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?"
Jacob doesn't answer.
"If they'll find us they'll kill us, won't they? They'll actually kill us. This is so fucking crazy. We were so stupid. We should have gone home."
"Well, we didn't," he says harshly, opening his eyes. "Yes, we should have. Yes, it's my fault, is that what you're getting at? I don't know what to say. I'm sorry."
"Your fault?" Veronica looks at him, astonished. "What are you talking about? You didn't make me do anything."
Jacob shrugs. "It feels like my fault."
She changes the subject. "How long has it been?"
"Hours. Look. It's almost dark out." He gestures to the single cracked window, covered with gunk, that faces a sheer concrete wall.
"We can trust them. They won't tell on us."
"No. They'll just take our money and run."
Lydia and Rukungu have taken Jacob and Veronica's ATM cards and gone to the downtown Barclays to withdraw as much money as possible. They didn't dare go themselves and risk discovery. Driving into Kampala, finding a place behind the Sun City to park, and sneaking into the hotel was terrifying enough.
"I don't think so," Veronica says.
"I don't see why they wouldn't. She's a hooker. He's a sociopath."
"He's not a sociopath. He saved my life. He didn't have to."
"He's a mass murderer."
"That was a long time ago. I'm sure he came to Kampala for Lydia. I wonder what their story is."
Jacob smiles mordantly. "Oh, you know. Same old cliché. Boy meets