Makao stood near his open driver’s door, the engine running, while all of his men seemed to be searching the road above them, the surface lit by the pickup’s headlights. She ducked behind a tree, watching through the branches as they tromped around, knowing that the only tracks they’d see up there were hers from when she dragged the sign to the back of the truck.
“Well?” Makao called out.
“This looks like where the truck stopped,” Jimi said, pointing toward the side of the road, perilously close to where the sign had once stood. “You can see the tire tracks where it pulled off.”
Makao joined them in front of the truck, the headlights casting a gigantic shadow of the four men up the hillside.
“Why would it pull off here?” one of the others asked.
“Why do you think?” Makao said. “The Fargo woman set us up. She let the girls out here somewhere, broke the sign off, and led us on a goose chase. The trail has to be there somewhere.”
Had he parked just a few feet back, he would have easily seen the brush covering its entrance.
Even better, they were blinded to anything behind the truck. She edged toward it, doing her best to stay in the grass on the side of the road, hoping to avoid leaving footprints.
When she reached the tailgate, she eyed the path just a few feet to her right. A single tree trunk was all that stood between her and the upper trail. She ducked behind it when Makao returned to the truck, reaching inside for a flashlight. He turned it on, shining it across the ground, then up onto the hillside, searching for evidence of their escape.
Remi pressed herself against the tree, edging around it to keep it between her and him. Two more steps and she’d be on the path—and in the open for a good distance, the brush too low to hide her even if she belly-crawled up to where the forest thickened. Watching the men, she blindly felt around with her foot, hitting a fist-sized rock. Scraping it toward her, she repeated her search until she had several gathered at her feet. Squatting, she picked them up and tossed one of the larger ones over the top of the truck to the other side of the road.
The stone landed in a bush, rattling the branches.
“Hear that?” one of the men said.
“What?” another asked.
“Quiet,” Makao ordered as Remi lobbed a second stone high over them. It landed on the other side, thudding, then rolling down the hill. “There,” he said.
“I hear it.” The men rushed to that side of the road, pointing their guns and flashlights into the brush. She threw one last stone and ran up the trail and across the open space as the beam of a flashlight swung across the road, hitting the trees in front of her.
She dove to the ground, then peered through the leaves, seeing Makao almost standing at the trail entrance.
“Something moved up there,” one of the men said, drawing his gun. Another aimed his flashlight into the shrubs, blinding her.
Crack!
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The fool speaks, the wise man listens.
– ETHIOPIAN PROVERB –
A bush pig scrambled down the hill past Makao.
“Idiots,” he said, then looked at the scuffs in the dirt near the back of his truck, trying to decide if one of his men made them when they were jumping out or if they could’ve been caused by girls searching for a trail. He swept the beam of light across the trees and shrubs growing on the right side of the road, his attention catching on what looked like a waffled footprint in the dirt near a tuft of broken dried grass. None of his men had walked down that far, so the print wasn’t theirs. He moved closer and crouched down. Same waffle print he’d seen on the lower trail. Too small to be a man’s, too large to be a girl’s.
Remi Fargo, no doubt, returning to the scene of the crime.
He aimed his flashlight uphill, knowing if she went to the trouble to double back, the trail had to be here somewhere. Sure enough, he saw more signs of disturbed vegetation and partial footprints in the dirt.
Each had the same waffle pattern.
Jimi joined him. “Find something?”
Makao pointed with his flashlight. “Wasn’t the Fargo woman wearing hiking boots?”
“Definitely.” He squatted, taking a better look. “You think she let the girls out here, then drew us farther down the hill, pretending to take that lower trail?” Jimi laughed as he stood. “Smart woman.”
Makao hated to admit it but Jimi was right. Remi Fargo had outwitted them. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized how much she’d actually manipulated their movements from the time they were kidnapped until the moment he had found the sign in the back of the Fargo truck. He was not going to underestimate her again. “That trail those girls took has to be around here somewhere.”
Eventually, they found the entrance by tripping over the stump once belonging with the sign. Had his truck not been parked practically on top of it, they might have noticed it sooner. The Fargo woman was tenacious, following him back up the hill—he’d give her that. What he wouldn’t do is point out that they’d been bested by a woman. That was bound to stoke their anger and turn them trigger-happy.
Not a good combination when his hostages were worth more alive than dead.
He shined his light on one of the waffle boot prints. “That belongs to Remi Fargo. I have a feeling she’s experienced. Be careful. If she moves those girls off the trail, you could pass them right by and not even know it.”
Pili glanced at the three men beside him. “Maybe we should wait at the school until morning. There’s beds and food.”
“And if they called the police, that’s the first place they’ll come looking,” Makao said. “For the missing girls and for you. If you have to rest, find a place nearby out of sight. But know that the longer you wait, the farther they’ll get.”
“You’re not going with us?”
“Jimi and I are going down to the farm to find out what happened there.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Do not let anything happen to those hostages. They’re worth nothing if they’re dead.”
The four men climbed up the hillside. Jimi followed Makao to his pickup, taking the passenger’s seat as Makao got behind the wheel, while the other two jumped in the back. Makao’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, looked at the screen, recognized the Tunisian number. He dropped the phone in the cupholder, ignoring the call. The phone buzzed again and Jimi reached for it.
“Don’t answer. It’s Tarek,” he said. “I don’t want him to know what’s going on.”
“He’s not going to like it if he finds out.”