The Journey of Kyle Gibbs Box Set Page 13

  ‘What?’ John replied. ‘How can you be sure these aren’t Gibbs’s clothes?’

  ‘These are African feet. See toes are spread far apart from not wearing shoes, white soldier’s feet have toes together.’

  ‘Arrrrrgh!’ John screamed, and punched the tracker in his smiling mouth.

  • • •

  ‘Stop the truck right here, Shredder,’ Gibbs said. They pulled over, and all jumped out a few hundred meters short of the main intersection out of town. Shredder reached down to the left front tyre and forced his knife into the threadbare tread, puncturing it in three places. He gave a quick thumbs-up to the second truck, which had the remaining Angolan rebel fighters in it, and then they turned and ran down along the refinery perimeter fence for about two hundred meters towards the sea.

  The big smiles of JP, Killey and seven others greeted them at the meeting point. They continued running along the small wooden marina to two black rubber Zodiacs. Killey had tied them up two days before and hidden them under large tarpaulins, which were quickly removed and disposed of under the jetty.

  ‘Get down, everyone,’ JP shouted, pointing back to the intersection. Three Angolan army trucks pulled up to the crossing. Gibbs’s men all dropped down onto their bellies, their machine guns out in front of them, ready for anything. In silence, they trained their weapons on the Angolan soldiers who got down from their truck and then carefully took their time looking around the abandoned truck. Meanwhile, the second truck turned left at the intersection and sped off in a southerly direction following the rebel fighters.

  The Angolan soldiers stood around the stricken truck and laughed amongst one another as they shared a joke. One of them lit cigarettes and passed them around the group.

  ‘Come on, gents,’ Gibbs whispered, willing them to move off. He unclicked the safety on his weapon and heard everyone around do the same.

  One of the soldiers sat on the ground and was about to lie back in the shade of the truck wheel when a radio broadcast made them all jump up and head back to their truck and drive off.

  With the immediate threat gone, Gibbs and his team jumped down into the Zodiacs. ‘Shredder, let’s move out of here at five-minute intervals. Head across to the peninsula, then turn north-east, parallel to the coast, before doubling back on yourselves towards the Lobito lighthouse. You can see it clearly from out at sea, so make your way to the truck parked in the main car park, we’ll rendezvous there.’

  ‘Roger that. By the way, did you see who was sitting in the front seat of that other truck?’ Shredder said.

  ‘I sure did,’ Gibbs said, smiling as he looked out to sea.

  Chapter 20

  Benguela Road, Angola, Africa - 2019

  John Warren paced back and forth checking his watch, sweat dripping down his temples. The grey, wooden boards of the Lobito marina creaked and groaned under each step. Aged wood, worn smooth by decades of fishermen hauling their catch from the boats. The still water across the bay did little to calm John down as he looked at the large white-tipped waves beyond the peninsula. The rough sea out there could easily conceal a small boat, and he wondered whether Gibbs had left the safety of land as part of his plan. His phone rang, and the caller ID caused his stomach to tighten. Time to face the music.

  ‘How the hell did you let them get away, Captain Warren?’ John Mountford said. ‘We hired you specifically because you said you could neutralise Gibbs and his team in Africa when the time came. You assured us that your plan was simple but effective.’

  ‘Mr Mountford, things don’t always go according to plan on operations like these.’

  The billionaire cut him off. ‘Being prepared for the unexpected goes with the territory on these types of operations, Captain. You should’ve known they wouldn’t roll over and surrender.’

  ‘We were as prepared as we could be.’

  ‘That doesn’t seem to be the case now, does it? Your role was a critical cog in our strategy for Africa, starting with this simple mission. We needed you to frame Gibbs then eliminate his team at the refinery. That’s all you had to do. I’m starting to regret not contracting Sergeant Gibbs to execute this mission rather than you.’

  The silence stretched between them.

  ‘They couldn’t have gotten very far, sir,’ John said, strangling back his rage as he stared back at the two black plumes that came from the refinery.

  ‘Why don’t you get in touch with the contacts you claimed to have in the area and finish the job you were hired to do? I don’t want to hear from you until it is done. What happens if Gibbs and his team realise that they were set up as scapegoats and decide to come after us?’

  ‘I’ll get right on it.’

  ‘You made a mess of this. Make damn sure you clean it up.’ The line went dead.

  • • •

  The Zodiac raced along the calm sea within the safety of the long and sandy Lobito peninsula. Gibbs could see the rest of his team in the other boat a kilometre ahead of him. They had already turned east and were heading straight for the beach below the Lobito lighthouse. He felt calm and determined as the fresh sea air swept around his face. Their exit plan was now in motion, and he knew it was a solid one. Getting back to London was the only priority. The answers to all his questions lay with two men there, and they had to be held accountable for all who died.

  Twenty-five minutes later both teams had reached the sandy beach and successfully hidden the Zodiacs from local prying eyes. The longer they remained undetected, the bigger the gap they could put between themselves and the Angolan authorities pursuing them. Two old green trucks were parked up in the dusty parking lot of the abandoned lighthouse. Gibbs called the group together.

  ‘Gents, as you’ve probably guessed, we are going to have to fly under the radar for a while to get clear of Angola. Neil, you and your team will head inland as discussed, before turning south to go through Botswana and on to Johannesburg. JP, Shredder, Killey and I will head north through the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) to Kenya, before making our way back to Europe,’ Gibbs said.

  Opening up his bag, Gibbs pulled out the brown paper package that JP had given him at the start of the job.

  ‘Here are additional passports I had made before we left London. Memorise your names and come up with a plausible backstory, just in case. Make sure these stories will stand up to questioning because we have no corresponding drivers’ licences or bank accounts.’

  Opening his passport, Killey smiled. ‘Duncan McLeod? Not a stereotypical Scottish name at all.’

  ‘They’re good enough to get us through Africa. We have no credit cards so will settle all bills and bribes in cash,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘This is what you had JP doing behind our backs in London?’ Shredder said. ‘Nice one, boss. We should be able to cross the borders quite easily with these.’

  Nodding his head, Gibbs replied, ‘What’s more, the false identities that we travelled out to Africa on, will now show up as never having returned to the UK. Should anyone be looking for the men who were involved in the coup in Angola, they will draw a blank. If there are no more questions,’ Gibbs said, ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

  ‘Thought you might have got us a more comfortable ride home, boss,’ Shredder said, looking at the trucks.

  ‘It’s more than you bastards deserve. There are hidden compartments behind the drums of diesel in the back of the trucks for us to conceal ourselves in should we need to. Water and mattresses will make it slightly more comfortable on the trip, but we’ll take it in turns up front and also share the driving until we cross the border. We’re being smuggled in under the guise of being diesel traders.’

  JP chuckled as he opened up the driver’s door. ‘No bloody smoking in the back there, children, or we’ll arrive back in London a lot sooner, and in little pieces.’

  • • •

  The journey out of Angola passed by without any incident all the way to the border with the DRC. With the local fixers paving the way and greasing t
he right palms through the border posts, they quickly approached their target, Brazzaville, its capital.

  ‘Jesus, this road is crap. I am going to lose my bloody lunch,’ Killey said, hidden in the back of the dirty truck under layers of wooden pallets. The trucks slowed down again ‘Arrrgh. I hate these frikkin potholes probably more than that idiot Kirkwood.’

  ’That’s the hundredth time you’ve said that,’ Shredder said.

  ’Just putting it out there,’ Killey said, flicking him the middle finger.

  ‘Ssssh,’ Shredder said, raising his finger to his mouth. Before Killey could continue grousing, they heard shouting outside. The truck ground to a complete halt. Gibbs peeked out through a crack in the wooden planks that hid them from view and spotted four African youths carrying AK47s. They stood behind a makeshift roadblock of two forty-four-gallon drums and a large makeshift boom, cut from a nearby acacia tree.

  ‘Bloody kids are playing pirates,’ Gibbs whispered. ‘I hope JP’s fixers can talk our way through here. I don’t want to have to shoot kids.’

  He slipped the Glock17 out of its holster. He raised it and aimed through a gap in the side panels. The young boy who was doing all the shouting was between fourteen and fifteen years old and carried an old Beretta 9mm pistol. The little man was shouting orders while frantically chewing on a piece of gum. Without a word, Shredder and Killey drew their weapons. Gibbs gestured to Killey to move into position on the roof of the truck to get a better vantage point.

  One of the youths walked around to the back of the truck, his AK47 dwarfing him as it hung from a strap around his neck. He chewed his gum frantically, blowing the occasional bubble, then climbed the small three-rung ladder that hung from the back of the truck.

  The young man flipped open the flap of canvas that covered the back and squinted into the darkness as he waited for his eyes to acclimatise to the black interior.

  Gibbs looked back to see that Shredder’s finger was on the trigger, and he clearly had the kid locked in the sights. His breathing had also slowed. The shot was on. Gibbs turned his head back and focused his sights on the other boys outside.

  Shouting and whistling came from the group at the front of the truck as the fixer furiously haggled with them. Laughter erupted as one of the boys raised his AK47 and pointed it at the fixer.

  On the back ladder, the bored youth scanned the metal drums of diesel and stacked pallets of wood then jumped off the back of the truck, satisfied it was empty.

  The shouting and gesticulating continued in front of the truck for another five minutes, when finally the young men accepted their bribe of cash, pencils and JP’s hunting knife. Gibbs could see the young men discussing their trophies as the truck finally passed, big grins on their faces.

  Chapter 21

  Somewhere in southern England, UK - 2019

  Gibbs swayed to the rhythm of the train as it clacked along on the slightly misshapen and bent rail tracks out of Dover. He looked at his reflection in the graffiti-scratched mirror of the grimy train toilet. A tired and gaunt looking man who he barely recognised stared back at him.

  Twenty hours earlier they’d left the heat and mosquito-infested Congo for Nairobi to get a plane to Paris. From there coming through the Channel Tunnel, from a grey and cold Paris Gare du Nord was the easiest way to sneak into the United Kingdom because the border control booths were empty most of the time.

  Gibbs rubbed his face and splashed water on it from the bottle he was carrying. In an hour, they would arrive at Victoria Station and blend back into the chaotic masses of London.

  ‘Come on, boss, get your round of drinks in,’ JP said as Gibbs walked into the empty bar coach. ‘These kind folks serving drinks could do with a bit of cash. One of them just told me that he traded two beers for a packet of potatoes the other day.’

  ‘Potato trading is the new future,’ Gibbs said. ‘Anyway, didn’t I just get one in?’

  ‘You’re the boss. We drink on your account because you nearly got us killed,’ JP said.

  ‘Don’t forget who got us out of it again. You should all be buying me drinks.’

  ‘In the next life maybe. So, what’s the plan now?’ Shredder asked, leaning on the bar staring into the dark pint of stout in his hand.

  ‘Once we hit Victoria, I think it’s best we split up for a few days and find obscure hostels or hotels to stay in. I will contact Sheila every morning and evening around eight. I’ll leave any instructions with her, and you can leave any messages in the same way. If it’s critical, you all know where she lives, but don’t go there unless it’s urgent. I’m going to get hold of Kirkwood personally even if I have to stand outside his office until the little shit shows his face,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘There are many among us who would like a little one on one time with him,’ Shredder said.

  ‘If it turns out that he did set us up, you’ll have to take a bloody number. The more I think about the operation, the more I believe we were meant to get caught by the Angolan government. Someone set us up, and I’m going to find out whose idea it was. In the meanwhile, lie low and keep out of trouble,’ Gibbs said. ‘And, JP, that means paying the strippers for their services this time. No causing a fight simply because you’re lonely.’

  JP grinned and drank his beer.

  • • •

  Gibbs sat on the end of the double bed at the White Lady bed and breakfast. The room was decorated like a country fair, and he hated all the tattered, frilly and lacy fabrics from a time of plenty. It was conveniently located a few streets behind Vauxhall Station, so was pretty central for getting around London. Steam train travel was one of the few reliable forms of travel left, due to a resurgence and easy accessibility of coal in the UK. Lying back on the bed with every intention of having a few hours of sleep, he was kept awake by the nagging urgency to find the people who tried to kill him and his team.

  Picking up the cheap mobile phone he’d bought from a street vendor at Victoria, he dialled a number from memory.

  ‘Hello, lover,’ he said.

  ‘Well hello, stranger, how are you?’ Sheila said.

  ‘Alive and well, thanks. Thought I would just check in and see if you want to hook up tonight.’

  ‘I’m afraid not. I am seeing someone now so our little arrangement will have to be postponed for a while,’ she said.

  ‘What a damn shame,’ Gibbs said. ‘Can’t you send him away for the evening?’

  ‘I am sure Martin would love that.’

  ‘The gang lord? Well, talk of jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire,’ he said.

  ‘Easy, lover,’ she said, laughing out loud. ‘By the way, there were a few calls for you from a Captain Matthews. Apparently, she has transferred down to London and is keen to catch up with you. She sounds like she knew you quite well.’

  ‘She’s my wife.’

  ‘What? You never told me you were married. You cheating bastard.’

  Gibbs interrupted her tirade. ‘You have to stop being so gullible. What has Martin done with your sense of humour?’

  ‘You’re a bloody arse, Gibbs. Do you know that?’ she said.

  ‘I know. Now give me Sharon’s contact number.’

  • • •

  The bitter liquid burnt the back of Gibbs’s throat as he took another long sip of the cheap house red. He looked up at the waiter. ‘Is that the best plonk you have, mate? It could strip paint.’

  The man in the smart white shirt and black apron shrugged and grabbed the jug of wine from the table.

  ‘Leave it,’ Gibbs said. ‘Just call an ambulance and have it wait nearby.’ He smiled and took another sip. He was glad to be back. A feeling of calm filled him as he sat in silence amongst the noisy diners.

  Dexter’s was one of the last few remaining restaurants in Vauxhall, situated on Kennington Lane. In current times, good restaurants were hard to find let alone get into and judging by the queue of people outside trying to get in, it was still quite popular. Serving a tour of duty in
Iraq with the owner had been a help to get a booking.

  ‘Thanks for squeezing me in, Andy,’ Gibbs said, looking up at the tired face of the ex-paratrooper who was wiping his hands on his food-stained white apron.

  ‘Anytime, Gibbs. It’s always great to see a friend from the service. Are you doing well for yourself these days?

  ‘Not too bad, thanks. Still kicking around doing what we do. By the look of it, the restaurant business is booming for you. Loads of hungry people in that queue.’

  ‘Most of them outside are just desperate souls trying to cling to their old way of life, so I guess I shouldn’t complain,’ he said.

  ‘We all do whatever makes us feel normal I suppose. Have you ever thought of getting back into the game? You know, doing more mercenary work. It pays extremely well.’

  ‘I’d love to, but I took a few bullets to the gut and hip on the last job, so I doubt anyone will employ me again.’

  ‘Rubbish, mate. Times have changed. A good soldier is a good soldier and in very short supply. Remind me to give you my number before I leave. There’s a lot of work out there that could use a man with your skills. And I don’t mean your cooking.’

  Andy laughed. ‘Your agent have a lot of work out there?’

  ‘It seems like he has good connections with senior people. Give me a call, and I can make the introductions. You can take it from there.’

  ‘Sure, let’s see what he has.’

  ‘Great. Now, do you have any decent wine hidden away somewhere?’

  Andy smiled and picked up the bottle. ‘That plonk is all you can get nowadays. It’s homemade and kicks like a mule with chillies wedged up his arse. The gang lord who supplies all the local protection in the area also brews this stuff, so I have to buy from him.’

  ‘You taking orders from criminals now?

  ‘That’s the way it works now, mate. If you need something, chances are your local gang will be able to get it for you.’

  Gibbs’s concentration was snapped away from his old friend as Sharon Matthews walked through the door. Gibbs recalled the last time they had met; she was in uniform and staring at him as he lay naked on a bed. He blushed and felt the butterflies in his stomach take off in a swarm. She looked stunning with her shoulder-length blonde hair falling loosely on her brown leather jacket that hung over the skin-tight blue denim jeans she wore.