“Ready,” Remi said.
He called Pete, giving him a quick rundown, then let the car idle forward until they were about fifty yards away from Makao’s pickup. Not unexpectedly, Sam’s phone rang. He answered. “Can’t say I was expecting to hear from you again, Makao.”
“You have something I want. Money. I have something you want.”
“Which would be . . . ?” Sam asked.
“We were hoping for the girl’s uncle but feel certain you’ll settle for the boy.”
“What makes you think we want him?”
“You came this far, didn’t you?”
Sam sensed Remi bristling. He checked her phone, sitting in the cupholder, waiting for Lazlo’s call. “How much?” he asked Makao.
“The same as before. One hundred thousand dollars. When you wire it to my account, I’ll give you the boy.”
Finally, Remi’s phone lit up. Lazlo was in place. “No need,” Sam said. “I’ve got the money here.”
“You expect me to believe you have that much cash with you?”
“I had it delivered by special courier when I thought you had my wife.” Sam didn’t give him time to think. “Keep the boy in the open where I can see him. Meet me halfway. I’ll bring the money to you. If you’re satisfied it’s all there, you send the boy to me.”
A stretch of silence followed, then Makao said, “Agreed. But keep your hands where I can see them or you won’t make it back to your car.”
The phone beeped as Makao disconnected. Sam saw him talking to Kambili, who nodded in response to whatever he was saying.
“Let’s hope this works,” Sam said.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Love never gets lost; it’s only kept.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
Remi handed Sam a Bluetooth earpiece. He placed it in his ear and tucked his Smith & Wesson into the back of his waistband.
Remi called his phone, telling him, “Be careful. I’m calling Lazlo now.”
He nodded when her voice sounded in his earpiece, then opened his door, holding up his empty left hand. Remi handed him his backpack. He lifted it by its strap with his other hand, making sure Makao knew he wasn’t holding a gun.
“I’m almost there,” Lazlo said.
Remi opened her door a few inches, bracing one foot on the frame, aiming her Sig in the direction of Makao’s truck. “Sam, stay to the left.”
Sam walked slowly toward the two men, glad to see the few wary pedestrians quickly running from the street out of sight. And no wonder. As many burned-out shells of houses Sam had seen on his way in, he knew the people here were no strangers to violence.
Makao and Kambili waited at the front of their truck, Chuk just behind them. When Sam reached the halfway mark, he tossed the backpack on the ground and held up both of his hands. “It’s yours.” Sam backed away to the left, making sure Remi had a line of sight.
Makao pushed Kambili. “Go get it.”
Kambili reluctantly moved forward.
C’mon, Lazlo . . .
“Here,” Lazlo said.
Sam saw him standing just behind the mud-sided building, waving at Chuk. The boy looked over at the professor, but then, surprising Sam, moved closer to Makao.
Sam heard Remi sigh. “I don’t think Chuk realizes that we’re trying to save him. Lazlo, you’re going to have to grab him.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Lazlo said, ducking back behind the building. “Buy me a few more seconds.”
That’s all they had left. Once Kambili reached the backpack, and realized the only cash it contained was probably a bit of change in the front zippered pocket, they were done for.
“Think of something, Fargo,” Remi said.
Sam held up both hands. “You sure you trust him?” he called out.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Makao said.
“Wasn’t asking you,” Sam replied. “I was asking Kambili.”
Kambili stopped, looking back at Makao. “What’s he talking about?”
“Don’t listen to him,” Makao said. “He’s doing this on purpose.”
Lazlo was back, this time with Nasha. Unfortunately, when Chuk saw her, Makao unknowingly stepped between them. Sam kept his gaze on Kambili. “Makao killed your brothers. What makes you think he’s not going to kill you the moment you grab that backpack?”
“He’s lying,” Makao said.
“Am I?” Sam took a second step that direction, still holding his hands up.
Chuk backed up and darted toward Lazlo and Nasha.
Makao tried to grab the boy. “They tricked us,” he shouted, aiming at Remi.
Her shot was nearly simultaneous to his. Makao staggered back toward the truck.
Sam drew his Smith & Wesson as Kambili spun around, gun in hand.
Sam fired.
Kambili dropped to his knees. Red bloomed on his chest as he fell facedown on the ground, still gripping his weapon. Sam kept his gun trained on the man, approached, kicked Kambili’s weapon away and leaned down, checking his pulse.
Dead.
“Fargo,” Remi shouted. “Makao’s getting away.”
Sam looked up in time to see the white truck backing up. He ran to the Land Rover to give chase, then stopped, seeing the odd tilt of the car as Lazlo, Nasha, Amal, and Chuk emerged from between the buildings. “Bad news,” Sam said, examining the damage.
“We could go after him,” Pete said, indicating the supply truck.
Sam spied the dust cloud in the distance. Had it been a smaller truck maybe? “You’d never catch him.”
Nasha crouched beside Sam and looked up at Lazlo, asking, “Is a flat tire unscathed?”
“When it comes to the Fargos? Quite.”
Eventually, the villagers started wandering out, a crowd gathering around the group, while they waited for the police to arrive from Mubi.
“Nasha?” A man pushed through the crowd, stopped, and stared in disbelief. “Nasha . . . Is that really you?”
Myriad emotions swept across her small face, but she didn’t move. “You . . . You said you were coming back for us . . .”
“I did. I looked for you. The man I paid to drive you, he told me . . . It doesn’t matter now. You’re here . . .” He held his hand out toward her, his smile broken. “Come. Give your old uncle a hug.”