“You’re sure she’s not somewhere on the grounds? What about the shed? She called me from Remi’s phone. I think it died on her—”
“No,” Pete said. “I haven’t seen her. If she was here, she’d find me, I’m sure.”
Sam, checking the clock on the dash, hoped she was hiding somewhere safe. “We’re almost two hours away. About how long ago did the kidnappers leave?”
“Less than fifteen minutes ago. Our supply truck’s gone, so I’m guessing they took that to move the hostages. I doubt they’ve made it down the hill yet. What do you want me to do until you get here?”
“Keep everyone in the tunnel. We’ll reevaluate once I get there.”
“Will do. Yaro and I are going to hole up on the roof to watch in case they come back.”
“Pete . . .”
“Yes, Mr. Fargo?”
“Be careful.”
“I will be.”
The phone beeped as the call ended. Sam glanced at the other phone that Lazlo held. “You catch all that, Selma?”
“I did.”
“Good. When Rube gets back to you, have him call me on Lazlo’s phone. I want mine open in case Remi or the kidnappers call.”
A little over an hour later, Sam reached the edge of Okoro’s farm, seeing lights in the distance. He let his foot off the gas, trying to get a better look.
“Something wrong?” Lazlo asked, following the direction of his gaze.
“I’m not sure. That farm belongs to the man Selma’s been trying to reach. So why isn’t he answering his phone?”
“Maybe it died.”
“He’s got power. He’d certainly be able to charge it.”
Sam slowed as they passed the long drive. Instead of heading left up toward the school, he continued on the main road until he passed the stand of eucalyptus trees, then parked out of sight. He grabbed his gear bag from the back.
Lazlo strapped on a holster. “You’re sure this is a good use of our time? The school—”
“Pete and Yaro are there. They’ll call. But something’s wrong.” He lifted the night vision binoculars, saw several figures moving around the grounds. “Not a good sign,” he said, handing the glasses to Lazlo.
The professor focused them. “Exactly what am I looking at?”
“Men. Who don’t belong there.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m fairly certain Okoro’s farmhands aren’t in the habit of carrying rifles to guard his tea crop.” Sam suspected they were using the farm as an outpost to watch traffic in and out of the school. What he didn’t see was the supply truck, which he assumed the kidnappers had taken to hide their hostages in as they fled.
Lazlo lowered the glasses. “By my estimation, the kidnappers left the school well over an hour ago. If these men are working with them, shouldn’t they be long gone by now?”
“That, Lazlo, is a very good question. Let’s go find out why.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Restless feet may walk into a snake pit.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
Sam and Lazlo moved in on foot through the thick eucalyptus grove that grew up alongside the farm. Thankfully, the dagger-shaped leaves that had fallen from the trees and left to rot on the ground acted like a sound-dampening barrier. When they neared the edge of the grove, Sam held up his hand, motioning for Lazlo to stop.
The two armed guards stood watching the east side of the property, looking in the direction of the road leading up into the hills to the school. Sam watched them for a few minutes.
Lazlo shifted beside him, whispering, “Shouldn’t we go now while their attention’s diverted?”
“Patience. I want to make sure it stays diverted.” About two minutes later, one of the men started walking toward the farmhouse directly across the route he and Lazlo would have taken. Sam waited until he was around the corner, then motioned for Lazlo to follow. They edged along the side of the barn and hid behind the tailgate of an oxidized blue Toyota pickup parked between the two buildings. Sam peered over the tailgate toward the house. Someone inside walked past the backlit window.
Definitely too short to be Okoro.
“Wait here,” Sam whispered. “I want a better look.”
Lazlo nodded.
Sam checked both directions, then ran to a rain barrel beneath the downspout next to the window, crouching behind it. He started to rise when one of the guards rounded the corner making a beeline toward the pickup where Lazlo was hiding.
Sam, tracking the guard with his gun sight, motioned for Lazlo to remain where he was. The guard stopped by the driver’s door, pulled it open, and reached inside, retrieving a bottle of water. But instead of taking it with him back on his rounds, he stood there, drinking. As much as Sam wanted to take the guy out right then—and he might have, had he thought doing so would get the man to finish his drink—he wasn’t about to start a gunfight. Not until he knew how many people he was dealing with and whether or not the girls were anywhere on the premises.
The man capped the bottle, tossed it onto the seat of the car, and closed the door. Rather than returning to the front of the farm, he walked toward the open barn door. Just a few more feet and he’d have tripped over Lazlo to get past him. Sam moved his finger from the trigger guard to the trigger, increasing the pressure with each step the man took. Someone called out from the front and the guard stopped, pivoted, walked quickly in that direction.
The moment he turned the corner, Sam glanced at Lazlo, who was leaning his head on the rear bumper of the Toyota, clearly rattled. Finally, he looked over at Sam, giving him a thumbs-up.
Sam nodded, then moved to the window, peering in. Zara’s father sat in a wooden chair, his hands bound behind him, his lower lip cut and swollen, staring defiantly at two armed men inside the room. Okoro’s three farmhands were seated on the floor next to him, looking scared but unharmed.
Four hostages. Four gunmen. Two inside, two outside.
Returning to the rain barrel, he motioned Lazlo over.
Lazlo hurried across the dirt drive, crouching beside him. “I daresay, you and Mrs. Fargo do this all the time,” he whispered, watching Sam unsnap the pouch on his belt that held the speed loaders for his Smith & Wesson. “But . . .”
“But what?” Sam said.
“I was rather hoping we’d get through this without killing anyone.”
“That ship sailed the moment they kidnapped the girls, never mind my wife.”