to purchase a group of captured Westerners?"
Veronica doesn't understand. Neither does anyone else, except maybe Susan from the look on her face.
Then Jacob says, stunned, "No fucking way."
"I look like I'm joking?"
"How would he even have made contact?"
"Lot of Islamic influence in this region," Derek says. "Idi Amin converted and got a lot of money from Arab states while he was butchering Uganda. Muslims went untouched. There are mosques and Muslim schools everywhere over the border, nice places, well-funded, well-respected. Join Islam, join a strong community, get a quality education for your children, become middle class. Powerful incentive. Especially if you're anti-Western to begin with."
Veronica still doesn't get it. He's right about the Muslim influences, certainly. She remembers the mosque in Fort Portal, a city they passed through on the way to the Impenetrable Forest; its gleaming green minarets were so much cleaner and better-built than the rest of that chaotic town, the mosque looked like it had fallen from a different world. She remembers the Muslim primary school in Butogota, the nearest town to the national park. But what kind of Muslims would want to ransom Western tourists, why -
"Oh my God," The bolt of awful realization jolts Veronica up to a sitting position. She feels like she is going to throw up. "No. You can't be serious."
"They're definitely active in this region," Derek says. "I know that for a fact. And it wouldn't be the first time in Africa. Far from it. This is where they started. August 1998. Bombs go off at the American embassies in Kenya and Tanzania, killing hundreds, mostly Africans. For most people it was the first time they ever heard of Osama bin Laden."
Diane gasps. Michael and Tom start with appalled understanding. The name hangs in the air.
"You can not be serious," Veronica repeats dully.
"What do we do?" Judy asks quietly.
Derek takes a deep breath. "Not much we can do except hope I'm wrong."
Veronica lies back down and tells herself this can't be happening. The African Arab is just an intermediary. Derek must be wrong. They are not about to be sold to Islamic terrorists.
Chapter 7
Men appear outside, half a dozen, their silhouettes warped by the shimmering curtain of the waterfall. When they enter Veronica recognizes them as their jungle abductors. Two of them hold rifles; the others have pangas dangling from their belt. They are led by Patrice.
The one-eyed man produces a key, undoes their chains, withdraws them from the anchor rock, then reattaches them to the big padlock so the captives remain yoked together by their ankles. The others go among them, grabbing their arms and pulling them to their feet without niceties. It all happens very quickly. Veronica allows herself to be pulled along after Patrice, through the waterfall, out of the cave. The sudden sunlight is blinding.
They are led down along a muddy trail that winds through ragged plots of farmland worked by women, children, and a few old men, all barefoot and dressed in rags. Some are half-crippled by injury; others have misshapen goiters erupting from their necks. Some wield hoes with big metal blades that look rusting shovel heads. The rest use sticks and bare hands. All watch amazed as the white captives are led through their fields like cattle being taken to slaughter. The occasional buildings are mud huts with misshapen walls and unevenly thatched roofs. Only a few scrawny goats and chickens are visible.
"Vous voyez," Patrice says. He sounds angry. "You see."
Veronica is too caught up in her own misery to sympathize with that of these strangers. Her strength has ended, she is only able to walk because Derek is holding her up. They stagger to the bottom of the hill, to a broad, flat bean patch where Gabriel and the dishdash man stand as if waiting for a bus. The dishdash man holds a white telephone as big as a brick; it looks like a cell phone from the 1980s. The word Thuraya is embossed on its plastic shell.
"You see," Gabriel says to them, indicating the fields around them, and their wretched inhabitants. His voice is serious, as if he is imparting great wisdom. "This is my home. This is where I grew. Once there was a school and a church. Now they are ashes. The jungle has grown over the roads that once led here. We cannot grow enough to feed ourselves. We have no money for the market. We are too far from the roads to trade, we have no gold or