out his hiptop and taps at it briefly. "But there's a Mango phone alive inside that scrapyard."
"That so? How convenient."
"We should get closer. The analyzer isn't in range."
Prester says, "Wait until dark."
The sun falls over the horizon. It takes only a few minutes for the darkness to deepen into night. The few street lights that work shed barely enough light to see the outlines of the buildings around them. As they wait, Prester reaches inside his shirt collar, withdraws a little pouch of pale leather that hangs on the golden chain around his neck, and twirls it absently between his fingers. It has been sewn shut with silver thread.
"What's that?" Veronica asks.
Prester looks down at the pouch as if he hadn't noticed it. Then he says, calmly, "The little finger of a stillborn child."
She stares at him.
"Muti?" Jacob asks, incredulous and revolted. "You actually believe in that black-magic shit?"
"I live here. I can't afford not to."
"But - come on. You're an educated man."
"And you're a tourist. More things under heaven and earth, like I said. You'd never believe some of the things I've seen." Prester takes a deep breath and tucks the pouch back under his shirt. "Never mind. We're wasting time. Let me just go over the plan again. The objective here is to collect information, not get in trouble. I'm going to find a place to park which is both secure and has a view of the yard. You will call me if you see something I need to know about. My phone is on silent." He doublechecks this. "You two will stay in the vehicle, no matter what. You're not trained for this and I've got enough problems without babysitting. I'm going to station the analyzer by the gate, close enough to harvest their numbers when they come out, then go into the yard and put trackers on their vehicles. If something goes wrong, just get the fuck away and call for help, either the police or Strick, depending on what's happened. Is that all clear?"
Veronica nods, wide-eyed.
"Clear," Jacob rasps.
"Good. Let's do it."
He turns the Pajero around and drives back past the scrapyard. Their headlights cast long, distorted shadows from the ruined machines sprawled on the vast field of fissured mud. There is a light on inside the building in the heart of the yard, and two vehicles are parked outside, a white Land Cruiser and a black Mitsubishi pickup. Neither was there when they passed by before. The scene is eerily postapocalyptic, like a night shot from Mad Max. Veronica is beginning to wish she'd told Prester she didn't want to come. It's far too easy to imagine being killed here by terrorists.
The watchman at the scrapyard gate looks at them with disinterest as he is lit by their headlights. Prester drives back over the hill, then switches off all the Pajero's lights, U-turns, goes off-road across cratered mud, and parks in a vacant lot atop the ridge that overlooks the scrapyard, almost level with the roof of the yard's single building. The street lights are distant and they can barely see more than silhouettes.
"That analyzer ready?" Prester asks.
Jacob checks. "Yes. Scan-and-record mode."
Prester takes it and orders, "Stay."
Then he steps out of the vehicle, closes the door by leaning on it slowly so as not to make any sound. Veronica sees him get about twenty feet down the ridge, heading towards the scrapyard gate, before he disappears into darkness.
"No problem," Jacob says, trying to be reassuring. "He's not doing anything really risky. Just one lousy askari. No big deal."
A long slow silence passes. Veronica and Jacob watch the scrapyard like hawks. She blinks and squints at the black pickup. She can't tell for sure, the light is too dim, but did something just move?
"Did you see that?" she asked. "By the pickup?"
"No."
"There it is again."
"I don't see anything."
"It's there," Veronica insists. "Something moving. In the pickup, in the back."
"Maybe it's him. Putting the trackers on."
"It's too soon, I don't think he could have gotten there that fast - oh shit. Call him, call him!"
"What is it?" Jacob asks, reaching for his hiptop.
"Dogs!"
But it is too late. Before Jacob can dial, the two lethal-looking guard dogs leap out of the pickup truck and charge towards a ruined truck, howling for blood. Then Veronica sees motion near the truck carcass. Someone running from the dogs, pelting towards the scrapyard fence. It must be Prester. He's not going to make it.
Chapter 21
Jacob takes a deep breath. He doesn't want