Heathrow Airport, London, England, UK - 2019
’On your knees!’ the nearest uniformed man shouted, jabbing the muzzle of his machine gun into Gibbs’s back. Killey, who was already kneeling on the shiny concrete floor in front of the Boeing, was grimacing in agony as he tried to keep the pressure on his arm, blood seeping through his fingers.
‘You gonna make it?’ Gibbs asked.
‘Think they just winged me. I’ll survive.’
Gibbs scanned the hangar. Twenty men with M16s closed in on the group of kneeling men. Anger rose up inside him when his eyes locked on to the man they’d chased down. Kirkwood kicked a small plastic crate along the floor towards them. A little grin across his face, and then with a big sigh, he sat down in front of them.
‘Well, that was a bit of fun, wasn’t it? Kudos to you for wasting my time and causing me to miss my plane out of here. But now, I’m looking forward to having some fun with you before my next flight.’
Gibbs spat on the ground in front of Kirkwood.
‘Was that the best that men from the illustrious SAS could do to stop me from getting away?’
‘Go fuck yourself, Kirkwood,’ Gibbs said.
‘Another failed mission for you and your team then, Gibbs. You have to admit that your record has been poor of late, hasn’t it? But don’t worry, the prison ships are not going anywhere soon, and you will have the rest of your days to reflect on your failed attempts to kill me,’ Kirkwood said.
‘You seem to have overlooked the fact that despite all of your best efforts, we’ve managed to escape at every turn. Those prison ships won’t hold us for very long, Kirkwood,’ Gibbs said. ‘Mark my words, when I get my hands on you, I am going to make you suffer for the people’s lives you’ve destroyed.’
‘Be honest with yourself here, you’re in no position to make any threats. One of your lapdogs looks very injured and probably should be put out of his misery. In case you haven’t realised it yet, all these men are mine to command. I can have them kill all three of you with a simple click of my fingers. That’s real power, Gibbs, not wielding a gun, but commanding men who carry guns. Loads of guns.’
‘You’re too chicken-shit to kill a man by yourself? Nothing but a puny little coward,’ Gibbs said.
Kirkwood bristled with the insult, his shoulders straightening.
‘Even Tracer Mercer, your flesh and blood, wanted nothing to do with you. He always moaned about having to meet up with you and said he would rather eat his own arse than spend any time with a little runt like you. We were his true family, not you.’
Kirkwood clenched his teeth, his jaw muscle twitching in his slender face. His eyes narrowed, then he smiled and walked over to a large red cabinet. Opening the two doors, he pulled out a large iron spanner. He walked back, smiling at Gibbs as he bounced the big piece of metal in his hand before swinging it into Killey’s stomach. The injured man doubled over, crying out in pain.
‘You’re a bloody coward. Why don’t you pick on me or are you scared that I’ll fight back?’ Gibbs said.
Kirkwood mulled it over a minute then walked over to Gibbs and lifted the large spanner over his head. It hovered in the air for a second, when he screamed out in pain, buckled over and fell to the ground clutching his knee, the spanner spinning out of his reach. Everyone turned around to see who’d shot him.
One of the men lowered his silenced pistol then raised his gloved hand and pulled down the scarf that covered his face.
‘Alex?’ Kirkwood said, screaming with pain as blood poured out from the back of his knee. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
Alex held up a finger up to his lips. He calmly walked over to the kneeling men. ‘Mr Gibbs, my name is Alex Brun. It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person. Under different circumstances, I would have loved to work with you and your men, but alas that’s not been possible.’
‘I must admit I’m a little confused, Alex,’ Gibbs said, looking down at Kirkwood.
Alex slipped the magazine out of his pistol and then flicked all the remaining rounds out of the magazine with his thumb. He slammed the magazine home and chambered the single round.
He silently handed the pistol to Gibbs. ‘One left. You are free to seek your revenge for your girlfriend’s murder and please make it count. If you try to use the weapon to escape, my men will be forced to shoot all of you, and I would not like that.’
‘What are you doing, Alex?’ Kirkwood said, his lower lip quivering.
Gibbs stood up and took the Sig 226 from Alex Brun then slowly walked over to Kirkwood. He walked past the groaning man and picked up the iron spanner. Flipping it over in his left hand he walked back and swung it at the man’s outstretched hand. He screamed with pain as the bones in his hands shattered with a loud crunch.
‘I’m sorry, Gibbs,’ he screamed, clutching his hand. ‘Let me make it up to you all. I have all your money. I’ll pay back every penny.’
Gibbs swung again. The scream pierced the silence in the hangar as the iron spanner smashed into Kirkwood’s ribs. A whimper escaped his lips as he fell onto his side.
Gibbs’s eyes narrowed then he stomped down on the man’s bleeding leg. A blood-curdling scream echoed out into the hangar. Kirkwood pawed at Gibbs’s boot. ‘Please stop.’
Gibbs leant on the man’s leg with even more of his weight. ‘This is for JP, and for Sharon. And for all the men who have died as part of your fucking little game.’
Gibbs raised the Sig 226 and shot him in the stomach.
‘It’s your turn to suffer and feel the pain they felt. You are going to die slowly and in agonising pain on this cold floor without anyone here to feel sorry for you.’
He walked back to Alex and handed him the gun. ‘Thank you. What now?’
‘I’ll get a medic to attend to your man before you’re all taken to the prison ship in Wales. My employer tasked me to both eliminate Mr Kirkwood and to capture you and your men. And that’s what happened here. Nobody needs to know how justice was served today.’
‘You could just let us walk out of here, you know,’ Gibbs said.
‘You, more than anyone, Mr Gibbs, understand the importance of following orders.’
Chapter 40
Carshalton Estate, Surrey, England, UK - 2019
Lord Butler relaxed at the head of the long mahogany table in his breakfast room, sipping sweet tea from a white china teacup while reading a final report from the Billionaires Club. Markus Schmidt waited patiently in the corner of the room for his employer to finish his breakfast.
‘Markus, I’m aware that you informed the members that all documents and correspondence relating to the Angolan incident had been destroyed, but have you kept copies of everything as I instructed you to do?’
‘Yes, sir. Copies have been made and are now stored on servers in your basement rooms at the Canary Wharf office.’
‘Thank you. I take it you were as discreet as usual?’
‘The young man who made all the copies for me was involved in a fatal car accident, sir.’
‘I see. That’s unfortunate. Please send my condolences to his family.’
‘You have already made a sizable donation to the cost of the funeral. What’s to be done about David Kirkwood?’
‘No need to worry about him. I’ve personally had that taken care of. David is no longer part of this organisation, so if anyone enquires as to his whereabouts, just say that he’s left the country for good. He did always have a separate agenda to the Billionaires Club, but I was fortunate that our two agendas complemented one another. I will miss his company in my bed at nights, but needs must.’
‘What of Alex Brun, sir?’
‘Alex is on his way to the USA. He’ll take control of my primary enterprise there.’
‘Lord Butler. Is it wise to leave someone out there who possesses such an in-depth knowledge of our recent activities, and knows our plans too?’ Markus said.
Lord Butler smiled at the German. ‘I am truly touched by your concer
n, Markus. I did think long and hard about Alex and how he fits into our plans before I sent him away. I think he still has a large part to play, so for the time being, he stays alive.’
‘What if we need one of his particular services again?’
‘I’m sure that you could perform the same tasks that Alex offered if I needed them urgently,’ Lord Butler said, sipping his tea.
‘Of course, sir. It’s what I was trained for.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ Lord Butler said. ‘You know it might have taken me over ten years to achieve, but I now have a nucleus of men and woman who are on board with the plan to secure the last of the planet’s resources for our new organisation. Moving forward we will be more aggressive and brutal in our missions. That’s why I had to dispose of so many who were linked to the Angolan initiative. It was the last piece in our global puzzle.’
‘Then why keep all the documents, sir? If they were to be leaked, we could be in trouble.’
‘Leverage, Markus, for leverage. You never know who might need their minds changed in future,’ Lord Butler said and took a folder out of a briefcase at his feet. The words Phoenix Council were printed in red on a label on the cover.
‘From now on, the Phoenix Council will decide on the correct way to store and use the planet’s remaining resources. We will make and decide policy, not the facile and useless governments whose influence is waning by the day with all the rioting and chaos around us. There are exciting times ahead for us.’
‘I’m pleased to be a part of it,’ Markus said. ‘But why the name change?’
‘I thought that Billionaires Club sounded a little arrogant and too exclusive so decided that we needed something with a little more gravitas and presence. It was the late Mason Waterfield’s idea to use the Phoenix to represent the new beginning the world will see under our guidance and leadership.’
‘Wise choice.’
‘Markus, you have taken care of tricky loose ends for me recently and have done so without question. I thank you for your loyalty, but I need to ask one more thing of you.’
‘Anything, sir,’ Markus replied, bowing his head slightly.
‘The Phoenix Guard will be the global military wing of the Phoenix Council, and it will have many varied roles and duties to perform. The primary function, however, will be to ensure that all the economic regions we have established over the past few years obey our wishes. I want you to be the first appointed captain of the Phoenix Guard.’
‘Thank you, Lord Butler,’ Markus said. ‘I would be happy to.’
‘Good. Each captain will have thirty crack military or policemen under his command and will be deployed as and when we need them, so I’ll need you to start recruiting suitable men to the cause immediately. It’s a real shame that we lost the likes of that Gibbs character because I think he would have been perfect for the Guard going forward. But alas, sometimes you have to lose a few pawns on the chessboard to start a winning game,’ Lord Butler said, closing the folder.
Chapter 41
The prisonship, ICARUS - Wales - 2019
Gibbs narrowed his eyes as the wind blasted from ahead of them. The handcuffs chafed his wrists while he stood looking down the glistening jetty. The Welsh coastline was being hit by a cold front, and the waves in the harbour were throwing spray up over the pier and jetty walkways. Shredder stood next to him, calm and serene, but with his lips showing a blue tint from the cold. They needed warmer clothes.
Alex Brun walked back towards them, accompanied by a bull of a man. His shaven head and crooked bulbous nose overshadowed a square jaw and thick neck. He wore a thick brown parka with a fur-lined hood, and black pants that were tucked into black boots. Two similarly dressed wardens walked behind them, armed with pump-action shotguns.
‘Welcome to my ship, ladies. I’m happy to have you join our little family. Mr Brun has informed me of the need to keep you separated because of your habit of escaping. There won’t be any of that nonsense from here.
‘If we catch you planning an escape, we throw you overboard. If you get caught trying to escape, we shoot you. If you fall in the icy water, you are on your own. These are the only rules that I have on my ship. You are welcome to try and jump overboard, that’ll mean more food for the rest of the inmates. In these waters, you’ll last but one or two minutes before you seize up from the cold, and sink without a trace. Those are my only rules, and if you follow them, you may survive for a couple of more years. Whatever hopes and dreams you have for your future, leave them on this jetty. Survival is your only future from here on in, and it’s the last time you’ll set foot on dry land.’
He turned and nodded to the men behind, who stepped around him and grabbed Gibbs and Shredder’s arms, hustling them forward.
‘What about Killey? Is he okay?’ Gibbs asked.
The head warden stepped forward and grabbed Gibbs by the throat. He had a grip of steel, but Gibbs kept staring into his eyes. ‘Your friend is in with the medic. If he survives that surgery, which will be a surprise given Doc’s shaky hands, and if he survives any infection after that, he will be released into the general population.
‘Don’t ever address me directly again. Is that clear? You speak to your junior warden. I’ll let you have this one because, like me, you’re ex-fighting men. I respect the old world we had in common but don’t ever vomit out anything in my direction again. And when addressed by any warden on the ship, you say, sir.’
He squeezed again and then let Gibbs go. He snatched a breath as bright coloured flashes fluttered in his eyes and he felt dizzy.
‘Do you grasp that concept, soldier?’ the head warden said.
Gibbs nodded. ‘We do, sir.’
The big man stood aside, waving them on along the jetty to a small boat that was bobbing about viciously on its mooring. The tide was coming in, and Gibbs looked up to the tanker prisonship in the distant blue haze.
• • •
The stench was going to take some getting used to.
Gibbs had been aboard the ship for a few hours and still felt the assault on his nose from unwashed men and full toilet buckets. From the small holding cell, he was moved along a narrow passage, ducking low to get through the tanker’s small doors.
Coming to one of the large internal tanks, he could look across what seem to be walled-off cells, with mesh roofs. A nudge from the warden behind him forced him to take a step onto the narrow metal stairway that descended along the left side of all the tanks.
‘How many tanks are there like this one, warden?’
‘Four tanks on the ship, twenty cells per tank with thirty men in each cell.’
‘Do we ever get to go up top?’
‘Not in your first year,’ the warden said. ‘Now shut the fuck up.’
The key rattled in the rusty lock, and the warden swung the door open, pulling his Sig 26 at the same time. Two other wardens had appeared from the other side of the tank. Glancing upwards, Gibbs counted six other wardens armed with Heckler & Koch MP5s all sporting scopes and noise suppressors.
The warden raised the Sig and walked in front of Gibbs, stopping in the open doorway. ‘Stand back, everyone one in Cell twenty-three. Newbie coming in.’
‘Everyone clear, sir,’ came the reply from someone close to the door.
The warden peered inside and then took a step back. Gibbs was pushed forward and stopped in the doorway. The warden leaned in towards him. ‘I have ten bucks that says you’ll last the night. The other wardens reckon that you’ll last a few hours. The rules of the tank cells are that there are no rules. To get a bed, you’ll have to fight one of the lower ranked inmates.’
Gibbs turned to the warden. ‘No rules, sir?’
‘On you go, Gibbs. Make me proud, and earn me some money, and I’ll get you up top within six months.’
Gibbs stared at him, and the urge to head-butt him was overpowering. Sharon’s enduring image in his mind made him smile. He had to bide his time. There was someone in London who’d pulled Kirk
wood’s strings. He knew what was happening and did nothing. Taking a deep breath, Gibbs calmed his nerves, and the adrenaline ratcheted up a level.
‘If I make it through to the week, will you let me up top in three months?’
‘Ha,’ the man said. ‘Get in there.’
As he stood inside the metal doorway, the door slammed behind him with the sound of a rifle shot. Bunk beds were placed around the walls, with six single beds in the middle. Men slowly got up off their beds or came out of hidden corners to look at the newbie. Gibbs rubbed his fingers in his palms and stretched his fingers to click his knuckles. He scanned all the men, assessing the real threats. And there were a few.
His gaze stopped on the farthest corner and a bunk that was decorated with books and pictures of naked women. A small fan oscillated a breeze onto a tall African man who sat on the edge of the bed looking at Gibbs. A younger prisoner was sitting at his feet on the floor, draped across the African inmate’s legs.
Gibbs took a step forward, watching the men in his peripheral view, the first one to move would get smashed. No one moved. The big African got to his feet and walked around the single beds in the middle, his gaze never leaving Gibbs’s. Inmates parted out of his path as he approached.
‘Newbie. This is my cell. You have to fight one of the men in these middle beds for your chance to get food and a place to sleep. You could choose to sleep on the floor in front of the door or sleep with one of those two men to your left. They’ll break you into prison life, and you can become their bitch. You may stay with them as their prison wife. I have no problem with that.’
‘Tell me, big fella, is this really your cell?’ Gibbs said as the man drew nearer. Gibbs took a step to the side, towards a skinny prisoner standing at the foot of the nearest single bed.
‘My cell. My rules. If you pick that man, then let the fight begin.’ The men all started whooping and whistling. Shouts from neighbouring cells also kicked off as they listened in. Anything that happened here would be heard all over the tank. If this went wrong, Gibbs would not be in good shape.
The Journey of Kyle Gibbs Box Set Page 23
