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helicopter was equipped with a pair of.303 calibre Browning machine guns — and after fleeing the prison, it must have withdrawn to a safe distance before its crew spotted the incoming Antonov and deduced that the highest-value escapees would be taken aboard.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 the portholes blew out — then the cabin hatch burst 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 tipped sharply, the Antonov now in a steepening plunge. The engine note rose in pitch.
Boodu braced his feet against another spar and swung again, Eddie ducking just in time to avoid a machete blow to his face. The blade clanged against the hull above his head. He retaliated with a punch, but only caught the Zimbabwean’s shoulder as he drew back the machete for another attack.
A churning sensation in Eddie’s stomach told him that he was in freefall. The Antonov was picking up speed in its dive.
Which gave him a new dimension in which to fight.
Boodu slashed at him — but Eddie had already kicked away and shot towards the ceiling, grabbing a flapping cargo strap and using it to somersault himself around. The plane’s occupants were now effectively in zero-g, the Antonov’s power dive matching the speed at which gravity was dragging them down. From Boodu’s expression of shock — and sudden nausea — it was something he had never experienced before.
Eddie had, however. He kicked off again and propelled himself at the Zimbabwean like a missile. Before Boodu could react, the Englishman had ploughed into him, sending both men tumbling weightlessly across the hold. He drove a punch into Boodu’s face, breaking his nose. Globules of blood whirled in the air. Another powerful blow, then he grabbed the African’s arm and tried to pry the machete from his grip.
The engine note changed again, the cabin spinning around them as the plane turned. They were running out of sky…
Eddie finally broke Boodu’s hold on the machete — as Maximov pulled up, hard. No longer in freefall, the two men crashed heavily to the deck. Gravity went from zero to double as the An-2 continued its roller coaster ride. The machete slammed down with sledgehammer force, embedding its tip an inch into the floor beside the open hatch.
The ground outside was frighteningly close—
An explosion of dust whirled into the cabin as the Antonov pulled out of its headlong dive mere feet above the plain and began another steep, rolling climb. Eddie and Boodu, still grappling, slid back down the hold…
Straight at the hatch.
Eddie realised the danger and let go of Boodu, clawing at the spars. He snagged one with his fingertips, but lost his grip almost immediately and continued to slither towards the opening. Boodu, just ahead of him, screamed as he fell into nothingness—
And caught the back edge of the frame, dangling outside the ascending aircraft.
Eddie flailed his arms helplessly, sliding out into the void…
His left hand slapped against one of the wrecked hinges. He grabbed it. Torn metal cut into his palm, but he had no choice but to cling on as his free hand hunted for purchase—
Boodu’s hand clamped around his throat.
The militia leader pulled himself higher. Choking, Eddie looked down at him, seeing his face twisted into a defiant snarl. Behind the Antonov’s tail, the pursuing Alouette 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 from the hatch. The hinge’s sharp edges dug deeper into the Englishman’s hand. He tried to push Boodu back down, but didn’t have enough leverage. Instead, he groped inside the cabin for a handhold…
His fingers found sharp, thick metal.
The machete!
He tugged at the handle. The blade shifted, but didn’t come loose, still stuck in the floor like a crude Excalibur. Boodu dug his thumb harder against Eddie’s windpipe, hauling himself higher. Another few inches and he would be able to get an elbow over the edge of the hatch to pull himself inside.
A last desperate yank — and the blade came free.
Supported by only one hand, Eddie swung further out of the hatch. Boodu shot him a look of triumph — which abruptly vanished as he saw what his opponent was holding. ‘No, don’t!’ he cried.
‘Hands off!’ Eddie shouted.
He brought down the machete in a savage slash — and lopped the Zimbabwean’s clutching arm off at the wrist.
With a horrible shriek, Boodu plummeted away in the Antonov’s wake—
And fell into the helicopter’s rotor blades.
The lower half of his body burst into a thick spray that repainted the olive-green military camouflage in a gory red, the upper smashed screaming through the cockpit windows. The Alouette slewed round, rapidly losing height — then hit the ground and exploded in an oily fireball.