in concrete. But that stray bullet revealed something about this concrete: it is weak, old, and flaking. And only about an inch of it grips the grille.
Veronica draws out her Leatherman, unfolds its hardened steel, selects its sharp awl, grabs the tool in her fist, and stabs it hard into the ground at the edge of the metal grate. There is a loud chink. She feels at the concrete with her finger. A chip as big as her thumbnail has broken free.
"Lovemore," she says, suddenly feeling strong again, rejuvenated by sudden hope. "I think I've got something here."
* * *
The other prisoners are doing their part almost too well: their loud babble is giving Veronica a headache. She can barely hear the sounds as Lovemore stabs the Leatherman again and again at the floor between the two of them. The noise and utter darkness is dizzying, disorienting. It takes her a few seconds to realize he's stopped.
She reaches out to survey the damage. The concrete around the edges of the grille has been reduced to less than half its initial depth, and flakes cover the nearby floor. Her hands encounter Lovemore's fists, wrapped around the iron bars, pulled as hard as he could. Veronica adds her strength to the effort. They gasp for air, but the grille doesn't move.
"Not yet," Veronica groans.
"Harder," Lovemore insists. "Use your legs."
She does, she pulls with all her might, as he does the same - and with a crack so loud Veronica fears the guards might have heard, the grate pulls free. The high-volume conversation around them dwindles for a moment as the prisoners realize what has happened; then the noise swells up again, this time with a jubilant tone.
Veronica feels around inside the now-open shaft. It is walled by uneven rocks, and its thirty-degree angle will make it difficult to descend, but they have no choice. She takes a deep breath. She has never wanted to do anything less than to descend into this dark, narrow, slanted pit with no known bottom.
"We can't all go," she says.
"They know. I have spoken with them. We will go first. Perhaps some of them will follow later, but they are not eager to go deeper into the mine."
Veronica certainly understands that: she's not exactly eager herself. But it's that or throw herself on Danton's eventual mercy. If she can just get out of this mine, according to Lovemore they're near the Mozambique border, she can get out to there and seek help from someone, maybe get to South Africa, to the civilized world. Even being captured on an Interpol warrant will be better than this.
It occurs to her that maybe, just maybe, if they do somehow manage to escape this abandoned mine, it might not be too late to stop Gorokwe, to blow the whistle before Mugabe is murdered. Maybe she can turn Danton's weakness into a fatal error. By imprisoning her instead of killing her they have brought her into the vulnerable belly of the beast. Now she knows where the missiles are, and when the assassination will happen. If only that when was not too soon - but it is. Less than forty-eight hours. She'll be lucky to even get to a phone in that time, much less make somebody believe her. But she has to try. If they assassinate Mugabe, if Lysander was right, soon afterwards all Zimbabwe will erupt in a civil war that might kill hundreds of thousands. She can't really wrap her head around what that means, the sheer scale of the disaster beggars the mind; but Veronica thinks of that little girl who tried to ride with them on the oxcart, and tries to imagine a city full of little girls like that, all of them dead.
* * *
Descent into the slender ventilation shaft is awkward. The walls of rough-hewn rock are full of sharp stony protrusions; they serve as ledges and handles, but also jab and scrape. It is steep enough that initially Veronica props herself up with a foothold or handhold at all times, rather than risk sliding down the sharp rocks into Lovemore beneath her, and maybe sending them both tumbling to their deaths. She eventually settles on lying on her belly, allowing the grip of her body on the stones to keep herself from falling, and worming her way down in reverse. At least the ongoing physical effort helps to keep panic at bay. The air is thick with dust dislodged by their passage, and she