Truly Deadly: The Complete Series: (YA Spy Thriller Books 1-5)

by Rob Aspinall

“Taking selfies. What are you two doing here?”

  “That’s confidential,” said Beard.

  “That’s confidential,” I said, putting on a stupid deep voice and breaking into fits of drunken giggles. “Hey, can I get a selfie with you guys?”

  The men stared blankly at me. I strutted over to them like a plastered lush trying and failing to walk sexy. Tatts shrugged his shoulders at Beard, as if to say, Why not? Beard shrugged back. I lined up a photo, Tatts checking me out from behind. I snapped a couple of photos, fish-gaping it up.

  I lifted Beard’s cap off his head and plonked it on top of mine. “Hey, can I have a photo with your gun?”

  “I don’t know …” said Beard.

  “Oh, please. It’s not like I’m gonna shoot you.”

  Beard emptied the weapon and handed it over to me.

  “Whoa, it’s heavy,” I said. “Let’s get a photo together.”

  The guys leaned in. I gave Tatts the phone so he could take the picture.

  “Say cheese,” I said.

  As Tatts took the photo, I spun with the rifle and cracked Beard in the jaw with the butt, following through and hitting Tatts on the back of the neck – both secret sweet spots Philippe had shown me in training. The pair of them slumped to the floor.

  I caught my phone as it dropped from Tatts’s hand on his way down, propped Beard’s rifle against the wall and stepped over the unconscious bodies to the keypad. I zipped open my handbag and took out a clear adhesive strip. I flattened it out over the holographic touchpad. It revealed the heat signatures over each button. The most recent number pressed, the brightest blue. The oldest the faintest.

  That told me which numbers came first. I peeled off the strip and punched in the code. The vault blipped three times and the blue light disappeared from above the door. The door clunked. I turned the lock anti-clockwise and heaved it open.

  Voila! I was in.

  Before I stepped inside the vault, I peered in to see where the CCTV cameras where positioned. Fact is, there weren’t any. Antonenko must have been so paranoid about people seeing what he had in there, he’d avoided cameras altogether. That made the next bit a lot easier. I stepped inside and made a beeline for the display case. There it was, sparkling in the light. The Arina Diamond. I opened the case slowly. It wasn’t locked. It didn’t need to be. I took out a can of mock deodorant from my handbag and sprayed a fine mist of H20 inside the case.

  The case had an in-built laser alarm system, just like Philippe said it would. The spray revealed a cross-weave of blue laser beams zig-zagging around the diamond. I only had seconds before the mist faded and the beams disappeared again. I dropped the can back in my handbag and pulled out a mountain rock roughly the same size and weight of the diamond. The advantage of having skinny arms and small hands was that I could reach in easily between beams. I paused for a second, then swiped the diamond off the sensor pad. At the exact same time, I slid the mountain rock on in its place. With the mist disappearing and the laser beams fading, I carefully pulled my arms out, the big sparkling diamond smooth and hard and weighty in the palm of my right hand. Out of the case, the diamond seemed more impressive. Almost mesmerising. So this is how it felt to hold forty-eight million dollars. For a mad moment, I pictured myself running away to the Bahamas. Inviting Becki for a free holiday at my house on the beach. She’d obviously love it and decide to stay. I could shower her with roses and diamonds and ply her with rum cocktails and posh champagne. I could wear a bikini on my own private island with no one to see or care. And I could pay handsomely to stay out of the clutches of JPAC. I snapped myself out of my little bling-bling trance and closed the display-case door. I dragged the guards’ dead-weight bodies into the safe, each as heavy as a cow. But Helga’s boot camp from hell had loaded an amazing amount of strength and endurance into my arms, legs and core.

  I buried the men’s radios and the clips from their weapons in the soil of a large plant pot out in the enclave. I closed the door, spun the lock and reset the alarm. I made it quickly up to the party with forty-eight million dollars zipped away in my handbag and a flute of champagne back in my hand, slightly red in the face and out of breath; the stress of the heist getting to me a little.

  The crackle from the radio mic in my ear faded. “Do you copy?” Philippe asked.

  I brought the champagne glass up to my lips, pretending to drink. “I copy, I copy. The turkey’s in the microwave,” I said. “Repeat. The turkey is in the microwave.”

  “The wh– Why would a turkey be in the microwave? It’s the chicken’s in the pot.”

  “Shit, yeah, I forgot. What does it matter?”

  “Chicken in the pot makes sense.”

  “Okay, then, the turkey’s under the grill.”

  “That makes even less sense.”

  “It’s a turkey drummer. In breadcrumbs. Point is, the turkey’s ready. Now get me the shit out of here.”

  16

  Working Girl

  “Okay,” Philippe said. “You need to get to the second floor. There’s a sun terrace with steps down the back of the house to a lawn. I’m looking at it right now. Clear all the way. When you make it down the steps, walk directly to the wall.”

  “And what then?” I asked, taking another pretend sip, moving through the party.

  “I’ll make a hole.”

  “Copy that,” I said. “Heading upstairs.”

  I left my champagne glass on a window ledge in the lobby and made my way over to the left-hand staircase. Out of nowhere, Nikolai appeared and grabbed me roughly by the arm.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” he spat in my ear.

  Oh no, they’d sussed me out already. Nikolai knew I had the diamond.

  “Why aren’t you servicing the guests?” he asked.

  “I was just—”

  “Shut the fuck up. I’m taking you up to General Yurkovich. You’d better be fucking good.”

  Nikolai marched me all the way up the steps, his hand squeezing my arm to bits. As we hit the landing, Antonenko appeared out of a room, zipping up his fly and puffing on a cigar, Christina in the background, pulling on her plunge dress.

  “Ah, Yana, there you are,” Antonenko said. “It’s okay, Nikolai. Leave her with me.”

  Nikolai tried to explain. “But General Yurkovich—”

  “Never mind that piece of Russian shit. I’m finished with the blonde one. He can have her instead. This one is for my son.”

  “Yes, boss,” Nikolai said, grabbing Christina as she came out of the room and leading her to the next door along the hallway.

  “Now, Yana,” Antonenko said, his arm around me again like a creepy uncle, “let me introduce you to my son, Alexei.”

  He pushed the door open to Alexei’s room without knocking. Alexei was the arsehole gamer who’d been a dick to me earlier on. He sat with his back to us on the end of his bed, blasting the legs off zombies. He looked like he’d been forced into a light-grey designer suit against his will, a tail of his shirt hanging over his trousers, jacket thrown inside out on the bed and the knot of his tie wrestled open, halfway down his chest.

  “Alexei, turn the game off. You’ve got company. And tuck your shirt in, for fuck’s sake.”

  “But Dad—”

  “But Dad nothing,” Antonenko said, trying to flatten out Alexei’s surfer-dude blonde hair. “Smarten yourself up. You’re in the presence of a young lady.”

  “Who’s this?” Alexei asked, giving me the ups and downs. “Wife number four?”

  Antonenko clipped Alexei round the head, so hard it made me flinch. “Don’t disrespect me, boy. I brought Yana in here to keep you company. Some thanks I get.”

  “I can get my own girl if I want. I don’t need one of your slave whores.”

  “Oh yes?” Antonenko laughed, holding out his arms. “And where are all these beautiful young girls? Tell me, Don Juan.”

  “Fucking great! Now I’m zombie food,” Alexei said, putting the game on pause, as virtual blood dri
pped down the inside of the TV screen.

  Antonenko turned to me and squeezed my cheeks between thumb and fingers. He leaned in close, cigar-smoke breath smelling like death.

  “You’ll take good care of my boy, yes?” he said quietly. “He’s not done it before, but—”

  “Dad! You fucking old prick!”

  “Like I said, he’s not experienced,” said Antonenko. “But whatever he wants, you do. Or you know what’ll happen.”

  He let go of my face and tapped me on the cheek as he left. He turned at the door before closing it. “Don’t let me down, Alexei. It’s time to be a man.”

  Alexei flicked the Vs at Antonenko and hurled the game controller at the door as it closed, his cheeks burning with equal parts anger and embarrassment. I stood there awkwardly for a moment as Alexei sat bent over on his bed, rubbing his hands through his hair.

  “Um, Alexei?”

  “It’s Alex,” he said, face buried in hands.

  “Do you mind if I freshen up?”

  “Sure,” he said looking up. “There’s an en suite through that door.”

  I shut the door to the en suite and gently banged my head against it.

  “What’s going on in there?” Philippe asked.

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on,” I whispered. “Antonenko wants me to pleasure his fucking son. Why didn’t you tell me I was posing as a sex slave?”

  “Would you have agreed to it if I had?”

  “Oh, yeah, I’d have jumped at the chance. What do you think?”

  “You okay in there?” Alexei asked from the other side of the door.

  “I’m fine. Be there in a minute,” I shouted.

  The en suite was small by Antonenko standards, decked out in shiny black tiles. A toilet, a sink and a walk-in shower. I yanked the toilet flush to create some cover noise.

  “So what now?” I asked. “What do I do?”

  “Play along,” said Philippe. “Once you’re done, continue with the exit strategy.”

  I was getting more and more agitated. “Once I’m done? You’re not actually suggesting—”

  “I know it’s not easy. But just take one for the team.”

  “Take one for the team? I’m always taking one for the team. How about you take one for the team? I’m the team fuck-jar, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Yana?” Alexei shouted. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes,” I said, sticking my head out around the en suite door. “Why?”

  “Sounds like you’re having an argument with yourself.”

  “Yeah … just, um, giving myself a pep talk before the big, y’know.” I shook a fist in the air and then ducked back in the bathroom.

  “I can’t believe what you’re asking me to do,” I whispered.

  “Welcome to undercover work,” Philippe said. “Look, do you find him physically repulsive?”

  “No, he’s actually … cute, but that’s not the—”

  “Then I’m not seeing a problem.”

  “Ugh! Do you have any concept of how normal people think or feel?

  “It’s a straight choice,” Philip said. “You either engage in sexual—”

  “Please don’t say intercourse.”

  “You spend some intimate time with a guy your own age you find physically attractive or fight your way out unarmed in a backless party dress.”

  As usual, I didn’t like my options.

  “Think of it this way,” Philippe said, “if you don’t do it, there’s nothing we can do to stop JPAC.”

  I chewed it over. Philippe was playing me like an accordion; but he did have a point. No money. No fight back. No justice for Auntie Claire. The thought of it burned me.

  “I’ve done this a few times,” Philippe said. “Just lie back and think of—”

  Becki, I thought. I’ll lie back and think of Becki.

  “Fuck it,” I said. “I’ll do it. But this is the first and last time. And no listening in.”

  “I can’t not listen in,” Philippe said.

  “Eew, it’s like having you in the room with me.”

  “Well, technically, part of me is.”

  “Oh, even worse … God, this is twisted. Right, I’m going in.”

  Nervous, clueless, a tad horrified, I emerged from the en suite and approached the bed.

  17

  Three-Way

  I sat down next to Alexei and rested my handbag on his bed. Okay, what was the drill? How did this go?

  “Hey,” I said to Alexei.

  “Hey,” he said.

  There was an awkward silence. Muchos, muchos awkward silence. I reached out a tentative hand to touch his thigh, then withdrew it.

  “Do you want me to talk you through it?” Philippe asked.

  “Of course not,” I whispered, forgetting Alexei was sat there.

  “Who are you talking to?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Sometimes I get this really annoying voice in my head, you know?”

  “No,” Alexei said. “You’re a bit weird, to be honest.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “So, do you wanna—”

  “Wanna what?” he asked.

  “You know …” I made a hole with one hand and poked the index finger of the other hand in and out of it. I threw in a wink in case it wasn’t obvious enough.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Alexei said, standing up off the bed.

  “Oh, yeah, of course,” I said. “Why would you want to – I mean, who would? There are other girls, if you prefer.”

  “No it’s not that. It’s not you. Although you are a little crazy … It’s just … How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Sixteen and you’re here having sex with fat old men.”

  “To be fair, I’m kinda being forced into it,” I said.

  “Okay. Point taken,” Philippe said, thinking I was talking to him.

  “No, not you,” I said.

  “Not who?” asked Alexei.

  Shit, I’d heard of a three-way, but this was ridiculous. I tried to focus on just the one conversation.

  “Look,” I said to Alexei. “I haven’t had sex … with any old men, I mean. I’m new to this, like you.”

  “I’ve done it loads of times,” Alexei said, with a snap in his voice.

  “I was talking about this arrangement.”

  Alexei picked up a spare game controller off the deep, cream bedroom carpet. He held it out as some kind of olive branch. “You wanna play?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Alexei teed up a new twin-player game and we began shooting our way through an abandoned mental institution full of lurching zombies.

  “I’m not like my dad, you know,” Alexei said. “Some of the things he does to people. To girls. It pisses me off. I fucking hate it.”

  Since Alexei turned down the free sex, he’d really started to grow on me. He had that air of outsider cool. He didn’t belong in billionaire mafia world. He had a mind of his own. It was pretty hot.

  “If you hate it so much, why don’t you leave?” I asked. “At least tell him you don’t like what he’s doing.”

  We completed a level and waited for the next one to load.

  “You don’t understand,” Alexei said. “He wants me to join the family business. And if I run, he’ll send someone after me. They’ll drag me back and I’ll be under house arrest. Like now, for instance. I don’t wanna become like him.”

  “No matter who or what you’re up against,” I said, blowing the head off an undead mental-health nurse, “you always have a choice. You’re stronger than you think.”

  “Hey, you’ve killed way more than me. You’re pretty good at this,” Alexei said.

  “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

  Suddenly, I realised how close we were sitting on the end of the bed. His thigh against mine. His eyes dark-chocolate brown. Eighty-five per cent organic cacao. Brown eyes and blonde hair was a weird combo, but it worked.

  “I’m sorry for what they’ve done to
you,” Alexei said. “Taking you from your family.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said. “You’re only, what, eighteen?”

  “Seventeen,” he said, loading up with a special bonus machine gun and cutting an onslaught of rabid loons to shreds.

  “Hey, maybe I could say you’re my girlfriend,” he said. “They’d stop whoring you out. And Dad would fucking hate it.

  “Only a pretend girlfriend?” I asked, acting offended.

  “Well, I suppose we’d have to make it convincing,” Alexei said.

  Was he leaning in? I think he was. I felt myself leaning in too. Screams and machine-gun fire the soundtrack to the most romantic moment of my life. A genuine romantic moment, where both people actually wanted the same thing.

  For the tiniest of seconds, I felt his lips against mine. Soft. Unsure. Touching but not yet kissing. A fist banging on the bedroom door stopped us mid-moment. For fuck’s sake!

  Alexei pulled out of the nearly-kiss and shouted, “What the fuck?”

  The door opened a wedge, but not enough for anyone to see in.

  “Your father wants the pair of you downstairs now,” a deep voice said through the gap.

  Two more men joined the voice in the hallway. I heard them talking.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Someone stole the diamond.”

  “The boss is gonna go fucking nuts.”

  “That means we’re all in the shit.”

  “No time off tonight, boys. We’ll be digging holes in the mountains.”

  “Well, I’m not cleaning up Nikolai’s mess like in Russia. I’ve still got bits of that Mobutu guy under my fingernails.”

  “Stop complaining and get everyone downstairs,” said the voice behind the door. “Come on, Alexei.”

  “Okay, wait a fucking minute,” Alexei shouted back. “I’m putting my dick back in my pants.”

  Alexei rested a hand gently on my shoulder. “We’d better go,” he said quietly.

  “Okay,” I said, standing up off the bed and turning my back on him. I didn’t want him to see the panic in my eyes or the silent swearing coming out of my mouth. I composed myself a moment, then turned to face Alexei.