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  ‘Yes, John, and you will leave with nothing. You of all people understand that all of your assets are tied up in this organisation. Assets may I remind you, that you only inherited,’ Mason said.

  ‘We’re not back to that shit again, are we? Yes, I inherited my money as did most of you old folks. Can we please move on from that snobbery now?’

  ‘It’s very simple, John. Obey the bylaws or leave. That’s what every member across the planet signed up to,’ Mason said, looking at the younger man who was sitting back in his chair, his arms folded.

  John rolled his eyes.

  ‘Moving on with the reason for this meeting,’ Mason said.

  ‘I wait with bated breath, Mr Chairman,’ John replied, waving Mason on.

  Mason paused for effect. ‘It’s become more evident that the UK government is no longer honouring its agreement with us to share military resources across the European economic zone. What’s more, they are moving the remainder of the navy into the Atlantic and the North Sea. I have here a transcript of a conversation that we obtained from the Chief of Defence Staff, General Malcolm, authorising the withdrawal of Special Forces units from the Middle East to assist in defending the UK’s remaining oil and gas supplies.’

  ‘Was that in retaliation for the gas pipeline explosion that happened a few days ago?’ Lord Butler said.

  ‘No, Lord Butler. There were already SAS units present at the refinery, but sadly they were unable to prevent it,’ Mason said.

  ‘How could they let it happen right under their bloody noses?’

  ‘Apparently, bad intelligence was picked up on the wires, and the units were deployed to the harbour refinery and not the gas pipelines directly. We believe that one of our European partners instigated the attack and used mercenaries who have since been captured at the site,’ Mason said.

  John laughed and said, ‘So much for global Club members working together, then.’

  ‘Has the navy already been redeployed or is it still possible to influence their decision?’ The question came from a bald man with a goatee who sat to the left of Mason.

  ‘I believe they’re en route as we speak, Sir Michael,’ Mason said.

  ‘We must continue the policy of arbitration between governments and try to influence them to resume sharing of resources in this zone. It’s the only way we can preserve our way of life in Europe,’ Sir Michael Cameron added.

  ‘What utter rubbish,’ John said. ‘No common ground has ever been reached across the European continent when it came to a cohesive energy policy or any other policy that made sense for that matter. In these difficult times, why would leaders behave any differently to how they have in the past? The race for resources has already begun and has resulted in national protectionism the likes of which we’ve not seen in hundreds of years. The explosion at the Grangemouth plant just proves that.’

  ‘We all know this, John, but we must still explore all avenues of diplomatic solutions to keep the economic zone together,’ Sir Michael replied.

  ‘With all due respect to you, Sir Michael, screw diplomacy. Those days are gone. Moving forward, we need to take steps to maintain the presence of the supremacy we’ve built around the world. This Club has the power and funds to set up small military forces that can bring about the changes we all know will safeguard our future.’

  The noise level rose as members shouted him down, some arguing among themselves.

  Mason tapped the top of the table loudly with a small gavel. ‘John, you’ve raised this idea on many occasions, and we’ve debated it in this forum and across the Club as a whole. It is not what we are about,’ Mason said. ‘What you’re talking about is military style government influence through destabilisation, and it will never pass as a Club policy.’

  ‘That’s just bollocks, Mason. None of you has ever bothered to look at other possible solutions in any real detail. Times have changed so fast that we need to be far more flexible to accommodate future changes that we all agree will happen. I will keep bringing it up because I believe it’s the only possible solution to get governments to pool their resources. Diplomacy might have worked ten years ago, but the time for talking has passed,’ John said.

  As the members took a break for fifteen minutes, Lord Butler walked over to Mason who was having a cigar by himself in the corner of the large hall. ‘Nice work, Mason. The Billionaires Club has done supremely well under your chairmanship. Your predecessor had it easier than you and I’m glad I selected you for this phase after Lady Winterton.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘I would love to nominate you for a second term, and you know nobody will go against me. I need you to do something for me first though,’ Lord Butler said.

  ‘Name it, sir.’

  ‘I need you to get behind and promote young Mountford from here on in. Obviously, with the subtlety and diplomacy I know you have. While he does behave like a spoilt brat on occasion, he is critical for my vision for the Club’s future. I have an operation planned that I need him to lead, and I want your support. Can I count on you?’

  Mason swallowed hard. ‘Of course you can, sir.’

  Chapter 9

  Grangemouth Refinery Barracks, Scotland, UK - 2019

  As he looked down at the form of Private Smith who lay battered and bruised on the interrogation room floor, visions flooded back of his abusive father. Anger and violence flowed through him, needing an outlet. It had driven him to serve and kill for his country but when would he ever find peace?

  The young soldier’s eyes were both swollen and bloody, his lips had been split in two places from the beatings. Experience told Gibbs he’d probably pushed the interrogation of the prisoner a little too far. The younger man had just got the brunt of his anger for the failed mission. Two other prisoners, kneeling next to the prostrate young man, looked on in shock.

  ‘Gentlemen, you need to start talking, or things are going to get a lot worse for all you. Are you prepared to die for the men who hired you?’ he said, turning towards the table. ‘You come into our country, blow up our gas lines and expect to be treated with open arms and a pat on the back?’

  Gibbs knew that the tall blond man kneeling next to Private Smith had led the team into UK waters. He’d already shown a weakness for his troops during the boat ride back to the base. A weakness Gibbs understood all too well. Something to exploit.

  Reaching down, Gibbs picked up his Sig Sauer P226 pistol off the table and walked back over to Smith.

  ‘I’ll ask you one last time. Who are you working for, soldier?’ he said, pointing the pistol at the young man.

  ‘You can’t shoot me. That would be—’ Gibbs squeezed the trigger and shot the man through his muscular shoulder. The thunderous blast echoed throughout the small interrogation room, deafening everyone. Smith groaned then rolled over, clutching his bleeding shoulder.

  Gibbs looked across at Ton and pointed the Sig back down at Smith’s head. ‘Look, mate, I know you’re the highest-ranking officer here, so why don’t you just start talking? Do you want me to go and fetch young Walter from the cell next door?’

  Gibbs could see a flicker of fear and doubt in his eyes. ‘Ton de Geest, ex-Captain,’ he said.

  ‘See, Ton, was that so bloody difficult? Now, who hired you to hit the lines?’ Gibbs said, still pointing the pistol at the wounded man. A loud banging came from the cell door. Gibbs ignored it. ‘Well, Captain?’

  ‘We were hired by a wealthy group of men based out of Brussels. The task was to destroy the refinery and gas lines. They put together the mercenary teams independently of any government knowledge. Now, can you please get a medic for my colleague?’

  The banging on the room door grew ever louder until the hinges finally gave way, and it crashed open. Killey burst through the doorway with his pistol drawn, staring in silence as he took in the scene, his weapon arm sweeping the cell. ‘Everything okay, boss? What the fuck happened in here?’ he said, staring down at the man who lay whimpering on the ground.
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br />   ‘Jesus, Sergeant,’ Captain John Warren shouted as he stormed through the doorway a few seconds behind Killey. ‘I thought you’d been overpowered.’

  ‘Get the hell out of here. I’m still working on the prisoners,’ Gibbs said as he glared down at Ton.

  Captain Warren frowned, making the two bruises under his eyes from his recently broken nose more comical. ‘I don’t think so, Sergeant. Your time is up here pending a formal investigation. Corporal Kilfoyle, radio for a medic, this man is bleeding all over the damn floor.’

  Captain Warren made a grab for Gibbs’s pistol, only to have his hand slapped away. He tried a second time. Gibbs turned and squared up to the man. Glaring at him, Gibbs moved his face closer to his superior. ‘I’ve knocked you on your arse a few times before, Captain. Keep being an idiot and I’ll do it again.’

  ‘You have gone too far this time, Sergeant. Your job here is done.’

  ‘It’s what I do for a living, so I’ll decide when I am done,’ Gibbs said, pushing the captain backwards.

  ‘You’re not thinking straight anymore, Sergeant.’

  ‘Don’t lecture me mate. You know nothing about me.’

  ‘You’re no longer cut out for this life, Sergeant,’ Captain Warren said. ‘Maybe it’s time to retire.’

  Gibbs clenched his teeth as his finger stabbed into Captain Warren’s chest. ‘You’ll never get that satisfaction from me.’

  ‘I think it’s time for a short break, Gibbs,’ Killey said, as he grabbed his boss and tried to steer him towards the door.

  Gibbs pulled away from Killey and took a swing at him, but he skilfully ducked in expectation of the retaliation. He’d moved in closer to Gibbs to avoid any contact with his sledgehammer-like fists. Captain Warren, on the other hand, had not learnt his lesson and was caught unawares. With a sickly crack, Gibbs head-butted the officer and broke his nose again. Screaming in pain, he held his face as the blood dripped down to the ground.

  Pushing and shoving ensued before they managed to usher Gibbs out of the interrogation room and into the long corridor.

  ‘You’re under arrest for striking an officer, Gibbs,’ Captain Warren said. Stumbling out of the interrogation room clutching his nose, he instructed two military policemen who were standing guard to escort Gibbs to solitary.

  Half an hour later Gibbs lay on the old rusty bunk in his cell. It was cold on the steel bed, but he was still running hot. He punched the unpainted concrete wall, swearing out loud. He hated the bureaucratic army types like Warren, but once again he’d given them ample reason to throw the book at him. With this recent transgression, he knew they would. Rubbing his face repeatedly, he knew that he’d brought it all on himself. He punched the wall again.

  The Captain Warrens of the world had got in the way of his interrogations on many occasions. They didn’t have what it took to do the dirty stuff in battle. Gathering intelligence was part of that battle and part of being a soldier. The big Dutchman had just started talking, and he could’ve gotten all the info he needed in another hour or two. Warren had wasted hours of good work. Gibbs took a deep breath. If you’re going to make omelettes a few eggs would have to be broken. He had to get back into the interrogation cells and find out the names of the men who funded the attack against them.

  Chapter 10

  Unilever House, Central London, England, UK - 2019

  Chairman Mason Waterfield leaned back and listened to two other members who were debating a few of the smaller agenda items. He glanced across to John Mountford who was sitting to his right. The young man had his hand up to his face with his eyes closed and shook his head at the comments from his fellow billionaires.

  ‘Bloody hell, people, would you just stop and listen to yourselves?’ John said. ‘The reason the United Nations failed on so many occasions in our history is that diplomatic solutions are not always practical or culturally viable. Sometimes situations can only be resolved by force, not by groups of squabbling old men and women.’

  ‘We’re very well acquainted with your bloodlust and heavy-handed business approach, John. It’s a little infantile,’ Lady Rosemary Winterton replied with a wry smile. The large-framed woman had been the previous chairperson and never liked the younger man. ‘Many of us here realise that force is sometimes an inevitable recourse, but not until all avenues of negotiation have been explored and exhausted.’

  ‘You’re out of touch with reality, Lady Winterton. That logic no longer applies to the dynamics of current day global politics,’ he replied. ‘Have you bothered to take a look at what’s going on outside your vast, empty mansion?’

  ‘Young man, I get out there and do a lot of good with my charity work. Unlike you, with your continued travelling and partying.’

  John smiled. ‘The only time you leave the house is when you have to walk those two fat mutts of yours. And I’m sure your dogs wouldn’t mind a walk sometimes too.’

  Lady Winterton gasped. Another member stifled a laugh.

  ‘Okay everyone, let’s have some order, please. You two can continue this after the meeting,’ Mason said and sat forward. ‘With the critical state of the global resources we are trying to pool and manage, who knows what the future will bring? Maybe it is time for us to open up the debate again and look at alternate solutions before another organisation rises up and succeeds by using force while we’re still at the negotiation table.’

  Lady Winterton sat open-mouthed for a second. ‘Mason, you don’t agree with this buffoon, do you?’

  Mason smiled. ‘A man can change his mind too. Situations have dramatically changed in the past two years, and I believe we need to re-discuss other solutions we could use, including military force.’

  John frowned, shifting in his chair. ‘We have on the odd occasion used mercenaries for covert operations and reconnaissance, so are you now advocating that the Club consider other possible military options?’

  ‘We all know that you have employed subversive tactics like that in the past, John, but they were never a sanctioned solution by anyone here. Please don’t see this as a justification for you to keep going behind our backs in the future,’ Mason said. ‘What I mean is, judging from the recent Club chairman meetings I attended, many of our global members are changing their opinions towards military interventions. This change of heart is not based on any clear strategy, but rather that they’re being driven by the fear of other organisations employing military initiatives. We could be left behind in the race for resources.’

  ‘Fear cannot be the reason for us to use force,’ Lady Winterton said. ‘We’ve survived so far without it.’

  ‘Lady Winterton, Mason is right to at least question our ongoing strategy,’ John said. ‘Why was the Billionaires Club formed in the first place, and please don’t tell me it was for the consolidation of global resources? We all know that it was born from the fear that we would all lose our assets, and therefore, our easy way of lives. What we need now is more open-minded thinking to protect ourselves and our position in the world. We need a new way. Your methods have been tried and are now failing.’

  Lord Butler slammed his hand down on the armrest of the couch he was sitting on. ‘John, don’t lecture us on our motives or aspirations for this organisation. I’ve been part of this evolving group since I started it in early 2004. We all had different motives for joining this project, and they are all still valid and just as important.’

  ‘But people’s ideas are out of date.’ John said before Lord Butler raised his hand to stop the younger man talking.

  ‘Most of our assets and wealth are invested in those very same resources that are now under threat. Regardless of everyone’s initial motives, the result is that all our interests have now merged. We do need to secure the resources, ergo, our wealth. I concur with Mason and John’s suggestion that maybe it is time to start looking at alternative methods, regardless of the motivation.’

  • • •

  The heated debate continued for another hour before an end to the me
eting was called. Members drifted away down the dark corridors, and as John Mountford headed for the door, Mason called out after him. ‘John, may I have a word in private, please?’

  John was putting on his coat, and his shoulders dropped. He walked over to Mason. ‘Don’t you think we’ve hashed this crap out enough for this evening? It’s three in the bloody morning, Mason, and I have my plane waiting to get me out of here.’

  ‘It will only take a few minutes,’ Mason said in a hushed tone, glancing at the other members as they left the room.

  ‘John, I hope you understand that I don’t agree with you on the point of us recruiting a permanent army to work for us. However, I do have a possible test project in one of our troubled economic zones for a few mercenary teams. It’s something that will be financially and politically very beneficial to both of us. A project which may do a lot to help convince the other doubters here in the Club.’

  ‘Go on, I am listening,’ John said and took his coat off.

  Chapter 11

  Grangemouth Refinery Barracks, Scotland, UK – 2019

  The metal hatch in the centre of the green cell door slammed open, and Gibbs jumped up with fright. He was jolted awake, eyes blinking as a beam of bright light streamed onto his bunk from the door. Looking around, it took him a second to recognise the solitary confinement cell.

  ‘Get up, Sergeant Gibbs,’ Captain Warren shouted through the door.

  ‘What do you want? It’s the middle of the night, and I was sleeping here.’

  ‘I gave you an order to get up and come to the door,’ Captain Warren said.

  ‘Get lost.’

  ‘I have a deal to offer you.’

  Gibbs smiled in the darkness and got up off the bunk. He walked over to the door and peered through the hatch. ‘I see your black eyes have darkened again, my little panda friend.’

  ‘Tread carefully, Sergeant. As the acting Commanding Officer of this base, I have the power to keep you in this cell for as long as I choose.’