Donald helped the running man to his feet, who was partially dazed by the accident, and then helped Daniel recover the cap which had been kicked under an overflowing dustbin.
Seeing Daniel and Donald back on their way, Mac said: “Game on, let’s go.”
***
As planned, Daniel and Donald took off their caps on arrival at the police station and stood in front of the main entrance, which was only about twenty metres from the street itself. They were grateful to see a police guard on duty in an entrance foyer cubicle; surely, the General’s men wouldn’t come out guns blazing.
Mac and Rachel stopped on the other side of the road; hidden behind a bus shelter, having the entire police station in view. From here, Mac hoped to spot the General or anyone he was sending to the scene. Plus, it kept Rachel as far away from the danger-zone as possible, which wasn’t far. They were at the most forty metres from the hotspot where Daniel and Donald stood, but Mac took what consolation he could.
Ten minutes passed by, nothing.
Another twenty minutes crawled along, still nothing.
Just when Daniel was tempted to ask Mac what they should do—Mac had stressed over and over again, for him and Donald not to give he’s position away on the other side of the street, a booming voice arrested his thoughts.
“Donald! Daniel! Is that you?”
They spun around; the voice was familiar, but they could not yet place it.
“Dr. Marco!” they both said as their eyes fell on the stout Italian doctor. “What? Where?”
“It is you!” Dr. Marco continued. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Japan?”
Daniel looked at Donald and shrugged.
“Dr. Marco,” gushed Donald. “Where is my father? Where’s Harry?”
“At the hotel,” answered Marco immediately. “He’s having a rest. I was on my way to the shops. What are you doing here?”
“He’s with you? Harry’s okay?” gasped Daniel.
“My father’s okay?” asked a bewildered Donald.
Was this all a chronic misunderstanding?
Was Harry really okay?
“Where’s Mac? Where’s your father, Daniel?”
“Julius!” Mac arrived on the scene from behind Dr. Marco. He had left Rachel behind the bus shelter, confident that their position there was unknown. Although Rachel had initially been delighted at the sight of Dr. Marco, thinking how fortunate it was to run into him, Mac’s expression told her not to consider it a blessing just yet. All he had said was “Stay out of sight. If you see us run, go up this street and turn left at the first road. I’ll be right behind you.” She had gulped; she had no words.
“Julius!” Mac repeated, and stuck out his hand to shake the doctor’s hand. They had worked together over a seven-week period, yet Dr. Marco was a closed book to Mac.
“Mac! Great to see you … aren’t you supposed to be in Japan?” asked the doctor.
“Where’s Harry?” asked Mac bluntly.
“Dad, isn’t this great…?”
“Where’s Harry?” asked Mac cutting Dr. Marco with a sharp look. He still held the doctor’s hand tightly in his.
“He’s at the hotel, having a sleep,” replied Marco. “Come, you must come with me. I’ll take you to see him.” He tried to take his right hand out of Mac’s grip as he scratched his head of dark hair with his left hand.
“What are you doing here?” asked Mac.
“What? Umm…” A bead of perspiration ran down Marco’s temple and clean-shaven cheek.
“He was going shopping,” Daniel interjected, not sure what his father was doing and surprised that he didn’t see the good fortune in this chance encounter.
Mac looked annoyed at Daniel’s interruption, but continued to glare at Dr. Marco, holding onto his hand with an iron grip. “Julius, what were you shopping for?”
“Mac? What’s wrong?” asked Dr. Marco. “Let go of my hand.” Even though the Italian doctor was a strong man himself, Mac had purposely got a full grip of his fingers. And as every man knows, once you’ve lost the initiative in a handshake, it's nigh impossible to get it back.
“What were you shopping for?” repeated Mac.
“Umm … uh…” Marco stammered, his eyes this time darting left and right, “Whatever … umm … milk and bread…”
“Milk and bread? But you’re staying at a hotel?” Mac squeezed Marco’s hand with all his might and as the man squealed, Mac spun him around hard. He let go of his hand to send Marco tumbling to the floor. Then Mac yelled, “Zachnoid Tumbleweed!”
Still not completely sure what was going on, both Daniel and Donald didn’t waste time asking questions. They bolted … running south.
Two men dressed in civilian clothes not ten metres behind them, blending into the crowd, suddenly gave chase—bearing down on the young men.
Mac turned to run in the other direction, his eyes darting across the street to see Rachel already on the run.
“Good girl,” he muttered under his breath.
A third man, also dressed in civilian clothes, first yanked Marco to his feet and then together they pursued Mac.
***
Always amazed at the generosity of the poor in Africa, Harry was not surprised that the driver of the first donkey-cart that came by stopped to give them a lift.
The driver was an old, old man with more gums than teeth and blind in one eye. He didn’t speak English but Harry was fluent in Swahili.
The man went to market in the city once a week and stayed overnight with a relative. He was very happy to share his two carrots with his new travelling companions. The people of Uganda are among the most friendly, generous people on the planet.
The journey into the city was long, dusty and when they finally arrived, Harry could hardly speak. His mouth was so dry and his throat so parched; he could barely breathe.
The kind driver first took them to his relative’s house for some refreshments. And once their thirst was relieved, and energy partially restored; he directed them to a section of the city in which they might find an internet café. Of course, the old man did not know what Harry was talking about, but his relative was fairly sure Harry would find what he was looking for.
13
Both Daniel and Donald were fantastic athletes. While Donald was suited to long distance running, Daniel was built for speed over one or two hundred metres, but was fit and able to manage a long distance chase.
Within two hundred metres, they had extended the lead on their pursuers to about thirty metres. The busy streets helped them too. The chaos they caused by yelling, “Move!” and “Watch out!” left numerous obstacles in their wake, which the chasing soldiers, seemed unable to avoid.
“Quick!” yelled Daniel. “In there!”
“Huh?” puffed Donald, wanting rather to continue building their lead.
“In here,” insisted Daniel as he burst through the heavy, double wooden doors of an old building. He wasn’t sure what the building was, but had seen someone enter the doors just a moment before them. And he had an idea.
Donald followed him in as the heavy doors swung open, giving way as their momentum carried them through, swinging closed behind them. He was shocked when Daniel abruptly stopped on the other side of the doors in what was an entrance foyer to an open-plan office area.
“What?” he gasped, short of breath. “But Danny,” he wheezed, “they saw us come inside,” and then turning to the startled office workers bemused by the commotion, “Uhhh … hello…” Six women and three men greeted Donald awkwardly from behind their office cubicles.
“Yes, I know,” panted Daniel totally unaware of the bewildered audience, “just stand here and get ready.” Daniel positioned his shoulder against one of the doors. Leaning his weight against it, he dug his feet into the carpet. “Quickly,” he said, “man your door!”
Still breathing heavily, Donald complied, realising what Daniel hoped to do.
The soldiers would be on them in the next
few moments.
“When they come through, push!” explained Daniel, an anxious frown on his face, his whole body heaving for breath. “This had better work,” he muttered to himself.
Their pursuers would come bursting through the doors…
“Now!” yelled Daniel.
Both he and Donald thrust their weight against the heavy doors just as they sensed the soldiers reach them on the other side.
CRRRRRRUUNNCCHHHHH!
Daniel and Donald gasped at the force exerted upon their shoulders, and both bounced backwards before holding on to the door to steady themselves. The deafening noise on the other side of the door, however, dwarfed any sound they made.
Besides the sound of crunching bones against the door, they had also heard two sharp yelps of agonised surprise. Expecting the doors to give, the soldiers’ full momentum had mashed them against the heavy doors.
Now there was only silence as the wooden doors remained closed.
Six women and three men were on their feet, whatever office work they had nowhere near as interesting as the show that had come crashing into their midst.
“Should we look?” asked Daniel only now becoming aware of the office they’d disturbed.
“Sorry to bother,” Donald apologised to the rather bemused onlookers, who started applauding for some reason. Perhaps they were grateful for the enforced break from their work; maybe they didn’t know what else to do given the awkwardness of the incident.
Turning back to Daniel, “Yes, let’s look,” as he pushed both doors open with difficulty, two bodies now blocking them.
After a little struggle, Daniel and Donald forced open the doors. At their feet, lay two unconscious men. One clearly had a broken nose. The other one looked like he had mangled his wrist. Both had firearms strapped to their sides.
“I’m sorry,” gasped Daniel unable to contain the sense of remorse he felt. “They’re not dead, are they?”
Donald, a trainee medical student, felt their pulses. “No, both are alive. Well done, Daniel. What made you think of using the doors?”
“Ummm. I think I saw it in a movie once. I never thought it would work though,” he admitted.
“You didn’t?” asked Donald, slightly stunned.
“Well it did. Now let’s get back to the inn.”
“You go,” suggested Donald. “I’m going to try to find Dr. Marco. I’ll trail him; hopefully he will lead me to the hotel he mentioned. Otherwise, we’re out of leads…”
“Let me come with you.”
“No, if your father and Rachel are already at the inn, then they’ll be worried not knowing what happened to us…”
“Good point,” acknowledged Daniel, “just don’t let Dr. Marco see you.”
“I won’t,” promised Donald. “As soon as I have the location of the hotel or wherever it is Marco is staying, I’ll get back to the inn.”
A confused, groggy moan from one of the soldiers interrupted their discussion.
“Quick, let’s get out of here,” suggested Daniel.
“See you later Danny. God-speed!”
“May He give you wings, brother.”
***
After a frustrating search, Harry and Dembe finally found an internet café. Unsuccessfully waving away a heavy cloud of cigarette smoke that hung in the air of the café, Harry had to wait for a computer terminal to become available.
Dembe spoke gently to him the whole time, often quoting Scripture, regularly putting a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulders to calm his rising anxiety.
“I’ve got to get word to Mac,” Harry kept saying, “I’ve got to prevent them from coming to Kampala.”
***
Within two hundred metres, Mac had caught up to Rachel. She too was quick but Mac was still very athletic and had been a 100-metre and 200-metre champion in his youth.
By this stage, Marco had already given up the chase; he hadn’t run more than fifty metres for a decade or more. Mac, however, knew they still had one assailant after them.
If he was alone, he may have taken the man on.
But not with Rachel present. He couldn’t risk leaving her vulnerable, and even if he took on their pursuer to give Rachel the chance to return to the inn, what if she got lost?
No, he had to deal with their chaser another way.
They weaved through the busy road, an unending stream of people. Mac could sense Rachel was tiring, and becoming panicky. She too took the brunt of the people they bumped into. Being light weight, she was not able to burst through the gaps between them and by the second time she tripped, Mac knew their pursuer would catch them in the next two hundred metres.
“Turn here,” he yelled to Rachel as they came to a four-way crossing.
Rachel obliged and turned the corner, Mac right behind her.
Twenty seconds.
He had no more than twenty seconds.
They would be out of their pursuer’s line of sight for twenty seconds at the most.
“Keep running, Rachel!” Mac yelled as he settled on a plan. She looked at him confused for just a moment, but then put her eyes forward and pumped her arms with all her might. She didn’t know what her father was up to, but she trusted him without question.
Her lungs were burning. With a terrible pain in her left side, she longed to stop to rest, to catch her breath. And water, oh water!
But her father had said, “Keep running”—her only response was to keep running … as fast as her exhausted legs could carry her.
Grateful she had plunged on down the street, Mac dived into the doorway of a bottle store. Any second now, their attacker would burst around the corner.
Mac tucked himself out of sight.
Just in time.
The soldier flew around the corner, his arms and legs a blur of motion as he whizzed past Mac.
Once passed him, Mac pulled himself to his feet. His muscles had already started to freeze such was the strain he had exerted in the chase.
He cranked his body into action, and now he gave chase … of the man pursuing his daughter.
It was only then that he caught the gleam of a huge army knife in the man’s right hand. It cut through the air as the soldier pounded down the road, the light catching the thirty centimetre blade.
Mac’s muscles screamed, now forced again into full-steam action, a new shot of adrenalin laced with fear driving him on.
He was now some twenty metres behind the soldier, who had closed the gap on Rachel to about the same distance.
Mac pumped his arms desperately; he had to catch the soldier before the soldier caught Rachel.
Run Rachel run!
Don’t look behind you … just keep running!
14
Finally, a computer became available.
Harry rushed over and typed in his email provider in the Google search bar.
“Come on, come on!” he muttered.
Then he entered his email name and password.
The computer was slow … infuriatingly slow.
“Come on!” he couldn’t contain his frustration.
Slowly, slowly—shouting at computers never speeds them up—his inbox opened.
An email, several in fact bloated his inbox.
Harry immediately saw Mac’s email.
“No! No!” he muttered as he read its contents.
“Mzee,” Dembe’s calm voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Mac … the children … they’re already in Kampala … what’s the time?”
Frantically, he looked for a clock on the wall and then remembered there was a clock on the computer.
4:13 PM
“No! They arrived this morning. They made an appointment at the police station at 3:30pm…”
“The police station is in the city centre. About five kilometres from here,” explained Dembe.
“No! The Blue Angus Hotel is also in the city centre, isn’t it?”
“Yes, around the corner from the police station.” Dembe
knew Kampala well.
“We’re too late … Marco … was waiting for them. No!!!”
“Mzee,” again Dembe’s voice was calm and soothing. “Maybe your son and friends have avoided this man Marco. What then? What would you do then?”
“Ummm,” Harry scratched his chin. “Okay, good point. Let me email Mac. If he avoided capture, I’m sure he’ll check his emails at some point. What do I say?”
“Tell him you’ve escaped. Tell him you’re in Kampala.”
“Okay, anything else? Should I tell him where we are?”
“No,” said the wise Dembe. “I’m not sure how these emails work but say as little as possible. Let him reply first…”
“Thank you, Dembe,” breathed Harry as he tapped away at the keyboard. His mind was frazzled.
***
Although the soldier was confused as to where Mac had gone, he knew catching Rachel would be sufficient. Mac wouldn’t stay away if his daughter was caught. He had no idea Mac was now hot on his heels.
One thing occupied Mac’s mind. Save Rachel.
He didn’t feel the burn in his lungs or the ache in his sides.
He knew the soldier was closing on Rachel faster than he was closing on the soldier.
“Breath on me Father!” he prayed.
He felt a surge of energy shoot through his body, or was it that the soldier seemed to miss a step in exhaustion?
Either way, in those few strides, he now seemed closer to the soldier than the soldier was to Rachel.
Now what?
What do I do?
Mac imagined a target on the soldier’s broad back.
He had played rugby at university, starring in the first team as a flank. Even if you aren’t a fan of rugby, or don’t know a thing about the game, all you need to know is that tackling is one of the key jobs of a flank. And Mac could tackle hard.
It had been nearly twenty years since he had made a tackle, but you never lose the skill.
Just as he was about to decide on when he was going to launch into a tackle, Rachel looked behind her.
No!
Too soon!
I’m too far back!
Exhausted, confused, glancing backwards, Rachel lost her footing and crashed to the ground.
The Fish's Belly Page 5
