wearing bright clothes and mobile phones on lanyards, their hair cut fashionably short or braided with purple highlights, pass through the more soberly dressed local foot traffic like swans through ducks. Their amused-by-hicksville expressions are the same as those of New Yorkers in Iowa.
"I'm thinking of calling Zimbabwe," Jacob says, after tapping at his hiptop for a bit.
"Zimbabwe?"
"That number Derek used to call. The one that called him this morning."
"Why?" To Veronica it sounds like asking for trouble.
"It seems like it's all going down at this camp, doesn't it? Any information we can get before going there might help."
"What if whoever it is is on the other side? What if he figures something out and calls them to warn them?"
"He can't," Jacob says. "Unless they've got a satellite phone."
"I thought there was cell service up by the camp."
"There is. But only a single Mango base station, the other networks don't reach it at all. Probably half the reason Derek got me my job. I just disabled incoming calls and texts via that base station for every phone but yours and mine."
"What? When?" Veronica asks, amazed.
"Just now, when you were ordering."
"But - Jacob, that's a refugee camp. People's lives could be in danger."
"Right now I'm more worried about our lives," he says sharply, and then in a softer voice, "It's no big deal. Outgoing calls still work."
"Huh." Veronica shakes her head. Jacob's abilities, and their ramifications, continue to astonish her. "OK. I mean, yeah, I'm sure curious, so why not. What the hell. Let's call Zimbabwe."
Jacob starts to dial, then looks around. "Once we're back in the car. Privacy."
"Be funny if the call didn't work," Veronica says sourly, once they have paid the bill and returned to the Toyota. "Half my international calls from here never get through."
Jacob smalls. "Not me. All my calls are flagged as highest priority … Here we go." He taps at his hiptop, switching it to speakerphone, and she hears the doubled rings of a phone call to England or a former English colony; then the click of an answer.
"Hello?" asks a plummy English voice that sounds both eager and wary.
Veronica looks at Jacob and realizes he has no idea what to say.
"Hello?" the voice repeats, more wary this time.
She takes the initiative: "We're returning your call from this morning."
A brief pause. "And with whom exactly do I have the pleasure of speaking?"
"My name's Veronica Kelly. I'm with Jacob Rockel. We were friends with Derek."
She ignores Jacob's appalled stare. There's no point in complicated lies and evasions. The truth may set them free; even if it doesn't, lies won't do them any good.
"Veronica and Jacob," the voice says doubtfully. "I seem to recall from YouTube that you were with him in the Congo."
"Yes."
"I called this morning to speak to his partner. Prester."
"I'm sorry," Veronica says, "Prester isn't available. He's, he's been shot."
"Shot? I see. An accident? Or an act of malicious intent?"
She pauses. "Intent."
"By whom?"
"We're not sure exactly. That's what we're trying to find out. We think," Veronica says, flinging caution to the wind, "it has something to do with the Zanzibar Sams, which are actually Igloos."
After a long pause the voice says, "I think we may have a bad connection. Could you repeat that?"
"Zanzibar Sams, which are actually Igloos."
"Ah. No, the connection is fine. What in God's name are you talking about?"
"We're not really sure," Veronica admits. "We thought you might know."
"There are two of you there?"
"Yes," Jacob contributes.
"And why did you think I might know?"
Jacob answers, "We have access to cell-phone records. We know Derek called you, and you called him, repeatedly, over the last few months."
"Mobile phone records. I see. Who do you work for?"
"Telecom Uganda."
"That's not what I mean," the voice says, a little testy. "Why do you have this phone? Why are you involved in this? Why are you even still in Africa?"
"I was his best friend," Jacob says. "Who exactly are you?"
A long silence. Veronica is afraid the man will hang up.
Eventually he says, grudgingly, "Let's just say Derek and I were in some ways compatriots."
"What did he call you about?" Veronica asks. "We know he was investigating a smuggling ring. We think he found out someone American was involved, not Prester, and that's who arranged for him and the rest of us to be abducted."
After another pause, the man acknowledges, "That was what I understood as well. From inferences. He told me very little directly."
"Very little like what?" Jacob asks, exasperated.
"Pardon me, Mr. Rockel, if that is actually your