Mudada

by M G Leslie

  In doing so, the oil spilled out and was lit by the gas burner before exploding in a ball of flames that spread over the stove and partially down on to one of the men.

  As the burning oil ran on to his face, he stood up and screamed out in agony.

  The view of the side of the man’s face, burning in front of him was truly horrific – but Price didn’t have time for sympathy and took the opportunity to dash out of the nearest door, before the other men were able to gather their thoughts and start firing.

  It was a testament to their ruthless determination though, that on seeing Price disappear through the doorway, they ignored their burning colleague and ran after him.

  Sprinting from corridor to corridor, Price finally saw a sign for an exit and quickly made his way outside – only to see another sign for a laboratory. So he ran towards that instead – fully in the knowledge that hospitals quite often keep gas canisters for all sorts of operational procedures.

  “Yes!!” he said to himself, as he approached the outside of the laboratory and saw a small trailer of gas canisters. Then, as he read the stickers on the sides of the canisters, he thought, “Even better,” and quickly found some cover.

  As the men emerged, they guessed where Price was hiding – but to get to him, they had to pass the gas canisters and clearly hadn’t registered the danger they represented – at least, not until Price fired two shots.

  Two bullets were enough! The gas containers contained hydrogen – a highly flammable gas that exploded in to a huge fireball, engulfing all the men.

  The explosion was so violent that, most of them were blown off their feet and lay on the ground either dead or burning to death. The two men, farthest from the gas canisters had managed to remain standing – but were spraying bullets in all directions as the fire spread over their bodies – screaming in agony as their lives faded away causing them to finally drop down to the ground and stop moving.

  Price stayed out of sight and waited until all the men were lying still. Then he checked his watch. “I need to get moving,” he thought. “If I’m not careful I’ll miss my flight at this rate.”

  So, after putting his gun back in his jacket pocket, he calmly re-entered the main hospital building, this time through the back door, and followed signs to a taxi rank.

  “To the international airport please – as quickly as you can. I’m late.”

  As they drove along, the taxi driver said, “Terrible fire back there. Did you see that car?”

  “No,” said Price, faking surprise in his best British accent, “What happened?”

  Then the taxi driver went on to explain that he thought a gas leak had caused an explosion outside the hospital. Price, meanwhile, was happy for the driver to be busy speculating. He needed to keep the driver busy whilst he stowed his pistol in the shielded compartment of his rucksack, because he had to do that unseen.

  A short while later, Price looked up as the taxi driver said, “There you go Sir,” and they pulled up in the departures drop-off lane at the airport.

  “Thanks,” said Price, as he paid and quickly made his way to immigration and through the diplomatic channel, to board his plane to Maputo, Mozambique – from there changing and taking the same internal flight he’d used before – but this time in the reverse direction – travelling to Chimoio.

  Price was relieved to have an uneventful flight and hoped that he was now on his own. However, just in case, he visited the bathroom and placed his Smith and Wesson in his pocket just prior to landing. Then, as he walked back to his seat, he had a rather callous, but amusing thought, “The more people I shoot – the lighter my bag gets – so there you go – there’s an up side to everything.”

  As he walked across the tarmac and in to Chimoio’s airport terminal, he kept his rucksack on his back and his hand on the gun in his pocket – all the while, watching everyone and everything that was going on around him.

  Once outside of the airport and in to the quiet street, Price headed for a small travellers hotel across the road. Aside from the airport terminal and a few ancillary structures, it was the only other building around – the airport being surrounded by harsh grassland on all sides.

  Like the airport, it looked very different to a normal airport hotel – in this case, more like someone’s house – a mostly wooden two-story building with a traditional pitched roof.

  There were a couple of vehicles sitting outside – but nothing to create any suspicion – he noted that a Japanese pick-up truck had definitely seen better days, as the bodywork was bent and rusting, and a small yellow Toyota car parked in a space marked ‘Staff’.

  As he walked towards the building, Price couldn’t hear any noise coming from the building – and there certainly didn’t seem to be anybody around.

  Behind him, he could hear the maintenance crew refuelling the aircraft he just arrived on – but aside from that he was alone with a clear blue sky and the baking sun.

  Walking in to the hotel reception area, Price’s feet made the wooden floorboards creak. Then looking around at his new surroundings, he saw a corridor directly ahead – some stairs forward and to the right, and a small wooden desk directly to his right, where a middle-aged man was seated – dressed in stringy white t-shirt.

  “Hello,” said Price.

  The man looked up with an uninterested expression, “Hello. Do you want a room?”

  “No thanks. I’m looking for a friend of mine. He might be staying here. I was hoping you could help me please?”

  “I don’t give out names of my guests,” said the man, who looked back down at his desk, where Price noted he was reading a newspaper.

  “I see. It’s really important. I’d be very grateful if you could help me please?”

  “I don’t give out names to strangers.”

  “If I was staying here, I wouldn’t be a stranger would I?”

  The man looked up and Price thought he detected a slight smile before he said, “No.”

  “How much is a room Sir?”

  “One hundred US per night. Plus tax.”

  Price withdrew his wallet from his pocket and counted out a hundred US dollars, then placed the notes on the desk – keeping his hand firmly on the money.

  “He goes by the name of First Class. Is he here?”

  The man just smiled, pointed to the money and held out his hand. So Price said, “The money is yours regardless of the answer – but I would like an answer please? This is very important to me.”

  The receptionist laughed, “First class – yeah right – he’s along there – room four.”

  Price pushed the money towards the man, and then said, “Thank you.”

  He was about to walk towards the corridor, when he heard a car break the silence outside, so he turned and looked out of the door – it was another pick-up truck with what looked like a few locals inside – certainly they were dressed very casually in a combination of grey and cream coloured trousers and a variety of t-shits with various brand names printed in a range of sizes and colours.

  They looked harmless, so Price smiled at the man as he turned back and made his way down the corridor – stopping outside the room with a ‘4’ on the door. Then, standing to the side, he knocked three times and waited – his hand on gripping his Smith and Wesson in his pocket.

  After a few moments of silence, he was relieved to hear a familiar voice, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Price – looking for First Class – open up, we haven’t got much time.”

  The door opened.

  For a brief second they just looked at each other – then First Class ushered Price inside – looking around to see if anyone was watching in the corridor.

  Once the door was closed, he spoke, “It’s good to see you Price.”

  Price smiled, “It’s good to see you to.” Then he withdrew some papers from his rucksack. “Here you go – passport, supporting papers and an air ticket. Get your stuff – we have no time for pleasantries my friend.”

  First
Class opened the passport and said, “John Smith? Isn’t that a beer?”

  “Yes – it was at short notice – so stop complaining – let’s go – we’re on the plane that’s turning around as we speak.”

  “The one that just landed?”

  “Yes mate – and the stewardess is absolutely gorgeous.”

  Suddenly interested, First Class said, “Really?”

  “Yeah – stunning.”

  “Stunning?”

  “Actually no – she’s so not. In fact she’s a right minger, but never mind – get moving.”

  First Class turned around, picked up a small bag and said, “OK I’m good.”

  Price opened the door to check the corridor was clear and that nobody had arrived during the brief period they were in the room – then both men started to walk back down to the entrance.

  As the front desk came in to view, Price suddenly stopped – holding out his arm to stop First Class as well.

  “What’s up?”

  Price looked back down the corridor and then forwards again to the front door. “Where’s the receptionist?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Is he always there – or does he vanish some times?”

  “I’ve only been here two days.”

  “And is he normally there or not?” said Price – now with a little impatience showing in his voice.

  First Class turned and looked at Price with a concerned expression, “He’s there – all the time mate.”

  “All the time?”

  “Yeah – like clockwork.”

  “Stay here,” said Price, as he silently walked towards the door and glanced outside, trying not to be seen.

  Across the road, standing next to the pick-up truck that Price had seen earlier, were a group of men – he presumed the same ones that arrived in the pick-up. However, now, instead of just looking like a bunch of locals, they were standing looking at the hotel holding weapons in their hands – two had pistols – the other four had shotguns.

  Price stepped back from the door and turned around, “Spot of bother out there. Let’s see if this receptionist has another gun – I’m guessing you’re not armed?”

  “No, I’m not – I didn’t realise it was going to be one of those days.”

  Price started to look under the desk and opened a large drawer – smiling as he saw an old shotgun, but no ammunition. However, he noted that it was already loaded. “A very dangerous thing to do – but not surprising,” he thought.

  As he handed First Class the gun he said, “How do you call the police in this town?”

  “I don’t know for certain. Although, I have a feeling it might be 119 or something?”

  “Let’s see,” said Price, as he picked up the receptionists phone and dialled 119.

  It was answered almost immediately, after which Price went on to explain that some ‘scary’ men were standing outside the airport and he was afraid to go and check in – they looked like they wanted to cause trouble, and were possibly even drug dealers – he thought they were armed as well.

  The police agreed to send someone to investigate, but then said, “What’s your name?”

  Price immediately started to rummage through papers on and in the desk – desperately looking for something that had the name of the receptionist written on it.

  The policeman asked again – just as Price found a piece of paper that contained the hotel details. He read it as quickly as he could, and said, “My name is Joshua Agar.”

  Then, covering the mouthpiece on the phone, the two men quietly laughed as the policeman finished the call.

  After Price had put the phone down, he looked at the shotgun and said, “You only have two shots – so if the need arises – make them count. But let’s see how the cops get on.”

  “How long until the plane leaves?”

  Price looked at his watch, “I reckon we have thirty minutes or so – but this won’t take that long – either they’ll be arrested and be gone, or they’ll be dead. Or if it all goes pear-shaped – we will.”

  “You need to work on your sales pitch.”

  Price just shrugged his shoulders, because in reality he had no intention of getting hurt. To the contrary, he had every intention of eliminating everyone and everything that stood in his way – still conscious of Pete being left to die in hospital.

  It only took five minutes for a police car to arrive at the small airport.

  As Price watched, two policemen got out of the car. He sighed, as he’d hoped they would arrive in force – maybe two or three cars. But two guys armed with nothing more than side arms, served only to confirm his initial thinking – he would have to deal with the men, supported by First Class and two shotgun cartridges.

  On seeing the police car approaching, the men had already hidden their weapons – pistols being stowed in trousers and shotguns placed in the back of the pick-up – out-of-sight, but easily accessible.

  Price just watched through a window at the front of the hotel as the policemen approached the men. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but from the expressions and body language, they appeared to be asking what the men were doing – and they appeared to be getting sensible answers.

  At one point, Price thought one of the men must have made a joke – certainly a couple of the others were smiling – and the policemen seemed quite relaxed – as far as he could tell.

  “I think the police are doing OK. Maybe they’ll all just go,” said First Class – almost as a whisper.

  Price, equally quietly, and without breaking his concentration or focus on the scene playing out across the road, simply said, “They won’t – it’s going to be carnage.”

  First Class turned his head to look at Price – who didn’t acknowledge him. Then, as Price suspected it would, it all went horribly wrong.

  They still couldn’t hear what was being said, but Price assumed the policemen must have realised one of the men had a gun hidden in his trousers, and had withdrawn their weapons – standing back to keep all the men in view.

  The men, however, were not intimidated - this clearly wasn’t the first time they had been face-to-face with the police or guns. So they didn’t hesitate – those with pistols immediately withdrew them and pointed back at the police officers, and those who had shotguns, retrieved them from the pick-up in a fraction of a second, and likewise, took up a threatening position.

  So it was a standoff – six men pointing pistols and shotguns at two policemen.

  Price heard some shouting – it sounded like the police saying something to the effect of, “Put your weapons down,” which was not surprising – but the standoff continued with nobody giving way.

  Now the men seemed to be shouting – one in particular, Price noted – he must be the leader.

  “The guy with the blue shirt – second from the left,” Price whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “If the shooting starts – be sure to take him out first.”

  “OK.”

  “Make sure of it. If you need to, use both shots on him.”

  “Got it.”

  The shouting and waving was getting louder now, causing an alarm to trigger in Price’s head. He’d been involved in these situations many times before – both in training, in his prior life in the Paras, and on his own all over the world. And right now, he had a feeling the policemen were about to be shot. So he looked at the First Class and said, “Don’t forget – you’re John Smith. If all else fails – get on that flight without me and get to London – you’ll be met the other end. I’m going to head out the back door and around the side of the hotel. If they start shooting, wait for me and then take out the guy in blue – take a couple of them out if you can. Then just get down and let me handle it – I’ve got more ammo than you can possibly imagine. The most important thing is for you to get on that flight. OK?”

  “OK.”

  Price walked back through the hotel until he reached a wooden door that led out to a back yard. Unfor
tunately, it was locked though. Price was tempted to try and unlock it using his MI6 keys, but time was of the essence, so he took a step back and gave the lock a sharp kick. The wooden doorframe cracked, so Price kicked the door again – this time watching it fly open.

  After a quick look around the check if he had attracted any attention, Price carefully started to make his way round the back and up the side of the building – at this stage, still out of sight of the men.

  As he watched from his new vantage point, Price noticed that one of the men had withdrawn some cash and appeared to be offering it to the police. “OK, so they’re trying to pay their way out of it,” he thought, “That might actually work. Perhaps this won’t end in carnage after all.”

  Sadly, however, it didn’t work – one of the policemen swiped the man’s hand out of the way – causing him to drop the money, which spread out on the ground.

  Price checked his gun – now certain that the standoff could only end one way.

  Then one policeman reached for his radio – Price presumed to call for backup. But that did it – one of the men holding a shotgun opened fire – sending the officer flying backwards through the air.

  The second officer immediately turned his aim on the man – but was too late. A second shotgun blast landed on his stomach and he flew backwards as well – although his hand must have clenched as he fell, because by pure chance a bullet hit one of the man in the chest, causing him to drop his pistol and fall backwards in the opposite direction.

  As the other men looked around at their wounded colleague, Price moved forward so that he was only about twenty feet from the men. “At this range,” he thought, “I should be able to guarantee a direct hit – after all – it’s broad daylight – they’re pretty close – and they’re stationary. In fact,” he thought, “If I don’t hit them, I should shoot myself, quite frankly.”

  Then he took aim and fired two shots in quick succession, killing two of the men outright.

  As the others turned to face Price, a shotgun blast came from the front of the building as First Class opened fire on the man in the blue shirt – although the spread of the shot also caught the men standing next to him – causing them to stagger backwards in shock.