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

by Rob Aspinall

  Fortunately in Mexico City, you were never far away from a bump in the road.

  We hit a big one. A humdinger. It threw the truck up in the air and sent us all reeling on our heels.

  I caught my balance a split-second before everyone else. I lunged forward and cracked the tall one in the head with the butt of my rifle, following through on the shorter one.

  In the same move, I detached a stun grenade from my belt and set it off, turning away from the flash and shielding my ears from the bang.

  Nathan had seen me drop the grenade and braced himself. The two cops hadn’t, and leaned against the side of the pickup, temporarily blind, deaf and struggling for balance. We disarmed the pair of them and threw them off the back of the truck.

  Suddenly, the pickup skidded to a stop. The driver and front passenger jumping out and circle the truck. We dropped to the steel floor and waited. Both driver and passenger circled round the truck behind the sights on their rifles. As soon as they showed their faces, I hit both in the chest with a round.

  At close range, it was enough to knock them out and off their feet. I vaulted over the side of the pickup and climbed behind the wheel, smashing my rifle between the front seats. Nathan hopped in the passenger side and swung his door shut.

  “You do the driving, I’ll handle the talking,” Nathan said.

  I stepped on the gas. We flew out of there in a cloud of dust, leaving four stunned SWAT cops in the middle of the road, Nathan with his rifle pointed out of the passenger window. His finger tense around the trigger.

  More bad news found us, as we sped our way across the slums.

  According to the police radio in the pickup, the cops were looking for this exact vehicle AND the pair of us in tactical SWAT gear, which made cruising on through the next perimeter a big fat no-no.

  There was also the little matter of being lost in the world’s largest mega-slum in the wee small hours. For all we knew, we were headed in the opposite direction to the airfield.

  With Giles’s number stored in the mobile, Nathan called him up direct and put him on speaker.

  “Hey Giles,” I said.

  “Lorna. You’re still alive.”

  “We need more directions,” I said.

  “Zak, put down that light sabre and track another call,” Giles said.

  “Okay, okay,” Zak said. “Keep your frillies on.”

  “Same destination as before?” Giles asked.

  “Yep,” I said, swerving around a police patrol car left to burn in the middle of the road.

  “Got ‘em,” said Zak.

  “You need to take a hard left as soon as you can,” Giles said. “Then carry on in a straight line.”

  “Or as straight as we can in this place,” I said, looking for the next available left.”Thanks guys. I owe you one.”

  “We still on for the free sex?” Zak asked.

  “When I’m done puking, I’ll let you know,” I said.

  Nathan cut the call off as I rolled the pickup into a tight left-hand turn. We sped along a main street clogged with all kinds of debris, weaving around upturned prams, tipped furniture and all sorts of other rubbish. I blasted the front of the pickup through a huge pile of broken card and styrofoam.

  “Twelve o’clock,” Nathan said. “The moment of truth.”

  I slowed the pickup to a steady roll, killing the headlights.

  Nathan pointed to a side street wide enough for the pickup. I pulled us in to the narrow space and stopped the truck, out of plain sight. We grabbed our rifles and headed out on foot. A short run shuffle, we positioned ourselves behind another burnt-out wreck of a car and sized up the police blockade.

  It was a biggie.

  More cops. More vehicles. More weapons. Oh, and an armoured truck too.

  “I reckon we’ve got two more perimeters to get through,” Nathan said, as we hid behind the car. “Including this one.”

  “Should be a doddle,” I said. “I mean, they’ve only brought a small army.”

  A police helicopter whirred overhead, a thin rod of white searchlight scanning the area and rotor wind blowing a flurry of styrofoam chips along the street. Like we were trapped in the world’s worst snow globe.

  As the searchlight passed over the driver’s side of the frazzled car, we slipped around the passenger side, crouching against the bodywork.

  “Did you keep hold of those spare rags?” Nathan asked me.

  “Of course,” I said, unzipping a pouch on my duty belt and taking out a couple of oil-stained strips of cloth soaked in methanol. “What do you take me for?”

  “Then I don’t have to tell you what to do next,” Nathan said, taking one of the rags in hand.

  “I’m guessing we create multiple distractions,” I said. “Meet somewhere in the middle.”

  Nathan seemed impressed. “Not bad for a-“

  “Girl?” I said.

  “Rookie.”

  “Oh, for a minute there, I thought you were going to be condescending.”

  “Point taken,” Nathan said. “Can we get on with the escaping now? If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all,” I said, knocking the safety off my rifle.

  “I’ll take the patrol car on the right. You take the pickup on the left,” Nathan said.

  “Where’s the rendezvous?” I asked.

  “How about over by the armoured carrier?” Nathan asked.

  I peered out over the car bonnet. Behind the initial blockade of patrol cars and pickups, I could make out a large, black truck that looked like something Batman might drive.

  “Sweet,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

  37

  The Beast

  We sprinted in zig-zag bursts. One wall to another, evading the searchlights. I took out the stolen lighter and lit the rag in Nathan’s hand. He darted silently around to the far right of the blockade, while I hurried off to the left.

  Spread across another of those wide intersections, this was more than a blockade. It seemed to be a rallying point for cops re-arming themselves or just plain re-charging their batteries. There seemed to be a crisis meeting going on in the centre. A couple of police captains with tactical units huddled round. It suited our plan down to the ground. I broke right, all the way to the opposite side of the blockade to the patrol car I’d marked for death.

  I quietly opened the driver-side door and searched for the fuel cap release. I found it in the footwell, next to the dash. I pulled the plastic lever upwards, then rested the door gently against the frame. I side-stepped low towards the rear of the car, like a crab holding in a shit. I unscrewed the cap on the fuel tank, trapped air hissing out as it came off.

  I checked my three, my six and my nine, before stuffing the rag inside, leaving one end hanging out of the side. I flicked on the stolen lighter and held the flame to the tip of the rag until it caught.

  The flame worked its way up the rag.

  I turned and ran until I hit the first street corner. I flattened against the wall and peered around, waiting for the bang.

  At first, I thought the plan had failed. Not a single, solitary ka-boom.

  But seconds later, Nathan’s patrol car went up with a bang, a blast, a ball of flames.

  And seconds after that, mine went too.

  I hid around the wall from the blaze of white heat. Both patrol cars had the added bonus of having duty weapons left inside, which only added to the whiz-bang fireworks show we’d put on for our friends, the feds.

  As soon as the blast died down to a steady fireball, I burst across the street. I then ran towards the rear of the blockade, before slowing to a casual stroll between vehicles, with my rifle held down across my chest.

  Cops were running left and right. Extinguishers were handed around and a couple even fired rat-a-tat rounds into the surrounding streets in the confusion. The mini-meeting led by the captains was cut short and the space in the centre of the blockade was left empty.

  I saw Nathan hanging around at the back
of the armoured truck, a coffee in hand. Not drinking it, just holding it, like he belonged.

  I got within ten feet of the truck when I was stopped by Captain Diaz. I thought we were rumbled for sure.

  “You,” he said. “What are you doing?”

  I floundered, before pointing to the drinks table.

  “Get your ass back to where you just came from,” Diaz said, spinning me round by the shoulders. “We need to secure the perimeter. If you see a gang member - any gang member - I want them put the fuck down, you here me?” Diaz put his hands on his hips and felt the bruise I’d left earlier on his forehead. “They think they can blow up our shit?”

  It seemed liked a rhetorical question, but I felt compelled to answer somehow. So I shook my head, brandishing a fist.

  “And keep your eyes open for the two fugitives. They’re dressed like cops now. We don’t find them soon, we’re all in the shit.”

  I nodded and gave him a salute. He saluted back and stomped away, muttering about how nightmarish it all was.

  I made out as if I was headed over towards the perimeter, but doubled back as soon as Diaz had gone. Nathan ditched the coffee on the floor as I met him around the back of the armoured car; half-truck, half-tank, with bulletproof everything and huge, chunky tyres that could plough through molten lava.

  “I’ll take the wheel,” Nathan said, beating me to the driver’s seat.

  I jogged around the passenger side and hauled open the heavy door. It was a short mountain climb up into the black leather passenger seat. We shut the doors behind us and Nathan flipped down the sun visor and caught a car key as it fell. “So predictable,” he said, turning the key in the ignition.

  The engine fired up with a deep rumble. A couple of patrol cars sat diagonally, nose-to-nose across our path. Nathan stepped on the accelerator and nudged the pair of them out of the way.

  As we pushed our way through, I yanked my seatbelt across my chest towards the buckle. I paused short of securing the belt, hearing a voice in the back.

  “Hey, what the fuck?” a guy said in Spanish.

  I turned in my seat to see a SWAT cop out of his helmet and ski mask, lying across a row of four seats in the rear of the truck.

  Nathan stopped the truck and hesitated.

  “I’ll take care of this,” I said, jumping into the back. “Just get us out of here.”

  Nathan gave it some juice and forced both patrol cars out of the way. Lazy Cop may have been sleepy-eyed, but he was armed with a handgun. I didn’t fancy unleashing rifle rounds inside our only mode of transport, so I ditched my weapon and tackled him back on to the seats, reaching for the weapon in his holster.

  It was already out. In his hand. I twisted his wrist as he fired a round, the bullet pinged off the bulletproof interior as I wrestled with the cop.

  He shoved me off and got to the rear door. He opened it up and yelled for help as I fought to gag him. In the heat of battle, he tore my helmet and ski mask off, revealing my blonde locks, blowing free in the breeze.

  As Nathan drove the truck clear of the blockade. I saw a dozen cops running towards their vehicles, including a SWAT team jumping on the back of a pickup.

  I wrestled hard against Lazy Cop, his weight on top of me, his forearm across my throat and my head hanging over the lip of the truck. I couldn’t raise my head to butt the guy in the nose, but I did have old faithful in reserve.

  Men had a weak spot like no other. I gave Lazy Cop a swift knee to the baubles. But he hung on, regardless.

  The searchlight from the police chopper shone on the pair of us. I got Lazy Cop in a reverse headlock and slammed his head into the solid steel flooring of the truck.

  His forehead cracked open and gushed like a tap. I rolled out from under him and got to my feet. A bump in the road threw me out over the lip of the truck. I caught hold of a chunky twist handle on the rear door and hung out there with both hands, legs kicking in thin air as patrol cars and pickups flashed and wailed behind.

  A sniper in the police chopper tracking us took a shot and missed by a few inches. I stretched out a foot and got a toe-end on the lip of the truck, trying to lever myself in. But unbelievably, Lazy Cop was on his feet and ready for round two; hair and face painted in red sticky.

  If he’d had any sense left in him after the thunk to the head, he would have gone looking for that handgun.

  But who needed a gun when you had a knife? He ripped a four-inch serrated blade from his belt and took a swipe at my shins. I spirited both legs away in the nick of time and held tight to the door handle.

  The chopper had to pull up to avoid a high rooftop, giving me a much-needed rest from that sniper. But I had bigger problems. Nathan took a sharp right, causing the door to swing inwards, with me attached.

  Lazy Cop got ready to stab, only to be denied when we rode up a hill-road, making the door swing outwards.

  In the end, I figured I was in a lose-lose situation. If the knife didn’t get me, then the sniper would.

  So I reached up with one hand and got a reverse grip on the top of the blast-proof door. I did the same with the other, took a deep breath and pulled my legs up and over my head.

  I flipped myself right over the other side of the door, in time to avoid an automatic round of sniper bullets.

  I reached out my left hand and caught hold of a railing that ran around the roof of the truck. With my left foot on a fat rear wheel arch, I stepped off the door and rode the side of the truck, body pressed to the metal as SWAT teamers opened fire from the pickup behind.

  As Nathan weaved left to right to dodge the worst of the onslaught, I heaved myself up on the roof, lying as flat as a pancake. I crawled on my belly towards the back of the truck.

  Nathan swerved again as the police chopper hovered overhead, catching me only briefly in its searchlight.

  I grabbed hold of the back railing and got ready to do something really stupid.

  38

  The Last Perimeter

  I threw myself over the rail like a gymnast swinging on a bar. I landed on both feet in the truck, where Lazy Cop was retrieving his handgun from the floor and pointing it at Nathan, yelling for him to stop.

  He turned to fire at me as I came up behind him, but I was too fast, dodging to one side and forearm smashing him in the nose. As he swayed on the spot, I snatched his duty pistol off him, marched him to the back of the truck and held him in front of me, the pistol to his head.

  The trucks and patrol cars retreated to a safe distance, while the chopper pulled clean out of the fight.

  “Brace yourself,” I said to Lazy Cop, moments before shoving him hard out of the truck, the patrol cars and pickups swerving around his body as he rolled off to one side.

  “Steer to the left!” I shouted at Nathan.

  He yanked the wheel anti-clockwise and we swerved left. The rear door swung inwards, close enough for me to catch the handle and pull it shut. I rammed the inside lock in place and made my way to the front of the truck.

  Nathan ditched his helmet, goggles and ski mask with one hand as he steered with the other, revealing a sweaty red face. “No point wearing these anymore.”

  I climbed in the passenger seat and saw a patrol car pull up either side of the truck, their passenger windows wound down. A shooter leaned out of each one, with handguns targeted at the wheels of the beast. Nathan weaved one way and the other, knocking both cars off course. One into a power line, the other piling into a crumbling brick wall.

  Nathan straightened the truck out.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” I asked.

  “The problem isn’t the going, it’s the getting there,” Nathan said.

  As if to reinforce the point, the next - and according to Nathan - last of the perimeter blockades, waited for us a few hundred meters ahead.

  Police lights flashed and searchlights searched.

  They were expecting us.

  “Better buckle up,” Nathan said.

  Oh, he needn’t have worrie
d. I was ahead of the game, clunking and clicking and bracing for impact.

  The police chopper zoomed ahead of us and turned one-eighty, high in the air over the blockade. All searchlights shunted on full-beam. A blinding white that forced our arms in front of our faces.

  I think their idea was to hit us hard before we hit them, blasting us with a zillion rounds, creating a sound like a hailstorm as bullets rattled against truck armour.

  Rather than slow down, Nathan sped up … one hundred metres … fifty metres … zero metres …

  39

  Brace Yourself

  A brief summary of the things in the way:

  Wooden police barriers.

  Pickups.

  Patrol cars.

  A SWAT van.

  An entire unit of cops.

  Thousands of rounds of ammunition.

  Oh, and another drinks table.

  We hit the wooden barriers first. Like a rhino breaking a line of toothpicks.

  Then came a mass of cops, cars and pickups. That was a different story. The cops bailed out of the way at the last moment, but the cars and pickups weren’t going anywhere without a little persuasion.

  We smashed into them, riding up over the top of a patrol car and whomping down on the other side. I felt at least a foot of clean air between my bum and the passenger seat, before bouncing down with a spine-altering jolt.

  Nathan at least had a steering wheel to cling on to. He grunted as we rocked back and forth, machine coffee and styrofoam cups splashing over the windscreen.

  The SWAT van loomed large in front of us. Nathan swerved us to the left at the last second and we clipped it on the nose, before breaking through the last of the blockades.

  I felt a tidal wave of relief as we left it behind.

  It lasted all of a second.

  I looked in the passenger wing mirror and saw the chasing pack picking their way through bodies and broken vehicles.

  And then of course, there was the teeny matter of being tracked by that chopper sniper.