‘So, I suggest our priority should be to secure all the inland energy production facilities as these will continue to produce and, therefore, earn those controlling them untold wealth. It will cement our control and power over the planet. We also need to protect all closed coal mines because these will attract attention from smaller businessmen looking to make money from the coal resurgence. In essence, all facilities that are set at about fifty to one hundred meters above sea level are the ones that we need to own and control.’
‘What about wind farms?’ Lord Butler asked.
‘Any onshore wind farm that is above one hundred and fifty meters needs to be included in our strategy. All offshore wind farms will be destroyed over time as the maintenance costs will render them redundant,’ Dr Watanabe said.
Lord Butler nodded. ‘May I suggest that the highest priority action step is the acceleration of the recruitment and arming of our Phoenix Guard? We already have fourteen well-trained units deployed around the world, and by the sound of it, we’ll probably need twenty to thirty times more during the next ten years.’
‘Agreed, Lord Butler,’ Lady Winterton said. ‘As a second action may I suggest, Dr Watanabe, that you draw up a comprehensive global list of nuclear plants and other resources you mentioned which won’t be flooded and will still be functional. We need to focus on those.’
Andrei Kirilenko sat quietly, listening to the rest of his fellow Grand Founders discuss the pending crisis. With a thick Russian accent, he finally spoke. ‘We will have problems with swift recruitment.’
‘Andrei, you told me it was all under control,’ Lord Butler said.
‘Because of the changed timelines, it will be difficult to recruit enough men conditioned and trained to move on so many possible targets all at once.’
‘What do you think needs to be done to ensure that we are in a position to take control of these resources?’ Jürgen Kohler asked.
‘In Russia in the nineties, the oligarchs helped secure valuable assets and enforced local law and order in their own regions. The FSB denied that they were working together, but I can assure you that the oligarchs assisted them in return for untold riches. I can attest to that fact as you know,’ the ex-FSB director said.
‘Andrei, you’re not suggesting that we establish a working relationship with gang lords and other mafia type thugs, are you?’ Lady Winterton said. ‘I’m not sure that would be a good direction to take. How would we control and influence them to deliver on our interests?’
‘I’ve already been in contact with one such man who, along with his two brothers, leads a powerful gang in London called the Asylum Road Boyz,’ Andrei said.
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ Lady Winterton said.
‘Let me finish, please,’ Andrei said. ‘I’ve had two meetings with the leader Thompson Scott, or Tom Scott as he is called. He and his family now control most of the criminal activities in central London, having eliminated most of the rival gangs over the past five years. I’m sure he’d be happy to serve as a type of warlord of London for us.’
‘This isn’t some damn computer game, Andrei,’ Lady Winterton said. ‘If we give these types of people an inch, what’s stopping them from taking over?’
‘He would represent us and help enforce law and order at street level as long as we overlook some of his dealings and allow him to continue to trade in certain banned substances. Both sides win.’
‘I still don’t like it as a concept,’ she said. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘Let’s not be too hasty in dismissing this idea,’ Lord Butler said. ‘I think it’s something we have to look at, Lady Winterton. I know it seems contrary to the way we’ve all been brought up. But if Dr Watanabe is correct about the chaos that will ensue very shortly, I think that having streetwise men acting as a second-line militia to support the Phoenix Guard in cities around the world, is a credible solution to our recruitment problems. Just think about it, they can perform some of the less savoury tasks while we can maintain our image of looking after the last of the world’s resources respectably.’
‘Fine, but I think we should at least interview this Tom Scott, before taking a final vote on this issue,’ Lady Winterton said, folding her arms.
‘Andrei, please set up a meeting with this warlord as soon as possible,’ Lord Butler said.
Chapter 44
Richmond-upon-Thames, London, UK - 2021
The black Mercedes pulled up the hill and into the long driveway of the old Petersham Hotel. Four men of African descent patrolled the carpark armed with sub-machineguns. They glared dispassionately as the car glided past. The stone building had retained all its glory with the tall spire in the middle over the main door. Five levels of rooms and conference facilities had once entertained royalty and presidents from all over the world.
Lord Butler got out of the car and walked towards the main door, glancing down the hill to his right, to the swollen Thames River. Two more guards appeared on balconies on the first floor, armed with long rifles. He sensed the presence of Markus just off his shoulder and felt safe despite the convergence of well-armed gang members who clearly distrusted everyone except the leader they were there to protect.
A tall man walked down the stairs to greet them, dressed in a checked shirt which was tucked into his blue jeans that covered brown hiking boots. Big shoulders and large muscular arms hinted to a physical lifestyle, with a shaved head adding to the menace.
‘Lord Butler?’
‘Tom Scott, I assume?’ Lord Butler replied.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. Andrei has told me a lot about you.’
Lord Butler looked to his left, past Markus, to Andrei who’d just walked up. ‘I hope he was complimentary. You know how depressing our Russian friends can be.’
Andrei stared at him, then looked at Tom. Lord Butler always felt uneasy around the Russian. There was an indomitable strength in the billionaire who’d come up through the ranks in the FSB only to leave and make billions on oil. Stories of the hundreds of thousands of men who’d died because of him was the reason he was sought out to join them.
‘See. Not even a smile, or a smirk,’ Lord Butler said.
‘It would worry me deeply the day I saw my friend smile,’ Tom said. ‘Let’s head inside for a drink.’
They walked into the marble hallway and passed the old hotel reception counter which had two vases of flowers plus a family portrait in the middle. Lord Butler felt the history of the place as he stopped to look at the photo. A family portrait of a gang lord and his family, like a scene captured from The Godfather.
As they entered a large lounge which had old paintings and tapestries hung between the long bay windows, a young African woman approached carrying a tray of glasses with a jug of water.
‘Welcome to our home, gentlemen,’ she said. ‘May I offer you some lemon water on this warm afternoon.’
‘Thank you,’ Lord Butler said. ‘We’ve just had water in the car.’
Andrei walked past and grabbed a glass, which she started to fill up. ‘Thank you, Mrs Scott.’
‘Leave us, now,’ Tom said as he ushered the men towards three-seater couches that were placed in a square around a coffee table. Whiskey and vodka bottles were placed in the middle with an assortment of mixers. ‘Something stronger perhaps.’
‘Indeed, Tom,’ Lord Butler said. ‘Markus, can you do us the honours.’
The tall German went about pouring drinks and handing them out.
‘I take it that you know why we’re here, Tom,’ Lord Butler said.
‘I have a fair idea judging from the cryptic messages that Andrei sent to me. I’m afraid that you may have wasted your time.’
Lord Butler sipped his whiskey. ‘You don’t want to be the warlord for London? One of the biggest cities in the world, having exclusive access to other warlords in global cities with whom to discuss trade opportunities.’
‘I own most of London’s streets at the moment,’ Tom said. ‘In a fe
w years, I will have them all.’
‘You will take a lot longer, I think,’ Andrei said. ‘You’ve been trying to defeat the last gangs for three years now and have made little inroads.’
‘You want me to defeat your fellow countrymen?’
‘Pah. They are Russian drug addicts, peasants and whores. I’ll gladly help you chase them out of London.’
‘What my colleague is trying to say is that the Phoenix Council will gladly help you destroy them. With the help of the police, army and the Phoenix Guard, you’ll own London in six months,’ Lord Butler said.
Tom was frowning, and Lord Butler knew that he’d piqued his interest. Bringing the Russian had been a stroke of genius on his part.
‘What do you want in return for helping to control the streets of London?’
‘You and your men will be the unofficial London militia should we need you. We’re heading for an incredibly difficult time and are sure the many low lying areas will be flooded in a few years, that includes properties along the Thames.’
‘I’ve been briefed on the forthcoming sea level rise. Your man Markus sent me that report. How will we survive this and still control London?’
‘We have plans to use the flood to make a megacity that is more water based,’ Lord Butler said.
‘Life will be tough on the people. Most will move out to the country.’
‘Exactly, Tom. Then when they realise that we are surviving, the most entrepreneurial and hardened Londoners will come flooding back, excuse the pun. You will be their beacon and provide jobs. You will be their hero.’
‘It’s certainly something to consider.’
Lord Butler felt the elation filling him from within. ‘I’m glad we could talk. So let’s drink a toast. To our future, and all the power it brings.’
Chapter 45
The Prison Ship ICARUS III – Wick, Scotland, UK - 2024
Gibbs shifted forward on his small bunk and wrapped the two thick blankets around him even tighter. The ice-cold air got through to your bones no matter where you were on the ship, or what manner of clothing you had traded for. He looked across to Killey and Shredder, who were also sporting thick dark beards with flecks of grey in them. The conditions were cramped, dark and cold in the metal containment cells they were all forced to share. Together with thirty other prisoners, they lived on top of one another like a pack of wild animals. After years of separation, they’d finally acquired enough favour from the guards to get them into the same cell.
‘Okay, it seems that we have a little more privacy now,’ he said, looking around at the other sleeping cellmates. ‘Looks like plan C has been thwarted. I hear that the bastards have welded shut the rusty porthole we discovered last week.’
‘Shit, man. I thought it would be our way off this tub,’ Shredder said.
‘We’ll just have to find another way off, then,’ Gibbs said.
‘It’s great that you’re so optimistic, boss, but they’re shutting down our escape attempts faster than we can come up with them,’ Killey said.
‘Chin up, boys, we’ll get off this bloody ship. I swore an oath to find out who helped Kirkwood do this to us, and I intend to get us off this rust bucket so we can kill the fucker.’
‘That’s if he or she is still alive?’
‘The past few years in these cells have made me do a lot of thinking. Even that Alex Brun chap said that he had an employer who told him to tie up loose ends, that being Kirkwood and us.’
‘True,’ Shredder said. ’You have to wonder what Kirkwood did to piss that person off.’
‘Doesn’t matter. We just know that he exists, that’s all,’ Gibbs said and looked up at the door as a siren rang out above the containment cells. Two long sounds, which meant it was time for topside exercise.
‘Watch your backs out there, boys,’ Gibbs said.
• • •
An icy wind whipped around the prisoners’ heads as they shuffled around in single file in a large rectangle, covering the length and breadth of the old oil tanker’s main exposed deck. Sleet and hail blew across the deck, making their weekly two-hour exercise session less than pleasurable.
Gibbs pulled his thick coat tighter around his neck to try and keep the cold out while staring at the prisoner a few men in front of him. Inmate McCabe, with tattoos covering his bald head and neck, stood head and shoulders above the surrounding prisoners. He looked around and stared at Gibbs before scanning for the movements of the wardens on deck. The ongoing feud with McCabe and his sidekick, Henry, had been simmering for the five years they’d been prisoners. They’d had two previous run-ins which resulted in a few black eyes for McCabe, and a lengthy stint in solitary. He’d not handled the humiliation well.
‘Halt!’ the command boomed over the on-deck loudspeaker system.
‘Inmates of the prison ship Icarus III. This is to be your last exercise session for the next three weeks as we are hoisting an anchor to pick up additional scum like yourselves. Please welcome the new inmates with your warm smiles and happy demeanour. All below deck duties will continue as usual while we make room for the new inmates.’
Gibbs looked across to the other side of the ship and spotted Killey in the adjacent line of prisoners as they started walking again. He nodded a greeting. Killey pointed to Gibbs’s left, giving him the signal to watch his back. Gibbs turned his head to see the evil smile of Henry positioned two men behind him. Their eyes met, and Henry made a fist and dragged his thumb across his throat. Gibbs blew him a kiss then faced forward again, as the call to continue walking came over the loudspeaker.
Where would he launch the attack if he were planning it himself? McCabe would try something first because he was the leader. Reaching the bow of the boat, McCabe was at the furthest point from the bridge and warden’s stations. The warden who was usually stationed on the bow was missing and nowhere to be seen. Get ready, any moment now.
McCabe stepped aside, letting the man behind him pass by, then turned and came at Gibbs with a sharpened shiv made from a filed down spoon handle wrapped in cloth and resin to form a crude handle. He stabbed at Gibbs’s torso but found only air as Gibbs jinked sharply to his right and landed a punch on the side of McCabe’s face. The large man recoiled under the blow but managed to swing his sledgehammer fist back at Gibbs’s head.
Gibbs dropped to one knee to dodge the blow, at the same time swinging his fist upwards into McCabe’s testicles. He heard a popping noise as one of them ruptured, and his opponent let out a bloodcurdling scream, collapsing onto the deck in pain.
Gibbs jumped to his feet again just as Henry tackled him from the side. Both men hurtled towards the ship’s railing, coming to a thudding halt against the cold metal. Gibbs gasped for breath as the wind was forced from his lungs, then he retaliated as best he could, slamming his elbow down onto the man’s back.
Henry tried to scoop him over the railing by grabbing Gibbs’s legs, but he kept twisting to his left and right, switching the point of balance from his attacker. From the other side of the deck, he could hear distant whistles being blown but knew that the wardens had no intention of getting to the skirmish on time. Henry pulled one of his hands free from Gibbs’s grip and managed to get his palm under his chin. This would give him greater leverage as he pushed. Gibbs smashed his fist into the side of his assailant’s body as he needed to do something quickly. The wardens didn’t fish anyone out of the ocean.
Gibbs reached around with his other hand and managed to gouge at his attacker’s eyes, his finger slipping into the eye socket. Henry groaned and released the pressure on Gibbs’s chin for a second. It was the chance he needed, and he retaliated with a vicious head-butt to Henry’s left eye. He staggered back a little, Gibbs grabbed him by the lapels of his winter jacket with both hands and turned his right hip into Henry’s midriff, lifting him up onto his own body, and then in a swift judo throw, swung him over his shoulder onto the ship’s railing.
Henry lay there for a split second with his legs dangling
over the side of the ship. He made a frantic grab for Gibbs’s jacket, but his hands were slapped away. The scream drifted away on the wind as he plummeted into the North Sea.
One down, one to go. McCabe tried to stagger to his feet and fell forward, his face red with pain. Walking over to him, Gibbs let rip with a vicious right hook that laid the big man out cold on the deck. Looking up, he could see that the wardens had managed to secure Killey, who was pinned face down on the deck. Other wardens had secured Shredder further back along the row of men. The large deck door slammed open and more wardens scampered up from the lower deck and walked towards Gibbs, their guns and tasers drawn. All weapons were pointed straight at him. He placed his hands on his head and knelt down on the deck.
‘Well, prisoner. It seems you and your little friends here have earned yourselves an extended stretch in solitary confinement for your sins. Let me see? Should we say about six months? Yes, that sounds about right to me,’ the Chief Warden said.
There was no point in protesting. The small-minded wardens didn’t take kindly to backchat. Three prison wardens dragged Gibbs into his new metal cell below deck and threw him on the floor. One of the oversized men placed his knee on Gibbs’s back and knelt on him while he cut the cable ties that bound his hands.
‘Now you be a good boy and don’t give us any more shit, do you hear me?’ he said, leaning forward and stuffing a small parcel down the back of Gibbs’s trousers so the other guards couldn’t see.
Gibbs turned around and watched the prison screw back out of the cell. He flipped the man the middle finger, a smug grin on his face.
‘Enjoy your stay, Gibbs. Come see me when you’re done here,’ the overweight warden said, and slammed the metal door.
A solitary yellow light bulb lit the dark, isolation cell. Gibbs had spent a good few months in the cell before so was accustomed to being on his own. He walked over to the side wall and slid down to sit on the floor. Leaning against the cold metal wall, he reached into his trousers and pulled out the dirty piece of cloth. As he unwrapped it slowly, two large iron keys fell into his palm. There was a note written on the cloth - Your services are required in London. Be ready to leave. More to follow.
The Journey of Kyle Gibbs Box Set Page 25