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

by Rob Aspinall

  As Danby pulled the fence open and shoved the defector through, I looked up at the balconies above, running my weapon over each one in case of a sniper.

  Aside from a woman hanging out washing, a toothless man watching on and a couple of small children throwing an orange bouncy ball against an apartment wall, there was no impending doom to speak of. I ducked through the fence and joined the other two in an alleyway tighter than a budgie’s rectum.

  It smelled of blurgh; a shallow river of sewage water running through the streets. I held my nose and gagged, hearing echoing voices in nearby streets, barking instructions to each other in Spanish:

  “We got the guy.”

  “There are three more.”

  “They went this way.”

  “You check down there.”

  “Watch your asses, the girl is armed. She put down four guys.”

  “If we don’t get the others, the boss will kill us anyway.”

  “Fuck the girl. She killed Nuno. I’ll put a bullet in that bitch.”

  “Here, the apartment door is broken.”

  “Everyone! Through here!”

  I looked left and right along the alley.

  “Which way?” I whispered.

  “Either way.” Danby whispered back. “Until we can find a street. A car.”

  I tried to remember my training. Philippe had taught me to never let yourself get boxed in.

  Miles and miles of slum in each direction, with no obvious way out. Yep, about as boxed in as it gets.

  The other thing Philippe had taught me was to run in stages. One wall to another. Quick, quiet shuttle runs. Using the corners. And shadows, if available.

  We did all of those things, me bringing up the rear with Danby’s weapon at the ready, checking the spaces behind us for those feet and voices that seemed to be getting louder and closer by the second.

  The alleys eventually led us to a dead end. A seven-foot brick wall painted yellow. Danby jumped up and caught the top of the wall with both hands. He heaved his frame up and took a look over the other side.

  I waited at the bottom with the defector, my gun trained on the long, narrow alley behind us, the barking of the gang members now joined by the low woof of a dog. “What do you see?” I asked.

  “More of the same,” he said. “But there’s an old truck. If we can get it going-“

  “Let’s do it,” I said, itching to get out of the biggest confined space in the world.

  Danby pulled himself the rest of the way up and sat astride the wall. I holstered my weapon in the back of my trousers and told the defector the plan. He nodded and offered me a foot, reaching up with his cuffed hands. As I gave him a boost with both palms on the sole of his boot, Danby lifted him up by the forearms

  Those voices really close. And that damn barking dog. Almost on us.

  “Hurry,” I whispered, feeling my heart pound.

  Danby wrestled the defector up and over the wall, the pair of them disappearing from view.

  “Hey, what about me?” I asked, jumping up, unable to reach the top of the wall.

  I turned and saw three men at far end of the alleyway, well over a hundred metres in the distance. But close enough to fill me with sheer panic.

  One had a dog on a leash. A mean-looking beast with mocha fur. A Staffordshire bull fighting dog on steds. He let it loose and it belted out of the traps, all four legs flying.

  As the dog cut down the ground between us, I backed away from the wall to give myself a run-up. I went for it, jumping with everything I had. My hand slipped off the top. I backed up again, the dog within fifty metres, the men running after it.

  I had one shot at this.

  If I didn’t make it, I was dog food.

  14

  Hide & Seek

  I changed tactic and ran up the wall as I jumped. I got a firm grip of the top edge. I pulled my legs up just in time to avoid the snarling, snapping dog.

  But my gun fell from my waistband on to the alley floor behind me. Shots rang out as the men got closer. They were too late. I was already over the other side, paint and brick dust puffing into the air where the bullets skimmed the top of the wall.

  I landed on the other side to see Danby attempting to hotwire the truck; a rusty old blue thing from fifties America. He had the wires out under the steering column, frantically trying to get a spark. The dog barked on the other side of the wall as the gang members argued about who should climb over first.

  I pointed out the flaw in Danby’s escape plan. “Agent Danby?”

  “What?”

  “The left rear tyre’s blown out.”

  Danby climbed out of the truck. “Fuck! Where’s your weapon?”

  “Over the other side. Let’s move.”

  Too late. The first of the chasing pack appeared over the wall. I dragged Danby and the defector back against the wall and waited for the first the guy to drop down.

  As soon as he landed, I punched him in the throat and stole his weapon. I aimed and fired at his chest. Double-tap.

  But the gun jammed. Cheap and flashy piece of shit!

  As the guy dropped to his knees holding his throat, the other two gang members dropped over the wall. Danby disarmed one, the gun spinning under the truck. He grabbed him in a sleeper hold, the guy’s face quickly turning purple - a total mismatch in size and strength.

  When the last of the three landed, I kicked down hard on the side of his shin and broke his leg. He screamed and aimed a silver revolver at me. I dodged the gunshot and drove the point of my elbow into the base of his skull. The screaming stopped instantly as he dropped to the cracked alleyway concrete.

  The only sound left was the barking of the dog and the groaning of … I turned and saw Danby on the ground. His white shirt soaked in dark-red blood seeping out of his right side. The bullet I dodged had hit him just below the midriff. He held a bloody hand to the wound.

  That left the third gang member free to flee the scene, holding his neck where Danby had been squeezing. He ran scared along the alley, shouting for help. With the dog going crazy on the other side of the wall, both escape routes were out. There was no way I was shooting a dog. And besides, how long before more La Firma were drawn to the noise? That left us with a choice of walls. I noticed one had a boarded-up window at waist height.

  “Hang on,” I said to Danby.

  I ran over to the board, planted a foot and raised a leg. With a kung fu kick, it flew inwards. I peered inside and saw an empty room with a couple of old sleeping bags on a floor full of needles.

  It stunk of death and disease.

  Across the room, I spotted a doorway. Open.

  I picked my way between floored La Firma. I think I’d killed the one with that punch in the throat. And I knew I’d killed the other one.

  Danby was just about on his feet. The defector stayed small around the far side of the truck.

  “Come on” I said, taking him by the arm.

  For the first time, he said something. It was muffled. Impossible to make out. His mouth must have been taped. No doubt it would have been easier with his hood off, but there was no time to undo the thin, wiry rope holding it in place. So I led him over to the window and pushed him against the wall. I climbed in first, then sat the defector on the ledge and dragged him through. Danby made lighter work of it thanks to his long legs. With the pair of them inside, I scooted out into the alley again and picked up the gun. It felt a little light. I checked the chamber. Empty. And my weapon was the fight dog’s new favourite bone.

  “Fuck!” I said, kicking one of the two dead men in the ribs in frustration.

  I searched the pair of them and found a working smartphone, which I pocketed. I checked them for weapons. No dice. Unless … How about the weapon under the truck? I dropped to the floor to see underneath. It was out of reach. I crawled halfway under the bottom of the truck as Agent Danby told me to hurry.

  “They’re coming,” he said. “I can hear them.”

  Yeah. So could I.


  They were running. Shouting. A couple of side-streets from us But I was so close. A fingernail away. I just needed to stretch a little further.

  “Leave it Lorna!”

  Damn it!

  I wriggled out from under the truck and bolted for the window frame. I vaulted through the hole.

  “Let’s … go,” Danby whispered, grimacing with every word.

  “No, wait,” I said, picking up the window board. “They’ll just follow us in.”

  Agent Danby caught my drift and grabbed the other side of the board. The defector must have had some vision through that hood, because he joined in too. We placed the board flat against the inside of the frame and pushed our combined weight against it.

  Rubber-soled feet slapped off the alleyway outside. They came to a stop, breathing heavy and chattering.

  “They were here. The girl had some fucking moves, man.”

  “Shit, they killed Manny and Ricardo.”

  “What the fuck is that barking?”

  “Killer is on the other side. He nearly got one of them.”

  “Check under the truck.”

  “It’s clear. Just a gun. Wait, I’ll get it.”

  “The big guy took a bullet.”

  “Then they can’t have gotten far.”

  I recognised the next voice. It was Pepe Rosales from the exchange. “Check that window over there.”

  Agent Danby looked at me with frantic eyes. I held a finger to my lips. Held my breath. Held the board as still and steady as I could.

  15

  Emergency Call

  The gang member on the other side of the board banged a fist against the wood. I could feel him pushing. We pushed back harder.

  “It’s nailed shut,” the guy said.

  “They must have moved on down the alley. Split up and keep your phones on,” Pepe said. “Look for trails of blood. And someone call Perez. Tell him to pick up Killer.”

  The voices trailed off. We relaxed behind the board and gently set it down. We picked our way through the sea of needles and into a series of small, murky rooms that smelled of piss and vom. One or two with spaced-out addicts lying on piles of cardboard.

  The place was an oven too. I wiped the sweat from my brow with a forearm and noticed Danby struggling to stay upright. We had to find something to plug his wound. Fortunately, the drug den led to a set of bare concrete steps up into a series of unfinished apartment shells, without windows, fixtures or any form of decoration. Nothing but breeze blocks and litter.

  With a six-foot gap between staircases, I counted eight flights in total, which meant the building rose four floors up. We made it to the second before Danby collapsed at the top of the stairs. I turned to help him up.

  “I’m okay,” he said. “Keep moving.”

  He got to his feet. Tough, for a posh toff.

  I pushed the defector on into an empty room and told him to stay put. I doubled back and helped Danby into the room, lowering him gently into a corner. I pressed both his hands against his wound.

  “Here, keep pressure on it,” I said, pulling out the phone I stole from one of the dead gang members and reaching inside Danby’s trouser pocket. I took out his phone and opened up the back.

  “You save to SIM or the phone?” I asked.

  “SIM, of course,” Danby said.

  “Easier to destroy, right?”

  He nodded and winced.

  I removed the panel from the rear of the stolen phone and switched the SIM cards. “Who do I call?” I asked.

  No response. Danby was drifting, sweat pouring off a pale face. I slapped him gently on a cheek, “Hey. Danby.” He came around, lifting his head. “Who do I call?”

  “It’s on speed dial,” he said. “International Exports.”

  “That’s original,” I said, tapping my way through and found the name. I squatted next to Danby, put the phone on speaker and held it between us. I hit call.

  It rang out three times before connecting.

  A well-spoken English woman answered. “International Exports, how may I help?”

  “I’ve got a problem with a shipment,” Danby said. “It needs urgent delivery.”

  “Certainly, sir. What’s your docket number?”

  “Nine-three-two-seven, foxtrot-alpha-bravo.”

  “Please hold for assistance,” the woman said, patching us through; the line playing crackly hold music. Some jaunty piano tune with a cheesy drumbeat and synth hits from a keyboard.

  The music cut after a few seconds and a male voice answered. It was Peter. “Hello sir, what seems to be the problem?”

  “Cut the shit,” Danby said, grimacing. “I need fucking evac now.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Where do you think?” I said.

  “Is this a secure line?” Peter asked.

  “As secure as we’re gonna get right now,” I said.

  “Report your status,” Peter said.

  “Agent wounded. Disciple One abducted. Disciple Two’s here with me.”

  “And the cargo?” Peter asked.

  “Here with us. In one piece. But we’re in surrounded by unfriendlies. Far from home.”

  “What the hell happened?” Peter asked.

  “We got diverted into the slums. Our vehicle was hit. RPG.”

  “Any idea who?”

  “The cartel. They suckered us in. Repeat, request emergency evac.”

  The line went silent a moment.

  “I’m sorry,” Peter said. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  “What do you mean, there’s nothing you can do?” I asked. “Danby’s losing blood.”

  “Codenames, please,” said Peter.

  “Okay,” I said. “Alice and the Cheshire Cat are stuck in Wonderland with the Mad Hatter. The Jabberwocky is out of the picture. And the Queen of Hearts is pissed and wants our heads on a plate. So send the cavalry right fucking now, you posh piece of shit.”

  There was another agonising pause. “Sorry, but we don’t have any way of-“

  “You’ve got us on GPS,” said Danby.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Just track the phone.”

  “I can’t jeopardise our anonymity. Deniability Danby. You’ve played the game from my side of the net. You know how it works.”

  “You fucker,” I said. “You dropped us in here. Now you get us out.”

  The line went quiet again.

  “Look,” Peter said. “The best I can do is push back the extraction window … Leave the jet on standby the rest of the day.”

  “At this rate we’re not going to make it to the next street corner,” I said. “Never mind Los Reyes.”

  “It’s the best I can do,” Peter said. “It should give you plenty of time-“

  “Yeah, to get ourselves killed,” I said.

  “Understood sir,” Danby said, shaking his head at me.

  “Wheels up at five tomorrow morning,” Peter said. “That gives you seventeen hours. Good luck,” Peter said, cutting off the call. Agent Danby shook his head, as if giving up; a fading shadow of himself.

  “Take him,” he said, nodding towards the defector. “You can make it.”

  “Yeah, well,” I said, standing up. “I have this thing about leaving people behind.”

  I crept over to the empty window frame, staying out of sight, sizing up the streets below. We were on the corner of an intersection; one of the more respectable parts of hell. I spotted a rundown corner shop across the street. It was quiet. No sign of La Firma.

  “Besides,” I said to Danby. “I don’t think any of us are getting out of here in a hurry.”

  Danby’s head hung low. I hurried over and slapped him awake. “Hold on, you hear me? I’m going for supplies. We’ve got to fix that wound.”

  He mumbled something about there being no point.

  “Hang in there,” I said, on my way out of the room. “And hood guy? Stay.”

  The defector nodded.

  I flew down the stairs and found an
open doorway out on to the street; pausing a moment and checking the coast was clear. I sprinted across the road and made it to the store. The door was open. I stepped inside, super-careful, ready to fight anyone who ran my way.

  The cash desk was unmanned, so I hurried through a single, ramshackle aisle, stuffed with everything that had ever fallen off a lorry: tacos, condoms, bottles of coke, a box of nails, sunglasses, porn DVDs and tomato ketchup, bread, wire cutters and lots of other mismatched goods, including a pair of used racquets, should any of the gangs fancy a spot of tennis between gun battles.

  I rifled through each shelf, looking for something I could use. I didn’t find any bandages, but I did find a pack of antibacterial lemon wipes, a box of sanitary towels and a fat roll of brown parcel tape. I also stumbled across a couple of tequila miniatures, a small sewing kit and a table tennis bat with a rainbow rubber ball attached on a string.

  I rooted through more of the stuff, keeping one eye on the entrance to the store. I found a pink early years rucksack with hearts and flowers on the back, plus a bowl of those little packs of salt and sugar you got in fast food restaurants.

  I prised a couple of coke bottles out of a dusty wholesale pack of twenty-four and threw them in the rucksack with the tequila miniatures, a handful of salts and sugars, the lemon wipes, the sanitary towels and the tape.

  I was about to leave, when I noticed the tennis racquets and wire cutters again. I bagged the cutters and took one of the racquets. I nipped around the back of the counter and ran my hands under the top, searching for a gun. I felt a couple of loose strands of tape, as if someone had already ripped it free.

  Nothing on the shelf had a price on it, so I opened out my wallet, took out a two-hundred peso note and left it in a blue plastic tub that passed for a till. I figured around ten dollars was a decent amount of money in the slums. Yeah, I had more, but who knows when I’d need it?

  As I hooked the kid’s rucksack over one shoulder and grabbed the tennis racquet off the counter, I heard a noise, coming from the back. I glanced to my right and saw artificial blue light spilling out from beneath the door. I heard male voices. And a scream. A young scream. Female. She was in pain. Crying. Begging. Please no, please no.