The Journey of Kyle Gibbs Box Set

by Wayne Marinovich

  One of the guards in front of the car tumbled forward from his kneeling position. Gibbs locked his sights on a third man when he saw the brief flicker of reverse lights on the X5 as the driver shifted through the automatic transmission. They were about to escape.

  Gibbs fired two rounds into the back of the x5 then his Glock’s chamber locked open. Empty. His hand dropped to his belt for another magazine.

  Meanwhile, Shredder had read the play unfolding before him and fired a few rounds at the BMW before he realised that the gate was still closed, so he started to walk out from behind his covered position, emptying another magazine. The X5’s engine roared as it pulled off, following the bend of the driveway to the right, and then it burst through the closed cast iron gate, catapulting it outwards across the road.

  ‘They’re on the move,’ Shredder shouted, running back to their car.

  Gibbs stepped out from behind the gatepost and shot the last man who was trying to get back into the house. The Range Rover screeched to a halt next to Gibbs, and he jumped in just as another shooter appeared at the first-floor window, firing at them as they passed. A bullet hit the side post between the front and back window and went straight through into the opposite door.

  ‘Jesus, that was a little too close,’ Shredder said, above the whining engine.

  ‘You catch the direction they’re heading?’ Gibbs asked.

  ‘Turned left at the next road,’ Shredder said, accelerating towards the corner. They sped down past the old All England Lawn Tennis Club that was once home to the Wimbledon Championships, then approached a T-junction and stopped, looking in either direction.

  ‘Damn it,’ Shredder said. ‘Any idea which way they went?’

  Gibbs opened the window and called over to a young street dweller. ‘Hey, kid. You see a big black BMW come down this way?’

  The kid smiled and held his hand up, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, asking for something in return. Gibbs aimed his Glock out of the window at the kid, whose eyebrows shot up. He pointed to the left.

  Killey threw out a pound coin to the boy as they raced off.

  ‘Damn softie,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘We don’t have to be horrible to everyone we meet, you know,’ Killey said, and leaned over to his right as Shredder screeched around another corner.

  ‘There they are,’ Shredder said and downshifted again, the revs wailing as the power went down to all four wheels.

  • • •

  David Kirkwood was shaking with fear as he crouched down on the floor behind the front passenger seat. Again and again, he was thrown forward against the driver’s seat as he slammed on the brakes. He desperately tried to wipe the blood off his arm from the bodyguard’s corpse which he’d struggled to push off him as they sped away. Relief flooded through him when he realised that it could have been him lying dead in the paved driveway. Money bought expendable men for those who could afford it. He felt lucky to be alive as bullets clunked into the back of the BMW.

  Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he started to dial the number of a man who knew what to do in these situations. ‘I need your help. Gibbs has ambushed me, and they’re chasing us. There are bullets flying all over the place. My driver is hurtling around all over the road.’

  ‘Where are you now, David?’ the man asked.

  ‘In the back of a bloody car, where do you think?’

  ‘David, if you want my help, the first thing you have to do is pull yourself together and remain calm. Where exactly are you headed?’ the man asked again.

  ‘We are headed towards the M4 motorway out of London towards Heathrow. I’m supposed to catch a plane out of here this evening.’

  ‘That’s perfect. Do you know where the Styx Enterprise warehouse is? The one near the old Terminal Four?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Tell your driver to get there as fast as possible, and we’ll be waiting for you with a trap set to take care of these men once and for all,’ the man said.

  Kirkwood felt elated that he could still get away. The panic ebbed away. ‘Driver, make for the Styx Enterprise warehouse at Heathrow. Do you know where that is?’

  ‘Yes, I do, sir. We may struggle with the fuel if we keep driving like this. It’ll cost a fortune, and we only have a quarter tank left. There is no way we’ll get back to London.’

  ‘Do you know who I am, and who pays for all of this? I don’t care about your bloody fuel levels. Fill up the damn tank once you’ve dropped me off.’

  The driver laughed, and the other guard in the passenger seat turned to face Kirkwood. ‘I know that you don’t get out into the real world, sir, but petrol stations around here no longer have any fuel. It is all rationed.’

  ‘I don’t care. The man we’re going to meet has all the petrol in the world. You have failed to keep me hidden from Gibbs who is now chasing me. You can take up your problems with him.’

  The men in the front of the car went silent.

  ‘Now, do your bloody job and get me there without any bullet holes in me,’ Kirkwood said, hunkering down again. He thought of the money and the warm weather he would soon be enjoying. His spirits lifted.

  Chapter 38

  Chiswick, London, England, UK - 2019

  Gibbs thrust his hand onto the dashboard to brace himself as Shredder hit the brake to avoid slamming into a large truck that pulled out of a side road. The black Range Rover’s wheels locked up and screeched for a few meters before Shredder spun the steering wheel to the left and the large car swerved around the old truck. It bounced up onto the concrete pavement with a thump, flattening an old post box as they stopped.

  ‘Move the bloody truck,’ he screamed out of the window, but the shocked truck driver flipped him the middle finger. Shredder reached down and pulled up the Glock, resting it on the window frame. The driver’s eyes widened, and he slammed the gear shift into reverse to send the truck lumbering backwards.

  The Range Rover pulled out onto the street again and headed towards the old Wandsworth one-way system again.

  ‘Bloody heck, we’ve been around Wandsworth a few times today,’ Killey said. ‘Do us a favour and don’t lose them, mate.’

  ‘You do the looking. I’ll do the driving,’ Shredder said. The X5 turned off down a narrow street and headed along the Thames River towards Putney.

  Killey opened the right passenger window and leant his body out, aiming for the X5 driver. He fired, and the first bullet hit the back window upright of the BMW. The driver swerved to the left and the second and third bullets tore through the side mirror, ripping it from the bodywork.

  The X5 swerved across the road a few times as Gibbs and his team once again got close. In the narrow streets of Putney, which were lined with old parked cars and rusty vans, getting alongside for a killer shot was impossible.

  Flashing blue lights in the rear-view mirror caught Shredder’s eye.

  ‘Oh goodie. The police have decided to join our merry little chase,’ he shouted over the high revs of the engine. ‘How many are there, Killey?’

  ‘Two small Mitsubishi Impreza. Those things can motor along.’

  Gibbs spun around. ‘We have to get rid of them, mate. They may be joined by a helicopter or two if they’re in the area. If that happens, we’ll never bloody get away.’

  ‘With pleasure, boss.’

  Killey reached down for the semi-automatic shotgun that was on the floor then spun around in the back seat and leaned out of the window.

  ‘Hold her steady, Shredder,’ he shouted above the rushing wind.’ Bring them up on the right-hand side.’

  Shredder swung to the left, leaving a small gap for the first Impreza to drive into. The police cordially accepted and drove into the space provided. The shotgun roared twice. Killey swore as he missed the tyre and took out the front light and left-hand fender.

  ‘Again, Shredder.’

  ‘Get him already, will you,’ Shredder said and swerved the car.

  Killey took his time and squeezed t
he trigger, and the tyre blew. The front of the Impreza dipped down onto the rim, rubber exploding and flying everywhere. The car lurched to the left and smashed into a parked Mercedes, stopping instantaneously. The police car following it slammed on the brakes and just managed to stop short of the wrecked car, its path blocked.

  • • •

  In the centre of the large metal-clad hangar, the old Boeing 747 stood as a testament to man’s greatest achievement in the sky. Many of the small windows had been removed from the upper and lower decks making the once majestic plane look like a tramp with missing teeth. Adding to the humiliation, two of the monstrous Rolls-Royce RB211 engines had been pirated for other flying planes, rendering it crippled.

  Alex Brun walked into the hangar through one of the side doors and looked up at the large plane’s nose, which dwarfed everything around it. He shouted a few orders to the assembled group of men, all dressed in black uniforms with black riot gear helmets on their heads. Everyone was armed with variants of the American M16 machine guns and went through meticulous checks and preparations.

  Alex dialled a number on his phone. ‘Hello, sir.’

  ‘Yes, I’m aware of the original plan, sir, but Mr Kirkwood was insistent that those chasing him were trying to kill him,’ Alex said. He listened for a while as the man on the other end of the line laid out the new plan.

  ‘Yes, sir, I’ve told them to make their way to the main hangar. We’re ready and waiting. Mr Kirkwood said that Gibbs is hard on their heels and I think he will chase them into the hangar.’

  He was cut off by the man on the other end again as a new plan was detailed to him.

  ‘Are you sure, sir? May I say that he could prove useful at this juncture.’

  Alex walked away from the assembled men He clenched his teeth as the person spoke. Anger started to fill his cool and calculating self.

  ‘Have I not always served you well, sir? Have I not always been honest about my assessments of the situations we face?’

  Alex turned towards his men. With a nod of his head, they all fanned out, running to their covert positions in the warehouse.

  ‘That’s okay, sir. I’ll take care of him myself.’

  ‘There will be no loose ends.’

  • • •

  The chase continued as the two cars sped over the quiet and deserted Chiswick Bridge, swerving to miss a burnt-out refuse lorry that was still smouldering. The rioting in London was getting worse as gang-driven anarchy spread. London security forces were now fully engaged in helping to build flood defences along the Thames River as the flooding escalated.

  ‘Shredder, we’re not getting a decent crack at passing them on these suburban roads, so let’s back off a few yards and see where they lead us,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Gotcha, boss. Do you still think they might be heading to Heathrow?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m pretty sure they are.’

  Shredder turned left at the broken traffic light just after they crossed over the Thames.

  ‘What the bloody hell are you doing?’ Gibbs said.

  ‘A shortcut, boss,’ he replied and worked his way up the gears again.

  ‘You’d better not lose him.’

  ‘We all believe that he’s heading to the airport, and I think we can head him off if I go this way,’ Shredder said and snapped the steering to the right into another suburban street. The Range Rover responded with a slight body roll and threw Gibbs and Killey against the left-hand doors.

  ‘We won’t get to them if you crash into someone’s living room,’ Gibbs said.

  Two more side streets and it brought them to the intersection with the M4 motorway, the main road out west of London. ‘Now we wait,’ Shredder said.

  ‘And you’d better pray they come this way,’ Gibbs said.

  The men sat watching the empty road when after a few minutes Killey broke the silence. ‘Blue flashing lights heading this way.’

  ‘Damn it, they’re ahead of Kirkwood’s car,’ Gibbs said. ‘Let’s go, Shredder. Let the police get alongside us this time.’

  Unaware of the danger ahead of them, the X5 tried to pass the police car on the right-hand side, distracting the officers. A flurry of small arms fire hit the left-hand side of the passing Impreza, blowing out both tyres and sending sparks over the roof. The policeman lost control of the car, and it spun to the left of the road and careered into the Armco barrier at speed, before spinning back across the three lanes and coming to rest against the central reservation, flames flicking out of the front wheel arch.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Gibbs said, watching the X5 pass them.

  The black vehicle came back into range again, and Shredder tried to pass on the right-hand side, but the other driver swerved across to cut them off. Gibbs leant out of the passenger window and fired a few rounds at the back of the X5. The back window finally erupted and sent shards of glass all over the following Range Rover.

  The two black vehicles jinked and swerved across the dual lanes of the M4 flyover that eventually merged onto the main motorway. The lighter BMW X5 seemed to have the speed to allow them to stay ahead on the cluttered motorway. A few miles further down the road the X5 took the off-ramp off the motorway to Heathrow.

  Gibbs could see the driver was hunkering down, and the shooter sitting in the passenger seat turned to fire a volley of bullets at them. Shredder anticipated it and swerved hard to the left, the Range Rover leaned over precariously at high speed, and Shredder was forced to counter-steer to stop them rolling over. The X5 moved to the right again, allowing Shredder to downshift and ram the left side of the vehicle.

  Sparks burst upwards into the air as the metal growled and gave way on both cars. Killey leaned out on the right side and fired a short volley, killing the man on the passenger side. ‘I cannot see Kirkwood anywhere,’ he shouted into the rush of headwind.

  ‘The coward’s probably lying on the floor. We’ll have to stop the vehicle to get him,’ Gibbs shouted, then sat back in the leather seat. ‘Kirkwood is not getting away today, boys. He dies in the UK, or we die trying.’

  ‘Amen to that, mate.’

  They entered the major roundabout at the airport entrance, and the Range Rover followed the X5 to the left and then powered up onto the road that led around the perimeter fence of the airport.

  On another roundabout, as they drove around to the right, the driver of the X5 fired a volley into the side of the Range Rover, hitting the right back tyre in the process.

  ‘Arrrgh! Lost the back tyre, boss,’ Shredder shouted, as he fought hard to control the vehicle, backing off the accelerator to keep them from tipping over.

  ‘Keep after them as best you can, mate,’ Gibbs said, leaning out the window and emptying his magazine in the direction of the X5.

  The Range Rover had no option but to slow as the ripped tyre started to flail against the bodywork with a thunderous noise. Up ahead they saw the X5 turn right as it reached the furthest point of the airfield and then turn a sharp left into an open gate towards a group of large aircraft hangars. The Styx Enterprises logo was emblazoned across the top of the largest structure.

  Shredder brought the Range Rover to a noisy halt at the main gate of the premises. They watched the X5 drive right up to the partially opened hangar doors and pass through into the well-lit interior. ‘They must have a plane or helicopter in there.’

  ‘I’ve flown out of that hangar before, boss. The back doors also open and lead straight onto the runway,’ Killey said. ‘There could be a plane on the tarmac on the other side.’

  ‘Can we get around the hangar and try to head them off?’

  ‘No. It’ll take too much time to get around with this tyre. Best we follow them in.’

  ‘It could be a trap, you know,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Yeah, but if there is a plane waiting for him in there and the bastard gets on board, we will have lost him,’ Killey replied.

  ‘Agreed. Reload everything and let’s go and get this fucker.’

  Two minutes l
ater they drove across the concrete apron in front of the hangar and into the bright stream of light that shone out into the dusk of evening. The tyre-less back rim occasionally touched the concrete, screeching and throwing white sparks up into the dark. Gibbs changed his magazine for a full one and looked up as they rounded the door and crossed onto the smooth polished concrete floor. The wheels squealed as Shredder drove the Range Rover around the perimeter of the hangar, past the giant tail of the Boeing 747.

  ‘There it is. Over by all those tool racks and crates,’ Gibbs said, pointing to the X5 that was parked up with all the doors open. Shredder slowed the Range Rover down as they drove under the tip of the large wing, briefly losing sight of the X5.

  ‘Get us close, mate.’

  A volley of gunfire erupted from locations amongst the tool racks and crates of aeroplane spare parts beyond the X5. The windshield and side window of the Range Rover shattered, sending glass inwards over Gibbs and Shredder as they were forced to cower down. Men in black uniforms appeared behind them too, hidden by large plastic tanks near the doorway they had just driven through, and fired into the back of the Range Rover.

  Gibbs and Killey fired quick bursts out of the left-hand windows while ducking down as more bullets thudded into the metal bodywork. The Range Rover dropped down as the remaining tyres were shot out from under them.

  Killey cried out as a bullet hit him in the arm, and he lay across the back seat.

  ‘We’re surrounded,’ Gibbs said. ‘Throw your weapons out of the window.’

  As the pistols and shotguns hit the floor of the hangar, the shooting ebbed away. A deathly silence ensued after the last of the gunshots echoed around the metal hangar.

  Gibbs sat up in the passenger seat to see men in black uniforms with scarf-covered faces approaching cautiously, their M16s trained on the car. Anger rose within him. Their chance was gone.

  A shaken David Kirkwood walked out from his hiding place, behind a large metal cabinet. He glared at Gibbs.

  Chapter 39