Temple of the Gods Read Free

through the swirling dust from a hole in the roof.
    He jumped up. The guard was closest to him, breaking out of his daze as he saw the prisoner move and standing clumsily, raising his gun—
    Eddie grabbed his arm and wrenched it up behind his back as he fired. The bullet smacked against the door.
    The sound shocked the governor back to life. He fumbled for his own holstered weapon, broad face contorted in panic and fury.
    Eddie twisted the guard’s arm even harder, jamming the gun’s muzzle into his lower back – and his own index finger on top of his captive’s. Four shots burst gorily through the guard’s abdomen. Even mangled and smashed by their passage, the rounds still had enough force to tear into the governor’s flesh. He screamed, gun forgotten as he writhed in agony from the mortal wounds.
    Pulling the gun from the dead guard’s hand, Eddie dropped the corpse and whirled to face Boodu. The Zimbabwean was on his hands and knees. Squinting in pain and disorientation, his gaze fell upon his machete, the ornate handle just inches away. He grabbed it—
    Eddie’s foot stamped down on the blade.
    Boodu looked up to find the smoking, blood-dripping gun pointed right at him. ‘All right, faceache,’ Eddie growled. ‘Let go.’ Boodu withdrew his hand and backed away. The Englishman bent to retrieve the machete. Outside, an alarm bell started ringing – just as another round of far-off thumps reached the prison. ‘Oh, and if I were you, I’d duck.’
    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