atlantis excerpt.pdf

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Eddie regarded the oak doors with concern as thegunfire stopped. Definitely dont think we want togo in there. The pitch of the helicopters engine changed,suggesting that it was circling the building.

Looking for more targets.That doesnt leave us with many options, Nina

replied. There was another, single door in the corridorwall on their side of the chasm, but reaching it wouldrequire going back down the dangerous slope beforehopping onto the stub of a beam at what had been floorlevel. She retrieved the case. Keep hold of my hand untilI can jump across.

For Christs sake, just leave the case, will you? Hefrowned. Wait, whats in it? Its those fucking statues,isnt it!

Yeah, and after everything Ive been through to getthem Im not letting go of them now.

After all the trouble theyve caused, the worldll bewell rid of them, he countered. Give em here.

No, Eddie, Nina insisted, clutching the handle moretightly. I dont have time to explain right now, buttheyre a part of something bigsomething amazing. Ihave to find out what it is.

He shook his head. No, youYou asked me to trust you a minute ago, she cut in

firmly. Well, trust me. Please, Eddie. Its very important.All bloody right, he said after a moment. I wontsmash em, I promise. Now get moving, will you? If thatchopper comes back

Im moving, Im moving, she protested, extending herfree hand to him and starting down the slope. He heldon to her, leaning forward as far as he dared. She nearedthe broken beam and took a deep breath, swinging thecase in her hand. Okay, and a-one, a-two, and a-three!


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ReturnTO

Atlantis

A n d y M c D e r m o t t

bBANTAM BOOKS

NEW YORK


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PROLOGUE

The ocean had no name, nor did the gnarled land ris-ing from it. There was no one to name them. In timethere would be, after the scarred primordial world hadcompleted another four billion orbits of its sun, but for

now it was utterly barren. The planet could not eventruly be said to be dead; it had never seen life.

Yet.Had people from that far future somehow been able

to stand on the nameless obsidian sands, they wouldhave seen a world very different from the one they knew,

countless volcanoes spewing smoke and ash into the sky.This was a landscape in flux, growing literally by theday as the planets molten core forced itself outwardthrough the cracks in its crust.

The hypothetical observers would have found theirglimpses of the heavens through the black clouds just asunfamiliar as the world beneath them. Above was analmost constant fireworks display of bright lines searingacross the sky. Meteors: lumps of rock and rubble toosmall to survive the transition from the vacuum of space,atmospheric friction incinerating the building blocks ofthe still-youthful solar system miles above the ground.


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2 A N D Y M C D E R M O T T

But the larger an incoming meteor, the greater itschances of surviving the fall.

Among the fleeting streaks of fire was somethingbrighter. Not a line, but a shimmering point of light,seemingly unmoving. In fact, it was traveling at over tenmiles per second. Its stillness was an optical illusionitwas heading straight for the black beach like a bulletfired from the stars.

The light flared. The rock was surrounded by a sear-ing shock wave of plasma as it plowed deeper into theatmosphere, its outer layers fragmenting and sheddingin its wake. But it was large enough to guarantee that nomatter how much mass was burned away, it would hitthe ground. An impact and explosion powerful enoughto obliterate everything within a radius of tens of milesshould have been inevitable.

Until something extraordinary happened.The meteor flared again, only this time the flash was

an electric blue, not a fiery red. More flashes followed,but not from the plunging rock. They came from the skyaround it, great bolts of lightning lancing to the ground.

The observers, had they existed, would have noticed adistinct pattern to these bolts, as if they were beingchanneled along the lines of some natural force.

And the rock began to slow.This was more than the braking effect of the atmo-

sphere. The meteor was losing speed in almost direct

proportion to the growing intensity of the lightningflashes. It was as though the world below were trying tocushion its fall . . . or push it away.

But it was too late for that. Even as the electrical bliz-zard raged around it, the meteor continued its descent.Slowing, still slowing, but not enough

It hit the beach at several times the speed of sound,unleashing the same energy as a small nuclear bomb. Ablinding flash lit the volcanic landscape, an expandingwall of fire racing out from the point of impact. Tens ofthousands of tons of pulverized bedrock were blastedskyward. But even though it was now only a small frac-


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R E T U R N T O A T L A N T I S 3

tion of the size it had been minutes earlier, the new ar-rival from the infinite depths of space, glowing red hot

at the bottom of the newly created crater, was still overa hundred feet across.

Then the ocean found it.Water gushed over the craters lip, the sea greedily

surging in to claim the new space. The churning wavefront crashed against the meteoriteand another explo-

sion shook the beach, outer layers of burning rock shat-tering in a swelling cloud of steam as they were suddenlycooled.

Gradually, stillness returned. The lightning died down,dark clouds rolling in to repair the tear in their blanket.Before long, the only movement was the eternal slosh ofthe waves.

What remained of the meteorite at the bottom of thenew lagoon was now even smaller, only the heart of thetraveler remaining intact. But for the first time in un-known ages, that core of strange, purple stone was ex-posed to something other than compressed rock or theharsh emptiness of space. Water, working its way into

every exposed crack to find whatever was within.It took time, six whole days, before anything hap-

pened. Even then, the time-traveling observers wouldhave needed a microscope to see it, and still been pro-foundly unimpressed. A tiny bubble, the product ofchemical processes at work within the ragged rock, broke

free and rose to the waters surface, to be instantly lostamong the foaming waves. It was not the most inspiringbeginning.

But it was a beginning.Life had arrived on Planet Earth.


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ONE

Z i m b a b w e

Four B i l l ion Years Later

The heat and stench were as inescapable as the cellitself. The thick stone and clay walls of the formerpioneer fort trapped warmth like a kiln, and the small,

stoutly barred window providing the only ventilation

opened out almost directly onto the row of latrines at

one side of the prisons central courtyard.

Fort Helena. Hell on earth for those unfortunates im-

prisoned within by the countrys despotic regime.

A bearded man sat statue-like in one dirty corner of

the gloomy cell; his stillness partly because of the cloy-

ing heat, and partly because each movement broughtpain. He had been delivered to the prison a day earlier,

and as a welcoming gift given a beating by a group of

guards before being taken to a dark room where a grin-

ning man had provided him with a hands-on demon-

stration of some of the numerous instruments of torture

at his disposal. Just a sample, he had been promised. Afull show would soon follow.

Someone else was in the torture chamber now, screams

echoing through the passages. The guards had made a

point of dragging the victim past the bearded mans cell


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so that he would hear the desperate pleas for mercy. An-other sample, a demonstration. Youre next.

A new sound, this from outside. A rising mechanicalthruman approaching helicopter.

The man stirred, painfully levering himself uprightand going to the little window. He ignored the foul smellfrom the latrines, narrowing his eyes against the harshdaylight as he watched uniformed men hurry into the

courtyard to form an honor guard. Behind them camethe prisons governor, a squat, toad-faced man in smallgold-rimmed glasses. From his look of apprehension, itwas clear that the new arrival was important.

The prisoner tensed. He knew who was aboard thehelicopter.

Someone with very good reasons to hate him.Dust and grit swirled as the helicopter descended. It

was an elderly aircraft, a French-built Alouette III lightutility chopper converted to what was known asG-Car specification by the addition of a pair of ma-chine guns. A veteran of the civil war that led to Rhode-sias becoming Zimbabwe in 1980 . . . now being used

as VIP transport for a man who fought in that war as ayouth, gaining a nickname that he retained with pride tothis day.

Gamba Boodu. The Butcher.A guard opened the cabin door and Boodu stepped

out, head high as if daring the still-whirling rotor blades

above him to strike. Despite the baking temperatures, hewore a long black greatcoat over an immaculately fittedsuit, the coats hem flapping in the downdraft as hestrode across the courtyard to the governor. Sunlightglinted off gold: a large ring on the middle finger of hisright hand, inset with a sparkling emerald. That samehand held an object that he swung like a walking stick,its end stabbing into the ground with each step.

A machete, its handle decorated with lines of gold.The bearded man remembered the weapon well. Some

years earlier, he had wrested it from the militia leaderand used it against him. The result was a deep, V-shaped


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R E T U R N T O A T L A N T I S 7

line of pink against the Zimbabweans dark skin, thescar the aftermath of a blow that had hacked clean

through flesh to leave a bloody hole in his cheek like asecond mouth.

He smiled, very faintly. The injury was only a fractionof what a murderer and sadist like Boodu deserved, butamong his many unpleasant characteristics was vanity:Every look in the mirror would provide some punish-

ment.The smile disappeared as, formalities quickly over,

Boodu and the governor marched into the prison build-ings. They would soon come to the cell. The man re-turned to his filthy corner.

Footsteps over the screams. The wooden cover of thepeephole slid back; then came the clatter and rasp of akey in the lock. The heavy door swung open. A guardentered first, pistol aimed at the still figure, who re-sponded with nothing more than a fractional raising ofhis eyes. Next came the governor, broad mouth curledinto a smirk, and finally Boodu himself. The machetestip clinked down on the stone floor.

What a pleasant surprise, said Boodu, his deepvoice filled with gloating satisfaction. Eddie Chase.

The balding Englishman lifted his head. Ay up, hesaid in a broad Yorkshire accent. Hows the face?

The line of the scar shifted as Boodus expressiontightened. It has healed.

So whod you use as your plastic surgeon? Dr. Fran-kenstein?The governor angrily clicked his fingers, and the guard

booted Eddie hard in the side. He was about to deliveranother blow when Boodu stopped him. Leave him forme, the Zimbabwean rumbled. He ground the ma-chetes point over the floor, the sound as unpleasant asnails on a blackboard. Im going to have some fun withhim.

Eddie clutched his aching ribs. Youre throwing us abig party with cakes and jelly?

The only thing that will be thrown is your corpse,


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into a pit, said Boodu. He rasped the blade over theflagstones again. You caused me a lot of pain, Chase

professional and personal. Getting those criminalsacross the border made me look very bad in front of thepresident. It took me a long time to get back into hisfavor.

Leaving the country cause you dont want to haveyour family raped and murdered doesnt make you a

criminal.Boodu snorted sarcastically. If you oppose the presi-

dent, you are a criminal. And my country has far toomany of these criminalsthis prison is full of them.They must be dealt with. Firmly. He paused to listen toa shriek from the torture chamber. Like your friend

Strutter. A dog of war, spreading sedition, arranging formercenaries to work for criminals. Mercenaries likeyou, Chase.

Not anymore, mate. I had a career change.Yes, I heard. We do still get the international news

here in Zimbabwe, even if it is filled with lies about our

country. You married an American, no? Im very sorry.He laughed. But I also heard that you got into sometrouble, hey? You are wanted for murdering an Interpolofficer! I was almost tempted to turn you over to them.But thenhe turned his face to display his mangledcheek to the prisonerI remembered that you gave methis.

My pleasure, Eddie said with a sardonic grin.It will soon be my pleasure. Boodu advanced, tap-

ping the machete on the floor. He nodded to the guard.Hold him.

Eddie was kicked again, harder than before. While theYorkshireman gasped for breath, the guard hauled him

up and shoved him against the wall.Here, said Boodu, mouth somewhere between a

smile and a snarl. He brought up the blade and slicedthrough one of Eddies dirty, ragged sleevesand theskin beneath. Dark blood blossomed on the fabric.


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1 0 A N D Y M C D E R M O T T

cue Strutter. You thought a homing beacon would helpyour friends rescue you if you got into trouble. He

shook his head. Not from here, Chase. Not from FortHelena. Now, where is it? Or will I have to cut you apartto find it? He raised the machete again.

With a defeated look, Eddie unfastened his trousers.Dont get all excited, lads, he said as he reached intothe back of his underwear and, straining in discomfort,

extracted a small tubular object from where the sundidnt shine. Ow! Christ, youve no idea how uncomfythat was. Made my eyes water.

Boodu was about to take it from Eddie when he no-ticed the unsavory coating on its metal surface and in-structed the guard to hold it instead. With an expression

of great distaste, the man held it up for his superiors toexamine. It was around three inches long and a littleover an inch in diameter, one end rounded off. A redLED blinked at the other, flat end, a tiny switch besideit. Does the switch turn it off? Boodu asked Eddie.The Englishman nodded.

Boodu gestured to the guard, who clicked the switchwith a thumbnail. The LED went dark. Chuckling, heregarded Eddie again. You shouldnt have set it totransmit on a military frequency, Chase. A stupid mis-take.

Oh, I dunno, said Eddie. A sudden confidence in hisvoice was accompanied by distant sounds from outside,a series of flat thuds. Boodu stiffened, realizing that thesituation had somehow changed. It wasnt to tell mymates I was here. A broad smile exposed the gap be-tween his front teeth. It was to tell em you were here.

He dropped and shielded his headA rising high-pitched whine told Boodu what was

happeningbut too late to do anything about it as mor-tar shells struck the prison.

A hole exploded in the corridors ceiling, shrapnel rip-ping into the head and back of the prison official. Thegovernor was also hit, the blast flinging him into the


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R E T U R N T O A T L A N T I S 1 1

cell. Both Boodu and the guard were thrown off theirfeet as more detonations tore through the building.

Eddie lifted his head as the first round of shellingceased. As planned, the bombs had been fired to impactin a pattern around his cell as soon as the beacon wasswitched off. Risky, but hed had confidence in his col-laborators aim. The mortars were just over the top of asmall ridge almost a mile from the fort, set up and

sighted on his position by surreptitious use of a laserrangefinder during the early hours of the morning. Sofar, they were on target. The door hung off its hinges,the wall beside it smashed. A shaft of sunlight cutthrough the swirling dust from a hole in the roof.

He jumped up. The guard was closest to him, break-ing out of his daze as he saw the prisoner move andstanding clumsily, raising his gun

Eddie grabbed his arm and wrenched it up behind hisback as he fired. The bullet smacked against the door.

The sound shocked the governor back to life. He fum-bled for his own holstered weapon, broad face contortedin panic and fury.

Eddie twisted the guards arm even harder, jammingthe guns muzzle into his lower backand his ownindex finger on top of his captives. Four shots burst go-rily through the guards abdomen. Even mangled andsmashed by their passage, the rounds still had enoughforce to tear into the governors flesh. He screamed, gun

forgotten as he writhed in agony from the mortalwounds.Pulling the gun from the dead guards hand, Eddie

dropped the corpse and whirled to face Boodu. TheZimbabwean was on his hands and knees. As he squintedin pain and disorientation, his gaze fell upon his ma-chete, the ornate handle just inches away. He grabbedit

Eddies foot stamped down on the blade.Boodu looked up to find the smoking, blood-dripping

gun pointed right at him. All right, face-ache, Eddiegrowled. Let go. Boodu withdrew his hand and backed


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away. The Englishman bent to retrieve the machete.Outside, an alarm bell started ringingjust as another

round of far-off thumps reached the prison. Oh, and ifI were you, Id duck.

Boodu shielded his head as another round of mortarshells struck their targets. These explosions were fartheraway, but still shook dust from the ceiling as guardtowers were blasted into fragments and the prefabri-

cated administration block blew apart, the remains col-lapsing on top of the prison staff inside.

Eddie jabbed Boodu with the machete. Another noiserose: the helicopter, its pilot desperately trying to takeoff. Okay, get up. Get up! He gestured with the guntoward the broken door. Move.

Boodu had no choice but to obey, though his voiceseethed with defiance. Where are you taking me?

Long term? Botswana. Short term, Eddie went onas the other man responded with confusion, weregoing to do what I came here forget Strutter. Lead theway.

You cant get out of here, Boodu spat as they exited

the cell. Through the hole in the ceiling, they heard theAlouettes roar as it left the ground. The main gate isshut, and mortars wont break itI know, I attackedthis place during the war. You need a tank. And youdont have one.

Let me worry about that, said Eddie. He prodded

him again, far from gently, with the machetes point.Come on, shift your arse.Making an angry sound, Boodu stepped over the rub-

ble littering the floor and moved down the passage, Eddiea few paces behind. Another explosion outside: a second-ary detonation, one of the vehicles inside the compound.There would be a last round of shelling, then after thateverything depended on getting the main gate open . . .

Frantic yelling and thumping came from a cell as theypassed it, a man inside begging in the Shona language.Eddie checked the door, but it needed a key. Shit! Heshould have taken the set from the dead guard


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Another guard ran out from a junction ahead, gun inhand. He looked relieved to see Booduthen realized

that the militia leader was not alone and whipped up hispistol.

Eddie was quicker. A single shot and the guard fellbackward, blood gushing from a bullet wound in hisforehead.

Boodu spun, intending to take advantage of the dis-

traction and tackle Eddie, but the Englishman had al-ready brought the gun back to cover him. Get his keysand open the cell, he ordered.

Boodu glared venomously at him; then after a mo-ment, a calculating expression formed on his face. Whydont you just kill me? he asked, more rhetorically thanin concern. Cunning replaced calculation. You cant,can you? You need me alive.

Not quite, said Eddie. I wantyou alive, cause Illget paid extra.

And you said you werent a mercenary anymore,Boodu scoffed, before the implications of Eddies wordssank in. Paid? By who?

Oh, just the people I got across the border last time Iwas here. And some other Zimbabweans who escaped.His voice hardened. People who had to leave familybehind. Family you got hold of. Theyre pretty keen tosee you againon their terms. A flicker of genuine fearreplaced the arrogance in Boodus eyes. Strutters the

main reason Im here, but giving you to thems a bonus.Dont get me wrong, thoughif you try anything again,Ill blow your fucking head off and give em whats leftof it in a carrier bag. Now open the door.

Boodu did as he was told. The door swung open anda haggard man, face swollen with bruises, rushed outonly to retreat in fear when he saw who had releasedhim.

Its okay, come out, said Eddie, bringing his gun tothe back of Boodus head to show the terrified prisonerthat the balance of power had changed. He glanced intothe cell and saw that the man was not alone; there were


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five others, all showing signs of recent beatings, in thecramped, sweltering space. He tossed the keys into the

room. Get everyone out, and be ready to run when yousee the signal.

What signal? a prisoner asked.Eddie grinned. You wont miss it. He swatted

Boodu with the machete as the men in the cell hesitantlyemerged, as if expecting some cruel trick. Keep mov-

ing.You are setting these traitors, these scum, free?

Boodu hissed through clenched teeth. Youll die forthis, Chase!

Yeah, yeah, Eddie replied with a shrug. But first,lets set another scumbag free and get Strutter, eh?

Trying to mask his concern, Boodu continued downthe passageway, Eddie behind him. More people werequickly released from other cells. Another series of ex-plosions shook the old fort: the final mortar attack. Ifthings were going according to plan, the prison wouldnow be in chaos, with communications and most of the

defenses smashed. The next phasecreating an escaperouteshould now be under way.But while freeing Zimbabwean political prisoners

would be a great humanitarian feat, it wasnt why Eddiewas there. Only one prisoner concerned him.

The man behind the steel door they had just reached.Keeping Boodu at gunpoint, Eddie listened at the

grille set into it, straining to make out anything over theclamor of alarm bells. That the opening was there at allspoke volumes. Torture chambers designed for the pur-pose of extracting information were generally sound-proofed, the atrocities committed within witnessed onlyby the torturers and their victims. This, though, let ev-

eryone in the cells hear the screams. Another form oftorture, more insidious, one that didnt even require theabusers to lay a hand on their other victims.

Through the door, he heard muted gasping. Anythingelse was masked by the bells and his own less-than-


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perfect hearing, damaged by years of exposure to gun-fire and explosions. Open it, he muttered to Boodu.

The Zimbabwean glowered, but pushed the dooropen. Its Boodu, he announced.

There was no answer. Surprised, Boodu stepped cau-tiously into the chamber. Eddie followed a couple ofsteps behind. On the far side of the shadowed room hesaw the man he had come to rescue: Johnny Strutter, an

overweight Kenyan man in his forties. Strutter wasshackled face-first against the wall, his bare back markedwith savage weals and bleeding lines where he had beenwhipped. There was also a strong, sickly smell likescorched meat. Burn marks dotted across Struttersshoulders and upper back told Eddie that it wasnt froma barbecue. A bench beside him was home to numerousinstruments of torture, some of which had been demon-strated toand uponEddie the previous day.

Their user was gone, however. The torturer had fledlike a coward at the first sign of danger. Whips andhooks and soldering irons were no defense againstbombs and bullets.

Eddie gestured at Strutter. Get him down.At gunpoint, Boodu unlocked the shackles. The over-

weight man collapsed when the last one was released,moaning. Into the corner, snapped Eddie, signalingfor Boodu to back away as he checked the prisoner.

Strutter forced open his pain-clenched eyes. Chase?

he rasped in disbelief. Eddie Chase! God above, it isyou! I almost didnt recognize you with the beard . . .Can you walk? Eddie demanded curtly.Strutter flexed his legs and grimaced. I dont know.

Ive been through a lot since I was arrested, old friend.Youll have to carry me.

Eddie fixed him with a cold glare. Lets get thisstraight, Strutter. Im not your old friend, and Im notfucking carrying your fat arse anywhere. I want onething out of youinformationand if you cant move,Ill chain you back to that wall and carry on where thelast guy left off to get it.


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Strutter hurriedly got up. On the other hand, I couldwalk.

Glad were on the same page. Eddie turned back toBoodu. All right, dickhead, lets go. Strutter, take thismachete. If he tries anything, stab him.

Strutter took the blade and eyed Boodu. It would bea grand thing for the entire world if I just stabbed himanyway.

I know, but Ill get a few quid for handing him over.You are back in the mercenary business? I thought

you left for good.Its just temporary, Eddie said as he returned to the

door. The only people he saw outside were prisoners, afew of whom had acquired weapons from the guards

and were exchanging intermittent fire through a door tothe courtyard. Fort Helena was still in turmoil.

But even with the governor dead, there was a chain ofcommand. Somebody would soon take charge; everyminute brought a counterattack closer. The armorymight have been destroyed, but the guards still had fire-

power on their side.Boodu knew this too. You cant get out, he said,sneering at the prisoners. You think these starving dogscan break through the gate?

Nope, said Eddie, heading for the exit. But I knowsomeone who can.

As if on cue, more gunfire erupted outsidethoughfrom the prisoners confusion, it was clear that it wasntbeing aimed at them. Eddie cautiously peered into thecourtyard. The watchtowers were smoldering wrecks,and a column of black smoke rose from the remains ofthe administration block. A car nearby was also ablaze.But what about the guards?

He saw several uniformed men race across the court-yard to scale the steps built into the forts thick defensivewall, joining others along the rampartsand firing onsomething outside the prison.

Something getting closer.


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A deep rumbling growl filled the air. Boodus eyeswent wide. You dohave a tank!

Not quite, said Eddie, but the next best thing. Hesmiled. Check out my killdozer.

The great gates burst apart.Roaring through a cloud of dust and black diesel

smoke was a large bulldozer, its front blade raised like abattering rambut this was no ordinary construction

vehicle. The engine compartment and cabin were cov-ered by steel plates. The guards bullets clanked harm-lessly off the armor as the behemoth ground over theruined gates into the courtyard.

The killdozer was not simply an impenetrable bulletmagnet, however. It had weapons of its own. Slots in thecabins shields dropped openand the muzzles of ma-chine guns poked out, firing up at the forts defenders.Guards flailed and fell under the hail of fire. The ma-chine rumbled on, flattening a car into unrecognizablescrap.

Eddie called to the prisoners. Okay! Thats your wayout of herethere are trucks coming to the gate. When

I tell you, run for it!Boodu raged impotently. English bastard! Youre

helping these traitors escape? Youll die for thisno,youll begme to kill you after Im finished with you!

The prisoners own fury rose as they realized who hewas. Eddie reasserted who was in charge by cracking his

gun against Boodus head. Keep your fucking mouthshutor Ill give you to this lot. Well see whos beggingthen. Seeing the vengeance-filled eyes of the men sur-rounding him, Boodu wisely decided to stay silent.

A thunderous explosion shook the building, and thelights went out. Eddie saw the killdozer backing awayfrom the blazing remains of the prisons generators.Through the gates, he spotted a pickup truck barrelingdown the dusty road to the fort. If youve got a gun,get ready to use it! he called. If you havent, then runfor the gate . . . now!

He broke from the doorway into the courtyard, gun at


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the ready. Strutter followed, forcing Boodu along atmachete-point. The prisoners spilled out behind them.

The killdozer was growling back to the gate, but Eddiewas only concerned with the remaining guards. A manleaned around a corner and fired into the fleeing crowdthen dropped with a spurting chest wound as Eddie re-turned the favor.

Another two guards rose from cover behind a wall

and opened up with rifles. There were screams as pris-oners were hit. Eddie turned to deal with the new threat,but the men in the killdozer beat him to it, the machineguns unleashing furious bursts of automatic fire. Thewall pocked and splintered under the barrage, bothguards tumbling amid bright red sprays of blood as bul-lets ripped into their bodies.

Shots cracked out from the escapees. The other guardsrealized they were overmatched and tried to retreat.Spitting lines of fire from the killdozer tracked them.

Eddie was almost at the gate. The pickup had stoppedoutside, more vehicles pulling up behind it. Inside themwere resistance members opposed to Zimbabwes brutal

government, many of whom had been driven to directaction by the imprisonment of family or friends in placeslike Fort Helena. A man jumped from the pickup andwaved frantically to him: Banga Nandoro, one of thosewith whom Eddie had planned the whole operation.

Come on, hurry! Banga yelled as Eddie charged

through the gate, the prisoners following him. Moremen jumped from the arriving trucks to help pile theescapees aboard.

Eddie ran to Banga, gun still raised as he watched theforts walls for snipers. Glad you could make it, hetold the Zimbabwean as Boodu and Strutter caught up.

Banga nodded, eyes fixed on the men emerging fromthe gate. At the sight of one in particular, he gasped.Chinouyazue! he cried, running to his brother.

Eddie patted his heart. Makes you feel all warm inhere, doesnt it? Boodus expression twisted into aglower.


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demanded with condescending sarcasm. He glanced tothe west; Botswana was only ten miles away. The bor-

der is too well guardedthey will never get across it.And if they stay in Zimbabwe, we will find them. Thereis nowhere they can hide.

Thats not gonna be your problem, said Eddie. Thelast of the men squeezed aboard the trucks, some dan-gling from the sides, held by their former cellmates. The

first vehicle started to lumber away. Right, Banga, wedbetter shift. I dont want to miss my flight.

Banga helped his weary brother into the pickups cab,then climbed into the drivers seat. Eddie hopped intothe rear bed, keeping his gun on Boodu as the Zimba-bwean, Strutter, and Maximov followed suit. The pickupset off, but instead of following the other trucks backalong the dirt road, it angled away into open scrubland.Shots from the fort followed them, but they were quicklybeyond the range of the guards weapons.

Banga kept driving across the windy plain. After a fewminutes, structures appeared ahead. Skeletal frames rosefrom the ground like hands clawing from a grave, the

part-built beginnings of what had been planned as a ce-ment works before Zimbabwes ruined economy forcedconstruction to be suspended. The killdozer, in its origi-nal peaceful guise, had been one of the pieces of equip-ment abandoned in situ.

A long road ran from the site to a highway a few miles

to the south, widened and flattened to allow the passageof heavy machinery. Eddie hoped it would also be wideenough for another form of transport . . .

There she is! shouted Maximov, pointing into thesky. Eddie looked up to see a bright yellow aircraft ap-proaching at low altitude.

It wasnt the one he had expected, however. Whatthe bloody hells that? he demanded as the large, pon-derous biplane made a lazy descent toward the road.The closer it came to the ground, the slower it moved,to the point where it seemed to be hanging impossiblyin the air. Then, with an upward twitch of its nose, it


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dropped the last few feet and bounced along the dirttrack before trundling to a stop near the unfinished

buildings.Banga drove the pickup to meet it. Strutter prodded

Boodu out of the back with the machete as Eddie jumpedout and ran to the aircraft. A hatch opened in the bi-planes rear flank. TD! he yelled over the enginessputtering growl. What the fucks this piece of old

crap?Tamara Defend looked offended. And its nice to

see you too, Eddie, she said in her melodious Namibianaccent.

What happened to the Piper? He had expected herto be flying her Twin Comanche air taxi.

Didnt I tell you? Ive got two planes nowmy busi-ness is expanding. I thought you might need somethingbigger for this. She nodded at Maximov as he accom-panied Strutter and Boodu to the aircraft. I dont thinkhe would even fit in the Piper.

Eddie was still far from impressed. But . . . but its

fuckingprehistoric! Its a biplane, for Christs sake. Whobuilt it, the Wright brothers?Its Russian, said TD, pouting in defense of her

planes honor. Its an AntonovAntonov An-2, yeah, I know. Eddies military train-

ing had included aircraft recognition. He clambered intothe surprisingly capacious hold, moving aside to let thethree other men in. I meant, why the hell would youbuy this thing? It must be sixty years old!

Hah! Its only thirty-nine, so its younger than youIts the same age, actually, he protested. Im not

forty yet.and its cheap and simple and I can repair it with a

wrench and a hammer out in the bush if I need to. Andit can carry a lot of cargo and land just about anywhere,so its perfect for my work.

Main thing I want to know is: Is it fast? Eddie askedas he waved good-bye to Banga and shut the hatch.


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Not really, but this is Africa. Things dont happen ina rush here.

They will once the government finds out what justhappened at the prison.

The attractive young pilot took the hint and hurriedup the cabin to clamber through an arched opening intothe cockpit. Eddie checked on the other passengers.Strutter, evidently as unconvinced by the Antonovs sup-

posed airworthiness as Eddie, had already strappedhimself firmly in. The only thing keeping Boodu down,however, was Maximovs scowl from the neighboringseat.

Youll never get away, the Zimbabwean snarled asEddie took the seat next to Strutter, facing him acrossthe cabin. Not in this antique.

Ten miles and were across the border, Eddie re-minded him. Even this thing can make it before any ofyour fighters reach us.

TD revved the engine, applying full rudder to turn theelderly aircraft back down the road. The Antonovlurched over the bumps. Strutter nervously pulled his

straps even tighter. Ifit can make it, said Boodu.I heard that, TD snapped from the cockpit. She

straightened out, braking and checking the instrumentsbefore pushing the throttle to full power. The engineroared, the entire fuselage vibrating and rattling.

I should have kept earplugs in, Maximov com-

plained. Eddie had to agree; the Antonov betrayed itsSoviet military heritage by its utter lack of creature com-forts such as soundproofing.

Hang on, TD warned. The jolting increased as thebiplane picked up speed. Eddie looked out through therow of circular portholes, gripping the arm of his seatwith one hand as he kept the gun aimed at Boodu withthe other. They were doing forty miles per hour, fiftythen abruptly the juddering eased and the plane tippedback sharply as it took to the air. Antiquated though itmight be, the Antonov still had low-speed performancethat almost no modern planes could match.


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pair of .303-caliber Browning machine gunsand afterfleeing the prison, it must have withdrawn to a safe dis-

tance before its crew spotted the incoming Antonov anddeduced that the highest-value escapees would be takenaboard. Eddie didnt know the Alouettes top speed, butsuspected it would matchor beatthe 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 windshield.

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 upward, sending himstaggering back down the cabin . . .

Boodu lunged for his machete.Off balance, Eddie took a shot at him that went wide,

adding another hole to the Antonovs puckered fuselageas Boodu yanked the blade from the seat frame

More of the Alouettes bullets struck the biplane. Itpitched up almost vertically, dropping Eddie and Boodutoward the rear bulkhead as the other two men strug-gled to hold on to their seats.

The sheet metal buckled under Eddie as he crashedagainst it. Boodu slammed down beside him, the ma-chete clanging against the bulkhead just inches from theYorkshiremans chest.

Boodu swept the weapon as Eddie rolled away. Themachetes sharp edge caught his armonly a glancingblow, but still deep enough to draw blood. He tried tobring the gun around, but Boodu lashed out with oneleg and kicked his hand, sending the pistol flying across

the hold.The planes 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 ofits climb. Over the engines roar, he heard the clatter of


28/35


the helicopters machine guns. Bullets clunked into thewings.

Max! he shouted. Get into the cockpit and helpher! Maximov gave him a thumbs-up and squeezedthrough the cockpit entrance.

More bullet impacts, this time against the fuselage.One of the portholes blew outthen the cabin hatchburst open and fell away behind the plane. Strutter

screamed in terror.Eddie clung to a structural spar as the slipstream tried

to drag him out after the hatch. The horizon tippedsharply, the Antonov now in a steepening plunge. Theengine note rose in pitch.

Boodu braced his feet against another spar and swungagain, Eddie ducking just in time to avoid a macheteblow to his face. The blade clanged against the hullabove his head. He retaliated with a punch, but onlycaught the Zimbabweans shoulder as he drew back themachete for another attack.

A churning sensation in Eddies stomach told him thathe was in free fall. The Antonov was picking up speed in

its dive.Which gave him a new dimension in which to fight.Boodu slashed at himbut Eddie had already kicked

away and shot toward the ceiling, grabbing a flappingcargo strap and using it to somersault himself around.The planes occupants were now effectively in zero g, the

Antonovs power dive matching the speed at whichgravity was dragging them down. From Boodus expres-sion of shockand sudden nauseait was somethinghe had never experienced before.

Eddie had, however. He kicked off again and pro-pelled himself at the Zimbabwean like a missile. BeforeBoodu could react, the Englishman had plowed intohim, sending both men tumbling weightlessly across thehold. He drove a punch into Boodus face, breaking hisnose. Globules of blood whirled in the air. Anotherpowerful blow, then he grabbed the Africans arm andtried to pry the machete from his grip.


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The engine note changed again, the cabin spinningaround them as the plane turned. They were running

out of sky . . .Eddie finally broke Boodus hold on the macheteas

Maximov pulled up, hard. No longer in free fall, thetwo men crashed heavily to the deck. Gravity went fromzero to double as the An-2 continued its roller-coasterride. The machete slammed down with sledgehammer

force, embedding its tip an inch into the floor beside theopen hatch.

The ground outside was frighteningly closeAn explosion of dust whirled into the cabin as the An-

tonov pulled out of its headlong dive mere feet abovethe plain and began another steep, rolling climb. Eddieand Boodu, still grappling, slid back down the hold . . .

Straight at the hatch.Eddie realized the danger and let go of Boodu, claw-

ing at the spars. He snagged one with his fingertips, butlost his grip almost immediately and continued to slithertoward the opening. Boodu, just ahead of him, screamedas he fell into nothingness

And caught the back edge of the frame, dangling out-side the ascending aircraft.

Eddie flailed his arms helplessly, sliding out into thevoid . . .

His left hand slapped against one of the wreckedhinges. He grabbed it. Torn metal cut into his palm, but

he had no choice but to cling on as his free hand huntedfor purchaseBoodus hand clamped around his throat.The militia leader pulled himself higher. Choking,

Eddie looked down at him, seeing his face twisted into adefiant snarl. Behind the Antonovs tail, the pursuingAlouette came into view as it climbed after the biplane.If I die, Boodu roared into the wind, so do you,Chase!

He squeezed harder, trying to force Eddie away fromthe hatch. The hinges sharp edges dug deeper into theEnglishmans hand. He tried to push Boodu back down,


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position with a look of laser-beam concentration. Besidehim, TD was very pale, her left hand tightly squeezed

around her bloodied right bicep. Notreally, shemanaged to say through her pained grimace. Oh God,it hurts!

Let me see. He carefully lifted her hand. She criedout, but he saw enough of the injury to know that itwouldnt be life threatening if she got prompt medical

attention. Okay, its okay, he said, trying to sound re-assuring. Just keep hold of it. Well fix you up when weland. How far to the border?

She squinted at the instruments, then out of the win-dow. Well be . . . across it in a minute.

I have a question, said Maximov, gripping the con-trols so hard that the tendons stood out like brake cableson the backs of his hairy hands. How do we land? Idont know how to fly! He gave Eddie a hopeful glance.Do you?

Nopeits been on my to-do list for about five fuck-ing years! He looked back at TD. Can you talk himthrough it? I dont want to have been in three plane

crashes in eleven bloody months.She managed a feeble smile. No problem. Another

reason I bought . . . an Antonov. If you turn into thewind, the stall speed is . . . zero knots. So much lift it canjustfloat down.

Youre kidding. Another attempt at a smile through

her pain. Youre not. Wow. I guess Russian stuff isnt ascrap as I thought.Hoy! Maximov protested.Eddie grinned and retreated into the main cabin.

Strutters rictus look of terror had finally relaxed, and hewas hesitantly loosening his seat belt straps. Id keepem fastened, Eddie warned him. This might be a bitbumpy.

Twenty minutes later, the Antonov was on the ground,in more or less one piece. Eddie had radioed ahead to


32/35


alert the reception committee that they needed medicalhelp; it turned out that no fewer than three of the wait-

ing Zimbabwean expatriates were doctors, educatedprofessionals being high on the list of targets for thegovernments thugs. Two of them took TD to the nearbybush farmhouse for emergency treatment. The thirdwanted to check Eddies injuries, but he had business toattend to first.

Maximov followed the Englishman from the plane.That was easy! he crowed. Maybe I should becomepilot, da?

Despite TDs claims, the An-2s touchdown had beenfar from feather-light. Eddie tried to crick the stiffnessout of his sore neck and spine. You might need a bitmore practice. Maximov laughed.

Mr. Chase? Waiting for Eddie was Japera Tangwe-rai, one of those whom he had helped escape from Zim-babwe several years before. Although she was only inher early thirties, the lines of stress and loss on her facemade her appear middle-aged, for she had seen nearlyher entire family murdered by Zimbabwean militia

forces. Her only surviving child, a boy now eight yearsold, looked up at Eddie nervously from behind herskirts. What happened? Did you free the prisonersfrom Fort Helena?

Yeah, he told her. Dont know exactly how many,but a lot, about a hundred. Banga and his people got

them out of there.And what about . . . Her voice dropped. Whatabout Boodu?

Even as a whisper, the hated name still caught the at-tention of others nearby. More people approachedEddie. Did you catch him? a man demanded. Didyou bring the Butcher?

Some of him. Here. Eddie brought something outfrom behind his back. Let me give you a hand.

Everyone recoiled in instinctive shock and disgust be-fore they realized the significance of the distinctive ringon one stiffening finger. It . . . its his, said Japera


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softly. Its the Butchers hand. She raised her voice toher companions. It is the Butchers hand!

The man who had spoken stared at it; then his mouthwidened into a grin. He took the lifeless hand and heldit aloft. You killed the Butcher! Hes dead! The Butcheris dead! The call was taken up by the others, delightand relief spreading through the little crowd.

Japeras response was more muted, a tear beading in

one eye. You killed Gamba Boodu, she said quietly toEddie. Thank you. My family . . . can rest now. Thankyou. She squeezed his hand. He nodded in silent ac-knowledgment. After a moment, she released him. Iwill get your money.

Dont give it to me, he said, to her surprise. TDcan have most of my shareI dont think getting herplane fixedll be cheap. And Max can have the rest. Henodded toward the huge Russian, who was surroundedby cheering Zimbabweans and looking bemused butpleased by the attention. All I need is enough to coversome expenses. Plane fares, mainly.

Japera tried to hide her disappointment. You are

leaving? So soon?Ive got somewhere to go. All I need is to find out

where. Excuse me. He headed back to the plane tomeet Strutter, who had just planted both feet on solidground with huge relief.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie! said the Kenyan, rubbing his

brow. We made ityou saved me!Yeah, well, dont expect me to make a habit of it.Like I said, if you tell me what I need to know, well beall square.

No problem. I will find your friend, dont youworry.

Hes not a friend, said Eddie, expression turningcold. You know Alexander Stikes?

Strutter nodded. Of course. Ex-SAS like you, runshis own PMCalthough I heard he suddenly shut itdown not long ago and started working for someonefull-time. I had some dealings with him; arranged for


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him to hire mercenaries for certain jobs, people likeMaximov. But hes a dangerous man. In honesty, Im

happy hes gone. He regarded Eddie curiously. Youvegone to a lot of trouble for someone you dont like. Whydo you want to find him?

Eddies face became even harder. So I can kill him.


35/35

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