Temple of the Gods - Andy McDermott [10]
‘How long to the border?’ Eddie shouted to TD as she banked to head west towards her current home country.
‘Less than ten minutes.’
‘Okay.’ Once the An-2 reached Botswanan airspace – passage had already been secured – another fifteen minutes of flight would bring them to a bush airstrip.
Where the relatives of some of Boodu’s victims awaited his arrival.
Boodu had realised this, his attempt at a neutral expression not hiding the concern on his scarred face. His gaze flicked to the machete, which Strutter had shoved point-down into the frame between his and Eddie’s seats. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Eddie warned, with a jab of the gun for emphasis. The militia leader leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowed.
Now that they were in the air, Strutter started to relax. He wiped sweat from his forehead, then turned to the Englishman. ‘You say you are not my friend, Eddie, but for getting me out of that place, you have a friend for life. Whether you like it or not!’ He beamed, but the smile faded at Eddie’s unimpressed look. ‘Whatever you need, whatever you want, you’ll have it.’
‘Just information’ll do,’ said Eddie. ‘I’m trying to find someone.’
‘If anyone can find them, I can,’ Strutter said proudly.
‘That’s why I rescued you. In fact, that’s the only reason I rescued you.’ The Kenyan looked somewhat deflated, so Eddie softened slightly. ‘You get me what I want, Johnny, and as far as I’m concerned we’re all square, and you’re free to go. Sound good?’
Strutter nodded. ‘It does. Thank you.’ He offered his hand. ‘I promise you, I will find—’
A line of ragged holes burst open in the fuselage, shards of aluminium showering the passengers.
Wind shrieked into the cabin. ‘Shit!’ Eddie gasped as TD threw the lumbering plane into an evasive turn. They were being fired on – but how?
The Alouette. Boodu’s helicopter was equipped with a pair of .303 calibre Browning machine guns – and after fleeing the prison, it must have withdrawn to a safe distance before its crew spotted the incoming Antonov and deduced that the highest-value escapees would be taken aboard. Eddie didn’t know the Alouette’s top speed, but suspected it would match – or beat – the old biplane.
Another burst of machine gun fire punctured the hull, the shots ripping along the length of the plane—
Into the cockpit.
TD screamed. Eddie saw blood on the windscreen. The plane lurched. ‘TD, are you okay? TD!’
Her reply was a barely coherent wail. ‘Oh God, my arm!’
Eddie jumped up and was about to enter the cockpit to help her when the nose tilted upwards, sending him staggering back down the cabin . . .
Boodu lunged for his machete.
Off-balance, Eddie’s shot at him went wide, adding another hole to the Antonov’s puckered fuselage as Boodu yanked the blade from the seat frame—
More of the Alouette’s bullets struck the biplane. It pitched up almost vertically, dropping Eddie and Boodu towards the rear bulkhead as the other two men struggled to hold on to their seats.
The sheet metal buckled under Eddie as he crashed against it. Boodu slammed down beside him, the machete clanging against the bulkhead just inches from the Yorkshireman’s chest.
Boodu swept the weapon as Eddie rolled away. The machete’s sharp edge caught his arm – only a glancing blow, but still deep enough to draw blood. He tried to bring the gun round, but Boodu lashed out with one leg and kicked his hand, sending the pistol flying across the hold.
The plane’s nose tipped back down. Even wounded, TD was still fighting to keep control of her aircraft. Eddie thumped to the deck as the Antonov came out of its climb. Over the engine’s roar, he heard the clatter of the helicopter’s machine guns. Bullets clunked into the wings.
‘Max!’ he shouted. ‘Get into the cockpit and help her!’ Maximov gave him a thumbs-up and squeezed through the cockpit entrance.
More bullet impacts, this time against the fuselage. One of