The Journey of Kyle Gibbs Box Set

by Wayne Marinovich

  ‘You seriously can’t try to threaten a man like him without proof, Gibbs. There are simply far too many people between you and him who could take the fall.’

  ‘Including you?’

  ‘Give me a bloody break, Gibbs. I’m also owed a lot of money, so it would be stupid of me not to protect him on this issue. I’m just being honest here.’

  ‘Fine, but now it’s my turn to be frank. If we’re forced to stay below the radar, things could get very difficult for this illustrious Billionaires Club. I was smart enough to record a few of my meetings, and the one with Mr Waterfield at his mansion makes for interesting listening.’

  There was silence on the line for a few seconds. ‘I’ll try and set up a meeting, but you’re playing a very dangerous game.’

  ‘Dangerous games don’t scare me, Kirkwood. You of all people should know that. Set up the damn meeting or we go public with this.’

  Chapter 27

  Carlington Estate, Surrey, UK – October 2019

  Gibbs followed the heavy-set man who was dressed in a tight-fitting tweed shooting jacket, green trousers and wellington boots as they slowly walked away from Carlington House and down a small leafy lane. It was a surprisingly warm day for autumn in the UK, and he loved being out in the countryside again. The poverty and squalor of London were a long way away from the luxurious old manor and those who called it home. Scanning the horizon for threat or menace, he only saw the occasional farm worker going about their business of preparing the soil for planting. Most of these labourers worked for the landowner, which Gibbs assumed to be Mason Waterfield.

  The brawny man ahead of him was no farm worker though, and judging by the bulge in the left side of his jacket, he was armed. Gibbs felt naked without a sidearm, which he had been forced to relinquish when he arrived at the mansion.

  They continued along the overgrown public pathway, over a mud-covered footpath stile and then walked across three more fields, the sound of gunfire getting louder as they approached.

  The pheasant drive was already in full flow by the time they arrived, and Gibbs spotted Mason standing in an enclosed wooden hide, shotgun raised aloft as the distant beaters drove the pheasants towards their guns. Small puffs of smoke flashed from the shotgun barrels a split second before the thunderous noise reached Gibbs.

  They had to wait until the pheasant drive was complete, and after thirty minutes of sitting down at the foot of an old oak tree, Gibbs was summoned to one of the hides.

  ‘Good morning, Gibbs,’ Mason said as he entered. ‘You certainly have made quite a nuisance of yourself over the past few days, haven’t you?’

  ‘When I don’t get the answers I want, I’m forced to keep rattling cages until I get to the man who has all those answers.’

  ‘I see, and I assume you think that I’m that man,’ Mason said, handing his shotgun to another armed guard. ‘How can I be of service?’

  ‘I have a few issues that need clarifying, but you can start by telling me what the hell happened down in Angola?’

  Mason motioned for Gibbs to enter the hide and asked his two bodyguards to step away. ‘What in particular would you like to know?’

  ‘Let’s start with why the hell we were forced to scramble out of there with our tails between our legs. We only just managed to destroy four of the storage tanks and pipeline before the Angolan forces overran the refinery,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Did you do everything that you could have done to destroy the plant?’

  ‘Under the circumstances, I’d say yes, but I should have been involved in the planning of the coup, Mason. The taking of Luanda was far more important than us securing an oil depot,’ Gibbs said. ‘I’d also like to know who the hell sent John Warren after us once the coup had gone tits up. Was he on your payroll or was he hired independently by the Angolan government? Which you have to admit, would be one hell of a coincidence?’

  Mason stood with his arms folded and his legs spread apart. His jaw muscles clenched as he ground his teeth. He was not a man who was usually spoken to like this. ‘Four teams were sent to Angola at the same time as you. All had to execute different tasks that would add to the overall cohesiveness of the mission. The planning was done with certain strategic goals in mind and not all of them would have been made available to you.’

  ‘Obviously, the coup failed because the government wasn’t overthrown, now was it?’

  Mason smiled. ‘This is sensitive information, Gibbs, but between us, the strategic plan was never to topple the Angolan government.’

  ‘Why the hell were we there?’

  Mason stood looking at him for a few more seconds.

  ‘I’m going to trust you with classified mission information because of the recent incident with your colleague. I need you to keep this to yourself,’ Mason said. ‘The plan was to create a simple diversion. A simulated coup to get the Angolan government which was already at the negotiating table, to discuss what has become the main issue in the central African region.’

  Gibbs took a step towards Mason. ‘I’m sorry, but did you just say a diversion? Are you saying that my men and I risked our lives for a fucking diversion without knowing about it?’ he said, his voice low and menacing. ‘Do you know how many rebel fighters lost their lives for your so-called diversion?’

  ‘Come on, Gibbs, you’re a soldier and more importantly, a mercenary. You know that lives are sometimes lost for the greater cause, whether you agree with that cause or not.’

  ‘What was the greater cause here, then? Oil?’

  ‘Oil was simply a front, but by stepping in and quashing an attempted coup, the Billionaires Club has secured a vital deal with the Angolan government, who have now signed up to be part of a new economic resource zone with Botswana, Zimbabwe and Mozambique.’

  ‘For what possible reason?’

  ‘Water,’ Mason said. ‘Our aim is to control this critical resource across the globe to prevent any conflicts and wars that may result from any attempted exploitation of the valuable resource. This new Southern African zone will secure and control all the water flowing in the Cubango, Okavango and Zambezi rivers. It is the most precious of resources we have now, and the Billionaires Club wants to control as much of it as we can, either directly or indirectly. That was the reason for the diversionary coup, Gibbs. To get the unequivocal trust of the Angolan government.’

  ‘If what you’re telling me is true, my team’s role is complete, then?’

  ‘Yes, it is, and we may need your talents in the future. We’re going to need you and your men’s skill, with the proviso that you hand over any recordings you may have of our conversations. Although, personally I think that was just a bluff, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That depends on your next two answers. Firstly, why the hell are people still trying to kill us? And secondly, why haven’t we received the rest of the money you owe us?’

  Mason frowned. ‘That cannot be right. I’ll have a chat with the other members.’

  ‘Who? Like, John Mountford? I have it on good authority that it was him who hired John Warren to eliminate us in Angola.’

  ‘Leave that point with me, Gibbs. As the Chairman of the Billionaires Club, I can tell you that we never sanctioned any hit on you or your team. I will look into it,’ Mason said.

  ‘What about the balance of our payment?’

  ‘We paid Kirkwood Enterprises up front, and in full, covering all your costs and salaries. That was done more than two weeks before you left these shores. As your agent, you’ll have to take that up with him.’

  ‘That jammy little bastard…’ Gibbs started to say when something hit him on the side of the head, and he staggered sideways, grabbing on to one of the wooden beams in the roof of the hide. He looked across at a shocked Mason before it all started to go dark. His legs gave way, and he slumped to his knees.

  A few seconds later he opened his eyes and shook his doughy head. Touching the side of his temple caused a shooting pain into his brain as he stared down at the crimson l
iquid smeared on his fingers. ‘Bastards,’ he said.

  Rolling over, he looked across to where Mason lay slumped against the opposite wall of the shooting hide. Blood trickled from a hole in his temple and streamed down his grey hair onto his shooting jacket, a surprised stare etched on his face.

  Gibbs scanned the horizon, but his vision was blurred and hazy. Nearby, he could make out the two bodyguards lying on the floor, also dead. Disorientated but driven by instinct, he crawled over to one of the bodies and rolled the downed man onto his back. A warm trickle of blood ran down over his eyebrow and into his eye. Wiping it away, he removed one of the Sig 226 pistols from the dead bodyguard’s holster.

  The gunmen would probably want to make sure that all their targets had been eliminated. He had to be ready but still felt drowsy and shook his head in an attempt to stay conscious. ‘Come on, you bastards, let’s see your bloody faces,’ he whispered. Lying on the floor of the hide he used the body as a shield. He had to let them get close.

  A few minutes later, the shape of the first sniper emerged from the oak tree line to the east of the hide, followed shortly afterwards by another one a hundred meters further south. A third appeared less than fifty metres away. They were cautious and methodical as they zig-zagged their way towards the hides, silenced rifles lifted in front of them to cover their advance. Gibbs grabbed another magazine from the dead bodyguard. He squinted towards the west and recognised the small wooded area just off the path, which he had walked through earlier.

  Lifting the pistol, he held his breath as he aimed at the closest sniper. He paused for a second, allowing his groggy senses to focus, and then squeezed the trigger. The sound of the discharge and recoil moved Gibbs into action as the first sniper stumbled, a bullet catching him in the hip.

  ‘Move, legs,’ Gibbs urged himself on as he stumbled out of the hide and ran towards the path. His heart was soon bursting from the effort as he made it to an old dry-stone wall at the top of the field. Bullets ricocheted off the wall around him, flicking shards in all directions as he made his best effort to clamber over. A sharp pain surged up his leg, and he knew that he had been hit again. Gibbs fell over the wall and started to crawl, trying to block the pain out as he focused on the woods ahead.

  Turning back, he fired a quick burst over the wall in the rough direction of the second sniper who veered right then ran back towards the woods. Gibbs finished off the magazine and ejected it in a single movement.

  ‘Arrrgh!’ Gibbs screamed, realising that one of them had gotten away. ‘Come on, you bastard, show yourself.’

  He slammed the last magazine into the Sig 226. He had ten shots left. Taking a deep breath, he started off for the trees, the pain from his leg nearly crippling him as he jinked to change direction. His senses began to fail with each step, and he fell forward onto a pile of sharp sticks, groaning with pain. Energy sapped away from him as he struggled to his feet again. A crack from a bullet hitting a tree ahead of him galvanised him. Move your arse, Gibbs. Finally, he reached the safety of the trees. Taking deep breaths, it felt like he had acid in his lungs. Slumping down behind a fallen tree, he waited, all his focus channelled into staying conscious. Drowsiness drew a veil across his unsteady gaze, and he blinked a few times to clear his vision. Blood trickled into his eye, and he rubbed it away with the back of his hand again. Movement near the wall to his left, and he fired a few shots at the moving shape of one of the snipers.

  ‘Gibbs,’ a voice shouted.

  A voice he recognised. Somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, he recalled a voice he despised. He slowly turned to see the butt of a machine gun hurtling down towards his face.

  Chapter 28

  Aldershot, Hampshire, England UK - 2019

  Gibbs gasped as he opened his eyes. Blurred and swirling patches of light confused him as he stared up at the ceiling. An incessant beeping from somewhere behind him added to his bewilderment. Blinking a few times, he recognised Mason, who was standing at the foot of his bed, surrounded by people wearing surgical masks and speaking in hushed voices. He started to speak to Mason, but a wave of drowsiness swept over him again. A young woman walked over to him said something to him, but her voice was distorted and muffled. He tried to raise his hands, but they seemed stuck to his sides. Was he awake? She leaned over to him, but his eyes fluttered closed again.

  The overpowering aroma of chemical cleanliness filled his nostrils as he slowly opened his eyes. The lights above him were shimmering with a fusion of blues and yellows. Sounds bashed and gnawed at his brain.

  ‘Mason?’ he said, his throat dry and scratchy.

  A blonde nurse with her hair tied up in a ponytail and wearing brown army fatigues walked over from where she had been standing next to a range of lit-up medical machines and placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s okay, Sergeant Gibbs. Everything will be alright.’

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘Frimley Park Military Hospital, Sergeant.’

  ‘What the hell happened? How did I get here?’

  ‘You’re very lucky to be alive, Sergeant, the bullet grazed your head, severely damaging your skull, so the surgeon placed you into an induced coma for a couple of weeks until the internal bleeding stopped and the swelling on your brain eased up,’ she said, adjusting a bandage on his head. ‘The bullet from your leg has been removed. It missed a crucial artery so you should be fine.’

  Gibbs lifted his hand to try and touch the bandages on his head, but his arm was restrained. He looked down in surprise to see both his arms had been handcuffed to the bed’s metal frame.

  ‘I’m afraid you are also under arrest, Sergeant. Our orders are to keep you restrained at all times. Captain Matthews will be along later to discuss the charges against you.’

  ‘Shredder and Killey?’

  ‘I don’t know who or what those are, Sergeant. All that’s important now is that you relax and get your rest.’

  He looked up at the fluorescent striplights and recalled the shocked look on Mason’s pale face, a few jumbled memories of assassins and a familiar voice calling out his name, a voice that he couldn’t quite place. Closing his eyes, he fell back into a deep sleep.

  • • •

  In a smart Richmond-upon-Thames restaurant, located in one of the last four-star hotels remaining in London, four men sat finishing another bottle of red wine. John Warren, Mark Cooper, Matt Hagen and Chip Ripley were being their obnoxious selves and had ensured that all of the other diners had wolfed down their meals and retreated to their rooms. The cute, brunette waitress who’d drawn the short straw to serve them for their third consecutive meal that weekend, had done her best before a loud slap to her bottom had seen her run out of the restaurant in tears.

  ‘Hold on, gents,’ John said, taking a phone out of his jacket pocket. ‘Shut up will you, I need to take this.’

  ‘Hello, sir,’ he said.

  ‘No, sir. There weren’t any problems with the job. We made all the changes to the plan as per your instructions.’

  ‘Yes. All the weapons and evidence were given to the Judge Advocate General (JAG) who’ll take it from there. You said that you would pass it on to the Crown Prosecution Service yourself, didn’t you?’

  ‘Afraid we lost two of our men, but I managed to stage their deaths as part of the new scenario.’

  ‘Thank you very much, sir. I’m confident that it’ll all point to him.’

  John ended the call with a large smile on his face. Reaching for his glass of wine, he raised it into the air. His dinner companions did the same. ‘To the end of fucking Sergeant Gibbs.’

  Outside, a black Range Rover slowly drove past the hotel before parking nearby on the darkened Queen’s Street. Two occupants sat and waited for a further ten minutes before getting out.

  They walked around the corner and headed towards the hotel’s small gate that allowed access from the pavement. The two-storey white building was lit up against the late evening sky, and the doorman was at his post, preventing a few you
ng beggars intent on accessing the main lobby to beg. The men stopped, scanned the street in both directions then drew their modified Sig P226 pistols with attached silencers from their belts. Slipping amongst the parked cars, they walked towards the main entrance, pulling balaclavas down over their faces as they approached.

  The young street kids had seen them approaching through the car park and scurried away amongst the parked luxury cars, sensing the danger. The doorman looked up just as they reached the steps and his smile quickly vanished when he noticed their handguns. One of the men walked up to him and punched him in the face, the force laying the doorman out cold against one of the ornate pillars that framed the large glass doors.

  Entering via the lobby, they saw their target through the engraved glass door of the otherwise deserted Stag Restaurant. Peering through the door, they saw the restaurant was deserted except for their targets. The first bullet hit Mark Cooper in the chest as he dropped to his right. Chip was faster off the mark and had just managed to pull his weapon before he too collapsed, the force of two closely grouped heart shots knocking him backwards, his pistol hitting the floor with a clunk. John Warren had only just managed to turn around in his seat and look at the men when the second assailant shot him in the head twice. He fell forward into his plate of chicken soup, blood splattering onto the white tablecloth.

  Revenge had been served.

  Shredder and Killey lifted up the balaclavas and walked over to the table to make sure all the targets were dead.

  ‘We were told there would be four men here tonight,’ Killey said.

  ‘There should have been. Look, someone’s been eating at that place setting. Maybe they went off to bed or are in the toilet,’ Shredder said.

  ‘Let’s check. I could use a slash.’

  ‘Sure. Let’s hang around after slaughtering the patrons in the dining room.’

  ‘Who are they going to call? Nature calls for me and cannot wait.’