a look and get this over with."
Jacob follows her up the cracked and uneven stairs, and despite the uncertainty of their situation, as he climbs he can't help but be distracted by Veronica's trim, swaying hips. He's half-amused at himself, half-pleased that life is coming back to him; he hasn't thought about sex since the Congo, but clearly he is recovering fast, and Veronica is easily the most beautiful woman he's ever spent an extended amount of time with. Not that he has any illusions anything is going to happen between them. He's a geek; Veronica is a former model who married a multimillionaire. Jacob is ruefully aware that he is way out of her league.
They ascend to a glassed-in security box manned by a woman who awards them a hostile glare.
"We want to see a room," Jacob improvises, "we might stay here tonight."
The receptionist frowns suspiciously and passes him a key. "Number 307. Ten minutes."
They advance into the hotel's labyrinthine interior. It's much bigger than it looks on the outside, six stories tall and occupying almost the whole block. The interior arrangements are gloomy and bizarre: a half-dozen interior stairways connect only two or three stories apiece, hallways terminate at doorless walls, benches and chairs sit in dark alcoves. Water drips from leaky pipes. Except for themselves the halls are eerily empty. Jacob is reminded of Gormenghast.
They glance into Room 307 out of curiosity. It's barely big enough for its rickety bed. There are roaches on the filthy floor and the even filthier mattress. The mosquito net is full of holes. The shower is a nozzle set in bare concrete, the toilet has no lid, and there isn't even a light, just a bundle of torn wires protruding from a hole in the roof beside a fan that doesn't work.
"I sure hope it's cheap," Jacob says, appalled. He can't imagine any less desirable place to stay in Kampala. Even a shantytown hut would be better than this.
Veronica closes her eyes. She is breathing hard.
He looks at her. "You okay?"
"Fine," she says without opening her eyes. "I just don't like tight spaces."
"Oh." A few seconds pass. Jacob doesn't know what to say. "Maybe you should wait outside, or -"
"I'm fine. It's no big deal." She takes a deep breath, opens her eyes, looks around again and shakes her head. "Look at this place. Why would Derek -"
"I have no idea. And not just once. A couple times a week for six months." He hesitates, then draws out his hiptop again. It doubles as a phone. "One way to find out."
"You're going to call them?" Veronica looks around nervously. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."
Jacob understands her reluctance. He doesn't particularly want to make contact with anyone here either. This rotting wreck of a hotel feels like the kind of place where people die. But if they turn back at just the implication of danger they'll never uncover the truth. He tells himself to think of this as a test, like an obstacle in a video game.
"It's just a phone call," he says, trying to convince himself as much as Veronica, and he dials.
After three rings a woman answers in a breathy voice. "Hello?"
"Hello," Jacob says. "Hi, um, who am I speaking to?"
"My name is Lydia."
"Hello, Lydia. Where can I find you?"
"The Hotel Sun City, darling. Room 211. Come by any time."
Jacob blinks with surprise. "Room 211. OK. I, I guess I'll be there soon." He hangs up and looks at Veronica. "Well. That was easy."
"Too easy."
"Come on. It's broad daylight. She sounded harmless."
Veronica reluctantly acquiesces. They find their way to Room 211 after a few missteps. Jacob stops in front of it and looks back at Veronica. He is nervous now. She's right, this is too easy. She shrugs but says nothing. He takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.
The woman who answers the door is tall and remarkably beautiful, except for her oddly bloodshot eyes. She makes Jacob think of Iman, the model. She is heavily made up, with braided hair, in high heels, a leather miniskirt, and a form-fitting long-sleeved tiger-striped shirt. The room behind her is relatively clean, and empty but for a shabby bed. It smells of perfume.
"Lydia?" Jacob asks.
The woman nods. She seems surprised to see them.
"I just called."
"Yes. How did you get my number?" Her voice is low and doesn't sound Ugandan, the accent is more French.
"From Derek."
Lydia's face flickers. Then she smiles broadly. "Oh yes. A naughty man