“We need to get the rest of the patients out of here, Mukisa. They—”

“It’s all taken care of, David. What’s important now is that we make sure you’re safe to carry on your work.”

He put a hand on Chism’s shoulder, leading him back down the hallway toward the lab.

Matteo Ricci and Jing Liu were standing by the boxes they’d packed, looking a little stunned. Odongo motioned through the glass for them to follow and they obeyed. Their questions were rendered unintelligible by their accents mixing with the wail of the alarm, prompting Odongo to put a finger to his lips. They fell silent and allowed themselves to be led to the eastern side of the facility.

Chism finally spoke up when they entered a small room filled with cleaning supplies. “I don’t mean to question you, Mukisa, but what are we doing here? There’s no way out. Not even a window.”

By way of answer, Odongo moved a bucket and mop from the back of the space, feeling around for a hidden handle and opening a hatch.

“What’s this?” Chism said.

“Get in.”

“What?”

“No one but me knows about this place and Auma’s people won’t be able to find it. Wait overnight. The weather’s scheduled to clear in the morning and help will come. Auma won’t risk a confrontation. He’ll leave before they arrive.”

“What about you?” Chism said, looking down at the shadowy hole.

“I have other things to attend to.”

“What are you talking about? There’s plenty of room. I’m not going down there if you—”

“You are going down there,” Odongo corrected. “Like I said earlier. This isn’t your country, David. You take care of your business and I’ll take care of mine.”

They locked eyes for a moment, but then Chism looked away. The other two were already descending the ladder.

“Will we see each other again?” Chism asked.

“Of course. But I hope not too soon.”

Odongo was shoved from behind but didn’t stumble. The two guerrillas ushering him toward the front of the building were both in their early teens and lacked the weight to move him. What they did possess, though, was the thoughtless sadism that was unique to child soldiers.

The facility’s main doors loomed ahead, and he passed through them into the rain. The group waiting was as ragtag as he expected—clothed in everything from surplus combat gear to jeans and sandals. All, of course, carried the cheap AK-47s favored by terrorists the world over. A few also wielded machetes.

He counted twenty-five people in total. Nineteen of Auma’s guerrillas, four captured hospital workers, and two unconscious patients lying in stretchers that were slowly sinking into the mud. Everyone was soaked to the bone and most were starting to shiver.