Temple of the Gods - Andy McDermott [5]
Boodu shielded his head as another round of mortar shells struck their targets. These explosions were further away, but still enough to shake dust from the ceiling as guard towers were blasted into fragments and the prefabricated administration block blew apart, the remains collapsing on top of the prison staff inside.
Eddie jabbed Boodu with the machete. Another noise rose: the helicopter, its pilot desperately trying to take off. ‘Okay, get up. Get up!’ He gestured with the gun towards the broken door. ‘Move.’
Boodu had no choice but to obey, though his voice seethed with defiance. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Long term? Botswana. Short term,’ Eddie went on as the other man responded with confusion, ‘we’re going to do what I came here for – get Strutter. Lead the way.’
‘You can’t get out of here,’ Boodu spat as they exited the cell. Through the hole in the ceiling, they heard the Alouette’s roar as it left the ground. ‘The main gate is shut, and mortars won’t break it – I know, I attacked this place during the war. You need a tank. And you don’t have one.’
‘Let me worry about that,’ said Eddie. He prodded him again, far from gently, with the machete’s point. ‘Come on, shift your arse.’
Making an angry sound, Boodu stepped over the rubble littering the floor and moved down the passage, Eddie a few paces behind. Another explosion outside: a secondary detonation, one of the vehicles inside the compound. There would be a last round of shelling, then after that everything depended on getting the main gate open . . .
Frantic yelling and thumping came from a cell as they passed it, a man inside begging in the Shona language. Eddie checked the door, but it needed a key. Shit! He should have taken the set from the dead guard—
Another guard ran out from a junction ahead, gun in hand. He looked relieved to see Boodu – then realised that the militia leader was not alone and whipped up his pistol.
Eddie was quicker. A single shot, and the guard fell backwards, blood gushing from a bullet wound in his forehead.
Boodu spun, intending to take advantage of the distraction and tackle Eddie, but the Englishman had already brought the gun back to cover him. ‘Get his keys and open the cell,’ he ordered.
Boodu glared venomously at him, then after a moment a calculating expression formed on his face. ‘Why don’t you just kill me?’ he asked, more rhetorically than in concern. Cunning replaced calculation. ‘You can’t, can you? You need me alive.’
‘Not quite,’ said Eddie. ‘I want you alive, ’cause I’ll get paid extra.’
‘And you said you weren’t a mercenary any more,’ Boodu scoffed, before the implications of Eddie’s words sank in. ‘Paid? By who?’
‘Oh, just the people I got across the border last time I was here. And some other Zimbabweans who escaped.’ His voice hardened. ‘People who had to leave family behind. Family you got hold of. They’re pretty keen to see you again – on their terms.’ A flicker of genuine fear replaced arrogance in Boodu’s eyes. ‘Strutter’s the main reason I’m here, but giving you to them’s a bonus. But don’t get me wrong – if you try anything again, I’ll blow your fucking head off and give ’em what’s left of it in a carrier bag. Now open the door.’
Boodu did as he was told. The door swung open and a haggard man, face swollen with bruises, rushed out – only to retreat in fear when he saw who had released him.
‘It’s okay, come out,’ said Eddie, bringing his gun to the back of Boodu’s head to show the terrified prisoner that the balance of power had changed. He glanced into the cell and saw that the man was not alone; there were five others, all showing signs of recent beatings, in the cramped, sweltering space. He tossed the keys into the room. ‘Get everyone out, and be ready to run when you see the signal.’
‘What signal?’ a prisoner asked.
Eddie grinned. ‘You won’t miss it.’ He swatted Boodu with the machete as the men in the cell hesitantly emerged, as if expecting some cruel trick. ‘Keep moving.’
‘You are setting these traitors, these scum, free?’ Boodu hissed through