The Journey of Kyle Gibbs Box Set

by Wayne Marinovich

  ‘You will make them understand, sir. They are all expendable.’

  ‘Exactly. But first, we drink.’

  Chapter 2

  Naudeh, Afghanistan - 2013

  Rocks made for cold mattresses.

  Kyle Gibbs shifted his body position in another futile attempt to get comfortable against the wall of stone. He looked down at his chapped hands and gently rubbed them together to get the circulation going. Gibbs looked across to Malcolm “Killey” Kilfoyle and Spike Johnson, who also huddled against the natural stone wall of the small ridge. It was the only shelter from enemy eyes for them. As longer serving SAS soldiers, they seemed more at ease with waiting around for the action to begin. He was the new kid on the block.

  At three-thirty the early morning chill started to descend onto the desert, making it uncomfortable for all the SAS units that were dotted around the five designated targets. The desert terrain was stark and barren in the bright moonlight, and the clear evening meant a light frost would soon form around them. The waxing moon would make movement across the open areas towards their target easier underfoot but would increase the chance of being spotted.

  Gibbs studied their unit’s intended target, a dilapidated clay brick building, through the night vision scope he had bartered back in the camp in return for a few gentlemen’s magazines. A single guard was on duty, huddled next to a drumfire that was under a wood and corrugated iron lean-to that was in front of their target. The intelligence brief had predicted more sentries, but it seemed all the major personnel movement was up at the main building to the west of them.

  Gibbs looked towards the main building and counted three old trucks parked outside. With only four guards patrolling around the outskirts at thirty-minute intervals, it indicated that most were still asleep inside. Further up the gradual slope from the main buildings, nestling in rocky alcoves were the two enemy machine gun positions they’d been warned about. These were the target of the snipers.

  Blinking twice, he switched his focus back to the old building and caught sight of the guard stretching and yawning in the golden light of the fire before wrapping himself up in a blanket again. He could just about make out the guard’s M16 leant up against the wall.

  At four am, team commander Sergeant ‘Whitey’ Lawson and three other team members, who were laying-up about thirty meters to the west of Gibbs’s position, got up and slowly moved down the gentle stony slope towards the main opium factory building. Gibbs, Killey and Johnson followed seconds later, moving quickly in a low crouch towards their smaller target. By keeping low, and with the hillock behind them, they were unlikely to be silhouetted against the moonlit horizon.

  The three men spread out and spanned about five meters apart as they trod carefully in a low crouch, trying not to dislodge any loose rocks that would give away their position and draw the guards’ attention. Gibbs’s adrenaline level ratcheted upwards as a man dressed in army fatigues appeared at the open door in the front of the building. He spoke in Arabic to the guard, who threw off his blanket and stood up to stretch. The three SAS soldiers dropped silently onto one knee, keeping their guns trained on the guards.

  The soldier laughed at a joke the other guard had made and walked straight towards the waiting SAS men. Gibbs swallowed hard. The man stopped at the small mud wall and squinted, waiting for his eyes to get used to the dark, barren landscape.

  Gibbs’s finger caressed the trigger lightly. Would he spot them?

  The man stood looking into the moonlit night for a minute then reached down and unzipped his fly.

  Gibbs looked across to Killey and signalled that he should take out the tall soldier who was now urinating over the wall. Gibbs, as previously agreed, would neutralise the guard by the fire.

  He looked at the guard through his MP5 nightscope and slid his forefinger onto the trigger. The guard had sat down again and looked like he’d soon be asleep. He stirred when he heard the dull thump of Whitey’s grenade launcher as their leader fired a grenade into the main group of guards to the west of their position. The explosion shattered the quiet desert night, and Gibbs squeezed the trigger. His target sat up in shock then slumped backwards as two bullets exploded into his head, sending a wash of blood-splatter up the wall behind him.

  Killey fired twice at the standing soldier, hitting him in the chest. He stumbled backwards, golden urine backlit by the fire, spraying everywhere. The soldier looked down at the holes in his chest then collapsed as his legs gave way.

  The instant the guards went down, Johnson was up on his feet with Killey right on his heels, running hard towards the building. They jumped over the small eroded mud wall and ran straight towards the open doorway.

  Gibbs covered their approach to the building before running towards the target himself. As he leapt over the small peripheral wall, a bearded man emerged from the doorway, his white thawb flowing as he ran. He shouted something in Arabic and fired his pistol blindly into the night. Gibbs dove face down into the ground and heard the whizzing of bullets flying over his head. Killey swung his M16 machine gun at the man’s head and clouted him flush on his jaw, the force smashing him backwards with his flailing gun arm firing into the sky. In one swift movement, Killey stood on the man’s pistol hand and pulled out his trusty hunting knife then knelt on the flailing man’s chest. With a sawing movement, he slit the man’s throat and silenced him. Gibbs pushed up off the floor and ran to the side of the doorway, preparing to enter the building.

  Killey sheathed his knife and lifted his M16 moments before a volley of gunshots erupted from inside the building. Two bullets hit him in the chest area of his body armour, flinging him backwards onto the ground, gulping for air as the wind was knocked out of him. Mike Johnson’s head snapped back as a bullet ricocheted off his helmet. His knees buckled slightly, sending him staggering backwards before he tripped over the peripheral wall, disappearing from view. Gibbs froze for a split second then fired a long covering volley into the room. He heard a man cry out in pain.

  Gibbs wondered how many more guards were inside and was loudly answered when he heard the rattling of machine gunfire from inside. Fragments of mud and plaster from the door frame radiated outwards. Killey was in their line of fire and not moving.

  Diving down to the dusty floor again, he reached across to drag Killey out of the path of the doorway by his chest webbing.

  Gibbs’s world seemed to slow down as he plucked two flash grenades from Killey’s webbing and tossed them through the doorway. A few seconds later, the deafening explosion and blinding flash went off inside. He flipped the night vision goggles down and crouched as he walked in.

  The acrid smoke still burnt his nose and lungs despite their numerous training exercises. Gibbs stood with his back against the nearest wall waiting to see if anything moved. Through the green hue of the goggles, he saw two men staggering about near the opposite wall, their machine guns hanging downwards as they tried to reach four old filing cabinets. With quick bursts from his MP5, he dropped them both and continued to move through the adjacent rooms, checking for other enemy soldiers.

  Loud explosions and more stuttering machine gunfire drifted on the wind from other parts of the complex. Would the other teams need their help? He walked back to secure the main room and grabbed a pile of burning documents out of a coal burning stove, stamping on them to preserve any possible intelligence. Looking down at the dull stare of one of the bodies, he shook his head. The body belonged to a teenage boy, the AK47 still in his grasp.

  Gibbs moved back to the doorway. ‘Killey, I’m coming out,’ he called, waiting a moment and then walking out weapon first, scanning the desert in front of their target then up in the direction of the main building. All seemed clear. Sporadic gunfire could be heard throughout the complex with the odd muzzle flash the only indication that the battle was still underway. He moved past his friend and looked over the wall to where Johnson had fallen. The man was lying down on his back, looking at the dent in his helmet. He looked up and raise
d his eyebrows.

  Gibbs turned to see Killey kneeling and gulping in a large lungful of air. Helping him up, he led him to a bench up against the building. There were no traces of blood on his friend, so the body armour had done its job. ‘You okay, mate?’

  Killey nodded. ‘A bit embarrassed, mind you. I should have shot the bugger instead of trying to silence him with a knife. The bastards were sleeping near the doorway. Are they all dead?’

  ‘It’s all clear now, and there weren’t that many of them. I shot a few of them trying to destroy documents, so the operation might have been worth it after all.’

  ‘Thanks, mate. I owe you,’ Killey said.

  ‘Aye, you do, and I’ll take payment in cases of beer when we get back.’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone about this, yeah.’

  ’Sure thing, mate. It’ll stay between us,’ Gibbs said.

  The night sky to the east was changing to an orange glow, and the barrenness of their surroundings became more apparent. Gibbs stood and faced the main buildings that had now fallen silent. Looking down at his hands, he clenched his fists to stop them from shaking. The adrenaline was taking its time to dissipate, fuelled by an old anger. A deep breath or two usually brought him back to the moment, but it wasn’t helping this time.

  ‘You okay, killer?’ Killey said.

  Gibbs nodded, looking across at three goats that had started to work their way down the hillside.

  ‘You still see your old man’s face when you’re in the middle of the action?’ Killey asked, walking up behind him.

  ‘It’s crazy, right,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘It’ll get easier over time.’

  ‘But when? These memories drive me to a dark place, man. Even after all these years, the fucker still lives in my head.’

  ‘That dark place saved my life today, so let’s leave it inside you for now. In the meantime, stop whining like an old woman.’

  Gibbs turned to see his friend holding out an open pack of cigarettes. He took one and looked down at it, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘Jesus, Killey, you smoking plain cigarettes now?’

  ‘All I could get my hands on before we left camp,’ he replied, lighting both their cigarettes with a single match. ‘Take a nice slow draw on this baby.’

  ‘After surviving beatings from my drunk old man for all those years, it would be a shame to die because of your bloody cancer sticks,’ Gibbs chuckled, taking a long draw and instantly feeling himself relax.

  ‘Like I said, less moaning about the past, more living for the future?’ Killey said, patting Gibbs’s shoulder.

  • • •

  After thirty minutes of waiting and keeping a concussed Mike Johnson company, Gibbs could make out the figures of Whitey Lawson and a radioman making their way towards him. He signalled to let them know all was secure in their building.

  ‘Any major problems here?’ Whitey asked, glancing at the bodies of the men lying outside of the building.

  ‘Nothing we couldn’t handle, sir,’ Gibbs said. ‘There’s a load of documents lying around inside plus a few old filing cabinets in the main room. They might be of interest to the intelligence boys.’

  ‘Good job, Gibbs,’ Whitey Lawson said, slapping him on the back. ‘We rotate out at ten hundred hours, so wait for the intelligence boys to arrive, then get back to the vehicles. Beers are on me this evening.’

  Chapter 3

  Carshalton Estate, Surrey, England, UK - 2013

  A dim light flickered at the end of the basement corridor as Lord Butler followed his faithful bodyguard to the end of the cold passageway. As they approached the wooden door, Lord Butler felt himself gag again, and he stopped walking. The scent of death filled his nostrils and stung the back of his throat. A headache throbbed in the centre of his forehead from too much champagne the previous night and he felt a cold sweat down his neck and spine.

  They got to the room where the Indian billionaire had been restrained, and Lord Butler turned to the oversized guard outside. ‘Why haven’t you done anything about the damn smell in this corridor? It’ll start to make its way upstairs, and will upset my guests.’

  ‘Governor, we’ve been spraying air freshener all bloody night, but the hooker is getting a little ripe.’

  Lord Butler’s eyes narrowed, then he slapped the guard on the side of his head. ‘Show a little respect for the dead, won’t you?’

  ‘Sorry, sir. I didn’t think you’d care.’

  ‘I don’t pay you to think,’ Lord Butler said and brought his cotton handkerchief up to cover his mouth and nose. Alex Brun had opened the door, and the pungent smell of decay washed over them.

  ‘Get Mr Singh out of there and put him in the next room,’ Lord Butler said, remaining in the corridor.

  The two guards cut Monhinder Singh loose from the bench and picked him up off the floor. He hung limply on his captors’ shoulders as they dragged him through the door. The adjacent room was better lit by three dirty wall lights, and it had a small open window that allowed a little fresh air to circulate. They brought the traumatised man to a table and lowered him into the chair. He slumped backwards, both hands falling limply to his sides. The guards stood back and took up their positions against the cobweb-covered tables and chairs that were piled up at the back of the room.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Singh. I take it you had a pleasant night,’ Lord Butler said.

  ‘Fuck you, Butler.’

  ‘Now, now. Please try to remember your manners. After all, without manners, we are nothing but savage beasts.’

  Monhinder stared at Lord Butler across the table for a few seconds then leant to one side and spat out a bloody globule of spit. ‘You are a monster, Butler, so don’t lecture me about manners and class.’

  Lord Butler took a long deep breath. ‘Well, you’ve had enough time to digest our generous offer, and before I give you one last chance to agree to our terms, I’d like to show you some photos.’

  Alex walked over to Monhinder and handed him two colour prints. Lord Butler placed them on the table. ‘As you can see in the photographs, you and the lovely Anna got cosy and intimate in the room upstairs.’

  ‘This never happened,’ Monhinder said, staring at the graphic content in the photos in disbelief.

  ‘Of course it did, my dear man, and it’s in print for all to see. Anna was working for me and spiked your drink during dinner. She helped us to set you up for this little pornographic photoshoot. It all had happened before you were brought down here to what very well may be your last few hours on this planet. A planet, my dear friend, which we are intent on preserving with or without your bloody help.’

  ‘You’re all nuts to think you can control the world. You won’t get away with this.’

  ‘Thank you for the compliment, Monhinder. The thing is, dear chap, I have already gotten away with it. I’ve lined up another Indian billionaire in case you refuse to join us. He’s keen to be involved as it will give him more leverage and power to take control of all your businesses. Your family will be out on the street begging within the year.’

  Monhinder shook his head.

  ‘Aside from the graphic photos you see before you which will still be sent to your wife, parents and extended family, I have staged a little crime scene in a hotel, not ten miles from here. The investigating police officer, who is on my payroll, has verified everything is forensically accurate at the scene where you will be my leading man. Your leading lady will be the young woman next door, and you’ll both be accompanied by all manner of sordid sex toys and copious amounts of alcohol and drugs. The coroner will sign off on both your death certificates as sad but accidental overdoses.’

  Monhinder stared at Lord Butler, a single tear appearing from his left eye. He blinked both eyes and swallowed hard.

  ‘Sign the bloody papers and this all goes away.’

  Alex Brun walked over from the side wall and placed a pile of documents and black fountain pen in front of the beaten man.

/>   ‘I’ll make you a different offer to the ones who’ve already signed before you. If you sign over all your assets and wealth to the Billionaire Group of companies and agree to serve with me for five years, you’ll be able to walk away from this with all the profits of the investments made on your behalf plus a healthy salary befitting a man of your stature. No questions asked. Do we have a deal?’

  The broken man slumped forward, leant on the table and nodded. ‘Have it your way, Francis. I accept under duress.’

  ‘A wise choice, my friend,’ Lord Butler said. ‘You’ll now be welcomed with open arms into the Club.’

  Lord Butler felt the elation as he clutched the signed documents to his chest and walked up the stairs to his study. He had what he wanted, the massive subcontinent of India. The Billionaires Club now spanned the entire planet. They could begin their influence.

  • • •

  Twelve hours later in the ornate and neat library of Carshalton House, a freshly shaved and showered Monhinder Singh stood sipping champagne in the company of the other men of the Billionaires Group. Only his bruised and battered face hinted to the trauma he’d endured.

  Alex Brun walked Monhinder over to Lord Butler then and took a few steps around the man to stop next to his employer.

  ‘Francis. I have a long way to travel and would like to be excused if I may. I’d like to see my family,’ Monhinder said, dabbing a hanky to his seeping eyelid.

  ‘Of course, Monhinder. Alex will see you to your room and make sure you have everything you need for your departure.’

  ‘I don’t want any more of his help,’ Monhinder said.

  ‘I wasn’t offering you a choice,’ Lord Butler said, nodding to Alex who bowed, and felt his heart begin to beat a lot faster.

  Five minutes later, Monhinder opened his room door and walked in. It was lavishly decorated with a red and blue colour scheme, the high ceilings accentuated by the large black wooden beams that traversed the room. He stopped and looked at the four-poster bed where the graphic photographs had been taken.