“So who’d you use as your plastic surgeon? Dr. Frankenstein?”
The governor angrily clicked his fingers, and the guard booted Eddie hard in the side. He was about to deliver another blow when Boodu stopped him. “Leave him for me,” the Zimbabwean rumbled. He ground the machete’s point over the floor, the sound as unpleasant as nails on a blackboard. “I’m going to have some fun with him.”
Eddie clutched his aching ribs. “You’re throwing us a big party with cakes and jelly?”
“The only thing that will be thrown is your corpse, into a pit,” said Boodu. He rasped the blade over the flagstones again. “You caused me a lot of pain, Chase—professional and personal. Getting those criminals across the border made me look very bad in front of the president. It took me a long time to get back into his favor.”
“Leaving the country ’cause you don’t want to have your family raped and murdered doesn’t make you a criminal.”
Boodu snorted sarcastically. “If you oppose the president, you are a criminal. And my country has far too many of these criminals—this prison is full of them. They must be dealt with. Firmly.” He paused to listen to a shriek from the torture chamber. “Like your friend Strutter. A dog of war, spreading sedition, arranging for mercenaries to work for criminals. Mercenaries like you, 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? I’m very sorry.” He laughed. “But I also heard that you got into some trouble, hey? You are wanted for murdering an Interpol officer! I was almost tempted to turn you over to them. But then”—he turned his face to display his mangled cheek to the prisoner—“I remembered that you gave me this.”
“My pleasure,” Eddie said with a sardonic grin.
“It will soon be my pleasure.” Boodu advanced, tapping the machete on the floor. He nodded to the guard. “Hold him.”
Eddie was kicked again, harder than before. While the Yorkshireman 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 sliced through one of Eddie’s dirty, ragged sleeves—and the skin beneath. Dark blood blossomed on the fabric.
Eddie choked back a growl of pain. “You fucking cockwipe!”
“When I was told you had been arrested, I had it sharpened. Just for you.”
“Hope you had it sterilized too,” said Eddie as the guard released him. “Wouldn’t want to catch anything.” He examined the cut. Boodu had been right about the machete’s sharpness; the African’s sweep had only been light, but still enough to open up a stinging gash in his arm.
Boodu laughed again. “I’m disappointed in you, Chase. You knew you were a dead man if you ever came back to Zimbabwe—so I congratulate you on your bravery, at least—but you were a fool to be so open about it. We were watching all of Strutter’s contacts. Did you really think we had forgotten you?” He gestured at Eddie’s face. “A beard! That was your disguise? Very stupid. You must have spent too long in America, with all the comforts of marriage—you forgot how the world really works.”
“I didn’t forget,” said Eddie. Boodu was about to say something else when a prison official appeared at the door and indicated that he wished to speak to the governor. The two men exchanged muttered words, eyeing Eddie suspiciously, before the militia leader went over to join in the sotto voce discussion.
Before long, Boodu let out a sharp “Ha!” and, swinging the machete almost nonchalantly, turned back to Eddie. “Where is it, Chase?”
“Where’s what?” Eddie replied, face a portrait of innocence.
“You have a radio transmitter. My pilot picked it up and then used the prison’s own receiver to triangulate its position. This cell.”
The governor was already defensive. “We searched him when he was brought here.”
“Not well enough,” said Boodu, his look suggesting there would be repercussions for the oversight. “So that’s why you were so open about coming here to rescue Strutter. You thought a homing beacon would help your friends rescue you if you got into trouble.” He shook his head. “Not from here, Chase. Not from Fort Helena. Now, where is it? Or will I have to cut you apart to find it?” He raised the machete again.
With a defeated look, Eddie unfastened his trousers. “Don’t