Night Of Knives

Chapter 28

Jacob stares out at the Kampala-Entebbe highway, stretched before them like a black ribbon laid across Uganda's green hills, and tries to think of a way out. No solution is apparent. Despite the equatorial heat he feels cold, his heart is thumping, panic is threatening to swamp his mind like a tsunami, wash it clear of all reason.

Veronica reaches out and takes his hand. He squeezes it tightly. There must be a way out. There has to be, for Veronica's sake, he got her into this mess, he has to get her out. This is a solvable problem, it has to be.

"Lake Victoria," he says. "Maybe we can charter a boat to Tanzania."

"There are police at the port. They'll be looking for us."

"Yeah. Fuck."

"Maybe the Canadian embassy? Or the media?"

He considers. "No. Embassies don't help you when you're wanted for murder. They'll just turn us over and promise to visit in jail. Media, by the time we convince anyone we're not crackpots it'll be too late. We have to get out of the country first."

"At least we've got our passports."

Think outside the box, he tells himself. But this box seems like an inescapable cage. "OK. We have to get out of Uganda. We've got passports. Maybe five hundred dollars cash. Clothes. Cell phones we don't dare turn on. A car that will get us exactly as far as the next police checkpoint. Nobody we can trust." He shakes his head and sags back in defeat. "I'm sorry. We're fucked. There's no way out."

Veronica says, "Rukungu."

Jacob blinks. They dropped Rukungu off at the Hotel Sun City this morning, just after arriving in Kampala. As far as Jacob was concerned the man then ceased to exist. "What about him?"

"We can trust him. Lydia too."

"Great. An interahamwe murderer and a refugee hooker dying of AIDS. I'm sure they'll be a big help. What do you want to do, hide in that hotel forever?"

"It beats sitting here."

Jacob can't argue with that. A potential hiding place isn't much, but it's something. Maybe with time to concentrate he can think of a way out. They have until tomorrow morning at the latest. Then their faces will appear on the front page of all Kampala's newspapers. He puts the Toyota into drive, eases it into a U-turn, and heads back towards Kampala.

* * *

Something moves in the corner of Veronica's vision, and she starts, but it's only a cockroach scuttling across the bathroom floor. Jacob lies on the bed next to her. His eyes are closed but she can tell by his breath that he's awake. She looks around the tiny room, at the holes in the wall, the shredded mosquito net dangling from fan that doesn't work above the thin torn mattress on which they sit, the mattress beneath which they found Derek's notes and secret second cell phone less than a week ago. She starts breathing hard again, feels herself break out in sweat, this room is too small, too much like a coffin, she feels a desperate, fluttering need to escape, to get out by any means necessary, she feels a panicky scream begin to build up in her gut.

Veronica closes her eyes and tries to make herself breathe slowly and deeply, to think of anything but the tight confines of this room. It shouldn't be hard. There are so many other fears to focus on. It feels like they're up against some kind of enormous machine, a steamroller that will annihilate them for the sin of accidentally getting in its way. She tries to tell herself that the walls closing in are the least of her problems, but it doesn't help, her heart keeps thumping erratically, like a frightened bird in her ribcage.

"We should never have stayed," she says angrily, trying to displace her fear with rage. "We should have gone home like Prester told us, like everyone told us. Jesus, this is so crazy. We didn't do anything wrong. How did we wind up hiding in this shithole?"