“If I had to guess, the other half of that ambush is just around the bend, by those trees.”
“What if we drove around the tack strip?”
“We run into whoever’s waiting for us on the other side.”
Remi glanced back at the yellow vehicle speeding toward them from the opposite direction. She looked around for cover. With nothing but long grass on either side of the road, they had nowhere to go.
And very little time to come up with a plan.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A good plan today is better than a perfect plan tomorrow.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
Sam took one last look through the binoculars, then handed them back to Remi. “Remember that time in Mozambique?” he asked.
“Yes. But we have two cars to move and an ambush coming from both directions. How—”
“Put the Land Rover in neutral.”
“You, Fargo, are brilliant.” Remi grabbed Nasha’s hand, pulling her away from the truck.
Sam jumped into the driver’s seat, starting the engine, while Hank climbed into the passenger’s seat. “What’s going on?” he asked Sam.
“We’re creating a diversion for the women.”
The color drained from Hank’s face. “Us?”
“You should probably get out and wait with them.”
“No. I’ll wait here.”
Sam glanced at Remi through the open window, waiting for her to move the car.
“Amal,” she shouted. “Take Nasha and wait by the side of the road.” Remi bent down, looking into Nasha’s dark eyes. “You stand next to my friend. Wait for me.”
She nodded her head.
“I’ll be right back. I promise.”
The girl let go, then ran toward Amal. Remi hopped into the Land Rover, started it and drove about twenty feet in front of the truck, leaving the vehicle in neutral before returning to where Amal and Nasha waited. The moment she was clear, Sam hit the gas, made a three-point turn, and spun the tires, kicking up enough dust to cover for the women as they ran to the side of the road toward the brush.
Hank glanced in their direction, but the dust hid them from his view. “Where’re they going?”
“Trying not to be targets,” Sam said, moving his foot from the brake to the gas pedal. The truck lurched forward.
“But . . .” Hank gripped the dash as the front of the truck tapped the rear bumper of the Land Rover, pushing it forward. “Are you insane?”
“There’s a tack strip up ahead. And if that growing cloud of dust just beyond the bend in the road belongs to whoever placed it there, we’re about to encounter some very nasty people.”
“But that kid—”
“Thinks there are two men in that yellow car who plan to hit us from behind. In other words, we’re about to be ambushed.”
Sam stopped the truck, allowing the rental car to drift forward on its own, hopefully far enough that their attackers wouldn’t realize that the women were hiding much farther back. With one foot on the brake, he hit the gas again, spinning the tires, raising a dust cloud so thick he hoped no one from either direction would know if anyone was hiding in the truck or had abandoned it. Which was the point.
Sam drew his gun, checked his phone to make sure the ringer was off, then looked over at Hank. “Follow me.”
Hank’s gaze widened at the sight of Sam’s pistol. “I . . . I can’t.”
“If they come in shooting—”
“I’ll take my chances,” Hank said.
“Suit yourself.” Foot on the brake, he stepped on the gas again, raising even more dust, before shutting off the truck and opening the door. “If I were you, I’d get down on the floorboard. If you’re lucky, the engine block will stop any stray bullets.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Patience can cook a stone.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
Stay low,” Remi said. Amal started to part the long grass, but Remi grabbed her arm. “Not there. They’ll see the broken stalks.” She pointed to a natural break in the vegetation. “That way. Hurry.”
Amal scrambled into the space. Remi turned to guide Nasha in after her, surprised when the girl pulled a thick but loose clump of grass from the dry ground, using the root ball to erase their tracks from the side of the road. A moment later, she scurried into the field after Amal, grabbing a handful of dirt, rubbing it into her short dark hair, attempting to blend into her surroundings.
Remi, both fascinated and horrified that a child that young was proficient in camouflage techniques, belly-crawled next to them, drew her gun, then double-checked her phone to make sure the ringer was off. Just in time, too. She peered through the tall grass to her left, watching the yellow vehicle’s tires bouncing across the ruts in the road, jarring its occupants.
The car drove past. It skidded to a stop about fifteen feet behind the Fargos’ supply truck. Dust rose and drifted on the wind as two men got out, their backs to the women. They stood behind their open doors, each holding a handgun, aiming at the truck.
“That’s them,” Nasha whispered. “Two of the Kalu brothers. Bako is the one closest to us.”
“Whatever happens,” Remi said, “keep your head down and don’t make a sound.”
She nodded.
Remi had a clear shot of the man standing behind the front passenger’s door just fifty feet away. Unfortunately, the driver was on the far side of the car. If she took the shot, she risked giving up their position—something she wasn’t about to do unless left with no other choice. Though she and Sam had successfully used this tactic just outside Mozambique, the two of them splitting up to take out their enemy, neither had to worry about trying to protect three other lives at the same time.
She set her cell phone on the ground in front of her, calling Sam’s number. “We’re in place. I take it you and Hank made it to the sidelines?”
“He wouldn’t leave.”
Her gaze flew to the supply truck. A complication they hadn’t expected or needed. She had little time to worry about it. Another dust cloud in the distance—this one from the opposite direction—grew rapidly. Within seconds, the square front end of a white pickup came into view, the vehicle slowing as it veered around the suspicious layer of leaves and grass stretched across the road. It skidded to a stop in front of the now empty Land Rover and, beyond it, their supply truck. Both doors of the pickup opened, but no one got out. Their tinted windows blocked Remi’s view.