Daring Dooz (The Implosion Trilogy (Book 2))

by Stan Arnold

  In his enthusiasm to prove his innocence, Pango’s sweating finger accidently pulled the trigger and sent a deafening 60-bullet burst up through the office roof.

  He had just managed to shout ‘Stay out,’ to the guards, when a couple of large parrots fell back through the hole and bounced off his head.

  These were quickly followed by a 20-foot long, 2-foot thick, bullet-riddled anaconda, which spiralled down, straight through the hole left by Charlie’s entrance.

  Everyone was shocked, especially the anaconda. There was a few seconds of complete silence, before a desperate, strangled cry came from under the floor.

  ‘Mr Sumkins, it’s got me.’

  The anaconda was, obviously, still alive, and was taking revenge on some poor sod.

  Charlie grabbed the M16 in one hand and the oil lamp in the other. He dropped to his knees and peered into the hole.

  ‘Hold the fucker’s head away from your body.’

  There was a single shot.

  ‘There,’ said Charlie, with a satisfied smile, ‘that’s the way to do it. Come on up.’

  Another head popped through the gap in the rattan floor.

  ‘Hello,’ it said, ‘my name’s Digby Elton-John, Solicitor-at-Law. Anyone got a sponge?’

  Chapter 70

  In the Catalina, Mrs Hathaway heard the burst of gunfire, then the single shot. She feared something dreadful had happened, which was absolutely true, if you were one of the parrots or the Anaconda or Pango.

  She phoned Giles, immediately. He was an hour away from Manaus International, and he told her all about how he was leading the Daring Dooz rescue mission. Although, he changed that to ‘organising’ the Daring Dooz rescue mission when he heard about the recent gunfire.

  He told her about the Hawaii Mars flying boat, and how it would hold about 170 Daring Doozers, if they got that many, and they would be flying up river as soon as possible to join her and sort out the bandits.

  ‘But they're armed to the teeth.’

  ‘Sorry got to go now, my gourmet baked Alaska is just arriving.’

  The first mouthful was delicious, then he thought about the M16s, and the rest of it tasted like badly sterilised cat food.

  *

  Back in the long house, Charlie was laying into the bandits like no one in the long house, including the bandits, had ever heard bandits laid into.

  On Pango’s instruction, they had handed over their arms to Digby, who went into the office and sort of guarded them, while burning the contract in an ashtray by way of justifying his £500-a-day fee.

  Charlie lined the bandits up in front of the villagers and gave them a right bollocking. Hamish sat in a chair, and though dazed, was happy to provide a translation for the ex-hostages.

  ‘So you miserable fuckers thought you could get away with this poxy, shit-arsed scheme. Fat fuckin’ chance. I have spies everywhere. The tart who was screwin’ the government official from the Aerial Reconnaissance Office who passed you the Black Pool pics was screwin’ my right-hand man - if that ain’t a contradiction in terms - so we knew about it from the beginnin’.’

  ‘Jim, my Ealing comedy film consultant friend, phoned for a chat a few days ago. So I got his co-ordinates. I knew he was doing this Daring Dooz crap with Mrs Hathaway - my very best friend in the world. And then one of my insiders at the Pentagon, ran a computer check and, fuck me, if this village wasn’t the same place Pango Gonzales and his Mariachi Band here were planning to take over for this oil scam.’

  Mick and Jim were pretty certain Hamish’s translation was not embracing all the nuances of Charlie’s rant, but it was obvious the villagers were all enjoying not having guns pointed at them.

  ‘Do you fink I didn't know about you toutin’ around for the M16s. For fuck’s sake, it was my Brazilian team who sold you the kit. And you paid over the odds - and they have a fault on the triggers, which makes ‘em go off early - ain’t that right Pango?’

  ‘Do you fink we didn't see you getting on the boat? Did you fink we didn't have satellite pics of you trekkin’ through the jungle to get here? We followed you every step of the fuckin’ way. Because that’s what Charlie Sumkins does. Any criminal activity on the planet, any suggestion of an illegal thought, and I get to know about it. And if I want to stop a deal, I do. And if I don't want to stop it, I get a cut. And this is a deal I want to stop. Why?’

  The long house was silent. Apart from the noise of Digby trying to calm himself down by singing snippets from the Mikado.

  ‘Why?’ shouted Charlie, over the top of A Wandering Minstrel I, ‘because, you threatened Tallulah Hathaway - she’s like a daughter to me, and I will not have anythin’ bad happenin’ to her.’

  Understandably, he didn't say why he wouldn’t have anything bad happening to her. Neither did he mention how he’d been having sleepless nights and terrifying dreams since she took up the Daring Dooz challenges.

  ‘Now I’m a reasonable man,’ said Charlie, sounding most unreasonable. ‘I’ll take your guns and you can walk back to the coast, it’s only couple of thousand miles. Think of it as a Charlie Sumkins adventure holiday.’

  Pango nodded to show he accepted the holiday arrangements, and he his band were herded into the office, where Hamish and some men from the village, took over the M16s and made sure the bandits got a rotten night’s sleep.

  The rest of the village decide it was time to party, and once they had decided, there was no stopping.

  Mick, Jim and Charlie sat around the campfire as, fortified by GUA and various herbs that grew in the jungle, the villagers sang and danced their way into oblivion. Fortunately, Charlie didn't want to talk about Ealing Comedies. He was more concerned about Mrs Hathaway’s well being.

  ‘She had the sat phone when she did a runner, and I don't know the number,’ said Jim.

  ‘Pity,’ said Charlie, although, secretly, he admired people who didn't think twice about leaving their friends in the lurch.

  ‘Tell you what Edna,’ said Mick, ‘Charlie could phone Giles Wotsit.’

  ‘You mean Giles poncey-git Montagu-Scott?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jim.

  ‘I got his number,’ said Charlie, punching it into a very smart sat phone.

  It rang. Giles answered.

  ‘Giles, it’s Charlie Sumkins here, how the hell are you, my friend?’

  There was no reply, just a faint strangled sound.

  ‘Laryngitis is it? Murder - if you’ll pardon the expression. Anyway, I was just phoning to see if you knew how our mutual, Mrs H, was getting on?’

  Giles had difficulty speaking, partly through fear, and partly because he couldn't remember if he’d got his will up to date.

  ‘She’s fine,’ he croaked.

  ‘And what does that mean?’

  ‘She’s well.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I’m seeing her tomorrow, for a meeting.’

  ‘Thank you Giles, and I hope your laryngitis gets better soon.’

  Giles said nothing. His laryngitis had staged a comeback.

  ‘That’s good enough for me,’ said Charlie to Mick and Jim. ‘Giles might be stupid, but he’s not stupid enough to try and pull a fast one on Charlie S.’

  Charlie walked off and made another quick call.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I fink I’ve done what I came to do. I’m off.’

  ‘Off? When?

  ‘Any minute now.’

  In fact, it was five minutes, before the helicopter arrived to great acclaim from the villagers, who were well past midnight.

  ‘No offence, Charlie,’ said Jim, ‘but it’s a police helicopter!’

  ‘Look, Jimmy, I have friends in places so high, you don't even know the places exist. If I tell you they offered me a Chinook, you’ll get the picture. Oh, and, by the way, look after Digby, he’s a pillock, but as pillocks go, he’s at the less dangerous end. That’s less dangerous for him, by the way, not me! And when he gave me a leg up through the floor, he could easily have
popped his gonads. And I appreciate people who risk their health and well-being for the greater good of Charlie S.’

  It seemed the king cobra was now, officially, migraine free.

  ‘But, as you can see, this is a single-seater,’ continued Charlie, ‘so he’ll have to take his chances with the Dregs - sorry boys, that’s my pet name for you!’

  And with that, Charlie smiled in a rather intimidating way, crouched down and ran to the helicopter. The police pilot saluted. It took off, driving the villagers into an even greater, and even more unnecessary, frenzy of singing, dancing and sexual intercourse.

  Chapter 71

  Splatter had made a card saying Daring Doozers, which he patiently held up at Manaus International Arrivals. Slowly, one by one, the Daring Doozers appeared and started to congregate.

  They had various stages of jet lag, but all had the elated expression which you would expect from young men (and a few women) who had broken the habit of their short lives to find out what was going on in that place they glimpsed when, occasionally, they drew back the curtains.

  There were lots of backpacks, woolly bobble hats, ripped jeans and t-shirts with heavy metal or shoot-em-up video game logos. And, as is only to expected in any large crowd nowadays, a few Trekkies and someone dressed as Elvis.

  When he arrived, Giles felt embarrassed. If the Daring Doozers had sold all their clothes at inflated prices, they couldn't have bought his tie, let alone his suit.

  Still they had a common goal, and, after he’d greeted Splatter, he stood on a bench outside the airport building and welcomed the rest. He signed autographs, told them about the Hawaii Mars, and how the flight up the Amazon to rescue Mrs Hathaway would be free. His Brazilian office had also organised complementary t-shirts for everyone. The t-shirts were dark green with black writing saying Tallulah’s Task Force. Giles took off his jacket and put one of the t-shirts on. There were loud cheers. The t-shirts were not very fashionable, but Giles didn't care. This wasn’t an attempt to bond with the crowd; it was just that he knew what excellent jungle camouflage they’d provide, if the M16s opened up. Elvis refused a t-shirt, and would have to take his chances.

  When around 150 Darin Doozers had arrived, specially commissioned coaches took them down to the Hidroviaria do Amazonas Riverboat Terminal to wait for the arrival of the Hawaii Mars.

  The Hawaii Mars was late. The pilot said something about extra permits and they could be another eight hours. Giles was pissed off. But the Daring Doozers were happy to sit around. After all, that’s what they normally did all day.

  They were having a fabulous time. They talked about things that were well outside their normal experience, like the sun and the wind and the clouds and the river and the trees and the birds and other people you could actually see a few feet away from you.

  Giles phoned Tallulah to give her an update.

  As usual, she got straight to the crux of the matter.

  ‘Told them about the automatic weapons yet?’

  ‘I’ll tell them when we’re on the plane.’

  ‘Let me know when you take off.’

  Giles knew she was short, to the point and absolutely right. But how do you tell 150 unarmed dreamers that, though they greatly outnumbered the bad guys, the bad guys had weapons that can fire up to 950 rounds a minute and are accurate up to about 500 yards. It doesn't trip off the tongue very easily.

  And so it was that, when the magnificent Hawaii Mars arrived, they jumped happily into the fleet of specially commissioned rubber dinghies and boarded the aircraft, ready to do whatever their innocent minds thought they were going to do.

  Chapter 72

  At the village, there wasn’t much innocence around. During the night, there had been a terrible fight in the office. The village men were gone, and Pedro and his bandits were back in control of the weapons.

  The first thing Mick knew about it was when Pango walked up to where he was sleeping, and kicked him awake. Mick found himself looking up at the barrel of a gun.

  ‘Nother day, ‘nother deal,’ sneered Pango. ‘Funny how nasty night’s sleep get you perspectivised.’

  ‘When this new deal done. Pango multi-millionaire. Get much protection. So sod you, Charlie. And anyway, I hate grandparents, and old slag giving auntie Conchita embroidery lesson and dog, who, anyway, shits in dishwasher. I nothing to lose. But you have. Get fuck up.’

  The members of Pango’s team were kicking everyone else awake too. They assembled the villagers outside the long house then, screaming and shouting, drove them down to the pier, where they herded everyone right up at the end.

  It was a beautiful morning, the air was fresh and clear - certainly not a description that could be applied to the cranial contents of Implosion Productions’ finest.

  ‘Come on,’ said Mick to Jim, ‘you pulled us out of the crap in Las Vegas.’

  Jim was racking his brains, like they’d never been racked before. Maybe Pango was keen on Cinemascope musicals. Jim had seen Carousel once, and reckoned he could chat for five minutes on breakthrough stereo recording techniques. He looked at Pango who was spitting on his trigger finger to ensure minimum friction during the massacre. Perhaps not.

  They both knew this was it - staring death in the face, with not a single idea of how they were going to save themselves. All that was left was to scape the very bottom of the very emptiest barrel they’d ever come across. They turned to Digby.

  Digby simply looked petrified, and did what he always did when the going got rough. He looked down at his wristband, WWDDD - What would Dan Dare Do?

  There must have been a hundred tales where the Mekon on his floating boat thing and a battalion of Treens had Dan and Digby trapped up the interplanetary equivalent of a back alley. How did they escape? How did they turn the tables? And most importantly, how did they come out of it alive? Not surprisingly, given the circumstances, he couldn't remember a single storyline.

  But there was one thing he did remember. Dan Dare took risks. Dan Dare improvised. Dan Dare was daring.

  Before he even realised it, Digby was pushing quickly through the crowd, until he stood a few feet in front of Pango.

  His voice was strong and his oratory would have done the Old Bailey proud, at least in one of the minor courts.

  ‘You might kill us,’ said Digby, ‘but I have every confidence that the law will see you get your just deserts. These noble people are innocent, and innocence until proven guilty is the golden thread that runs through the whole of any civilized system of justice.’

  He had lifted the ‘golden thread’ bit from the John Mortimer’s Rumpole of the Bailey TV show, but if you were going to get machine-gunned to death in a few seconds, the last words on your lips might as well be those of a great writer.

  ‘So,’ he continued, ‘I will defend these people with every last drop of my blood, and I’m aware I might be seeing quite a lot of that in just a few minutes. But these people will survive, and you will not prosper, in fact you’ll be damned in hell.’

  The villagers, though they were all shitting themselves, and had no idea what he was talking about, burst into applause.

  ‘So, I say to you, follow Charlie Sumkins advice, walk home and let these people go.’

  Pango looked at him for a second or two before speaking.

  ‘What that holdin’ up his trousers?’

  ‘Fucked if I know,’ said a henchman.

  ‘Right,’ said Pango, seeming satisfied with the answer, ‘make sure he get it first.’

  The bandits arranged themselves - three standing and two kneeling in front of them - all with their M16s pointed at the villagers, and their new, shortly to be ex, leader, fearless Solicitor-at-Law, Digby Elton-John.

  They cocked their weapons and took aim.

  ‘OK,’ shouted Pango. ‘Let ‘em have…’

  The phrase ‘Let ‘em have it’ isn't very long, and it takes just a split second to shout the word ‘it’.

  However, there has always been a problem shouting
‘it’ clearly and concisely, with a poison dart stuck in your neck.

  Chapter 73

  The caiman had a wonderful time, five unconscious men, hitting the water at the same time. The unrelenting violence of the feeding frenzy was, as everyone on the pier agreed, no more than Pango and his cohorts deserved.

  Hamish and the village darts team came out of the undergrowth with their blowpipes raised. There was much hugging and slapping of backs, and Digby was carried shoulder high. This was a bit worrying as the pier could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be called structurally sound, and the piranhas were still busy finishing off what the caimans had spat out in disgust.

  The cheering was ear splitting, but, suddenly, everyone became aware of an even louder sound, a majestic roar which echoed around the riverbanks, causing thousands of multi-coloured birds to take flight. This was a roar which no one on the pier had ever heard before, and would be unlikely to hear, ever again.

  They all looked in one direction, towards the bend in the river, where they we treated to an incredible sight.

  First came the Catalina, with Mrs Hathaway in her yellow polka-dot bikini sitting astride the forward cockpit, holding her M16 high above her head. She was backlit with incredible flashes of sheet lightning, which seemed to appear from nowhere. What a fantastic image. The cat was ready to pounce!

  Then, in her wake, came the unbelievable Hawaii Mars in its full US Navy livery - a phenomenal, awe-inspiring backdrop – 200-foot wingspan and four gigantic turboprops.

  The threat of a storm disappeared as quickly as it had started, and twenty or so dinghies poured out of the Hawaii Mars, full of cheering Daring Doozers. Mrs Hathaway leapt into a passing dinghy and landed on top of Giles, who immediately thought the attack had kicked off. The other Daring Doozers in the dinghy gave her high fives and started asking for autographs.

  Jim was as amazed as anyone by the sight of the two flying boats. He turned to Mick.

  ‘Pity we can't get some footage.’

  He stopped. Mick was videoing away using a small handycam.

  ‘Had it up my shirt all the time. Digital HD quality. Good sound too.’