Night of Knives

by Jon Evans

  Lovemore drops down from the fence, doubles over and assumes a hunched-over posture with his arms dangling right down to the ground, and runs away with a strange leaping gait. Veronica thinks he must be hurt, but once the mound of dirt is between him and the guards, he straightens back up, motions to her to follow, and rushes into the bush.

  She runs after him, but not far – he stops just far enough into the bush to be invisible, then moves along the bushline. His whole body is glistening with sweat, his breath is ragged, but he moves with grace. Veronica follows. He stops when they can see the guards again, walking across the parking lot. Their rifles are at the ready but they seem more suspicious than hostile.

  Lovemore drops to his knees, takes a few deep breaths, opens his mouth, and emits a loud, nasal ooking that echoes across the misty hillside. Veronica is so startled she nearly cries out. It does not sound like a human noise. Then he beats the bush around him with a kind of epileptic rhythm, and ooks again.

  The guards stop walking, and peer carefully in their direction. After a brief discussion, they turn back to the gate.

  "Baboon," Lovemore explains. "Very common."

  She nods.

  "We can't enter the mine now." His voice is grim, defeated. "They will be watching carefully, to shoot and kill the baboons."

  She nods again. "I'm sorry. We have to go to Mozambique. At least we can escape, and get the truth out."

  He doesn't argue. They stand and begin to walk again, moving back through the bush.

  "Do you all know how to make perfect animal noises?" Veronica asks as they emerge onto the dirt road, thinking of Rukungu at the refugee camp. "Is it part of the standard African grade-school curriculum or something?"

  "No. I learned in Botswana, from the San. They live in the wild."

  She supposes Rukungu too has lived in the wild, in the untamed Africa she has hardly seen at all herself. Veronica suddenly wishes she had at least seen the gorillas in Bwindi before was kidnapped. Living in Kampala it was easy to forget just how wild Africa is, full of baboons, crocodiles, elephants, leopards like the one they saw just now, perched on that tree branch above the path, waiting for prey to pass beneath –

  Veronica's eyes widen. She stops, turns and looks back to the paved road that winds its way through steep hills.

  "Wait," she says. "I have an idea."

  * * *

  Veronica stands shivering beside the paved road that winds its way up to the mine. The sun has risen, but it does not penetrate the thick mist that seems to have emanated from these hills. She tries to breathe hard, to warm herself up, but all her reservoirs of inner strength seem exhausted, the cool damp air seems to be sucking the heat directly from her blood. It isn't even that cold but her teeth begin to chatter. She looks around for Lovemore, but he has disappeared into the bush. She suddenly wants a cigarette, but they were soaked by the river. Her Zippo will still work, she considers trying to warm herself with it, but rejects the idea as futile.

  Then she hears an engine in the distance. She straightens up. Her heart begins to pound, and her teeth cease to chatter. The vehicle is coming from below, moving towards the mine. She waits to see what it is. In the mist she can only see a few hundred feet, down to where the road meets a dirt tributary and then bends around the base of a sheer forty-foot cliff. If it's a Jeep full of soldiers, then that does them no good - but no, it's a white hatchback, and the driver is unaccompanied by any passengers, it's almost perfect. A 4WD would be better, but this is hopefully good enough, and it's probably the best chance they're going to get.

  Veronica takes a deep breath. Then she walks out into the middle of the road and begins to wave her arms at the driver, hopefully signalling him to stop. She feels a little ridiculous.

  The hatchback, a Suzuki, stops in front of her. Veronica stays where she is a moment, then sinks down to the ground, feigning a dramatic swoon worthy of a nineteenth-century novel. In her current state physical collapse is not hard to fake. After a moment the door opens and the driver steps out to investigate, amazed by the sight of a filthy and bloodstreaked white woman lying in the middle of the road. Veronica moans loudly, hoping to cover any sound, as Lovemore steps out of the roadside foliage behind the man.

  Despite his injuries and exhaustion Lovemore moves fast and catlike, the Leatherman gleaming in his hand. The driver senses something and turns to face him, but too late. The multi-tool's metal blade sinks into the man's gut. The man gasps with amazed shock. So does Veronica; this wasn't part of the plan. Lovemore withdraws the blade. The driver lifts his arms pathetically to protect his face, and opens his mouth to cry out, but as he does so, Lovemore takes a quick step forward, ducking underneath and then into the man's upraised arms, and as their bodies press together, Lovemore finishes his motion by reaching the blade up and into the other man's throat.

  For a moment the two of them seem frozen together, locked in place. Then Lovemore steps calmly away, and the driver claps his hands to his neck to try to staunch the pulsing fountain of blood. Veronica thinks with distant horror of Derek's murder. Lovemore grabs the man and pulls him off the road and into the woods as he topples to the ground. There is blood everywhere, so much blood Veronica can almost taste its rich iron scent.

  "Hide the blood," Lovemore snaps at her. "Cover it with dirt."

  She numbly follows the command while he hides the body in the bush. A minute later he is back on the road, wearing the man's trousers. They are too short for him.

  "You said you weren't going to hurt them," she says helplessly.

  "We can't afford the danger. He went through the checkpoints. He must have been going to the mine."

  "How can you know that? The road goes past the mine too. How can you be sure?"

  "Get in. Please. We have no time."

  * * *

  Getting the Suzuki hatchback up the steep dirt road is easy enough. Getting it through the twenty feet of bush that leads up to the cliff is surprisingly not too difficult either. The ground is rocky enough that the vegetation here is mostly bush, trees big enough to stop its progress are few and far, and in first gear the Suzuki's tires are more than equal to the uneven dirt and underbrush. All the same Veronica is glad Lovemore is driving.

  As they pass through the bush there is a sudden rustle of motion up above them, and Veronica leaps with alarm as a series of loud nasal snorts echo through the air - but it is only a small family of monkeys, expressing their displeasure at this human invasion before they move away. Veronica smiles ruefully.

  When they reach the top of the overlook, about fifty metres square of cracked but flattish rock, the seething sun in the eastern sky is beginning to burn away the early-morning mist. Lovemore halts the Suzuki at a suitable-seeming location, hidden from where the asphalt road winds directly beneath the cliff.

  "You really think this might work?" Veronica asks, breathless.

  Lovemore says, simply, "I don't know."

  The more she thinks about it the more she dares to think that they actually have a chance. A single and desperate chance, but that's much better than no chance at all. Their capture has brought them into the heart of the conspiracy, and because of that, because of Danton's mercy, they know enough to be dangerous. They know where the missiles are, and they know they will leave today and be taken west, to Harare Airport, where Mugabe will touch down in less than twenty-four hours.

  But most of all, their enemies are hamstrung by their secrecy. General Gorokwe may command hundreds or even thousands of troops, but Veronica is certain that the number of people who know exactly what is meant to happen to President Mugabe today is very small. Gorokwe, Susan, Danton, Athanase, Casimir, a handful of faraway Americans; perhaps a few more trusted lieutenants; and no one else. No one but herself and Lovemore. And Jacob and Lysander, if they are alive. In her secret heart she doubts it.

  Veronica is no longer cold. She is burning with rage and anticipation. Maybe their escape has already been discovered, maybe they are already being hunted,
maybe they will soon be recaptured and killed, but right now she doesn't care. Right now this solitary hope of vengeance, or justice, or both, seems worth any price.

  * * *

  The road beneath describes a U-shape around the cliff face. From one end of the U, they can see for a few hundred metres to the east, towards the mine. At the other end, the cliff is sheerest, and the road runs closest to the wall of rock. Lovemore watches from the cliff edge while Veronica waits beside the Suzuki.

  She hears an engine, and tenses - but it is coming from the other direction. She looks down on the road and sees a share-taxi, a pale minivan stuffed with people, climb laboriously up the road beneath them, then round the U and disappear. Moments later Lovemore stands up – but then shakes his head and drops back down again, and a nondescript gunmetal Toyota, not nearly big enough to hold the missiles, drives past.

  Then Lovemore stands up again, and this time he starts back towards the Suzuki; and as he steps away from the cliff, he nods meaningfully. Veronica hears an engine. No, two engines. And Lovemore is holding up two fingers.

  "Shit," she mutters under her breath. She had hoped for only one car. That would make sense. They are on a clandestine mission to assassinate a president, what are they doing driving in a convoy, have they never heard the phrase covert operation? But apparently there are two vehicles.

  Veronica takes a deep breath. Her stomach is suddenly tight and squirming. The Suzuki's engine is already purring, and its gearshift rests in neutral. She kneels next to its open door, reaches inside, pushes the clutch down with one hand, and guides the stick into first gear with the other. Lovemore coming around the car and crouches in front of her, peering over the cliff edge.

  "Say when," Veronica hisses.

  The approaching engines grow louder and clearer as they round the bend. Surely she has to do it now, now, any longer will be too late, they will get away, and this is their only chance. Every instinct screams at her to go, tells her that Lovemore doesn't know, he's waiting too long, he can't judge how much time it will take, she has to trust her own gut, not his -

  Veronica makes herself wait for Lovemore's signal. He can see and she can't.

  "Now," he breathes.

  She releases the clutch as smoothly as she can. The Suzuki shudders but lurches successfully into first gear, leaves Veronica and Lovemore behind as it crosses the few feet to the edge, then noses over the the cliff and unceremoniously disappeares.

  A half-second later an almighty crash erupts from the road, followed by the ear-torturing scraping sounds of metal and concrete; a less loud, but somehow satisfying, crumpling thud; and then another, and then a short, oddly rhythmic series of bumping noises. It is all over by the time Veronica and Lovemore poke their heads over the cliff edge to see.

  It is immediately apparent that their four-wheeled missile has missed its target.

  Chapter 38

  As far as Veronica can tell from the skid marks and trail of debris, the falling Suzuki smashed nosefirst into the road about ten feet in front of the black Land Rover. The Land Rover hit the carcass of the Suzuki, then skidded across the road and away from the cliff, taking the Suzuki with it, until both collided with a big tree and their intermingled remains bounced halfway back onto the road again. Whatever vehicle was following the Land Rover collided with this mangled wreckage, spun off the road, and tumbled down the steep slope, scraping and flattened a rough trail through the vegetation and small trees beneath the road before disappearing into denser bush. The third collision knocked the Suzuki and Land Rover back to the edge of the road, which, amazingly, is still navigable, although dusted with shards of twisted metal and broken glass. The air above this debris is warped with sizzling heat.

  Veronica stares amazed and triumphant at this field of wreckage and fragments. It reminds her a little of the scrapyard in Kampala. She can smell oil and seared metal. It's hard to fathom that she and Lovemore caused all this destruction themselves, just by sending a small car over a forty-foot cliff. It looks like a bomb has gone off. There is something beautiful about it. She has a new and sudden understanding of the allure of wanton destruction.

  "We must go down," Lovemore says. "We must be certain."

  Veronica knows it is dangerous, but part of her actually wants to inspect her demolition handiwork in greater detail. They scrabble back through the bush to the dirt road and down to the asphalt. The naked blade of the Leatherman glints in Lovemore's fist. He cleaned it after killing the Suzuki's driver, but it is still spotted with blood.

  The Land Rover is upside down, and crumpled on all sides, but surprisingly intact. She doesn't recognize the driver, or the uniformed man in the passenger seat, both of whom lie motionless. But the two men in the back are Casimir and Athanase. They were not wearing seat belts. Blood flows freely from their heads, jagged bone protrudes from Athanase's arm, and they lie slumped together on the ceiling of the inverted Land Rover, but Veronica can tell by the movement of their chests that both are still alive.

  She walks around the vehicle. The tank has ruptured, and gasoline is trickling out from the Land Rover and down the slope, forming little pools and rivulets. Its occupants are lucky nothing has struck a spark. The smell of oil is intense. The back window is intact, and Veronica sees two shining metal containers within, etched with Cyrillic inscriptions. She looks up at Lovemore. Then, almost in slow motion, her hand dips into a side pocket of her cargo pants, and emerges holding her Zippo lighter.

  He nods. They back away from the ruins of the Land Rover to the shelter of a nearby tree. She sees Casimir, the man who murdered Derek, begin to stir within, to disentangle himself from Athanase. Veronica ignites the flame of her Zippo and tosses it gently, underhand, towards the shimmering pool of gasoline just outside the Land Rover's ruptured gas tank.

  It's not like Hollywood, the vehicle does not explode, but the gas goes up immediately with a loud whoosh. Heavy, black smoke billows up, quickly obscuring the Land Rover. Even at this distance the fire is searingly hot and after only a few seconds they have to move further away. It occurs to Veronica that there are missiles full of high explosive within the Land Rover. She wonders if fire alone will be enough to set them off.

  "We have to hurry," she says. "Come on."

  She leads Lovemore down the bush, following the trail of flattened bushes and broken trees. The vehicle is a black BMW, and it must have tumbled, it lies propped at a 45-degree angle against a big tree with its tires in the air. It is not as battered as the Land Rover, and all its windows are intact. Veronica supposes they're bulletproof. All its air bags have deployed. Again she doesn't know the driver, but she recognizes Susan in the passenger seat by her long blonde hair, now bloodstreaked. The passenger door is a dented concavity. There is no one else in the car. One of the back doors has crumpled shut, but the other has been opened.

  "Gorokwe," Lovemore says.

  Veronica says, "Danton."

  "They will have weapons."

  "Do you want to go?"

  "No. We will never have another opportunity like this."

  He opens the driver's door. The driver twitches and groans. Lovemore thrusts the Leatherman up through the driver's ribcage, into his heart. This time Veronica doesn't protest; she just watches as Lovemore draws a gleaming pistol from the driver's belt and turns to look at her. She nods and wonders where he learned to kill.

  There are no trails apparent anywhere in this bush, just thick bushes, tangled branches, tall grass and trickling rivulets. Perfect territory for hiding. Impossible territory for finding anyone. But Danton and Gorokwe don't have much of a head start, and they must still be dazed from the collision, they can't be that hard to find. Veronica and Lovemore stop and listen. They hear nothing but the morning wind through the branches.

  "I learned tracking from the San, but that was in desert," Lovemore says in a low voice. "I don't know if I can follow them in this bush."

  "We don't need to," Veronica says, as understanding dawns. "We just need to thi
nk like them."

  He looks at her. "What do you mean?"

  "They're not bush people. They won't try and escape through the forest. They know they've been attacked, so they'll run away for a few minutes to get away from the car, but then they'll go back up to the road and carjack the next vehicle that comes along. Just like we did."

  "Yes," Lovemore says.

  He gives her the Leatherman. Veronica is amazed by how steady her own hands are as she takes it. She looks over at Susan's slumped form; abandoned by Danton and her lover the general, left here to die. Veronica considers for a moment. Then she turns and follows Lovemore.

  They climb diagonally through the thick bush, moving towards the road and away from the fiercely burning Land Rover. Veronica supposes the missiles aren't going to explode, or they would have by now. Military explosives probably need some kind of electronic trigger or something to blow up. Her adrenalin rush is beginning to wane, and she is weak, exhausted, and covered with cuts and blisters. Lovemore is limping slowly again, and twice he slips and staggers, but she is moving slower yet, he is a good thirty feet ahead, almost out of sight. Veronica opens her mouth to call on him to slow down.

  Then a loud crack echoes through the bush. For an instant Veronica is taken back to that moment in the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest. But this time she knows what the sound is: a gunshot, very near. Lovemore jerks forward, and droplets of blood fly through the air as he falls to the ground - but he hits rolling, and as the second shot is fired, from just behind and to the left of Veronica, he disappears behind a thick bush.

  In her dazed weakness she is too slow to react. A long, strong arm wraps around her neck from behind. She whimpers as searing metal is pressed up against her head, a gunbarrel hot from recent use. An African voice, General Gorokwe's voice, orders her, "You drop the knife or you die."

  * * *