The Journey of Kyle Gibbs Box Set

by Wayne Marinovich

  ‘I am pleasantly surprised by your honesty. A hostage negotiator wouldn’t normally admit to that so soon.’

  ‘I’m not here to play games because I have orders to follow. Honesty just makes it easier to get things done.’

  ‘Who are the ones giving all the orders then?’

  ‘All that can be discussed when we get you back to London.’

  ‘What could I possibly have that you need?’ Gibbs asked.

  ‘You have valuable experience and expertise that I am interested in, Gibbs,’ Christina said.

  Gibbs raised his eyebrow, with a small smile on his face. ‘Normally I would insist on a girl buying me dinner first.’

  Christina was about to ask something else then realised what he had said. She tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to keep a straight face. ‘I’m only interested in your military experience, Gibbs. The GGC has instructed me to recruit you and your men for a long-term operation, and in return, you get to leave the prison ship and have a reasonably normal life, back in service,’ she said.

  ‘And if we refuse to join?’

  ‘You will be returned to the Icarus to serve out your respective terms and have the suspicious deaths of Steve Matthews, and Tony Sheppard added to your sentences,’ she said, sitting back in the chair.

  ‘Who…wait…the paedophiles? What deaths?’

  Christina looked at him. ‘The two bastards who were found at the bottom of a stairwell, last seen being escorted out of the prison blocks by your friend, Fraser Byrne.’

  Gibbs sat and looked at her intently. ‘You cannot seriously try and pin that on us.’

  ‘You know that I can, Gibbs. There are quite a few wardens who would say anything to get you guys back on that ship. I’ll give you time to consider your answer,’ Christina said, getting up and opening the door.

  ‘Christina, wait! How about a compromise?’

  ‘I am listening.’

  ‘I’ll join the GGC operation for the duration of my prison term, on the condition that you release my men.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Sergeant, it’s all or nothing,’ Markus interrupted as he stepped back through the door.

  Christina raised her hand to silence Markus and said. ‘Do I have your word on this, Gibbs?’

  ‘Yes. Do my men go free?’

  ‘Captain Schmidt, let the four men go,’ she said, turning to Markus, who started to protest. She simply cut him off. ‘Now, please, Captain, I have cleared this with Lord Butler.’

  Markus stormed out. Gibbs turned to Christina. ‘I am going to have a lot of fun with him.’

  ‘Please don’t antagonise that man. I’m pretty sure he is psychotic.’

  ‘Even better. It’ll be fun. A little poke here, a little prod there, and then we sit back and watch him explode.’

  ‘I hear that men who’ve crossed him simply disappear.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’ Gibbs said.

  Christina and Gibbs walked out of the warehouse into the courtyard that had three trucks parked nearby. Gibbs took a deep breath. ‘So that’s what freedom smells like. I had forgotten.’

  Christine guided him to a truck that was the nearest to the Victorian house she had stayed in the previous night.

  ‘Can we have a word, Deputy Minister?’ said Killey, who was standing near the truck.

  ‘What is it?’ she said.

  ‘The charming German captain over there told us what Gibbs has done, and we would request to join up and serve alongside him. We can’t have the boss man having all the fun on his own,’ Killey said.

  ‘All of you want to join up?’ she said.

  They all nodded.

  ‘Fine, get up there then,’ she said, stepping aside so they could climb onto the truck.

  Christina looked across the courtyard at Markus, who gave her a cold stare. She turned away shaking her head.

  Chapter 15

  Northern Ethiopia, Africa - 2028

  The small group moved quickly along an old sandy road that passed between the lakes of the old Abijatta-Shalla National Park. A few acacia thorn trees still littered the plains, but most of the savannah grasslands had disappeared. The last antelope had been hunted for food long before they got there and all that remained were the occasional sun-bleached bones reminiscent of a more abundant time.

  Chilemba brought the weary group of men to a stop near two large trees.

  ‘Let us rest for a while, men,’ he said.

  ‘We have very little food left, Chilemba,’ Jackson said as he took the pack off his back and sat down next to his friend.

  ‘Everyone! Bring me what you have left and let us see,’ Chilemba said.

  The meagre pickings included a few handfuls of meal and rice, leather bundles of dried herbs and spices, dried beans and a few dried fish.

  ‘This is only enough food for two days’ travel. We shall walk from now on instead of running and travel in the coolness of the night and early morning. That will save energy.’

  They packed up the remaining food and continued walking. One of the men asked Chilemba. ‘Will there be plenty of food in Europe?’

  ‘The missionaries told us of the green lands of plenty, where the people are as fat and full as their cattle. Where if you work hard, you can be rich. We can all work hard, can we not?’

  ‘Yes we can, Chilemba, and then we will not be like them anymore,’ he said pointing to the valley floor at the large group of refugees approaching them.

  Chilemba and Jackson collected some of their valuables that they still possessed and headed over to the refugees. The motley group consisted of elders, dressed in traditional animal skin robes, to little boys in dirty brown shorts.

  As Chilemba and Jackson approached the group, the two elders stepped forward. Both were tall and slim men with red blankets over their shoulders, antelope skins slung around their waists and carrying short thick-bladed spears in their hands.

  ‘Where are you coming from?’ Chilemba asked as they shook hands with the men.

  ‘We have come down from the north and intend to go down through Tanzania then on to Zambia.’

  ‘Is it so bad up north that you would take your family on such a tough journey?’ Jackson asked.

  ‘There is no more water up north. No rain and no rivers for years now. It is best you all head south.’

  ‘We are heading to Ethiopia, then out of Africa to Europe.’

  Both the men nodded their heads.

  ‘We will need food for the journey, so will give you ten US dollars for that female goat,’ Chilemba said.

  The two herdsmen looked at one another and laughed, slapping their bare thighs.

  Jackson took a step closer to them and placed his hand on the handle of his machete.

  ‘Okay, we will give you twenty US dollars then,’ Chilemba added.

  Both men shook their heads. One of them pointed at Chilemba’s machete. ‘Two machetes will get you one goat.’

  ‘Mungiki warriors do not trade their machetes for goats,’ Jackson said.

  ‘Then the Mungiki warriors must go begging.’

  Jacksons swung the AK47 around from his shoulder and levelled it at them. ‘We could simply take the goat.’

  Both herders took a step back. ‘Mungiki warriors do not steal livestock.’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ Chilemba said and nodded to Jackson, who lowered the weapon. ‘We have a long-handled axe back with the rest of our men. Will that do for two of your goats?’

  Both herdsmen broke out into broad smiles of relief and stuck out their hands to seal the deal. Chilemba knew that they would miss the long axe, but they needed to eat.

  One of the goats was quickly slaughtered and skinned, and the meat soon sizzled over the open fire that the men had made. Chilemba and Jackson sat together.

  ‘Where to now, brother?’ Jackson asked.

  ‘We should be able to make the big city of Addis Ababa without too many problems. Then I think we will need to hitch a ride to Djibouti.’

  ‘Many
dangers to go, brother.’

  ‘Yes, but think of all the money you will make in Europe.’

  An hour later, the hunger pangs slowly dissipated as the men sat around, laughing and chatting about the past. The sun slipped below the dusty horizon, then they settled in for another night beneath the stars.

  • • •

  Before sunrise, the group of men with their goat were on their way again. The green plateau with its abundance of acacia trees slowly gave way to dusty soil-eroded flats. The trees thinned out as was common when you approached a settlement. The smell of sewerage reached them first on the wind, as they walked past the first shanty hut. They had reached the old trading town of Lagano.

  ‘Men spread out and speak to all the traders. See if we can get a lift north,’ Chilemba said.

  He was busy kneeling over a trader’s sheet on the ground, full of bits of metal tubing, rubber piping and other second-hand junk when Jackson walked up.

  ‘Brother, we have a chance to get on a truck heading to Addis Ababa,’ he said.

  ‘A truck?’

  ‘Ethiopian military heading north,’ Jackson said.

  ‘What price?’ Chilemba asked.

  ‘That noisy goat and our AK-47s,’ Jackson replied.

  Chilemba looked at his friend and thought for a moment. ‘We can still keep the pistols?’ he asked.

  ‘They do not know we have them,’ Jackson replied.

  The men all gathered together and walked around to where the old military trucks were standing in a disused taxi rank. They barely looked roadworthy, with the green paint peeling off the bodywork and large rusty holes gaping everywhere. A short, older man wearing a dirty colonel’s uniform eagerly took the goat off their hands and instructed two of his soldiers to collect the AK47s and all the remaining ammunition.

  ‘Don’t stand there. Get in the back of the truck,’ the colonel said.

  The four-hour truck trip was hell for the men, as the metal sidings of the cab at the back had next to no ventilation to cool them. The back was open and allowed the red dust to curl up from the back wheels to loop up into the cab. The colonel had given them small bottles of water to pass around, and they held on for dear life as the truck rolled around on its expired suspension. They finally limped into the bustling Addis Ababa in the late afternoon.

  Colonel Wondimu dropped Chilemba’s group off in the centre of the local trader’s market, before continuing his journey. The group stood stretching and looking around the market when two of Chilemba’s men approached him. ‘Chilemba, we have been running enough now. We both want to stay here in the city and try to make a living.’

  Jackson stepped forward. ‘What! For all that Chilemba has done for you? You now decide to abandon him.’

  ‘It’s okay, Jackson,’ Chilemba said. ‘Brothers, even though I believe your decision to be a mistake, and think you would be better off staying with us, I respect your decision. Go in peace, fellow warriors.’

  • • •

  Two days passed slowly for the remaining four members of the Mungiki gang as they spent their time in the crime-riddled city of Addis Ababa. On the third day, they headed north out of the city by walking along the main railway line, until they finally came to a railway siding. The siding served as a coal depot for the old steam train they were told was still in operation. The men who stood around near the siding confirmed that the train to Djibouti would stop to restock with coal.

  After a couple of hours of them sitting around patiently on the concrete siding, the black steam engine slowly pulled up to the siding and came to a halt with a massive burst of white steam and a thunderous shudder. Four men pulled a horse and cart up to the side of the steam engine and started shovelling coal, as another swung an overhead pipe across to fill up the water tank. Chilemba passed all the scurrying travellers who were eager to use the nearby siding building as a toilet and walked up to the driver.

  ‘Hello, old father,’ Chilemba said, showing reverence. ‘Can we get on this train? We need to get to the harbour in Djibouti?’

  The train driver scratched his grey head under his faded green cap. ‘The coaches are all full of cargo and passengers. I do not think there is even space between the carriages.’

  ‘We will be happy sitting on the roof if you do not mind?’ Chilemba said.

  The driver shrugged his shoulders. ‘Many die doing that, my young friend. If you accept the risk, then I will not stop you.’

  Chilemba and his men walked along the length of the carriages, with vendors stuffing trays of fruit and food into their faces, hoping for a sale. They climbed into the back of the last carriage and settled down on top of the roof.

  ‘The driver says it will take twenty-four hours to get to Djibouti, so we will need to look out for each other,’ said Chilemba.

  ‘As always, brother,’ Jackson said as he shifted into place next to Chilemba. They all removed their army belts, strung them all together and made a strap that spanned the roof that allowed them to slip their legs underneath it for safety. A few minutes later, the driver pulled on the whistle cord, and a high-pitched shriek went out across the siding. With severe shudders and jolts, the steam engine pulled its heavy load away from Addis Ababa.

  • • •

  The men dozed, leaning up against one another as the train eventually slowed down to wait for the last signals to be switched, ushering them onto the line and into their end destination. They wearily climbed down from the carriage roof at the old La Gare station platform in Djibouti. Beggars and street urchins harassed the passengers and Chilemba looked across the crowd and saw the grey-haired train driver standing at a street trader’s stall.

  ‘Greetings, old father,’ Chilemba said. ‘Can you point us in the direction of the harbour?’

  ‘It is straight down the main street there. At the T-junction, turn right and head for the large metal cranes. But you do know that it is flooded now?’

  ‘Thank you, old father,’ Chilemba said and bowed slightly.

  As they walked, Jackson said,’ What does he mean, flooded? That is what a harbour is for, is it not. Does that mean our journey has been for nothing?’

  ‘I do not know, brother. Be patient. We will see when we get there.’

  The men walked slowly through the city slum area and were careful not to attract any attention to themselves from the local gangs controlling the surrounding area. Half-naked children played alongside open sewerage trenches, and the odour of a nearby rotting corpse burnt their nostrils. Around the corner, an emaciated dog ran up and growled at Chilemba, more in defence than malice. After a quick flick of Chilemba’s hand, the mangy animal turned and ran off down the street.

  They arrived at the outer limits of the corrugated shanty town and saw what the old man had meant. The roads and walkways were caked in a brown briny sludge from the tide. Old rusty cranes and cargo hoists jutted up out of the muddy water as far as the eye could see. Warehouses were up to their windows in water, and occasionally a rowing boat could be seen, rowing frantically across the watery expanse. The once thriving harbour that held back the might of the ocean had finally been recaptured and only a few ships, moored to the long harbour wall that jutted out into the ocean, served as a reminder of a once busy port.

  ‘Since when has the sea risen up and taken the low-lying lands, brother?’ Jackson asked.

  ‘I do not know, brother,’ Chilemba answered. ‘It’s bone dry in the centre of Africa, so maybe all the water has just run off the land into the sea.’

  They both nodded in agreement. That had to be the logical explanation.

  The group wandered around the new shoreline that the sea had carved out, past flooded houses and a school, and came upon a piece of higher ground where many traders and fisherman had hauled sailboats up onto the shore to sell and trade their wares. Jackson went over to an old fisherman to explain to them their intended plan. Chilemba and the others watched with interest as he spoke to an older man and his son. After a while, Jackson returned t
o the group.

  ‘There is a captain currently running trips out of Djibouti to France. His name is Zafir Nasri.’

  ‘Is he here in Djibouti now?’ Chilemba said.

  ‘Yes, but the old man said not to trade with him as he is an evil man and not to be trusted,’ Jackson said.

  ‘Sounds like a man we can do business with. Where can we find him?’ Chilemba said.

  ‘The market, behind you,’ Jackson replied.

  Chilemba turned around and saw a group of men standing in the centre of the makeshift market, he headed over to find out where he could find Zafir Nasri. They directed him passed a littered open area to a group of well-dressed men. As he approached, he saw a tall Arabic-looking man talking and gesticulating to another fair-skinned man, who in turn nodded respectfully and then turned and walked away. Confident that this was the man he had to talk to Chilemba, followed by his men, walked up to the striking character.

  ‘Zafir Nasri?’ Chilemba said.

  ‘I am Captain Nasri,’ the man answered. Chilemba looked at the tall man of Arabian descent, with his sharp nose and neatly trimmed beard, wearing tan coloured pants tucked into dark brown boots. He wore the traditional Keffiyeh on his head that draped around his neck, and down the front of his white cotton shirt.

  ‘I hear that you are the man to speak to about getting to Europe,’ Chilemba said.

  There was a calculating glint in the man’s eyes, and he replied. ‘How many of you are travelling?’

  ‘Four,’ Chilemba replied.

  ‘How much money do you have?’

  ‘Two thousand US dollars.’

  The ship captain burst out laughing. ‘That wouldn’t get you four across the harbour. Five thousand US dollars is the going rate. Do not insult me and waste my time. Come back when you have more money.’

  Jackson moved closer to Nasri and slipped the old Beretta 9mm pistol from his belt. The tall ship’s captain smiled. ‘My friend, that would be very foolish. Look around you. From the moment you approached me, my men have had their eyes, and weapons, trained on you.’

  Out of the shadowy alleys of the shanty town, several men appeared, with a variety of machine guns trained on the four Kenyans.