The Journey of Kyle Gibbs Box Set

by Wayne Marinovich

  ‘I always forget that you believe in the Big Man,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Doesn’t make me a better person any more than it makes me a guilty soldier.’

  ‘You should have a quiet word with him and get us a little help.’

  ‘He’ll help us alright, just try to focus on getting us out of here. You can wring that little arse’s neck after that.’

  The small phone that had been smuggled in for Gibbs vibrated in his pocket. ‘Exactly right, my religious friend.’

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello, lover,’ Sheila said.

  ‘What would Martin say if he knew that you called me that?’ Gibbs said.

  ‘He is lying next to me in bed as we speak, so the jig is up,’ she said. ‘How are things in prison?’

  ‘Bloody peachy.’

  ‘We received all the email documents, and there’s incriminating stuff in there. Strong enough to get you out of that place.’

  ‘That’s good to hear, Sheila, but that would still leave Shredder and Killey in here, and I couldn’t let them stay behind, not after they sorted out that prick Warren on my behalf.’

  ‘That’s what we thought,’ she said.

  ‘Not sure if you have heard, but apparently they got to Sharon,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘I am so sorry, pet,’ Sheila said. ‘I had heard.’

  ‘Thanks, but I need you to make sure that it’s true. Can Martin get one of his men to go around to her place and have a look around inside? You know, just to make sure that I am not being lied to, and they have got her captive somewhere.’

  ‘Of course, Gibbs. We’ll scope the place out for a week or two,’ she said.

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘The reason for my call was to let you know the plans that you and I made are near to fruition, so be prepared and alert for the opportunity,’ she told him.

  ‘Thanks, Sheila. So, are you the newest recruit to the Richmond Green Vikings now?’

  ‘No, lover,’ she said and laughed. ‘I’m the one who started them off.’

  ‘What? I thought you were always joking about that.’

  ‘They were my idea all along. I’ll tell you all about it when you and your boys are safe and free.’

  ‘How will I ever repay you?’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Just don’t go getting killed.’

  • • •

  The clean-shaven man walked towards the large white Eagle Security van and adjusted his black leather belt that held the standard ’38 revolver issued to all security guards. He tucked his dark brown shirt into the dark brown pants that he despised. It was a good job, and he had a family to feed, but the outfit made him look like a parcel delivery man.

  The van had been reversed down the side of the prison as it had been on many occasions when they transferred prisoners to other institutions. He could see both security guards smoking inside the cab of the van, watching him cautiously as he approached.

  ‘Hello, gents,’ he said.

  The men nodded with suspicion.

  ‘You’re Chris White, correct?’ he asked the driver.

  ‘Yes, and you are?’

  ‘I am the bearer of bad news, I am afraid. HQ sent me to relieve you as your wife, Carol, was injured in a hit and run incident. She’s on her way to the hospital right now. Charing Cross Memorial, I am told.’

  ‘Oh shit,’ the man said, his face turning pale.

  ‘Here are the official orders from the sector leader switching you and me as drivers. I would hurry, Chris,’ the tall man said.

  Chris White hesitated for a few seconds before handing over the transfer clipboard and cell keys, then slid down from the driver’s seat.

  The tall man climbed into the cab, unclipping his holster as he pulled himself up. He turned to the passenger and introduced himself. ‘Dave McLaren.’

  The passenger kept smoking and blew smoke through the open window. He flicked the remainder of the cigarette out of the window and leant across to shake the new driver’s hand. ‘Bill King.’

  ‘Good to meet you.’

  ‘Isn’t it normal protocol to switch the whole team out, rather than split the team up?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Usually, it is, so I’m not sure what’s going on. Guess you’ll have to ask them. Get them on the radio if you want. I would rather be watching the big cage fight anyway,’ Dave replied, hoping to get the banter going.

  A look of suspicion came across Bill’s face, and he reached for the radio handset.

  ‘And I had bloody tickets to the fight, you know,’ Dave said, shaking his head.

  Bill leant back, holding the handset on his lap. ‘Was that the Tommy Smith and Carlton Reeves cage fight?’

  Dave exhaled, his information had been correct. ‘Yeah. I take it you’re a fan then?

  ‘I sure am. I was at Tommy Smith’s last fight at the Kingston Odeon. What a fighter he is proving to be,’ Bill said. ‘A bloody animal.’

  ‘Nah. Carlton will get a KO in the third.’

  ‘What! You have got to be kidding. Want to put a wager on that, mate?’

  Chapter 35

  Wandsworth, London, England, UK - 2019

  A gentle rain had been falling all day, and the road glistened in the sunset as the white prisoner transport van drove around the old Wandsworth town one-way system. The odd rebellious teenager ran out and threw a stone or brick at the old symbol of government, but it failed to alter the truck’s course. Once clear of Wandsworth, the truck accelerated towards Wimbledon before they were scheduled to turn onto the motorway that led out of London.

  ‘Jesus, who is driving this bloody death trap?’ Shredder said as he sat in the cramped confines of the prison van. Each convict was handcuffed inside their own cubicle, so they had no direct contact with each other, but after years of neglect, most of the cubicle doors had been torn off and discarded.

  ‘Must be a blind guy,’ Killey said, as the truck dropped into another pothole.

  ‘It feels like we’re sitting in our own bloody toilets in these things,’ Shredder replied, looking across the narrow corridor at Gibbs, who was sitting on the small bench in his cubicle. ‘So, boss, when do you think they will try and spring us?’

  ‘Not soon enough. We might just die in this death trap before we get the chance though,’ Gibbs replied. ‘We’re losing valuable time on Kirkwood the longer we stay here. I hope they don’t wait until we get to the prison ship in Wales to put their plan into motion.’

  Suddenly the van lurched violently to the left and crashed into something, which caused the inmates to be thrown against the sides of their cubicles.

  ‘Bloody moron.’ Killey shouted, and kicked the side of his cubicle.

  ‘Shut it for a minute, everyone,’ Gibbs said, cocking his ear up to the small window behind him. ‘Was that a tyre bursting or a gunshot?’

  • • •

  Bill King was looking out the window when the van lurched to the left and crashed up onto the concrete pavement. He was flung to his right and dropped the thermos of coffee he was holding all over the floor in front of him.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he shouted as the van stopped just short of a six-foot stone wall that ran parallel to the road. ‘What the fuck happened?’

  Dave vigorously turned the steering wheel from side to side. ‘Feels like the steering column has bloody snapped or something. It could also just be a puncture from those potholes I hit back there.’

  ‘I didn’t feel any blowout, though,’ Bill said, unhooking his revolver. ‘Could be a trap, so stay sharp. Can you see anything in the side mirrors?’

  Dave feigned looking out of his window and dropped his hand down to his revolver. ‘Why don’t you radio it in before we look at the tyres?’

  ‘Protocol dictates that we stay inside the front of the cab. I’ll radio HQ anyway,’ Bill said and switched his revolver to his other hand to reach for the radio. He grabbed the black handset hanging from the dashboard just as the bullet hit him under the arm. A second, then third hit him in the midr
iff as Dave fired sideways, his revolver resting on his lap.

  Bill dropped his gun in shock then tried to reach for it as it fell into the footwell but it was too late, a gurgling sound was coming from his punctured lung as it rapidly filled with blood. Dave picked up the revolver and placed it on the dashboard before reaching across the dying man and opening the passenger door. Bill grabbed the killer’s shirtsleeve and stared into his eyes.

  ‘Sorry, Bill, but Tommy is going to get his arse kicked tonight,’ Dave said and pushed Bill out into the street. He closed the door and locked it again before placing the van into gear and driving off the pavement and back onto the street.

  He followed the prescribed driver’s route on the transfer manifest and knew that HQ was monitoring his movements with an inbuilt tracking system. He smiled as the radio on the dashboard remained silent.

  A mangy fox ran across the road, and he slowed down because ahead of him loomed the Tibbett’s Corner roundabout where he was supposed to join the motorway. Instead, he took the first left exit and accelerated towards Wimbledon Village with the vast green expanse of Wimbledon Common whizzing by on his right. Hundreds of wooden squatters’ shacks had sprung up throughout the green area over the past few years. Grey smoke drifted across the road from all the wood and coal fires which meant it was getting late as families started to sit down to dinner.

  He looked at the watch on the dashboard and felt the tension lift. They were still on schedule for the meeting. He took the next major tarred road right and then drove towards the abandoned Wimbledon Windmill Museum building. The ragged blades of the windmill stood motionless and silhouetted against the darkening sky.

  ‘Charlie four three one, come in, Charlie four three one,’ the radio sprung into life, the LCD lights coming on.

  ‘Oh, do shut up,’ Dave said.

  He pulled into the overgrown parking lot and parked at the parking bay furthest from the entrance, aware of teenagers standing nearby smoking some or other drug. Climbing down from the cab, he withdrew his revolver as he walked around the front of the cab and through the beams of the headlights, towards the group of kids. As one, they all took a few steps away from him, their hands lifted in resignation, then turned to melt away into the wooded area.

  The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and he felt the tension rising within him again at the thought of being out after dark. Dave jumped when his company phone rang. The caller ID read – Control Room. He took a deep breath.

  ‘They’re attacking us! Send back up!’ he screamed into the handset and fired a shot into the air. He dropped the phone onto the concrete and drove his heavy black size eleven boot onto it.

  ‘And that is all she wrote,’ he said, walking around to the back of the van.

  Chapter 36

  Wimbledon Common, Wimbledon, England, UK - 2019

  David McLaren looked at his wristwatch and took out a black lock-knife from his trouser pocket. He snapped it open and slipped it under the thin metal band that served as the vehicle security seal. ‘Oops,’ he said, as the seal ripped and he reached for the large stainless-steel handle. With a tug towards him, then upwards, the door hissed slightly as the rubber seal eased open. He pulled the door and swung it around to the side of the van. Jumping up the three small steps, he walked down the van corridor.

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen. We have reached the end of your journey, so please leave your trays tables in the upright position. Don’t leave any personal belongings behind as the staff members are a little immoral, and you might not see your goodies again. Can Mr Gibbs make himself known to the cabin staff, please?’

  ‘Here, funny man. I’m Gibbs. Who the hell are you?’

  ‘Never mind my name, sir. I’m just a bloke who owes a mutual friend of ours a large favour,’ he said, producing a key and opening Gibbs’s handcuffs.

  He walked along the cubicles and released the other four men. ‘Mind your step out of this contraption. People have died to get you out of here, and it would be tragic if one of you fell and broke your bloody arse.’

  ‘You sure like the sound of your own voice, my friend,’ Gibbs said, rubbing his wrists.

  ‘Just happy to have completed my side of a very longstanding bargain,’ he said, cupping his ear. ‘And speaking of which, I think I hear them approaching.’

  Around the corner a small white transit van appeared, followed by a large black Range Rover. They raced up to the security truck, stopping just short in a flurry of dust.

  Six men wearing red tracksuit tops jumped out carrying shotguns and pistols of different makes. They walked a few metres away from the security van to secure the perimeter. Martin appeared out of the driver’s seat of the Range Rover, smiling at Gibbs.

  ‘Hello, lover,’ he said, a skewed grin on his face.

  Gibbs shook his hand and then realised that he was also smiling. ‘Thanks for this, Martin.’

  ‘My pleasure, mate, although Sheila would have had my balls for dinner if I’d fucked this up. I take it that we’re all square for the army truck?’

  ‘All squared up, mate,’ Gibbs said.

  Martin turned to Dave and shook his hand. ’Consider your debt paid, Dave. Speak to me next week if you want to earn some cash.’

  ‘I will do.’

  ‘Time to leave, gentlemen, they’ll start looking for this van very soon,’ Martin said, throwing Gibbs the Range Rover keys. ‘There are weapons and other ammunition in the back if you need them. Let’s go. Sheila’s waiting for us.’

  Chapter 37

  Richmond-upon-Thames, London, England, UK - 2019

  Gibbs could almost hear his ribs creaking as Sheila hugged him, lifting him off his feet. Her smoky laugh, which everyone loved, was music to his ears. Looking into her eyes, the tough London gang lord’s eyes welled up. ‘Glad you got out in one piece, pet.’

  ‘Thanks to you and your boys.’

  ‘My pleasure, but we can stand here and exchange pleasantries, or we get you back out the door to find the shit who killed Sharon. I’ll keep the email evidence hidden along with the phone message from Sharon,’ she said.

  ‘I would like to hear them before I leave.’

  ‘Not now, Gibbs. There will come a time when I’ll let you listen to the message, and you can grieve as long as you need to. Right now, you have more important things to do, and time is no longer your friend. One of our scouts reported that Kirkwood is still at the address, but they must be looking to move soon.’

  ‘You’re right of course, we’d better get moving,’ Gibbs said, placing his hand on her arm. ‘Look at you two, London’s own Bonnie and Clyde, running the Vikings together.’

  Sheila laughed out loud. ‘It’s my baby so, don’t give Martin credit or it’ll go to his head, and I’ll never hear the end of it. Go and get that bastard. I’ll drive to Heathrow to see if I can get my hands on any flight manifests, just in case you miss him.’

  • • •

  The black Range Rover’s 3.6-litre engine roared as Shredder pressed the accelerator to pass a large truck holding up traffic on the road to Wimbledon. They sped along without a word passing between them, a job had to be done. Slowing down, they to turn into Somerset Road, which was lined with luxurious family homes and apartment blocks in the quiet leafy suburb. All the houses had tall brick walls and steel fences out front, with barbed wire and glass on top to deter intruders. Machine gun-wielding guards patrolled inside the perimeters to deal with anyone who made it through.

  They inched up to house number thirty. ‘Pull over here, Shredder, let’s scope out the address before going in,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Right, gents. I’ve loaded up four magazines each,’ Killey said from the back seat as he passed the magazines forward for the suppressed Glock 17s that Shredder and Gibbs had chosen.

  They sat watching the split-level, grey plastered mansion with four chimney stacks on the roof for fifteen minutes. A rooftop balcony had been purposefully built with wood and metal scaffolding allowing surveillanc
e in either direction of Somerset Road. Gibbs lifted his binoculars and looked straight at a man lying on the temporary balcony, who had his binoculars trained on them.

  ‘Looks like we have been made, gents,’ Gibbs said. ‘Let’s just sit tight. No one raise a bloody weapon.’

  ‘Someone has joined him in the watching game. First-floor window below him,’ Shredder said.

  ‘Martin has armed men covering the back of the house so they will have to come out onto this road if they want to leave,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘There!’ Shredder pointed to a black BMW X5 that was reversing from the garage on the side of the premises. It pulled in front of the large white front door and stopped. Shortly afterwards the front door of the house opened, and four armed men walked out and surrounded the X5.

  ‘They’re on the move,’ Gibbs said. ‘Killey, you cover the man on the roof balcony. Shredder, use the car bonnet as cover and take out as many of those men as you can. I am going to make a break for that neighbour’s gate to the left of them and try for Kirkwood as soon as he comes out,’ Gibbs said.

  Killey got out and used the open door window to lean on. He focused his pistol on the figure lying on the roof. As soon as the man saw Gibbs get out and advance to the neighbour’s brick gatepost, he moved his rifle around to cover him, and Killey opened fire in quick silenced bursts. Bits of concrete and roof tile exploded. The man who’d ducked down reappeared and tried to aim at Gibbs, but Killey let off another burst, covering him in debris.

  A first-floor window swung open, and a man dressed in black let rip with a volley of bullets at the gatepost. Shredder returned fire from over the bonnet of the parked Range Rover and hit the man in the chest, sending him back into the dark interior of the room.

  The four men stationed around the X5 had all gone to ground and were opening fire. Gibbs managed to reach the gatepost and took out the closest man, just as two men charged out of the main door of the house and dived into the X5. The panic-stricken face of the man he’d come to kill was only visible for a second, as his target’s bodyguard shielded him from the attack, and shepherded him into the car. Gibbs got off two rounds into the bodyguard, who slumped down in the car doorway.