their victims. This, though, let everyone in the cells hear the screams. Another form of torture, more insidious, one that didn’t even require the abusers to lay a hand on their other victims.
Through the door, he heard muted gasping. Anything else was masked by the bells and his own less-than-perfect hearing, damaged by years of exposure to gunfire and explosions. “Open it,” he muttered to Boodu.
The Zimbabwean glowered, but pushed the door open. “It’s Boodu,” he announced.
There was no answer. Surprised, Boodu stepped cautiously into the chamber. Eddie followed a couple of steps behind. On the far side of the shadowed room he saw the man he had come to rescue: Johnny Strutter, an overweight Kenyan man in his forties. Strutter was shackled face-first against the wall, his bare back marked with savage weals and bleeding lines where he had been whipped. There was also a strong, sickly smell like scorched meat. Burn marks dotted across Strutter’s shoulders and upper back told Eddie that it wasn’t from a barbecue. A bench beside him was home to numerous instruments of torture, some of which had been demonstrated to—and upon—Eddie the previous day.
Their user was gone, however. The torturer had fled like a coward at the first sign of danger. Whips and hooks and soldering irons were no defense against bombs and bullets.
Eddie gestured at Strutter. “Get him down.”
At gunpoint, Boodu unlocked the shackles. The overweight man collapsed when the last one was released, moaning. “Into the corner,” snapped Eddie, signaling for 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 is you! I almost didn’t recognize you with the beard …”
“Can you walk?” Eddie demanded curtly.
Strutter flexed his legs and grimaced. “I don’t know. I’ve been through a lot since I was arrested, old friend. You’ll have to carry me.”
Eddie fixed him with a cold glare. “Let’s get this straight, Strutter. I’m not your old friend, and I’m not fucking carrying your fat arse anywhere. I want one thing out of you—information—and if you can’t move, I’ll chain you back to that wall and carry on where the last guy left off to get it.”
Strutter hurriedly got up. “On the other hand, I could walk.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.” Eddie turned back to Boodu. “All right, dickhead, let’s go. Strutter, take this machete. If he tries anything, stab him.”
Strutter took the blade and eyed Boodu. “It would be a grand thing for the entire world if I just stabbed him anyway.”
“I know, but I’ll get a few quid for handing him over.”
“You are back in the mercenary business? I thought you left for good.”
“It’s just temporary,” Eddie said as he returned to the door. The only people he saw outside were prisoners, a few of whom had acquired weapons from the guards and were exchanging intermittent fire through a door to the courtyard. Fort Helena was still in turmoil.
But even with the governor dead, there was a chain of command. Somebody would soon take charge; every minute brought a counterattack closer. The armory might have been destroyed, but the guards still had firepower on their side.
Boodu knew this too. “You can’t get out,” he said, sneering at the prisoners. “You think these starving dogs can break through the gate?”
“Nope,” said Eddie, heading for the exit. “But I know someone who can.”
As if on cue, more gunfire erupted outside—though from the prisoners’ confusion, it was clear that it wasn’t being aimed at them. Eddie cautiously peered into the courtyard. The watchtowers were smoldering wrecks, and a column of black smoke rose from the remains of the administration block. A car nearby was also ablaze. But what about the guards?
He saw several uniformed men race across the courtyard to scale the steps built into the fort’s thick defensive wall, joining others along the ramparts—and firing on something outside the prison.
Something getting closer.
A deep rumbling growl filled the air. Boodu’s eyes went wide. “You do have a tank!”
“Not quite,” said Eddie, “but the next best thing.” He smiled. “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 a battering ram—but this was no ordinary construction vehicle. The engine compartment and cabin were covered by steel plates. The guards’ bullets clanked harmlessly off the armor as the behemoth ground over the ruined gates into the courtyard.