The Journey of Kyle Gibbs Box Set Page 3

  He stepped aside to let Alex enter. ‘You people disgust me.’

  ‘Your luggage, Mr Singh,’ Alex said, pointing to the pile of suitcases that had been packed already.

  Monhinder stared them and then back at Alex. ‘You will get what’s coming to you. I promise you.’

  Alex smiled. ‘As will you, sir.’

  A bald, heavy-set man in a dark blue overall stepped out from behind the door and crept up behind the billionaire, slipping a yellow nylon noose over his head. ‘What the?’ he screamed, clawing at the tightening noose.

  A third man with a physique of a bodybuilder ran out from the en-suite bathroom and tackled Monhinder to the ground, subduing him under his weight. Alex grabbed the loose end of the rope and flung it over one of the big ornate oak beams in the room ceiling. The bodybuilder pulled on it slowly, lifting Monhinder into the air. As his legs lifted off the ground, his feet kicked out wildly as he scratched at the noose on his neck.

  Alex Brun checked that the long corridor behind him was empty and walked back into the room, closing the door behind him.

  Alex grabbed a radio from his jacket pocket. ‘Security, kill all recording devices in room twelve. Mr Singh’s room. Copy that?’

  ‘Copy, sir. Killing all feeds to twelve.’

  Alex walked over to a rectangular mirror and pulled on the left side. It swung open to reveal three hidden shelves. He watched the red light on the router, which was next to two recording devices, flicker and then go black. A groan from his subject yanked him back to the room.

  ‘Don’t kill him, you idiots. Lower him until his toes touch the ground.’

  Slipping an old straight razor with an ivory handle out of his pocket, he lovingly slid his thumb over the blade, drawing a droplet of blood. Now was his turn for pain and pleasure.

  Chapter 4

  Camp Bastion, Afghanistan - 2013

  A hot wind blew a swirl of dust and debris through the opening of the beige tent. The uncomfortable heat sapped all the energy of the tired soldiers who sat on an old paisley print couch in the centre of the floor. Eight green army bunks were made up and lined along the sides of an adjoining tent. Gibbs and Killey were playing football on a games console, which was one of the preferred ways for soldiers to pass the time between assignments.

  ‘Are you boys Gibbs and Killey?’ a soldier asked, entering through the canvas tent flaps.

  They both nodded without taking their eyes away from the TV screen. ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘Fraser Byrne, but everyone calls me Shredder,’ he said, and threw his kit down onto an empty army bunk. ‘I come bearing welcome gifts for you. And your new orders, well, our new orders really, because I have the misfortune of joining your unit.’

  Gibbs stood up to shake his hand and was surprised at how tall the new man was. Gibbs stood over six feet tall and was now looking into the new man’s neck. ‘Damn, Shredder. You’re one lanky piece of shit.’

  ‘First prize goes to you, young man, for stating the bloody obvious.’

  ‘You could probably hunt flying geese with a rake,’ Gibbs said, returning to his seat.

  ‘Good God. Is that the quality of the jokes around here? It looks like I got here just in the nick of time to rescue this show before it tanks,’ Shredder said.

  Gibbs smiled at their newest member. He would fit in perfectly. ‘You mentioned something about our orders?’

  ‘Aye, we’re all heading to Baghdad for a spell of covert protection of some inbound British dignitaries,’ Shredder said with a thick Scottish accent.

  ‘That’s just bloody great, more VIP shit,’ Killey said, tossing a chocolate bar across to Shredder. ‘I suppose it beats sitting around here and kicking Gibbs’s arse at football all day long.’

  ‘Old man, you’ve yet to score a goal against my fantasy team, let alone win a game,’ Gibbs smiled, leaning back as he clicked on the game controller in his hands.

  ‘These games are all you’re good at, sonny,’ Killey said, kicking out his boot at Gibbs’s bare feet. ‘Your girlfriend told me that last week.’

  Gibbs flipped him the middle finger.

  ‘So, Shredder, where does that ridiculous nickname come from? I suppose you shredded some poor bastard with a knife?’ asked Killey.

  ‘Nah. Nothing that bloody morbid. I used to love Shredded Wheat cereal during basic training. Ate it all the time, so the name stuck.’

  ‘You any relation to Jaime Byrne from Stonehaven or Aberdeen ways?’ Gibbs asked, putting the game controls down.

  ‘Jaime Byrne. Aye, he’s a distant cousin of mine or something like that. Scrawny little runt. I take it you know him then?’

  ‘We grew up in Stonehaven together and were best mates back then. I’ve tried to contact him a few times when I was back up in Aberdeen, but I think he moved away.’

  ‘I’d say he’s moved away alright,’ Shredder said. ‘When was the last time that you heard from the little shit?’

  ‘Not sure. The end of 2005, I think,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘You wouldn’t have heard them. He’s in prison for manslaughter,’ Shredder said, unwrapping his bar of chocolate.

  ‘What?’ Gibbs said and turned to face the new man.

  ‘He got in with a bad crowd in high school, and they expelled them for selling heroin to fellow students. Jaime was an addict by then and got thrown out of home. I’m told he lived on the streets after that, and you know where it goes from there.’

  Shredder got up and slowly walked over to his large brown duffle bag lying on the bunk. He rummaged around inside it and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Like an old Western cowboy, he pulled the cork out with his teeth and had a long swig, then passed it around to the other two men.

  ‘What did he do to get manslaughter?’ Gibbs asked.

  ‘He had to pay for the habit and got caught stealing clothes from a department store in Aberdeen. There was a chase, and he bolted out into the street to get away from the store security only to run into two plainclothes policemen who also picked up the chase. The fool got cornered in a student bar and grabbed a young woman as a hostage. The situation escalated quickly once the armed police arrived. You know how twitchy those idiots are. While trying to avoid being tasered by one of the officers, Jaime tripped and fell while still holding the girl and accidentally stabbed her. She died at the scene.’

  Gibbs was silent. He sat back down on the couch, the bottle of whiskey in his hand. Guilt flowed through him as he pictured the face of his friend, tears streaming down his freckled face. He’d left him behind at the bus stop all those years ago. It wouldn’t have taken much more convincing to talk him into getting on board with him. Why hadn’t he?

  ‘We’d planned to run away from Stonehaven together and join the North Sea fishing fleet. You know how teenage boys are. We wanted to get away from the drunken abuse we were living with. Jaime got cold feet and stayed behind to look after his little brother. It could all have been so different now,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Jaime’s old man was a right royal bastard,’ Shredder said. ‘Why did you leave?’

  ‘Our fathers could’ve been twins,’ Gibbs said and swigged more whiskey.

  Chapter 5

  Grosvenor House, Hyde Park, London, England, UK - 2015

  Two years later in an affluent Victorian apartment overlooking the green expanse of Hyde Park in London, the figure of a man stirred in his antique high wing-backed chair as he slipped his legs off the leather-covered footstool. Leaning forward to reach for a smouldering Montecristo cigar from the crystal ashtray, he took another long draw, allowing the dark, warm aroma to fill all the reaches of his lungs. He carried on reading the crumpled copy of the Financial Times and exhaled slowly, allowing the ghostly breath to wisp up over the top of the front-page headline, MARKET CRASH – GLOBAL DEPRESSION.

  The man took another long pull on the cigar and grinned. It was all going swimmingly.

  ‘Shall I pour you a drink to celebrate with, sir?’ Alex Brun asked.

&n
bsp; ‘Excellent idea, Alex. Pour me a double of the Oban Special Edition. I know it’s crude to celebrate the decline of our civilisation, but 2015 will go down in our history as a defining moment that shaped the destiny of this planet. With all the shares that have been dumped and the run on the banks, it was only a matter of time before it all collapsed in on itself. The world ruled by bankers and computer geeks is over. We’ve worked damn hard to position ourselves to make a huge windfall during this time. We are now in control.’

  ‘Your mother would be so proud, sir.’

  ‘That she would, my friend,’ Lord Butler said, looking at the ember of the cigar which he blew on lightly. ‘I’ve come a long way from all that darkness. I owe her so much for getting me out of there.’

  ‘Now is the time to cherish and enjoy it. I’ll get the Oban,’ Alex said.

  A massive explosion erupted somewhere in the park and shattered the apartment’s bay window. The huge velvet curtains billowed inwards from the explosion, blowing papers off the dining room table and clear across the room. Alex dropped the whiskey and dived on top of Lord Butler to shield him from any debris.

  ‘Bloody heck!’ Lord Butler shouted, feeling sick with shock, his stomach balled up into his lungs, like he couldn’t breathe.

  Both men stood up and walked over to the wrecked window. ‘Thank you, Alex. I fear we’re witnessing the start of the violence for the night.’

  Alex nodded as he pulled back the curtains then dusted glass fragments from Lord Butler’s dinner jacket. ‘The numbers of protesters have doubled in the park since yesterday. The building supervisor believes they may be taking on the military again tonight by breaking curfew.’

  ‘I can see that. Such stupidity really because it will give the military the excuse to open fire. Maybe it’s time to leave for the safety of Carshalton House,’ Lord Butler said, standing calmly at the window, the golden light from the flames lighting up his face. He smiled at the chaos and flames below. ‘Send for maintenance. Let them know that there are a few bits of broken glass up here.’

  A few minutes later the stuttering of machine gun fire could be heard across the park, intermingled with angry shouting and the screams from the homeless protestors.

  ‘Are we ready yet, Alex? I need to leave within the next thirty minutes. And don’t forget the new curfew passes again. I don’t want to be held up at any roadblocks this time.’

  ‘I have the new ones,’ Alex said.

  ‘I also need to speak to Secretary Waterfield before I leave, so please get him on the line.’

  Lord Butler stared down at a group of around forty people who were sprinting down the road in front of his building, closely pursued by a green Land Rover. It mounted the pavement after them and smashed through the thin metal railing in pursuit. Chasing the protestors towards a cluster of old oak trees, it veered to the left with the right side of its canopy engulfed in flames. Another Molotov cocktail looped through the night air and smashed into the back of the Land Rover, enveloping it in bright yellow and orange.

  The Land Rover skidded to a stop on the wet grass and soldiers jumped out the back door to escape a fiery death. A rioter stepped up with another glass bottle filled with amber fuel, set the paraffin-soaked cloth that was stuffed down the bottle’s neck alight and prepared to throw it at the vehicle. His body shuddered with bullets from one of the troop’s machine guns, and he fell forward onto the muddy ground, spilling the fuel that set his body on fire.

  The shrill sound of the phone broke Lord Butler’s stare, and he touched his chest in shock.

  ‘Mason?’ he said as he took the phone from Alex.

  ‘Hello, Lord Butler. How are things this evening?’ the deep voice of Secretary Mason Waterfield asked.

  ‘It’s all kicked off here in Hyde Park again. I’m leaving for Carshalton House in the next few moments to get away from the carnage.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, sir,’ Mason said. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Not sure if you’ve read this evenings papers but the moment we’ve planned for is now upon us. Can you call together all the members to the Canary Wharf address for a meeting in two days?’

  A short silence followed. ‘Do you believe it’s time to come out of the shadows?’ Mason asked.

  ‘Yes, I do. We’ve to formally start looking after what’s left of our planet’s resources. We can no longer allow the governments of the world to keep working in isolation or against one another. As they’ve demonstrated over the past few months, they’re barely able to control their own people, never mind cooperate on a project of this scale. The planet’s assets, along with our accumulated interests, must be centralised and preserved.’

  ‘Is Lady Winterton still to be appointed as the first Chairperson?’ Mason said.

  ‘She is, as agreed.’

  ‘Shouldn’t she be the one to call the members together then?’

  ‘It is my vision that got this project ready, so, I’ll call the first meeting. After that, it will revert to the chairman. It’s a mandatory meeting for all members so come back to me when all have confirmed their attendance.’

  Chapter 6

  Grangemouth, Scotland, UK - 2019

  ‘I swear if another person bumps into me tonight, I’ll lay them out in a hospital bed,’ Killey said, shoving the drunken reveller off the pavement and into the empty street. The man mumbled abuse before carrying on through the mass of bodies celebrating the start of Scottish Hogmanay – the last day of the year.

  ‘Let’s not spend the first few days of 2019 in a prison cell, shall we?’ Gibbs said. ‘It’s the first night we’ve managed to get off the bloody base in a while so let’s get drunk and go home with something local and blonde.’

  ‘I’m going to have to smash down a few quick drinks to get on the same level as these clowns,’ Killey said.

  ‘Is this the only place you could find to have a drink in this town? I mean, what sort of bar name is the Earl of Zetland?’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Forget the damn name. It’s a bloody church that’s been converted into a drinking hole,’ Shredder said, looking up at the old gothic spire.

  ‘And when exactly did you get religion, mate?’ Killey asked.

  ‘You don’t have to have religion to realise that you don’t mess with this kind of shit.’

  ‘When we get inside, I’ll order you a glass of bloody church wine, shall I? Now shut up and make yourself useful. Go speak to the bouncer and see if we can jump this queue of teenagers,’ Killey said.

  After a bit of wrangling at the door, the group of soldiers walked into the cramped, bustling interior of the old church. The smell of sweat and smoke machine assaulted the senses. Gibbs looked at the writhing mass on the dance floor, pulsing in sequence to a heavy bass beat. A wall of glass blocked some of the sound as they walked left of the dance floor. The high ribbed vaulted ceiling and large organ pipes behind the long bar counter were the only clues to the building’s previous spiritual incarnation. As they moved past the wall of glass, loud music crackled out of old speakers that were mounted on the gothic pillars along the sides of the church.

  ‘Isn’t that our acting Commanding Officer over there harassing that blonde? ’Killey asked, as they walked up to the bar.

  ‘And so, it is. Captain Warren out drinking with the local townsfolk, no doubt boring them with his tales of wars that he never fought in. Not sure what he’ll say if he sees us here,’ Shredder added. ‘We are supposed to be tucked up in bed.’

  ‘Doesn’t it look like he’s upsetting that girl?’ Gibbs said. ‘I think I should be a gentleman and step in.’

  ‘No. Definitely not,’ Shredder said. ‘We haven’t even had a drink yet, and you want to go and cause trouble. Remind me who said they didn’t want to spend New Year’s Eve in prison. You’ve already had two altercations with that bloody man and both times you ended up in solitary.’

  Killey nodded. ‘Yeah, sit the hell down, boss. Let’s get a few more into us first, and then we can go haras
s our own blondes.’

  ‘What the hell has got into you the last few days?’ Killey said, calling over the spotty-faced teen behind the bar.

  ‘Whose round is it?’ Gibbs said, sliding onto a wooden barstool.

  ‘I’ll get the first one in, grumpy,’ Killey said.

  Gibbs downed the whiskey. ‘It’s just this bloody job we’re on. What sort of operation is it to have SAS regiments protecting a bloody oil refinery? There’s no chance of any decent combat here. No civil war that may cause issues.’

  ‘You need to ask why in today’s world? Someone’s got to protect our oil and gas industry,’ Shredder said.

  ‘From who? Hairy icemen marauding from the bleeding Arctic?’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Whoever the powers that be believe think are going to steal our shit.’

  ‘Shredder, do you genuinely believe that we’ll see any action in this town over the next few months?’ Gibbs asked.

  ‘We’ve had countless missions where we’ve had to sit around babysitting someone or something. What’s the difference here?’

  ‘Don’t you think we’re better than this?’ Gibbs said, downing another shot of whiskey. ‘Aren’t you fed up with babysitting crude oil and taking orders from wannabe officers?’

  ‘We’re fighting men, mate. What else are we good for?’

  ‘I don’t know. Guess I’d just like to get out there and have the chance to find out.’

  ‘You thinking of leaving the service and going civilian, boss?’ Killey said.

  Gibbs shrugged. ‘I’m getting tired of sitting around and wondering what else we could be doing.’

  They all turned their heads towards the sound of a nearby commotion. The sight of Captain Warren falling on top of the scantily clad blonde woman had drawn attention from everyone. He drunkenly pushed himself up off her and received a slap to the face when they got to their feet. The drunk captain pushed the young lady in the chest, shouting incoherently. Her hands went up to her mouth in shock, and her bottom lip quivered.