‘And I take it you want my help to tidy up your little mess?’
‘You do claim you have contacts all over the world,’ John said.
‘Easy, my dear boy. Show me the respect I believe I’ve earned as the founder of the Billionaires Club,’ Lord Butler said. ‘You’ve made a few enemies in the Club with that petulant attitude of yours. I warn you not to add me to that list.’
John turned pale and felt a cold sweat sweep through him. ‘My sincere apologies. I’m just keen to sort this problem out as soon as I can. We were unable to pick up their trail in Africa after they gave our men the slip at the refinery.’
Lord Butler stared at him for a while, eyes narrowing as he increased the tension with a long silence. ‘The one thing we know for sure is that they will be travelling under false identities. I take it that you’ve already contacted David Kirkwood to verify what those names are?’
‘Yes, sir, I have.’
‘That’s a positive start at least.’
‘I believe there was a sighting of one of them in Dover and that they are back in the UK already. We are just not sure where, because the passports’ identities don’t tie up with the sightings,’ John said.
Lord Butler was silent for a few seconds. John felt the stare burrowing through him. ‘I will use my own, more reliable, resources to track them as they travel. If they are in the UK, let them travel around freely and get comfortable on home soil. When they drop their guard, we can then deal with the situation ourselves at the time of our choosing. I’m concerned that if they get caught up in the immigration system first then into the legal system, silencing them will be more difficult at a later stage.’
‘I have men in the prison services here who can do that job,’ John said.
‘So, what? Why would you chance them striking a deal with the prosecution service?’
‘At least they could be silenced before any trial.’
‘No, John. That’s what your man was supposed to do in Angola, thus eliminating any chances of it coming back to haunt you. It will have to happen in the UK now. Let the targets move around freely and watch them carefully. Oh, and call Captain Warren back to London immediately before he causes any unpleasant diplomatic incidents.’
‘Yes, sir.’
’Before you leave here, I want to let you know that I have long backed your position in the Club, John, despite everyone telling me I shouldn’t,’ Lord Butler said.
’And I thank you for that, sir,’ John said, shifting in his seat.
‘It breaks my heart and angers me to learn that not only have you been lying to my face as you sit here but you have been hiding things from me. Is that how you intend to repay my continual support?’
John blinked rapidly, his hands clasped together. ‘I don’t follow.’
‘Hiring one of my key personnel in a failed attempt to assassinate the team led by Kyle Gibbs and being stupid enough to believe that I wouldn’t find out about it,’ Lord Butler said.
John sat with his mouth open, his heart pounding in his chest.
‘It was a reckless and amateur endeavour, John. The job was rushed and not properly planned out at all. Luckily some good has come out of it,’ Lord Butler said.
John rubbed his forehead. His throat felt like a desert.
‘Come on, John, think about it. We now know that Gibbs and his men are looking for revenge on the men who set them up to die, and that would be you, John. Our enemy has revealed his intent,’ Lord Butler said, tapping the red book on his desk.
‘I will take care of it.’
‘Yes, and you’ll only get one more chance to rectify this issue, my friend. I’m growing tired of your incompetence.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You’d also better start looking into one Captain Sharon Matthews, she is asking very pertinent and difficult questions in the intelligence community and getting closer to finding you,’ Lord Butler said, picking up the book. ‘Make sure it all goes away this time, John.’
Chapter 25
Clapham, London, England, UK - 2019
Captain John Warren stood in the teeming rain outside what looked like an abandoned old bar. He’d been instructed to attend a meeting with a man he didn’t like. It was going to be a long bitch session about his recent failure in Africa. He couldn’t wait to get back to Scotland and away from the politics. Looking up and down the street for faces he might recognise as he’d been instructed to do, he turned back to face the green tiled walls and blackened out windows of the building in front of him. A distant thumping baseline from a nearby building shook the pavement where he stood. The faded brass lettering above the door of The Goat pub glistened in the evening drizzle. A large doorman filled the doorway, glaring down at him as he stepped forward.
‘Have you been in here before, mate?’ the man said, dressed in a long black trench coat and Doc Marten boots.
‘Several times,’ Captain Warren said, looking up at the giant of a man who slowly moved out of the way.
‘Just a friendly reminder. Keep your hands to yourself unless you are paying for the goods.’
He entered through the blackened entrance and walked down a dozen wooden steps into the darkness. The dim atmosphere was intensified by the blackened-out window panes, and he stopped to allow his eyes to acclimatise to the dark. His memory failed to identify the classic rock song booming out of oversized speakers around the dimly lit old pub. He forced himself to focus on the reason for his visit.
Scantily-clad young ladies smoked and chatted as they huddled together in a small enclave to the left of him. They all looked up at him simultaneously as he walked past. Two topless girls were perched on barstools at the velvet and leather-lined bar counter. They stopped speaking what sounded like Russian and smiled seductively at him. He nodded then scanned the bar and saw John Mountford seated in a side booth with a lady companion.
‘Give us a few minutes, love,’ John Mountford said to the topless woman straddling his lap. She slipped out of the leather booth, smiling at Captain Warren as he stared down at her large swinging breasts.
‘Take a seat, Captain.’
He obliged and slipped into the grimy plastic seat opposite the billionaire.
John Mountford took a large swig of his whiskey. ‘I’ve spoken to Lord Butler, and we are both in agreement that this Gibbs affair needs to be cleaned up bloody quickly. Failure to do so will result in you and your team not receiving the balance of money owed to you.’
‘But that’s bollocks.’
The man opposite him slammed his hand down on the table. ‘Don’t interrupt me again, Captain. Is that clear? You fucked up a very simple mission which resulted in me having to grovel in front of the founding member of the Billionaires Club for his help. A man who takes great joy in paying brutal men to dispose of anyone who screws up or crosses him in any way. That means both you and I are in his crosshairs right now. Do you understand?’
‘Sorry, but I had no idea the Club was directly involved in this shit. I thought it was David Kirkwood’s operation. What do you want me to do?’
‘Kirkwood reports directly to the man who started it all. Someone who despises incompetence and loose ends.’
John swallowed hard. A bead of sweat broke out on his temple.
‘Here is what you are going to do, Captain. You are going to make this whole bloody issue disappear. If you don’t complete the job, you will never do business with our organisation again. Are those threats clear?’
‘Crystal. I will need time to try and track Gibbs and his men down,’ he said, his voice trailing off as John leaned forward.
‘After the fiasco in Angola, did you think I would give you this job without taking direct control of it? No chance, Captain. From now on you take direct orders from me and report back to me on a daily basis.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘We know they used false passports when they left for Angola. What we didn’t know was that they had a second set of false passports made, which they’ve
now used to re-enter the UK. That’s the reason you couldn’t track their movements out of Africa. We got very lucky in Dover when a resource of ours recognised one of Gibbs’s men coming in via Calais.’
‘Who was it?’
‘It was one Martin Stander, aka Simeon de Klerk, aka Jean-Pierre Greeff,’ John said, signalling across to the busty hostess.
‘He is Gibbs’s South African connection. I wonder what he is doing in the UK.’
‘You don’t get to wonder about anything anymore, Captain. That is now beyond your remit. He’s here now, and we are tailing him until he leads us to the rest of the team. Once that has been achieved, I will pass on their whereabouts, and you can finish off your damn mission. Here is a contact number for the crew who are tailing him. Now get out of my sight.’
• • •
JP Greeff finished off the last of his pint of lager and walked out of the pub onto the warm sunlit London high street. He wasn’t sure if it was the effects of the few beers or the large bank account that he had just withdrawn money from, but life was good. He turned off the busy Oxford Street to head down to the small hotel he was staying at, and his thoughts turned to the juicy steak he was going to order when he got there.
The side road bustled with street traders and beggars, all working their little patch of London. A quick flash of the pistol under his jacket chased away a few persistent beggars who harassed him for loose change, and he knew to guard his wallet for most of the walk. It all added to the charm of the historic city that was once again in flux, and he loved being part of it. Another young urchin ran up to him, begging for food. JP was near the hotel door so decided to capitulate and give the little man his spare change. As he reached for his wallet, a strange feeling washed over him, a feeling honed from battlefields around the world. He was being watched.
He dropped the coins on the ground as the glancing blow of the bullet hit the side of his head like a battering ram forcing him against the wall of the building. Then two quick hits to the back drove the wind out of him. He looked down at the red stain of the through-and-through, showing on the right-hand side of his shirt, then he coughed up the blood from his collapsing lung.
JP didn’t hear any gunfire, and a feeling that he was floating took over as his legs gave way. He could hear a passer-by screaming. He clutched his blood-stained chest and rolled forward, pushing himself up on one arm as two more bullets narrowly missed his head, smashing into the marble pillar of a nearby doorway.
‘Kom jong - come on, man,’ he groaned to himself in his native Afrikaans. His legs felt like jelly and resisted his commands, but he managed to stumble towards the corner of the street. Another bullet nicked his right shoulder. He cried out, gritting his teeth as he made it around the corner of the building. Jumbled thoughts flashed through his mind, the pain was excruciating as he tried to take a deep breath to slow it all down. It felt like he had a truck resting on his chest as he wheezed then coughed up darker red blood into his hand.
‘Let me help you,’ a voice with a German accent said. Someone grabbed him by his arm and ushered him away from the main street.
‘Cheers, mate. Can you call an ambulance, please?’ JP said in a soft voice, wiping the blood away from his mouth.
‘Sure,’ the helper said, subtly moving his free arm to his belt. He slipped out a silenced Sig 226 pistol, thrust it into JP’s ribs and pulled the trigger three times.
• • •
Gibbs slammed his beer down on the stained and rickety oak table, splashing amber liquid everywhere, his eyes riveted on the television that was encased in a metal cage and bolted onto the wall. ‘Do me a favour, mate,’ he called to the barman. ‘Can you turn up the volume on the TV?’
He sank back into his seat just as Shredder and Killey returned from the beer garden outside, with two young ladies in tow. Gibbs glanced at them and then pointed to the television screen. The headline, “South African gunned down near Oxford Street,” streamed across the bottom of the screen as a reporter delivered a broadcast from outside a London hotel.
‘JP?’ Shredder asked, his face suddenly pale.
‘I think that’s his hotel. The reporter said they hadn’t confirmed an identity yet,’ Gibbs said, his gaze fixed on the screen.
The young woman with Killey asked, ‘Do you know the man that was shot?’
Gibbs glared at her and then back at Killey.
‘Love, why don’t you girls go and get us a round of drinks, we need a few minutes of privacy here,’ Killey said.
The on-scene reporter rambled on about the time of the shooting and possible motives. The bit of news that did get their attention was the fact that witnesses said the bullets were coming from all directions, and also that the man was gunned down in a quiet side street nearby.
‘Sounds like pros,’ Shredder said, in a hushed tone. They all nodded.
Gibbs took a long sip of his draught beer and took out his mobile phone.
‘Who are you calling, boss?’ Killey asked.
‘Whichever shit will take my call,’ Gibbs said, sliding off the chair to head outside.
Chapter 26
Oxford Street, Central London, England, UK - 2019
‘Sir, I’m not getting any answer from Mr Greeff’s room,’ the voice said on the other end of the line. ‘May I take a message? Wait a minute, sir? Let me try one more time.’
Gibbs frowned as the phone rang again.
‘Hello, this is Detective Mills here. I’ve been told that you are asking for Mr Greeff. May I enquire what your business is with him?’ the voice said.
Gibbs hung up the phone and went over to the minibar. He cracked open the half-jack of cheap whiskey he’d traded for and poured a large wedge into a plastic cup, lifting it in a toast to acknowledge a fallen brother in arms. He smiled as he recalled the big man’s smiling face and loud laugh. A man who’d saved his life on more than one occasion. ‘Safe travels and good battles, big man,’ Gibbs said, swallowing hard, as the whiskey hit his stomach and smoothed out the hollow feeling.
The shrill ringing of his phone snapped him out of his gloom. ‘Yes!’ he answered.
‘It’s David Kirkwood.’
Gibbs crushed the cup and threw it on the table next to the bed. Emotions raged inside him as he looked at the phone handset, wanting to strangle it. He took a long slow breath. ‘Kirkwood, you bastard. Where the fuck have you been? I’ve left you so many bloody messages.’
‘Calm down, Gibbs.’
‘What happened in Angola, and why were we set up?’
‘Jesus, Gibbs, slow down. I’ve been a little busy of late. It seems I’ve been implicated in the coup attempt along with you and I’ve had to go into hiding because someone is trying to kill me.’
‘We’ve had a major attempt on our lives already, and now JP is dead, so pardon me for not caring about your scrawny arse.’
‘Who did you tell about the mission? It seems that my name is now linked to yours,’ Kirkwood asked.
‘No one, you idiot. Don’t lay the blame at our door. Why would we tell anyone? If there is a leak, then it is on your end.’
‘Just calm down, man. We’ll need to work together to find out who is trying to kill us,’ he said.
‘Someone in the Billionaires Club is responsible for the whole damn thing. I’ll chase that lead down. You get busy looking into JP’s murder,’ Gibbs said.
‘Going after a member of the Billionaires Club is a bit premature, don’t you think?’
‘Don’t tell me what to do, Kirkwood. Let’s get that straight from the outset. I won’t rest until I get to the bottom of JP’s murder. He should’ve died in some godforsaken jungle. Not assassinated by cowards on a city street in cold blood,’ Gibbs said.
‘I understand your grief.’
‘You don’t understand anything about losing a man in combat, Kirkwood. We have to find out who did this and fast. Do you have any additional information regarding the shooting?’
‘Just why would I have any addi
tional information about this?’ Kirkwood said.
‘You claim to have all these resources and contacts at your fingertips. Start using some of them, or were you also lying to me about your influence?
‘Don’t patronise me.’
‘You don’t have any contacts who can help then?’
‘I have a source in the Met Police who I know is working on the case. All they have so far is that his murder was perpetrated by at least two people, and they’ve found the likely spot from where the sniper pulled the trigger, but no weapon or cartridges were found. The grouping of bullets in the chest and ribs show two shooters who knew what they were doing.’
‘Of course they did,’ Gibbs said. ‘It happened on a busy street in broad daylight, and the reporters say there are no witnesses. Have you heard anything out there about a contract out on my team?’
‘No, nothing like that. It may not have anything to do with the job you’ve just done. JP could have made other enemies. Are you sure you are not overreacting a little here, Gibbs?’
‘Overreacting? I’ll show you overreacting when I wring your scrawny little neck. In case you don’t know already, the media have just released his real name and the fact that he was checked in at the hotel on a false passport. Who do you suppose leaked that to them? In the messages I’ve left you, I told you that we were all being targeted as a group. Whoever they are, they may now have decided to take us out individually.’
‘Okay, you have a point. I still have a few other sources I can contact to see if you are on a hit list. Now stay put and please don’t do anything stupid. If you give me the address of where you and your guys are staying, I can arrange for extra protection.’
Gibbs laughed. ‘Fat chance. I know how this all works. We’ll remain below the radar until I can get some answers. You don’t seem to be able to give me the answers I want, so set up an immediate meeting with Mason Waterfield.’
‘He won’t meet with you now, and you know that. Not with one of your men all over the bloody news.’
‘We’ve not been paid the balance of the cash for Angola yet, so tell him it’s in his interest to meet with me before his involvement in the failed coup is leaked to the press.’
The Journey of Kyle Gibbs Box Set Page 16
