aware an Interpol alert went out earlier today calling for your arrest?"
After a moment Jacob says, "We weren't aware, but we're not surprised."
"We didn't do it," Veronica says desperately. "We've been set up. We've been framed."
"Of course you have."
"We're calling you for confirmation," Jacob says.
"I see. Confirmation of what precisely?"
"The information you had for Derek. The information he called you to get. Did it pertain to General Gideon Gorokwe?"
After a moment the voice says, "You don't seriously expect me to answer that."
"Derek called you to ask about Gorokwe, didn't he? Because he thought Gorokwe was involved with interahamwe smugglers. And then when you found out Gorokwe was helping the Americans chase the interahamwe, and their so-called terrorist allies, you thought this was strange, so you called to ask about it, didn't you? That was the real reason you called. You wanted to ask Prester because Derek had already let slip he wasn't a suspect any more."
"It's an interesting supposition," the man says carefully. "Let's go back to your use of the words 'so-called,' if we may –"
Jacob says, "We need to talk to Mugabe."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Robert Mugabe. The president of Zimbabwe. We need to talk to him."
"Right. As you do. You don't want much, do you? I'm sorry, Mr. Rockel, but if you think I can put you in touch with our oh-so-esteemed president, you are barking up not just the wrong tree but frankly a rather poisonous one."
"Can you tell us someone who can get us in contact?"
The British man says, acidly, "Even if I could, to be perfectly honest, I don't think I would. But it's a moot point. Mugabe's in China for some totalitarian tete-a-tete. He won't be back until next week."
"Good," Jacob says. "Then there's time."
"Time for what?"
Veronica opens her mouth to explain. Jacob shakes his head. She looks at him. He reaches out and covers the phone's mouthpiece.
"Getting out of Uganda isn't enough. Not with Interpol after us too. Kenya won't be any better. Nowhere will. Every customs officer and policeman in Africa is looking for us. You understand?"
Veronica just stares at him. She feels overwhelmed, like she's been struck by a slow-motion tidal wave and has only just begun to tumble. "Then what do we do?"
"This guy was a friend of Derek's. He might help us. But we have to meet him in person, show him what we've got, we can't convince him over the phone."
She nods.
"I'm waiting," the voice says drily.
Jacob removes his hand from the mouthpiece. "We've been framed. If they catch us, if we get caught anywhere in Africa, they won't prosecute us, they'll kill us. These murder charges won't stick, they're just an excuse to grab us."
"How tragic. And why exactly has this come to pass?"
"Because we've found out something about General Gorokwe. Something serious. Something that could affect, that will affect, the entire future of Zimbabwe."
"How very melodramatic. What?"
Jacob says, "We'll only tell you in person."
After a moment the voice says, incredulously, "I beg your pardon?"
"We've got evidence. You won't believe us without that. We need to show you."
"Mr. Rockel, I am not about to come to Uganda to visit a pair of wanted murderers."
"Then we'll come to you. If you don't believe us then, you can do whatever you like, turn us over to Interpol, whatever."
"You can't be serious."
Jacob says, "We're dead serious. We need to get to Zimbabwe as fast as we can."
A long pause follows. Veronica is jittery. It feels like minutes are critical now, like the Ugandan police or even military might track them down at any moment.
"We didn't do it," she bursts out. "Prester was our friend. They tortured him to death. That's what they'll do to us if they catch us. Please. You were Derek's friend. There's no one else. Help us. Please."
When the man eventually speaks his voice is full of reluctance, but there's a tinge of curiosity as well. "Tell you what. I'll do this much. If you actually do come here, I'll meet with you. I won't promise anything more than that. Get yourselves to Livingstone, in Zambia, near the border. Give me an email address, one that can't be traced to you, and I'll send you details of what to do once you arrive. I promise I'll listen to you. No more than that."
"Get to Zimbabwe?" Veronica asks. She feels betrayed. This sounds like the next worst thing to no help at all. "How?'
"As to that," the stranger says, "I'm afraid you're on your own."
* * *
Jacob has