Night Of Knives

Chapter 36

The air is so hot and stuffy, the stench so vile, that at first it is almost impossible to breathe, Veronica just stands gasping in the darkness as a surprised and speculative murmuring arises all around her. There is nothing she can do. Obviously the men who brought her expect her to be attacked by her fellow-prisoners. Maybe she should beg for mercy, or maybe that will show weakness; maybe she should try to act the haughty untouchable white woman, or maybe that will just provoke them. She reaches into the pocket of her cargo pants for her Leatherman, at least they didn't search her, at least she can try to defend herself, not that that will mean anything if they all rush her -

"Veronica?" a loud voice says, a familiar voice. "Veronica Kelly?"

She gasps. "Lovemore?"

A babble of Shona conversation breaks out. Then suddenly there is a strong hand on her arm. She flinches, but Lovemore's voice says, "It's me. It's all right."

She doubts that very much. "What are you doing here?"

He speaks in a low voice, into her ear. "We must be quiet. The guards speak English. Sometimes they listen in the dark. They captured me in Harare. They don't know I was with you, or they would have killed me. They only know I was a friend of Lysander's. They said they captured him. Have you seen him?"

She shakes her head, then remembers he can't see her even though their faces are almost close enough to touch. There are men all around her now, using all the available space, she feels limbs pressed against hers, it is weirdly like being at a rock concert. "No. But I saw the missiles. They're just down the hall from here."

"Izzit?" Lovemore considers. "So close."

"Who are all these other men?"

"Hostages. These are sons, brothers, uncles of powerful men. The women and children are in another cell. When Mugabe is gone Gorokwe will try to use them in negotiations to take power. I don't believe it will work. I don't believe men in power care more for their sons and brothers than their power. I think there will be war. And it will happen as soon as Mugabe returns, before word of these kidnappings reaches him."

Veronica remembers Lysander's warning: Important people, powerful people, have begun to disappear. People have started whispering about death squads.

"The day after tomorrow," Veronica says. "If Lysander was right. We have to try to get out of here."

Lovemore grunts. "The mice voted to bell the cat."

Veronica leans towards Lovemore and whispers into his ear, "They didn't search me. I've got tools."

He stiffens. "What tools?"

"A Leatherman. A phone. A lighter. Some cigarettes. My wallet, my money belt, they even left me my passport."

"Izzit," he breathes. "Then maybe, this ventilation shaft -"

He takes her hand and raises it upwards. The ceiling is low enough that she can easily touch its uneven surface. She feels her way along it, guided by the wispy air currents from below, until she finds the place where they disappear, a two-foot-square rusty grate in the ceiling. It is set solidly into the rock that surrounded it, appears to have been welded in place like the iron bars that blocked the main entrance. They'll clearly never get through that.

The shaft slopes down at about a thirty-degree angle, the grille in the concrete floor is three feet over from its counterpart on the ceiling. Lovemore has to talk men into moving off it. Veronica kneels to the ground. She can feel the hot air rising, looking into the shaft is like facing into a weak hair dryer. She grabs the metal bars and pulls. This grille is as solidly set in the concrete floor as its counterpart in the stone ceiling. She would need a real hacksaw, not the Leatherman. Brass padlocks are one thing; inch-thick metal bars are entirely another.