“All things considered, it’s not surprising. If she’s not better by tomorrow, we’ll bring her back.”
“What about Nasha?”
“There is no way in hell that I’m taking her back to Jalingo. You heard what she said he was planning to do to her.”
Remi looked at the dead man. “I suppose it would be a total waste of ammunition to put another bullet in him.”
“Definitely. More importantly, Nasha said the Kalu brothers worked alone. So who is this Makao that the Kalu brothers seemed to know?”
“You have to admit that the two groups meeting here in the middle of nowhere is an interesting twist of fate.”
Sam was a firm believer that twists of fate were a very rare occurrence. “Whoever this other group was, it had nothing to do with the street thieves from Jalingo.”
“Agreed.” Remi nodded toward the guns she’d collected in the back of the supply truck. “We’ve got enough firepower. I say we go find these guys.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
We desire to bequeath two things to our children; the first one is roots, the other one is wings.
– SUDANESE PROVERB –
Easy does it, Annie Oakley,” Sam said, noting the fire in his wife’s green eyes. “We’re not turning vigilante with a kid in the car.”
“We can send her ahead with Hank and Amal. You and I can—”
“Remi.”
“Fine,” she said. “We call the police. But what about Nasha? All that’s going to do is involve her and us in a lengthy investigation. What if they try to take her back? You heard what she said. There’s a third Kalu brother waiting for her.”
“We skip the part that says any of us were involved.”
“Until they realize that the bullets in half of the bad guys don’t match the bullets in the other half.”
Sam took a good look around, trying to make sure there was nothing that could tie them to the scene. “Considering that we’re taking all the guns with us, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. This is what the cops back home call no human involved.”
“And what if they start investigating?”
“Somehow, I doubt the two that got away are going to give us up.”
“Good point.” They walked back toward the cars and Remi nodded to the tack strip farther up the road. “What about that?”
“Take it with us. I’d hate to see someone else run over it.”
* * *
—
They gathered the road spikes, then left as soon as Sam called the police to report what looked like a shoot-out between two groups on the road. Once again, he had Hank join him in the supply truck. If they were attacked again, Remi was armed and could protect the women.
Hank didn’t argue with Sam’s decision. In fact, he didn’t say much at all. Sam glanced over at him about twenty minutes into their trip, noting the still-pale pallor of his face. “You okay?”
“A bit shaken, is all,” Hank said. “I . . . I had no idea . . .”
“No idea what?” Sam asked, turning his attention back to the road.
“You and your wife both carry guns?” He nodded to the Land Rover driving in front of them.
“Depends on where we are.”
“What about at the school?”
“What about it?”
“Guns. Children. It seems to me that’d be a bad mix.”
“So are terrorists. Which is why some on our staff there are also armed. There’s never a time the girls are left without protection.”
“It doesn’t scare the children?”
“They’re not even aware.”
“I suppose that’s best.” He was quiet for several moments, then looked over at Sam. “You don’t think they’ll come after us? The men who got away?”
“Why would they?”
“Revenge? You killed their friends.”
“If they do, we’ll be ready.”
* * *
—
After several hours, they passed through Bali, then Serti, where the military barracks were located. Eventually, the winding road meandered through the lush forests and thick undergrowth of Gashaka Gumti National Park. The sun hung low on the horizon by the time Sam neared the property belonging to Okoro Eze, a tea farmer who lived just outside the park’s border. His property extended to both sides of the road and included the easement that led up to the mountainside parcel that the Fargos had purchased for the school.
Sam followed the single lane on the southeast border of the plantation. Down a long drive to the right, next to a stand of eucalyptus trees, he saw Okoro’s small house and an outbuilding, the solar panels on the former’s roof looking oddly out of place as electricity of any kind was a rarity this far out. The panels were there because the Fargos had paid for their installation since the Mambilla farmer, a widower, had refused money for the use of his land. A hardworking man, he was grateful that his daughter, Zara, had a nearby school to attend and could get the education he felt she deserved.
Okoro and Zara’s situation was, unfortunately, hardly unique. The lack of transportation combined with the long trek through rough terrain of steep slopes and deep gorges made it difficult for most girls living in the scattered villages this far out on the Mambilla Plateau and surrounding areas to even think of attending school. The idea had been Wendy and Pete’s after they’d spent one of their vacations hiking through the vast national park. With the Fargos’ blessing, and the Foundation’s money, the two had returned to Nigeria to bring their dream to fruition.
Just past Okoro’s home, Remi turned off onto a dirt road to the left. Sam, in the heavily laden truck, followed at a much slower pace. One day, they hoped to get the road paved, but for now it was a good thirty-minute series of sharp turns through the montane forest just to get to the school. About midway up, they passed a wooden sign announcing
LOWER GASHAKA TRAIL
WATCH OUT FOR PEDESTRIANS
About a quarter of a mile higher, just before the next hairpin turn, a second warning sign announced Upper Trail. It was another fifteen minutes before the steep, winding road started leveling off. The last half mile was a straight shot to the school, which was set on its own plateau in the forest, the landscape protecting it from flooding during the rainy season.
Pete met them at the open gate and Wendy stood on the porch just outside the office. In their twenties, they were both tall, tanned, and blond, Pete’s hair cut short and Wendy’s pulled back into a ponytail. Pete waved them in, then locked the gate behind them.