Gelimer’s heart clenched. His pulse roared in his ears. He charged faster, driving his sword into the giant’s chest, watching as he stumbled backward, dead before he hit the ground.
Gelimer slid from his horse, staring at his brother’s fallen body. The battle raged on around him. The sounds dimmed, the world darkened.
“My Lord,” Euric called. “We need orders.”
Gelimer heard nothing.
“My King,” Euric grabbed him by his shoulder. “Your men await your orders.”
“All that is left is shadow . . .” He dropped to his knees. The battlefield was littered with the Vandal dead. His men. Tzazon’s men. “Naught remains but vanity . . .” He struggled to breathe. “Tzazon . . .”
“He’s dead,” Euric said. “And you will suffer the same fate if we don’t get out of here.” Euric pulled him to his feet.
Gelimer remembered nothing afterward. Somehow, he found himself on horseback, following Euric, while the remnants of the Vandal Army fled in every direction.
CHAPTER ONE
A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.
– CHINESE PROVERB –
THE PRESENT DAY
La Jolla, California
Sam Fargo checked the figures for the second time. No doubt about it. There were several discrepancies in the accounting of the money that the Fargo Foundation had sent to fund an archeological dig in Tunisia. “It doesn’t look good.”
His wife, Remi, leaned toward the computer screen, her green eyes troubled as she scrutinized the numbers. She tucked a lock of auburn hair behind her ear, then suddenly rose, pacing the floor behind him. “How could this have happened? Renee LaBelle is one of my oldest friends. I can’t just pick up the phone and start asking all these questions. It’ll sound like I’m accusing her.”
Sam swiveled his desk chair around to face her. Remi and Dr. Renee LaBelle had been roommates at Boston College and friends ever since. “As long as you two have known each other? I doubt she’ll take offense. But if we don’t reconcile our figures with hers, we’re all going to have issues at tax time.”
Remi stopped, looking at the monitor. “At least she backs up everything with ledgers. I remember her saying they had problems when they switched over to that new accounting program. That was right around the same time. Maybe there was a glitch. Something must have gotten entered wrong.”
A very big glitch. And several somethings, Sam thought. A year ago, when Remi had suggested that the Fargo Foundation fund Renee LaBelle’s archeological dig at Bulla Regia, he’d been against it from the very beginning. Though he and Remi had started the charitable organization to take on worthy projects of this type, he knew from experience that good friendships didn’t always survive the discovery of bad money management. He’d mentioned this at the time, but Remi had her heart set on helping her friend, and had assured him that Renee LaBelle’s past archeological projects had been very successful.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case now. “We won’t know anything until we sit down with her and go over the figures,” he said. “Tell Renee our accountant is the one asking the questions. Like a tax thing. Which it is.” Sam glanced at the clock. Just after ten in the morning. “What are they, eight hours ahead?” He picked up Remi’s smartphone from the desk, handing it to her.
She pulled up a chair next to Sam. “Phone call or video? Video,” she said before he could answer. “That’s a little more personal. Don’t sit too close. If she sees you, she’ll think we’re ganging up on her.”
Sam leaned away from her as she made the call. Her friend’s face filled the screen, her expression one of mild surprise. “Remi. Hold on. Let me step outside where it’s a little quieter. I’m at dinner with the crew.”
“Finish eating. It can wait. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the books. For taxes.”
“No. No. I’ve been meaning to call—”
“Who is it, LaBelle?” came a male voice in the background.
“Remi Fargo,” she said. “Questions about the books.”
A man’s face appeared on the screen next to Renee’s. “I’ve been telling LaBelle she needs to call you to set up a meeting.”
Her friend nodded. “He has,” she said, then seemed to realize that Remi had no idea who the man next to her was. “Sorry. This is Hank, our new site manager. Hank, Remi Fargo. She and her husband head up the Fargo Foundation. I’m sure Sam can’t be too far away.”
“Right next to me,” Remi said, turning the screen to show Sam. He nodded at them.
Hank smiled. “So, what do you say? Set up a video call in a day or two? We know you must have questions.”
Had it been a minor issue, Sam would have agreed. There was too much money unaccounted for, in his opinion, to handle it with a video call. “Turns out,” Sam said, “we have to be in Nigeria next Monday. No reason we couldn’t fly in a day or two earlier and stop off in Tunisia on our way. Might be easier if we all sit down together.”
Renee LaBelle shook her head. “A slight logistics problem. We’re in Kenya. Archeological conference. How long will you be in Nigeria? Maybe you could come by after?”
“Hard to say,” Sam replied. “A week, maybe more.” He and Remi were driving out to the southern edge of Gashaka Gumti National Park, where two of their assistants, Wendy Corden and Pete Jeffcoat, had been living these past few months, overseeing the construction of a self-sustaining school for girls. Though nearly finished, they’d fallen behind schedule, and their goal was to have everything done before the rainy season started. “We’re checking in on one of the Foundation’s projects.”
Renee’s face lit up. “Is that the school out in the bush? Do you actually have students yet?”
“We do,” Remi said.
“Here’s a thought,” Renee said. “We could leave the conference a day early, meet you in Jalingo instead of flying all the way back to Tunis. Go over the books, pop out to the school . . .” She gave an apologetic smile. “Look at me, inviting myself. Last thing you need is us traipsing around while you’re busy working.”
Exactly what Sam was thinking. Hoping to avoid turning this into some sort of social visit, he nodded. “We’ll definitely be busy.”
Apparently, Hank was of the same mind, saying, “That’s a bit much to be asking when they’re trying to get work done. Don’t forget, we’ll have the crew with us.” He nodded behind him.
Renee turned her phone so that the camera picked up a group of people seated around a table. “You’ve met Warren, of course.” Her gray-haired site manager gave the slightest of nods, then went back to drinking his beer. “And one of my graduate students. Amal, say hi to the Fargos.” A young woman in her early twenties, her long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, lifted her hand, waved.