Wendy agreed, her smile anxious.
Going against their employers’ wishes wasn’t easy. He and Wendy, having worked for the Fargos for this long, knew the dangers that seemed to follow the treasure hunters, especially considering how many millions of dollars’ worth they’d recovered over the years. That was not the career that Pete or Wendy would have chosen, no matter how much money, both content with their much simpler California lifestyle, surfing and boating, when they weren’t helping Selma with her research for the Fargos.
But the school was different. Planning and helping to build it had brought Pete and Wendy even closer, and they found their lives enriched by working with the girls. Perhaps that’s why, for the first time since they’d started dating, Pete began to picture a very different life with Wendy. One that entailed something more than having a good job that allowed them time to play at the beach.
He wanted time with her.
If he couldn’t have that, the next best thing was knowing that she, and everyone at the school with her, was safe. Which made his decision that much easier. He looked at the girls. “I’m going out to call for help.”
They nodded. Monifa looked over at her husband, then Pete. “Maybe you should take Yaro.”
The caretaker patted his right hip, where his gun was holstered.
Not knowing what he might find up there, Pete nonetheless said, “Turn out the light, and no talking, until the door’s closed again.”
When Monifa switched off the battery-powered lantern, plunging the tunnel into darkness, Wendy wrapped her hand around Pete’s neck, pulling him toward her. “Be careful,” she said, kissing him.
“I will.” He climbed to the top, feeling for the latch and sliding it over, listening for any source of noise as he pushed the trapdoor upward about an inch. Hearing nothing but the frantic bleating of the goats, Pete climbed out.
Yaro followed. “Something’s spooked them again.”
The two men drew their guns. When Wendy closed and latched the door, Pete nodded at Yaro and slipped out of the shed.
Perhaps he’d misread the signs that the bandits had left. But other than the goats, the rest of the courtyard was empty, the sickle moon casting faint illumination across the flagstones and planters. Pete and Yaro crossed over toward the mess hall and edged their way out to the front of the school, alarmed when they saw an orange glow coming from the front of the building.
They raced back into the courtyard
, into the mess hall, grabbing a fire extinguisher off the wall and the portable water pump, wheeling it out to the front.
Heat hit them as the flames raced across the wooden porch, licking up the sides of the dorm. Yaro aimed the extinguisher while Pete primed the pump, pointing the hose at the burning building. The water hissed and turned into steam the moment it hit the flames.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
To run is not necessarily to arrive.
– SWAHILI PROVERB –
I daresay, you’re worried,” Lazlo said, one hand on the dash as Sam drove. “But perhaps you might slow down a tad. It’s dark out. The road isn’t exactly in stellar condition.”
They hit a pothole, the force of impact jarring them against their seats. Sam kept his focus out the windshield. “You’re wearing a seat belt, I think you’re safe.”
“Yes, well, that’s debatable. You get in an accident on the way there and Remi and everyone else is out of luck.”
Sam, knowing Lazlo was right, let his foot off the gas. “I’m worried.”
“Understandable.” Lazlo took a deep breath, leaning back in his seat. “I’ll ring Selma to see if she managed to get ahold of that farmer.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and made the call, putting it on speaker. “It’s me,” he said. “I’m with Mr. Fargo. Any word?”
“Not since the last call five minutes ago.” She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid I haven’t been able to get ahold of anyone. I hate to say it, Mr. Fargo, but unless you want me to call the police, you’re on your own.”
“No police,” Sam said, going over every option he could think of. Back when he was employed at the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, DARPA decided to cross-train some of their engineers in covert operations at the CIA’s Camp Peary. He’d met Rubin Haywood, a case agent, when they were partnered up for close combat weapons training. Though Sam tried not to take advantage of their resulting friendship, there were times—like now—that he had no choice. “I need to call Rube.”
“Already did. Waiting on his return call,” Selma said.
“Thanks. We may need his help before this is over.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear from anyone,” she said as Sam’s phone started ringing.
“See who it is,” he told Lazlo, too intent on driving to answer.