Night Of Knives Part 34

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 carca.s.s 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, sc.r.a.ping 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 gla.s.s. 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 sc.r.a.pyard 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 pa.s.senger 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 s.h.i.+mmering 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 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 pa.s.senger seat by her long blonde hair, now bloodstreaked. The pa.s.senger 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 gra.s.s 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 think 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 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. 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."

Veronica chokes for air, tries to look around. Gorokwe's forearm across her throat is so tight that she can barely move her head, but out of the corner of her eye she sees Danton, crouched behind a tree. His eyes are wild, he is panting like a dog, and one side of his face is covered with rivulets of blood, he suffered a head injury in the crash.

"Drop it," Gorokwe orders.

She briefly considers trying to stab him, but he'll shoot her, her only value right now is as a human s.h.i.+eld. She lowers her arms - then lobs the Leatherman into the bush towards Lovemore, rather than drop it for Danton to use.

Gorokwe grunts with anger and slams the base of his gun into the side of Veronica's head. She actually sees stars, her knees buckle, only his arm tight around her throat keeps her upright. She can't breathe, he's crus.h.i.+ng her windpipe, the world around her is going hazy. She doesn't even have the strength to struggle. When he loosens his grip long enough for her to draw a single rattling breath she slumps halfway to the ground before he catches her and draws her back up, this time holding her under her arms instead of around her neck.

Gorokwe shouts out something in Shona. Veronica suspects it is a threat to kill her if Lovemore does not show himself. Lovemore does not respond. Her head hurts like fire. Gorokwe's legs are both between hers, she can't kick backwards at his groin. She could try stamping on his feet, but he will just kill her if she becomes too much of a problem. Instead she just lets herself go limp and closes her eyes to slits, pretending to have been knocked out by that blow.

Gorokwe grunts and moves forward towards where Lovemore disappeared, muscling Veronica's deadweight along with him, keeping her body before him. The general advances slowly into the bushes, following Lovemore's blood trail, keeping Veronica before him, holding her easily with one arm, his strength is incredible.

There is no sound except for Gorokwe's footsteps on the slippery undergrowth. Veronica hopes Lovemore had the presence of mind to set some kind of ambush, to double back on his trail - but it doesn't seem likely, he is clearly bleeding badly, his wound is serious, and he was already weak.

Something rustles in the bush not far ahead. Veronica manages to keep herself from tensing. The concussion makes it very easy to feign unconsciousness. She looks at the noise, hoping it is a bird or a monkey, but she can't see anything move, and that means it must be Lovemore. He's maybe twenty feet away. If he shoots, he'll almost certainly hit Veronica and give away his location, maybe he's a crack shot but he's badly wounded, he won't hit Gorokwe except by freak chance.

Veronica, still hanging like a rag doll, gives the thumbs-up sign in what she hopes is a surrept.i.tious way, and hopes Lovemore understands.

Two shots blast out from the forest, two flashes from only about twenty feet away. The sounds are overwhelming but Veronica was half-hoping for them; she manages to keep hanging limp. Nothing happens. Either Lovemore missed entirely or he never intended to hit.

Then Gorokwe reaches his gun out over Veronica's shoulder, aiming at Lovemore, and Veronica finally goes into action.

She grabs his gun arm with both hands, shoving it upwards as he fires. The recoil ripples through her as she bites into his bicep as hard as she can and twists her own body towards him. She feels herself snarling like an animal. As his blood fills her mouth she manages to rotate her body further so her legs are between his, and as he fires again, again into the air, Veronica brings her knee up as hard as she can. Gorokwe grunts and folds forward into her. She doesn't resist, she falls backwards and pulls him with her, so they both topple into the bush, and the gun goes off a third time right next to her head. Then he punches her with his free arm so hard that she can't help but let him go. He is kneeling on top of her, aiming the gun at her face, and she is stunned, she can't move.

Then the general's whole head snaps hard to the side, and blood begins to gout from it, and he goes limp and falls off her.

Lovemore lurches into view, holding his gun with one hand. The other, soaked in blood, is clamped over his stomach. He keeps the gun aimed at Gorokwe's fallen body.

"It's okay," Veronica manages. "It's over. He's dead."

She doesn't need to check for the absence of a pulse. There is a gaping, dripping exit wound in the side of the Gorokwe's head.

Lovemore drops to his knees. Veronica sits up. She is almost deaf in one ear, and her head hurts. She gingerly disentangles Gorokwe's weapon from his fingers, thinking of Danton, they can't leave it lying around. Then she turns to Lovemore. "Keep pressure on it. Let me see."

She reaches around behind him and feels with her fingers. He stiffens and groans as she touches the ragged edge of the exit wound. Of course she shouldn't have done that, her hands aren't clean, but it hardly matters now, his wounds are already filthy. She puts down Gorokwe's gun, pulls the general's s.h.i.+rt off, and ties the b.l.o.o.d.y rag around Lovemore's waist. It isn't much but it will have to do.

"Keep pressure on," she instructs him. "Both front and back. If you don't lose too much blood you're going to be fine. It'll hurt like h.e.l.l but you'll be OK, we should have time to get you to a hospital."

He nods weakly.

"Can you get up to the road?"

"If I must."

She picks up Gorokwe's gun again and walks back into the bush.

Danton is where she left him. He stares at Veronica wide-eyed as she approaches.

She smiles thinly, keeps the gun trained on him, keeps her distance. "Expecting someone else?"

His jaw works but no words come out.

"What's the matter, Danton? Everything not going according to plan? Does it seem like all of a sudden your daddy's money really doesn't matter so much?"

"Please," he manages.

"Please what?"

"Please don't shoot me. I let you go. I told them not to touch you. All I wanted was to save lives."

"That's such a lie," she says, furious. "Being rich wasn't good enough, you wanted to be powerful, you wanted to be a big man. That's all this was ever about."

"Maybe you're right. But I wanted to help people, I really did. I thought we would help people. It just all started going wrong somehow. I didn't know how. I wanted to get out but it was too late, don't you understand? I couldn't get out. They would have killed me. I was a prisoner just like you."

"Where's Jacob?" she asks.

"I'll talk. I'll talk to CNN, the New York Times, whoever, I'll tell everyone everything. I've got names, dates, Veronica, you won't believe who's involved in this. It wasn't just me, it was never my idea, they came to me for help. I'll testify against them all."

"We don't need your testimony," Veronica says. "Remember what you told me? 'Certain revelations will come to light. Everyone will be exposed. I'm the opposite of expendable.' You remember saying that, when you were f.u.c.king gloating?"

"Please," he begs. "Don't do this."

"Where's Jacob?"

"Please. I'm sorry. He didn't talk. Not until it was too late. I didn't want to, I said we should let him go. I'm sorry, Veronica, I'm so sorry. Please. You won't do this. I know you won't do this. You're a good person."

"That was before I met you," Veronica says bitterly.

She aims the gun at her ex-husband's heart and pulls the trigger.

Chapter 39

"She's awake," a woman says.

"Ms. Kelly?" a man's voice asks.

She opens her dazed eyes to a well-kept hospital room. Everything is clean and white. She is connected to an IV and a vital-signs monitor, one she recognizes, an old DRE model she used to work with in San Francisco General. There are two black women in nurse's uniforms standing attentively near the bed, and a tall, handsome, white-haired white man in a sharp suit.

Veronica struggles for some memory to connect her to this scene and fails. "Where am I?"

"Johannesburg," the man says. "Milpark Hospital. You were medevac'd here last night from Mutare. You probably don't remember that, I'm told you were under sedation for the better part of three days."

"What - what happened?"

He gives the nurses a look. They reluctantly depart.

Veronica lifts her head, almost all she can manage right now, and looks around. "Wait. Where's Lovemore? What happened to Lovemore?"

"He's next door." The man grimaces. "They threw him in as a kind of sweetener, I suppose. It took no end of negotiation to get the two of you out of there. At first they were going to hang you."

"Hang me? For - for what? what?"

"Attempted a.s.sa.s.sination. But then, luckily for you, a series of rather embarra.s.sing files began to turn up at BBC and CNN and Al-Jazeera, it's been the lead story for a good two days now and shows no signs of stopping. You can see it for yourself after I leave. Although I suppose you already know the whole story, don't you?"

She starts to shake her head and quickly thinks better of it. "Not all of it."

"We're still amazed ourselves. After that, I guess Mugabe decided you didn't quite fit into all the international outrage, and it was in his best interests to jump on that bandwagon rather than keep pointing the finger at you. Or maybe he's just grateful you saved his life. It still wasn't easy to get you out of there. Back-channel negotiations and briefcases full of money, not that you ever heard me say that, because of course we don't negotiate with fascist dictators."

Veronica tries to remember what happened. She remembers shooting Danton, that actually happened, it wasn't a dream. She remembers waiting by the side of the road with Lovemore, both of them s.h.i.+vering in the warm sun, barely conscious. She remembers the pickup truck that appeared on the road, full of st.u.r.dy labourers with picks and shovels, and the way they lifted her so gently into the back of the truck, as if she might break. After that, nothing. They must have taken her to hospital in Mutare. She hopes they took Danton's wallet from her, there were hundreds of US dollars within.

"Who are you?" she asks.

"Stanton. Deputy chief of mission at the emba.s.sy here."

"Okay. What's going to - what happens next?"

"Nothing, until they're ready to discharge you. Doctors say that won't be for a few days yet. You don't need to make any decisions until then."

"Veronica," Lovemore says.

His voice is weak but clear. His torso is swaddled in bandages but otherwise he looks fine. Veronica still feels weak and dizzy when she walks, and she's still recovering from exhaustion, the concussive blow to her head, and the mult.i.tudinous little wounds she suffered during their escape from the mine, but she can feel herself regaining strength with every pa.s.sing hour.

"Lovemore. Good to see you. How are you?"

"The doctors here are excellent."

"They should be. Johannesburg, world capital of gun violence, they must have plenty of practice. Maybe I should try to get a job here. I've gotten some good gunshot experience in the last -" she calculates, and is amazed by how little time has pa.s.sed since that day in Bwindi - "few weeks."

Lovemore doesn't answer.

"What are you going to do when you get out?" she asks.

"I have no pa.s.sport. I expect they will send me back to Zimbabwe."

"Do you want to go back?"

His face clouds. "No. I would stay in South Africa if I could. There is hope here."