shirt, revealing the butt of a gun. “So am I. If he puts up any fight, we’ll kill them all. Very simple. Now go.”

  The boy ran out the door and Bako’s attention returned to Nasha.

  Pulse pounding in her ears, she cowered in the corner. He grabbed the hammer from the table, his gaze boring into her for several seconds. “You remember what happened to the last boy who stole from me?”

  She nodded, tucking both hands beneath her arms. Chuk stood in the doorway, looking sick to his stomach. Not as sick as she felt. He was the only one who knew where she hid the money.

  Heavy footsteps in the hallway drew Bako’s attention. He turned to see both of his brothers and Len shuffling into the room past Chuk.

  The oldest, Kambili, leaned against the doorframe. “What’s so important we had to come running?”

  “Remember that truck we robbed a few days ago?” Bako said. “From the girls’ school? They’re back.”

  “No. We don’t hit the same people. Too dangerous. They’ll know to expect us.”

  “Yes. But this time may be easier and more profitable. Len here tells me they have many friends.”

  “How many?”

  “Four. Three of them are Americans. And they’re carrying cash.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He nodded, weighing the hammer in his hand as though testing his grip.

  Kambili focused on the hammer. “What are you doing with that?”

  “Nash stole their car, but got caught. So, one strike for getting caught. The other for stealing from us.”

  “That boy is one of our best pickpockets. You’ll end that if you smash his fingers.”

  Bako slapped the flat side of the hammer’s head against his palm, his gaze locked on Nash the entire time. “He’s also one of our best beggars. Think how much more he’ll bring in if he’s injured. Sympathy.”

  Bako took a step toward Nash, raising the hammer.

  “But not now,” Kambili said, stopping him. “If you’re serious about taking that truck, you need to leave now.”

  Bako glared at Nash, then suddenly smiled, his stained yellowed teeth looking like fangs. “Later is better. I can take my time. One finger at a time.” He tossed the hammer onto the washstand, pushed Chuk from the room, and followed his two brothers out the door, slamming it closed.

  Nasha heard the key turn in the lock, their footsteps receding down the hallway. She ran to the door, tried to open it, and slid to the floor, her knees giving out beneath her.

  Bako had caught another boy stealing and had smashed every finger of his right hand. Two had become infected and had to be amputated. Though the boy had tried pickpocketing with his left hand, he couldn’t, and now had to beg to earn his keep.

  Nasha, like her mother, was ambidextrous, able to use both hands equally. Even so, she wasn’t about to wait around and risk losing any of her fingers. She’d long ago given up any hope that her uncle was returning for her or Chuk.

  The bus tickets had been their only hope.

  And now that the Kalus knew they couldn’t trust her, they’d be watching her every move. The longer she stayed, the greater the danger.

  Girls like her didn’t stand a chance. They disappeared like her aunt.

  The door handle jiggled. “Nash? Are you mad at me?”

  “You shouldn’t have told.”

  “I just wanted to see how much we had. Bako caught me.”

  She looked at the hammer, unable to tell if that was rust or dried blood on its head. And though her stomach turned at the sight, she picked it up, strode to the window, smashing the glass from the frame.

  The door handle jiggled harder. “Nash. I’m sorry. You can have my money.”

  She climbed up onto the sill.

  “Don’t leave me! … Nash … You promised.”

  She coul
d still hear his cries as she raced down the alley.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A child is a child of everyone.

  – SUDANESE PROVERB –

  After a quick lunch at the same establishment that Hank had gone into earlier, the Fargos were ready to hit the road. Sam left to get the truck, while Remi, Hank, and Amal waited near the recovered Land Rover. Remi gripped the keys tight, not taking any chances that the pickpockets might return. Curiously, the street was empty of all but a couple of the boys, who watched them from a distance.

  As Sam drove up in the truck, Remi unlocked the driver’s door of the Land Rover. “Let’s hit the road.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to drive?” Hank asked. “I know I had a drink, but I’m fine. I was thinking about the books, and Warren, and the embezzlement … I had one shot. That’s it.”

  He seemed perfectly sober to Remi, but they were in a foreign country with a rental car. “Why don’t you ride with Sam in the truck,” she said. “It’ll give Amal and me a chance to get all our girl talk out of the way. You boys won’t be bored during dinner. Win-win, right?”

  Hank nodded, walking to the truck.

  Remi looked at Amal, asking, “Does he typically start drinking this early in the day?”

  “Not that I’ve ever noticed,” Amal said. “Then again, the convention was the first time I’ve really spent much time with him outside of the dig site.”

  She followed Remi to the car and the two rode in companionable silence. It wasn’t until they reached the open road that the conversation started to flow again. Remi glanced over at her. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, just in case it happens again while we’re out, but about your …”— anxiety attack didn’t seem like the right description—“… exactly what happens to you?”

  “I guess the best way to describe it is, I disappear into myself.”

  “Is there a medical reason?”

  “Depends on which doctor you ask, but the general consensus is that it’s like a mild seizure. It almost feels like my brain is buzzing. Like I’m instantly asleep and I get a flash of a dream, then wake up.”