CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The length of the rope determines the movement of the goat.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
Makao sat on the edge of the desk, scrutinizing the two women and four girls who were seated on the floor against the wall beneath the window. He lit a cigarette, then tucked the lighter into his pocket, as he focused on the red-headed woman. “You must know the combination to the safe.”
Her gaze flicked to the storage closet behind him on the other side of the desk. Next to it, against the wall, was a tall safe, too heavy to move. A small bathroom was located next to that, the window open to let in fresh air.
“I don’t know it,” she said. “I’ve been here only a few days.”
“New? You seem to be the one in charge. The school is named after you,” he said, walking toward the open doorway, looking out. The sun had dipped behind the trees, the long shadows across the grounds disappearing as darkness descended. Two of his men were standing beside one of the trucks in the drive, one lighting a cigarette. Makao started to turn away, when his eye caught on something moving low across the ground behind them. He could’ve sworn he saw a very small girl out there. About to call out to his men to take a better look, he paused when a chicken strutted from beneath the pickup. Shadows playing tricks, he decided. Watching a moment longer, he turned back toward the Fargo woman. “I asked around in the village. There was a man who bought every last box of nails, apparently for the Fargos’ school for girls. I’d think that if a school is named after you, you’d have the combination to the safe.”
“You’d think wrong.”
“Is there money in there?”
“If there is, there can’t be much. Everything is paid for by credit card.”
“Even in the village? I find that hard to believe.” He took a long drag on his cigarette, watching her as he blew out the smoke. Her green eyes held his, but she didn’t rise to the bait. She held no fear, he noticed. In fact, everything with her seemed calculated. He glanced at the other woman and the girls, all who refused to look at him.
“Where are you taking us?” she demanded.
“Somewhere safer. As I said, you’ll be held for ransom.” He walked to the door, again looking out. The two men had returned to their patrol and he scanned the grounds, once again seeing something or someone moving around their cars. Whatever it was, it was far too big to be a chicken. “Jimi.”
The young man who’d been stationed at the open gate looked back at him.
“Stand here at the door. No one in, no one out.”
Makao strode across the graveled drive toward their parked trucks, circling each one, ducking to look underneath. Chickens. He kicked some gravel at them, sending the birds running, and looked over at the large truck he’d tried to ambush several days back, noting the canvas covering the cargo bed seemed to be moving. He walked up, pulled the canvas up, and looked inside, unable to see anything in the dark interior.
Deciding it was empty, he dropped the flap and turned as two of his men emerged from the courtyard to investigate the noise. “Did you see anyone out here?” he asked.
The men glanced toward the office, where Jimi stood outside the door, then at the now unguarded gate. “No,” one said as they heard loud bleating in the courtyard.
A moment later, three goats came trotting out between the buildings and toward them. “What the . . .” He glared at his men. “Where’d they come from?”
“There’s a pen behind the buildings, on the other side.”
“Go close it up.”
The pair took off, running through the courtyard. When they started yelling and swearing, he gave a quick look toward the office and ran after them into the darkened court. The bleating grew so loud, he couldn’t hear what his men were saying. He didn’t need to. Dozens of goats poured into the yard, some jumping up onto the planters, others darting past him. The ruckus brought his other men running. They stared at first, then suddenly tried to herd the goats, holding their arms wide, attempting to block the animals from going around them.
“You fools,” he said. “What’re you doing?”
“They’re getting away. You said you didn’t want any noise.”
“I meant no shooting.” While there wasn’t much down the hill beside the long, winding dirt road between the school and the main highway, he knew full well that there were plenty of scattered and remote enclaves. Gunshots were bound to be noticed. More importantly, his boss, Tarek, wanted the hostages alive and unharmed.
The goats calmed for a moment until one of them knocked a couple of tin buckets stacked on the edge of a planter to the ground, sending them into a frenzy again. Suspicion grew as he surveyed the chaos and then the buckets, which he didn’t recall seeing before. He grabbed the arm of the nearest man. “If one of you didn’t open that pen, there’s someone else here. How many hostages do we have?”
“Six. Two adults and four girls.”
A flash of memory hit him from when the hostages were lined up against the building, right before they’d moved them all into the office “I saw five girls earlier. One of them’s missing.”
“Why would they let the goats out?”
“A distraction, you idiot.” He pushed him away. “Go find whoever did this.”
“Where are you going?”
“To make sure the rest of our hostages are still there.”
One of the goats brushed up against his leg and he tried to knee it. The creature merely jumped out of the way and trotted out of the courtyard. Cursing, Makao followed it to the front of the compound and feigned lunging at it, watching in satisfaction as it trotted across the drive toward the open gate.
He glanced at the office door, where the light spilled out across the wooden porch onto the gravel. The man he’d posted stood guard, oblivious to his growing unease as he hurried that direction.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
A flea can trouble a lion more than a lion can trouble a flea.
– KENYAN PROVERB –
Two things taunted Remi. The orange-handled scissors jutting up from the penholder on the desk a mere six feet away and the keys to their supply truck, hanging on a hook by the door just over her head. The odds were against her from the beginning, but she wasn’t willing to give up. Nasha, she hoped, would make her way here, get the keys, and . . . Well, Remi hadn’t yet worked out how they were going to get to the truck. They’d need one heck of a distraction. And until that moment, getting to either the scissors or the keys without being seen by the guard posted outside would be impossible.
Redoubling her effort to loosen the plastic ties binding her hands behind her back did little more than chafe the skin at her wrists. Amal, who was trying to do the same, was so far holding up well. Remi couldn’t help but worry about her since she was the weak link in her plan. If it was stress that triggered Amal’s episodes, then she could have one at any moment. “How’s it going?” she whispered to her.