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

by Rob Aspinall

  I think it was the not knowing that was the worst part. Like waking up the morning of exams. Or being driven to the hospital for surgery, getting ready to go out on a date or taking your driving test.

  Okay, so I didn’t know much about the last two. But I knew one thing. I didn’t want whatever was coming to come. And at the same time, I wanted it to be over.

  The train came to a stop at Hammersmith. As it emptied out, Dahl turned on a sixpence and headed out with the other passengers. Bilal followed and I jumped out before the doors closed further up the platform. There were two exits at the near and far end.

  “Target’s off at Hammersmith,” I said.

  “I’ll try and pick you up on CCTV,” Roni said.

  Roni had hacked the entire underground system. Not to mention Heathrow. She had a lot of lip and I didn’t know what her problem was with me, but I had to hand it to her. She was a genius when it came to super-geek stuff.

  Of course, it was easier now she had tech support de-encrypting the Siberia files. While she quarterbacked from a van in the long-stay car park, Giles and Zak tried to piece together the rest of the data haul.

  The faster they did that, the sooner we’d understand more of the bigger picture. But for now, we had to fly semi-blind. Following. Watching. Waiting for Dahl to reach a destination or make a move.

  The good doctor strode through a couple of passageways, stopping to read the tube line maps. He started again. Hung a right. Up a bank of escalators.

  “We're heading to street level,” Bilal said, following Dahl through the barriers.

  I fed my pink travel ticket into the machine and grabbed it again as the barriers opened. We exited in a crowd, out into bright daylight and fresh air.

  The London version of fresh air.

  Being out on the street made Dahl easier to track. I crossed the road, busy with London buses, black cabs and bicycle couriers. I stayed parallel to them, wondering where Dahl was heading.

  By the way he’d been reading those tube maps, I guessed it must have been somewhere close. But the sudden twists and turns of his body language made it seem like he was making last-ditch decisions.

  Did he know we were here? Had he sussed us out? He’d already shaken off Inge. Was he doing the same here?

  Dahl hit the brakes and looked around.

  Bilal slowed and pretended to window shop.

  I kept walking and took a seat on a bench. I pulled out my phone and acted as if I was texting. Dahl bought a bottle of water from a newsstand on the street. He gulped half of it down as he looked around.

  I got the impression he was nervous. He finished the bottle, dumped it in a street bin and moved on. Bilal gave him space before moving after him. I let them walk by and got to my feet. I slid my phone in the pocket of my jeans and picked up the tail.

  “Oh shit,” Roni said in my ear.

  “What?” I said.

  “You’re not gonna like this. Recog software picked up a face in the crowd.”

  My heart went bumpity. She didn’t have to say it.

  She did anyway. “The Big Bad Wolf is in town.”

  21

  End Of The Line

  I checked over both shoulders. “Where is he?”

  “Thirty feet back,” Roni said. “Dressed in black.”

  That sounded like Philippe. Yet all I saw were the faces of strangers. I did notice a flash of black. Clothes, hair and dark features. But a flash and no more.

  “Fuck,” Roni said. “I lost him.”

  I tried to re-focus—keep pace with Dahl and Bilal.

  Dahl was heading straight for another tube stop. A set of stairs leading underground. As I waited for a chance to cross the road, I spotted Philippe only twenty yards behind Bilal.

  “I see him.” I said. “Hansel, he’s on your tail.”

  Bilal didn’t turn. He was a cool little cucumber. “Stick to him, Goldilocks. Try and keep him busy.”

  I dashed across the road in a gap between traffic. I hopped onto the opposite pavement ahead of a speeding cyclist ringing his bell. I followed Dahl, Bilal and Philippe down the steps of the tube stop. My heart was doing gabba beats. My stomach doing somersaults.

  We headed down the stairs in a line. Bilal sticking tight to Dahl. Philippe sticking tight to Bilal.

  And me? Well, I was tight as a nut until we came to a queue at the barriers.

  That's when everything came loose.

  Dahl and Bilal went through at the front of the line. Philippe branched off and flashed a badge at the guard on duty. The guard opened a side gate and Philippe breezed through. I pushed to the front of the queue. Got a world of abuse. A big guy tried to pull me back. I twisted his hand just so.

  He yelled in pain. I passed through the barriers, but Dahl, Bilal and Philippe were already dust. I ran to a bank of four escalators. Two going down. I took the one on the right. Saw Dahl nearing the bottom. Bilal a handful of steps back.

  “Where’s my tail, Goldilocks?” Bilal asked.

  “I dunno,” I said.

  Then I caught sight of him on the escalator to the left, bounding down the steps.

  “Hansel, on your seven!” I said.

  Philippe had seen his chance.

  Dahl stepped off the escalator and broke right with a gaggle of other commuters. Bilal stepped off after him, but looked around too late. Philippe had already vaulted onto his escalator.

  “No, on your six,” I said. “Your six!”

  Bilal stepped off the escalator. Philippe right behind him. Something in his hand, down by his side.

  I jumped onto the sheet metal divide between escalators. I zipped down it on my backside. A steep, scary ride, but no time to think.

  Dahl disappeared into the tunnels.

  Bilal turned to engage Philippe.

  Philippe lunged into him with a blade.

  Passengers screamed.

  Philippe had the better of Bilal. I slid at speed, feet-first. The steel panelling levelled off at the bottom. I flew right off it and torpedoed into Philippe. I hit the floor hard.

  Philippe hit the wall a few feet away—a knife in his hand stained with blood. Bilal’s blood. I was pretty sure I’d broken a bone or three as I hit the deck, but I was sky-high on adrenaline. I picked myself up and turned to see Bilal bleeding from the midriff.

  “Get up,” I said, offering him a hand.

  Bilal pushed me away. “Follow Dahl.”

  I looked at Bilal. At Philippe staggering to his feet.

  Bilal nodded at me holding his wound. I left him and ran.

  “Mother Goose, you got eyes on the target?” I asked Roni.

  “Victoria line. Left and then a right.”

  I barged past commuters. The time for subtlety over.

  “I’m on the street,” Inge said, “what’s going on?”

  “The Wolf is in play.” Roni said.

  “Hansel’s down.” I said. “I’m playing catch-up on the target.”

  “Okay, green light on target,” Inge said. “You need to get that rucksack. I’m on my way.”

  I ran out onto a platform. Dahl was there. Anxious. Sweating. My spidey sense tingling. Something was about to go down. A train blew into the platform and screeched to a stop. The doors opened. People got out. I checked behind me for signs of Philippe. The passageway was clear.

  As the people getting off cleared the doors. Dahl stepped on with the other commuters. I hopped on, too, a few doors down.

  “I’ve got him,” I said.

  As the doors beeped, Dahl reached over to an emergency stop

  He pulled it.

  The train doors locked open.

  What was the guy doing?

  Dahl stepped back onto the platform. My best guess is he was blocking the tunnel, slowing down the line. It would mean more people and less movement. A backup of commuters in the passages and on the escalators. The whole scenario flashed across my inner movie screen as I stepped off the train. I hurried towards him, pushing my way through passe
ngers.

  This was his destination. His moment. No wonder he looked nervous.

  He took the rucksack off his back and tossed it in front of him.

  Shit, a bomb! I dived and caught it mid-air. Dahl looked puzzled. He reached inside his blazer as I unzipped the bag.

  All I found was a copy of New Scientist.

  I looked up and saw Dahl produce a syringe from his jacket. Full of a pale green fluid. He ripped the cap off with his teeth and spat it out. I scrambled to my feet. He grabbed a young boy in a Chelsea football shirt and held him in a headlock.

  A scream from the boy’s mother.

  A second to act.

  My body took over. I stooped and picked up a man’s briefcase. I jumped and swiped the case through the air. It hit Dahl in the chest. He stumbled backwards, releasing the boy. The boy ran free into the arms of his shrieking mum.

  Dahl steadied himself, syringe still in hand. I swung the case for another go, but it was yanked hard from my hand, my arm almost ripped out of its socket.

  I whirled around. A fist flying my way. I ducked out of the way.

  Philippe came at me again. I blocked him the best I could. But blocks weren’t enough. He knocked me to the ground, picked me up and flipped me round. He held me in a vice-like grip from behind and walked me towards Dahl.

  The Doctor of Death held the syringe up to the light. He had hold of my arm. The needle about to go in. The plunger about to go down. In little black print on the syringe, it said X21.

  22

  Turn For The Worse

  The tip of the needle was about to sink in. There was nothing I could do but squirm and delay the inevitable. They were going to unleash the virus down here, on the underground. And I was gonna be the first one to go frothy at the mouth.

  But squirm I did.

  Philippe grabbed my flailing arm and straightened it out. The good doctor Dahl inserted the needle into my vein, his thumb poised on the plunger.

  Then came a war cry and a flash of red and white. Bilal charging into Dahl, out of nowhere. He pushed the doctor against the train carriage. Philippe threw me aside to deal with Bilal. I landed in a heap, the syringe hanging out of my vein, but X21 still in the tube.

  Philippe took a couple of hits from Bilal. He shook them off and drove a fist into the bloody stab wound in Bilal’s gut.

  Bilal groaned and doubled over.

  I rose to my feet with the syringe in hand. Dahl was back on me, wrestling for control. We fought back and forth. He was bigger and stronger. He ran me back against the platform wall and pushed the syringe towards my chest. There was nothing I could do. My hands on his, overpowered. He drove the syringe in through my vest. The needle stopped. He seemed puzzled. I looked down.

  Ha, the end of the syringe was dug into my scar. It wouldn’t go through. He couldn’t put the X21 inside me.

  I reacted fast, breaking his arms away. I kicked him in the stomach. He wheezed and staggered. I yanked out the needle, thinking of how I could get rid of it.

  The tube train driver pushed past, trying to escape the melee. He was twenty stone in cakes and donuts. As he barged into me, I lurched forward into Dr. Dahl. When I caught my balance, I looked down and saw the syringe sticking out of his chest.

  Oh crap.

  I heard a deep crack. Philippe’s hands around Bilal’s neck. He let him drop to the floor. Bilal was dead and I was next. And then there was Dr. Dahl. He looked down at the syringe. The tube was empty of green fluid. The X21 was inside his body, flowing through his veins.

  Dahl started to shake. He went bloodshot in the eyes. He coughed blood and dropped to the platform.

  Philippe didn’t look too concerned. His orders were to kill, not to stop the virus. And I was next on his list. We squared up to each other. Passengers watching. One--a nurse--tended to Dahl.

  “Get away from him,” I said to her.

  “He’s having a convulsion," she said.

  “All of you,” I shouted to the commuters on the platform. “Get out of here!”

  But they didn’t move. Half of them were filming it on their mobiles. If I’d still had my gun on me, I’d have shot into the air.

  Philippe had a gun on him, but hadn’t needed it yet.

  And while Bilal had a weapon on him too, his body lay too far away.

  My primal instinct was to run. To give Philippe the slip and let everyone else fend for themselves.

  But Dahl was changing. Soon he’d be like those infecteds in Alaska.

  That meant I had two tasks in front of me. And a minute at most to complete them.

  Task A: Clear the area

  Task B: Put a bullet in Dahl.

  Whichever came first.

  But before that came Philippe.

  And how the hell was I gonna—I felt a tap on the shoulder.

  It was Snow White, aka Ling. She waved me aside.

  I stepped to the left and Ling took my place.

  She and Philippe drew their guns. Blocked each other’s shots.

  With silencer bullets plugging into walls, the crowd surged away in panic.

  I darted over to Bilal. Rolled his dead weight over and searched for his weapon.

  Philippe and Ling disarmed each other. Clips detached from gun-butts. Spinning away across the floor.

  Clearly, Philippe had learned nothing from our fight with Ling in the Fifth Avenue department store.

  Or maybe he didn’t remember.

  Ling was a skilled counter-puncher. As Philippe bulldozed in, she telegraphed every move with a block and a lightning strike in return.

  Punches. Kicks. The whole thing a blur. She forced him back onto the empty train carriage. I glanced over my shoulder at Dr. Dahl. He was turning fast. Eyes rolling back into his skull. Veins like steel cables. He frothed and spasmed like crazy,

  “Someone call an ambulance,” the nurse yelled. “He’s having a seizure.”

  “That's no seizure,” I said. “Leave him.”

  The nurse ignored me. She tried to restrain Dr. Dahl.

  I searched inside Bilal’s jacket. He’d lost his weapon somewhere along the way. So I went for Ling’s discarded weapon. I picked up the gun, searching the floor for the clip.

  I heard Dahl gnashing and moaning. Saw Philippe coming back at Ling. He landed a glancing blow, knocking her to one knee. As she got up, he scooped her off her feet and went to spear her into the floor. She scissored his neck with her calves and gripped his belt. She flipped upright and threw him onto his back along the aisle.

  Meanwhile, Dahl’s corn was ready to pop. I scrambled over to the nurse and dragged her away. She fought me tooth and nail.

  I was done being polite. I put it in terms she could understand. “He’s turning into a zombie you daft bitch!”

  “What?” she said.

  “A fucking virus,” I said, sticking the gun in her face. “Now run!”

  Finally, she listened to me, clearing the platform. I looked for the clip for the gun. Ling saw me struggling. She took another off her belt and slid it across the floor. But it didn’t fit.

  “Where’s the other?” I said.

  She shrugged, rugby tackled by Philippe.

  Philippe’s weapon was nowhere to be seen either. Which meant I had the wrong clip for the wrong gun. Then I saw the gap between train and platform. I dove onto my front and peered onto the tracks. I saw the clip and stretched my arm through the gap. But I couldn’t reach.

  Damn you, tiny hands.

  And what was worse, Dahl was vertical. Foamier than an Ibiza nightclub. Staring straight at me.

  So I redoubled my efforts. He lurched towards me. I got a grip of the clip. It slid away. Another grip.

  Dahl limped towards me, not fully charged but close to it.

  When he really woke up, that would be it.

  But this time I had it. The clip in hand. I pulled it through the gap, rolled onto my feet and slapped it in the pistol. I pulled the trigger, aiming between the eyes.

  I clicked emp
ty.

  No.

  Dahl shrieked and flew right at me.

  His forehead exploded mid-charge. He was dead before he hit the platform.

  I caught my breath, my heart pounding. Inge stood behind me. Gun still extended in her grip.

  She lowered her weapon and looked across to the carriage, where Philippe was hitting the deck, too. He rose groggily off his back. Ling walked over and delivered a knockout punch. She stood up straight, breathing heavy. She wiped a sliver of blood off her nose and stepped off the carriage.

  She looked at Dahl and nodded. She turned to Inge. Held out a hand. “I’ll finish Vasquez,” she said.

  “Leave it,” Inge said, holstering the pistol. “This place’ll be crawling with police any second.”

  “Yeah, and more JPAC agents, too,” I said.

  Ling nodded grudgingly.

  We ran for the exit, leaving Dahl, Bilal and Philippe lying loose on the floor. The feeder tunnels branching off the platforms were empty. The escalators too. Not to mention the main entrance.

  “Why’s it so quiet?” I said.

  “They’ll think it’s a terror attack,” Inge said. “We’ve got to clear the area before they lock it down.”

  “Then let’s run,” I said.

  “No, stay calm,” Inge said, grabbing my elbow.

  As we made our way up the steps to street level, I heard mass screaming. A honking of horns. The sound of steel smashing into steel.

  “Jesus, we got everyone spooked,” I said, as we emerged into the light of day.

  Spooked was putting it mildly.

  The scene was carnage. A stampede. Cars crashed and abandoned. A bus crumpled up against a lamppost. Bicycles abandoned on the ground. People fleeing the scene. Along the pavements and through the gaps in gridlocked traffic.

  Ling turned and looked behind us. I followed her gaze along the street.

  A fresh stampede of people ran towards and then past us, like antelope chased by lions. Limbs pumping. Faces filled with terror. Screams from men and women alike.

  “I don't think it’s us they’re running from,” said Ling.