'Now calm down, my dear, or I will be forced to sedate you for the trip too. Who will then care for this cute little boy?' she said, ruffling his white hair.
Christina fought the instinct to fight on, the woman was right. Now was not the time to fight or try to escape. She had to protect Stuart from these thugs. Other opportunities would present themselves. She went limp in the chair.
'See, child, isn't that much better,' Helga said to her and took the cap off another syringe. 'This will help Stuart with any motion sickness for the first few days while he gets used to the…'
'Enough of this chattering, old woman,' Woolf shouted. 'Finish what you are doing.'
The matron finished injecting the tearful Stuart with a clear liquid then stood back. Christina looked up at Woolf as he took out a small silver digital camera and took a few photos of them.
'Untie her,' he said.
Christina ripped the tape from her mouth after they cut her ties and made a grab for her sobbing son. The four men moved in again and dragged her towards the door. She tried to kick and lash out, but they were too strong. Stuart smiled, and then his head dropped forward a few times as the drugs took effect.
Woolf walked up to her and leant in towards her face. 'See what you have done, Christina. This was your entire fault. I told Lord Butler that you’ve been misbehaving, and he told me to separate you from your son until you could calm down.'
Christina head-butted Woolf. A sickening crack reverberated through the room as he reeled backwards, the blow catching him full on the cheek.
'Arrrrhhhh…' he shouted then swung a backhand across her face, snapping her head to the side.
'Take her to her room and lock her up without any food. Tell Owen to stay away from her too. I don't want him smuggling stuff to her.’
Tears flowed down her cheeks and her legs went limp from the blow.
• • •
Woolf stood in the doorway to the adjacent room, grinding his teeth as he attempted to think away the pain from the head-butt. The room had several tall metal cupboards and glass-fronted cabinets against both the left and right walls. At the back wall, stood a small desk with a laptop and brown folders on the top. Several chests of drawers were just inside the doorway. In the middle of the room was a small operating table that was positioned under a large surgical lamp. Helga had placed Stuart on the table and was busy linking him up to a small trolley of monitors. Two men were standing at the table, already wearing surgical gowns and masks.
Helga pulled back from the table and nodded to the surgeon. Walking out the room she gave Woolf an icy stare then left with a shake of her head. Woolf followed her out and walked down a small corridor and then out of a side door into the Glasgow rain. He stood under the lean-to that covered the door and took out a pack of cigarettes from his top pocket. Taking a long draw, he felt happier. Lord Butler was going to be pleased with him.
Thirty minutes later he was back inside in a small office and reading some email. A cough from the door drew his eyes upwards. Helga stood in the doorway scowling at him. She walked up to him with an object wrapped in white cloth in her hands and left it on the wooden desktop.
'This is not right, Woolf,' she said. 'We should not be doing this.’
'Shut up, Helga. If any of Butler's pretty boys or other informers hear such dissent and report back to him, you will be killed, or worse, infected with the virus.'
'I do not care anymore, Woolf. It is despicable what he is making us do.'
'Get out, woman, and go back to your vodka. When you signed up to this, you swore your loyalty to him, so stay quiet if you want to live.'
Her eyes narrowed as she chewed the inside of her lip, then she turned and slammed the door behind her.
Woolf reached across the desk and grabbed the metal box. He opened and looked at the object inside. Opening the metal desk drawer, he pulled out the piece of burgundy cloth with the Butler crest on it and also a small American flag. Folding them neatly together, he placed them in the box.
Chapter 16
Carshalton Estate, Surrey, England, UK - 2033
The two horses reared back on their hind legs, pulling the rope through Gibbs's gloved hands. The fox skirted the furthest point of the paddock, head down to the ground and sniffing for a meal. It had always been a nuisance to the animals. Since a run in with the curious creature when they were foals, the horses had always been edgy.
'Whoa!' Gibbs shouted and leant back on the rope with his body weight to pull them towards the stable. 'Easy there! Come on, girls.'
The two horses kicked a little more then finally capitulated and walked forward into the double stable. Gibbs slammed the door shut after them. Someone needed to ride them urgently but that was Christina and Kat's job, and it had now been three days since the kidnapping.
'Gibbs?' a female voice shouted from outside the stable, Gibbs spun around in hope. It was Amanda, a commune worker and a friend.
Gibbs walked around the corner, and she was walking towards him with long strides in her black jeans and Wellingtons. Brown long hair flowed down her shoulders across her red jacket. 'Hello, Amanda.'
'Hello, pet. There's a delivery man up at the house. He has a parcel with him which he will only place in your hands,' she said.
'Is Warren not about?' Gibbs asked as they started walking up the small path back to the house.
'The poor boy is finally sleeping after the last few trips into the Floodzone, so I thought it best to let him rest,' she said. 'Is there any more news?'
Gibbs shook his head. 'Nothing new. We are still going into the Floodzone with Andrei's NEG troops and have confirmed that the kidnappers have headed north. Andrei is keeping communications open with the other Warlords, so we just have to wait and hope.'
'Please promise me that you will get some rest, Gibbs, what with all the searching and trying to keep this place ticking over,' she said. 'We can handle ourselves here, you know.'
Gibbs smiled and put his arms around Amanda's shoulders as they walked. 'I know that you folks can handle the commune. It's just that I need something to keep me busy until we hear back from Andrei.'
'And then what? What if the NEG troop cannot locate them?'
Gibbs walked in silence for a few seconds. 'Then, Warren and I will make a few calls and get some of my old army boys together. We will go north and find them. No matter how long it takes.'
Amanda gave him a big squeeze as they walked through a small wooden gate onto a wide expanse of stone shingle that was laid around the perimeter of the white walls of Carshalton House.
'I'll go inside and get the kettle on, shall I,' she said and ducked in through a green side door that was surrounded by dark green ivy. Gibbs smiled and continued to walk around the house. A spot of the wall, where the paint was peeling, caught his eye, and he made a mental note to get one of the men to repair and paint it.
'Hi there!' he shouted to the delivery man who was sitting inside the doorway of the sliding door of the white van. The man took a draw on a cigarette and then killed it by rubbing it on the inside of the door. Placing the extinguished butt in his top pocket, he stood up as Gibbs arrived and reached around to fetch something from alongside the pile of hessian sacks he was transporting.
'You are Mr Gibbs, I take it,' the driver said. Gibbs nodded. 'I have a small parcel that I was paid to deliver and hand to you personally,' he said and handed the object wrapped in old newspaper. The delivery man turned and dragged the large sliding door closed, slamming it with a bang.
'We have the kettle on, so you are welcome to have a mug of tea for your troubles,' Gibbs said to the waiting man as he stood by the open driver's door.
'Thanks, mate, I would love to, but I have to get these sacks delivered.'
Gibbs tore open the paper and lifted the lid of the box. He frowned a little as he lifted a small American flag out of the box then his heart started to beat faster. Opening the cloth wrapping stopped him dead. All the air was smashed out of him, and he gasped
for breath. The world started to spin.
'Oh my God, what the fuck is that?' the driver said, taking a step forward.
Gibbs exploded at the sight of Stuart's little finger wrapped in the embroidered crest of Lord Butler.
'Bastards!' he screamed and dropped the parcel in the driveway, lunging at the driver. He swung a left fist at the man's head that landed with a crack, sending the man crashing backwards into the driver's door, as a right hook smashed into his mouth, splitting his lip in a mist of red. With a thud, the man collapsed onto the ground, leaning up against the open door, his eyes rolling.
Gibbs looked to the sky then screamed out in anguish, a guttural, animal roar to the heavens. How could someone do this to a four-year-old boy? Gibbs clenched his fists and looked down at the drowsy driver. Reaching down with his right hand, he grabbed the man by his long brown hair causing him to groan as he dragged him up to his feet. Gibbs's left hand gripped the man's throat and pushed him up against the van door.
'Who gave you the parcel?
The man's eyes darted around with fear, struggling to take a breath. He gargled as he tried to say something.
'I'll give you one chance before I take you to the workshop and go to town on your hands and feet with a nail gun,' Gibbs said through gritted teeth.
The tightening of his grip on the man's throat caused a gurgling sound from his mouth. Eyes bulging as he started to turn crimson and blue, both the driver's hands scratched at Gibbs's arm trying to loosen the vice-like grip. Gibbs blinked a few times and then slowly released his grip, to the sound of a long rasping breath.
Standing back from the driver he said, 'Who gave you the parcel and where? Tell me everything, now.'
'It was a tall blond man. He didn't give his name. A huge German fella. They paid me…'
The driver's forehead exploded outward in a spray of blood, closely followed by a second bullet that nicked the top of the driver's head as he fell.
'No!' Gibbs screamed as he dropped to his knees in the driveway behind the dead man who had slumped forward.
The sniper line must have come from the top main gate of the farm. Gibbs peered around the open driver's door a few times, scanning the horizon up along their top wheat field. In the narrow entrance road, he saw a white van parked.
Two bullets smashed through the open door, and Gibbs dropped to his chest on the ground, trying to get a fix on the shooter. Fifty metres to the right of a van, the figure of a man broke cover and ran in a low crouch along the small perimeter hedge. Sprinting back to the main road he carried a long barrelled rifle in his hand.
Jumping up, Gibbs saw the keys still in the ignition. He raced back towards the kitchen, looking back to see that the shooter had jumped into his van and was reversing out of the single farm lane. Gibbs burst through the door, causing Amanda to scream with fright. Warren, whose head was still on his arms on the kitchen table, jumped up, dazed from a deep sleep, 'What the hell, Gibbs, we'll die of bloody heart failure,' he said.
Gibbs ran over to one of the cabinets and reached above it, his fingers grabbing the cool barrel of the Franchi semi-automatic shotgun. Pulling it down and placing it on the kitchen counter, he opened the cereal cupboard and took out a box of shells.
'What the hell is happening, Gibbs? Have you heard something about Kat and Christina?' Warren asked as he came and stood beside Gibbs.
'Call Andrei on the house satphone. Get him to call me back in exactly five minutes. Tell him to get two groups of five men into their armoured vans ready for me,' Gibbs said, taking five more shells out of the box and placing them in his top pocket.
'Where are you going?'
'Just call him and tell him I am onto something.'
‘Must I come with you?'
'Stay here and call him, damn it,' Gibbs said and ran out the kitchen.
Making it back to the van, he stopped and picked up the small metal box from the ground and placed everything back inside. He turned and threw it to Warren who was standing in the doorway, the phone up to his ear. Gibbs jumped in and started the van. Switching a toggle over to the hydrogen cell, it would give him a better top end speed over using just the Fusion drive.
The van slipped silently through the gate as Gibbs slammed the tiptronic gearbox forward and backwards. Sliding around a bend to the right he had a view across a span of green fields to the main road in the distance. The glimpse of the white roof of a van heading back towards London made him drop to a lower gear, adrenaline spiking within him.
Arriving at the main road, Gibbs dropped two gears and yanked the steering wheel to the left. The van bounced onto the tar, wheels screeching with the change in surface, the momentum forcing him to drift into the oncoming lane, in front of a large truck. The truck swerved, to the right and went off the road into another wheat field, narrowly missing Gibbs, who counter-steered back into the left lane.
They’ll pay with their lives for this. Reaching across the seat, he grabbed the shotgun and dragged the stock across his legs. Pulling the shells out of his top pocket, he flipped the shotgun over and pushed five shells into the magazine loading port below the bolt. Wedging his knees under the steering wheel, he waited for a straight bit of road then used both hands to drag the bolt back, letting it slam closed. Feeling for the small safety button behind the trigger guard, he clicked it off.
Gibbs scanned the winding road ahead and realised he was not gaining on the van. The man was in a hurry. Thoughts and memories from his SAS training days flooded back as he downshifted again to race up a small hill. They would soon reach the A3 motorway.
The satphone rang on the seat next to him. 'Andrei?'
'What is going on, Gibbs?
'Butler has declared this all a personal vendetta. He fucking cut Stuart's little finger off and sent it to me.'
'What?'
'The parcel was hand delivered, and before I could get any details from the driver, he was eliminated by a sniper who must have followed him. I am chasing the shooter now. We have just driven onto the A3 heading towards London.'
'I have two teams ready as you asked. Where do you think he will go?'
'I am sure that he will head towards London now that I am on his tail. The delivery man who was shot said he was given the parcel by a large German, so it must have been the same bastard who murdered Tom. I watched them escape in a boat to the north bank of the Thames, so I guess that is where the shooter is headed.'
'How can you be so sure?'
'Because, that’s what I would do. He is a pro, Andrei,' Gibbs said. 'That was a four-hundred-metre shot, across a windy field. He's not some dopey floodlander, so I am sure our German friend will want him to return. Have one team head towards the Waterloo area and the other towards the Richmond area. Text their satphone numbers to me and I'll call once we get closer to direct them.'
• • •
'Get ready to move,' Gibbs shouted into the satphone. 'I've caught up with him, and he is heading across a small grass section in a westerly direction along Mill Hill Road and past the old Putney Hospital. Heading towards Barnes.'
The van ahead of him swerved as a scavenger with an old shopping trolley full scrap scurried off the main road and into a small ditch, shouting and flipping them the finger as they drove past. The back end of the van fishtailed viciously, and the shooter had to correct by vaulting the pavement and cutting through another small field.
'Wait! He might be doubling back,' Gibbs shouted into the phone and followed him through the field.
Gibbs glanced at the bright green meter in the dashboard. The battery was on half charge. This hard driving was draining power quickly. It would be no different for the shooter in front of him. The van veered to the right again, aiming back at the main road as a flock of pigeons burst up out of the grass, clearing the roof with only feathers to spare.
'Wait, he is heading back to Barnes. Call the other team and tell them to start moving towards us to close the net. When he gets to Barnes, he can either go left towards you
or right towards them. Call Andrei, tell him to get someone on the other side of the river in case the shooter has a boat waiting. It's low tide, but it might be a small water taxi,' he shouted and ended the call.
Grabbing the shotgun, Gibbs rested it on the broken side mirror and leant out the window. Steering his van across to the right, he aimed at the driver's window. The shotgun recoiled as the discharge of buckshot tore through the other vehicle’s door and shattered the side window. The driver swerved to the right, cutting off the angle for another shot, then switched into the oncoming lane.
'Clever man,' Gibbs said. 'A pro indeed.'
They raced through an intersection, causing a new green fusion tractor with a trailer to veer into a small thicket at the side of the road. The shooter raced up to a T-junction and skidded around to the right, firing a pistol at Gibbs from out of the window. Two bullets cracked through the top of the windshield on the passenger side. Gibbs fire twice. The first ripped a small hole in the panel behind the driver, the second ripped into the shooter's retreating arm. The pistol fell into the road just before Gibbs lost the angle again as he followed the careering vehicle around to the left.
The slimy streets of Barnes showed the visible signs that they were now in the Floodzone. Sandbagged houses and businesses lined the streets, grass and branches were washed in by the flood, wedged into desolate doorways. Gibbs geared down to take a left turn as they passed by old abandoned shop fronts and bars. The concrete floodwall that loomed on the riverbank ahead of them was the key T-junction. Gibbs placed the shotgun out the window again. The shooter up ahead once again let the van drift to the right to protect the angle.
'Fucker!' Gibbs shouted and adjusted his aim.
Two loud retorts and the back right metal mud flap disappeared. The back tyre burst causing the van to swing to the left into some large metal crates, sending them spinning back out into Gibbs's path. He snapped the steering wheel to the left, and the van swerved. A large crate slapped the side of his van, sending him swerving to the right towards a brick wall. Instinctively he steered the van back to the left, but the back of the van slammed the wall and skidded back across the street. As the wheel jammed into a pothole, the van flipped onto its side and spun around.
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