“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”
“If it helps, they’ll probably try to kill us first.”
“I feel better already.”
Sam clapped his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Now, let’s go get those two guards.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Where a woman rules, streams run uphill.
– ETHIOPIAN PROVERB –
Like Amal, Remi held a thick clump of long grass to cover the footprints of the girls who’d gone on ahead—Amal working her way up the steep, moonlit trail toward the trees, while Remi worked her way back to the truck to speed the process. With as many men as Makao had working for him, it wouldn’t be long before they had their tires changed.
Remi swept her gaze over the portion of the trail visible from the road, satisfied that the prints were no longer so obvious. “I think we’re good,” she said.
Amal glanced behind her, the girls long gone from sight. When she looked down at Remi, her smile faltered. “You are coming back . . . aren’t you?”
“That’s my goal,” Remi said. The last thing she wanted to do was add to Amal’s stress and possibly induce a seizure. “But if I don’t, keep going, no matter what. And trust Nasha’s instincts. I have a feeling she’s done this before. Now hurry.”
As Amal disappeared into the trees, Remi looked up at the sign marking the hiking trail, then the four-inch-thick wooden post. The last piece of evidence. She climbed into the truck, putting the gearshift in reverse, backing until she heard a loud crack followed by a thwump as the sign fell into the shrubs at the side of the road. She got out, threw some brush over the stub, and dragged the sign from the bushes and hauled it into the back of the truck.
Though she wanted to throw more brush over the trail, the rumble of Makao’s approaching vehicle just up the hill told her she was out of time. She jumped in the truck, shifting to drive. About a quarter mile downhill, she reached the second sign that indicated Lower Trail. Parking just beyond it, she shut off the motor, pocketing the keys as she hopped out, wishing she had the time to remove the Upper Trail sign from the truck and hide it somewhere in the forest. If she was lucky, they’d give the cargo area a cursory glance, see it was empty, and head down the lower trail into the valley, allowing the girls enough time to get to safety.
The revving engine grew louder, and she waited until the beam of headlights swung around the curve, illuminating the back of the truck. Careful not to look into the headlights and ruin her night vision, she did her best to appear shocked at being discovered—remaining a second longer than prudent to make sure they saw her.
The tires skidding across the dirt as they sped up, then braked, gave her hope that her plan had worked.
Racing down the trail far enough to draw them in, she doubled back and hid near the road behind some low bushes. She needed to be able to get back up that hill.
And if she couldn’t, so be it. As long as the girls made it, she’d be good with whatever happened next. Dropping completely flat on the ground, she closed her eyes against the settling dust, evened her breathing, and listened to the sound of the men as they tromped down the footpath, searching for her.
“This way,” one of the men shouted. “She moved off the trail.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
By the time the fool has learned the game, the players have dispersed.
– ASHANTI PROVERB –
Makao looked up at the Forest Service sign and down the trail where the Fargo woman had disappeared. “Get a flashlight.”
Jimi retrieved one from the truck, handing it to him. He shined it on the ground at the trail’s entrance, seeing waffle-style footprints leading from the back of the Fargos’ truck and onto the trail. He followed for a short distance, but the prints disappeared about twenty feet in.
Interesting. He stomped his foot on the ground, then checked to see if it left a print in the thin layer of dust on the hard-packed earth. Not much of one, which made him wonder if the girls, weighing much less, could possibly have gone that way without leaving a mark.
Somehow, he doubted that, and he shined the light into the thick growth on either side of the trail to see if they were hiding there.
Realizing it would take them all night to search beyond the immediate area, he returned to the road.
“Where else would they go?” Jimi asked him.
“Good question. Bring the map,” Makao said.
The wind rattled the corners of the paper as he spread it out on the open tailgate of his pickup. He held it down with one hand while Jimi angled the flashlight toward it. The location of the school was marked with a red X. Neither it nor the road they stood on appeared anywhere on the map, probably because both were privately funded. But a dotted red line clearly marked the winding hiking trail that led into the protected national park forest. It appeared that someone could follow it from the main road near the farm all the way up into the reserve and on to the Cameroon border.
He glanced over at the lower trail where he’d seen the Fargo woman disappear. Why no other footprints? He wouldn’t put it past her to lift every child from the path, then have them walk for a time off trail to hide their prints. The question was whether they were headed down to the farm or doubling back up to the school. “Pili, you and Den follow the trail to the end and keep an eye on both sides in case they’re hiding.”
The two men headed down the trail, their flashlight beams swinging across the path and into the trees. The sound of distant gunshots brought them to a halt. “What was that?” Jimi asked.
“The farm,” Makao said. “Find out what happened.”
Jimi made the call while Pili and Den continued down the serpentine trail carved into the thick forest.
It didn’t make sense that seven women and girls could disappear so quickly—which made him wonder how well his men had checked the bed of that truck.
He walked over, lifted the canvas, the beams from his headlights shooting in. At first, he saw nothing but his own shadow cast across the cargo area. As he started to turn away, he realized something was in the back of the truck. He reached in, pulled a thick post up and over the tailgate, cursing when he saw the large Forest Service sign bolted to its top reading Upper Trail.
“Pili, Den,” he shouted. “Change of plans. Get in the back of the truck with the others.”
“They’re not answering,” Jimi said as the two men jogged back up the trail.
Den glanced at the sign hanging out of the back of the Fargos’ truck. “Where are we going?”
“We’re getting our hostages back.”