The Journey of Kyle Gibbs Box Set

by Wayne Marinovich

  Markus jumped down from his boat onto The Gaia and as he landed, knocking Killey backwards before he slipped on the wet deck and landed on his backside. The big Scotsman stumbled backwards, his blade drawn, then he steadied himself and charged the prostrate Markus, who in realising the mistake in their plan, stood up and quickly fired at the oncoming Scotsman, one bullet hitting him in the chest and another just above his bullet-proof vest. The stray bullet ripped through Killey’s throat, and he collided onto Markus, who swivelled to his right, and with a slight lift, dumped the man’s body overboard.

  Gibbs, who had been thrown across the deck by the force of the collision, screamed when he saw his friend go overboard. He changed the grip on his hunting knife and threw the blade with all his might. It struck a surprised Markus in the chest, just below his collarbone. He grimaced, staring down at his chest before his pistol dropped to the deck, the function in his arm failing.

  Markus grabbed the handle of the heavy black knife and tried to remove it. His face contorted in pain and he failed to notice Gibbs charging at him or the right hook that smashed into his face. His head snapped back, cracking against the hull of the stranded boat with a dull thud. A massive left hook from Gibbs, filled with all the anguish at seeing his friend die, landed on the right side of Markus’s face and spun him against the railing. Gibbs grabbed the knife protruding from Markus’s chest and yanked it out. The German screamed as he made a grab for Gibbs’s throat. The second thrust of the knife was quick, as Gibbs jabbed the long blade up through Markus’s throat and up into his brain.

  Markus froze, his eyes in a dead stare. Gibbs roared in anguish and pushed him back over the railing and into the black waters of the North Sea.

  Chapter 54

  North Sea - 2028

  A sombre mood had set in onboard The Gaia as Shredder and Smithy walked over to Gibbs, who was staring over the railing where his friend had gone overboard.

  When Smithy placed his hand on Gibbs’s shoulder, he spun around. ‘We need to check both boats for any survivors, and for fuck sakes, look for Killey.’

  Gibbs stared into the cold dark water of the North Sea and imagined his friend’s body floating to the bottom. He swallowed hard, fighting back the tears. The gentle rocking of the yacht suddenly made him feel nauseous as he walked along the length of the hull.

  The Gaia suddenly lurched to the right as a massive bow-wave hit them, and the loud revving of a boat engine snapped him out of his nightmare. He looked up and saw the name The Jess painted in white lettering on the side of a large fishing trawler drawing alongside them.

  The men on the deck of the trawler had heaved large nets down the hull of their boat, so that Gibbs, his men plus the few prisoners who’d surrendered, could jump across to get on board. The water churned between the stricken Gaia and The Jess, as the captain used his bow thrusters to bring the big trawler alongside the two entwined smaller boats.

  Gibbs made sure all his men had jumped across to the nets before he leapt. He grabbed the thick netting easily and then tried to pull himself up but a sharp pain pierced his side, and he clutched at his ribs with his free hand. He could feel warm liquid against his skin. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to make his way up before feeling the hands of Shredder and Smithy grabbed onto him and yanked him onto the deck.

  ‘Oh crap, there is blood here, boss,’ Shredder shouted.

  ‘Get Captain Gibbs to the medics,’ a man said with a thick Scottish drawl.

  Gibbs looked up at the man. ‘Captain Patterson?’

  ‘Aye, laddie, save your strength,’ said the grey-bearded fisherman, dressed in yellow deck overalls.

  • • •

  Later that afternoon, they were all sitting in the large lounge of a GGC commandeered hotel situated on Queens Street, the main street in Edinburgh. Whisky in hand, Gibbs sat looking up at the large portraits of fighting gentry who were kilted in regimental uniforms. ‘You sure you made every effort to find him?’ he asked.

  Shredder nodded. ‘You know I would, boss, he was my friend too. You were bleeding badly so had passed out, but Captain Patterson circled the boats and hung around for half an hour before we had to leave. He is gone.’

  Gibbs raised his glass. ‘To Killey.’

  ‘Best bastard I knew,’ Shredder said, necking the contents of his whisky tumbler.

  Two glass doors, with coloured stained glass images of red deer stags in the middle, swung open and a tall, thin man in a large fur-lined overcoat, green pants and wellingtons, walked in. ‘Good afternoon, Captain Gibbs. I am Reid Maclaren. I am the appointed Warlord of Edinburgh.’

  ‘Pleasure to meet you, Warlord Maclaren,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Please call me Reid, I don’t subscribe to all the ceremony of the bloody GGC,’ he said with a broad smile.

  ‘Okay, Reid. I need your help with a small GGC issue,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Vargen has already been in touch, and I’ve assembled six other Scottish and Irish warlords, all of whom are keen to have a chat with you. Are you happy to meet with them now?’

  Gibbs was led to a musty-smelling conference room with an old blue carpet and white painted walls. Sitting in silence around a big square wooden table were several men, all warlords from the north. He walked around the table to an empty seat, feeling their gaze on him. Most of them were sitting with their arms folded and scowling at him. Mistrust filled the air.

  He stood behind the chair that was left for him and looked around at all the faces. ‘I’m told that most of you know who I am and why I’m here. I want to assure you that although I was originally brought in as a GGC captain, it was against my will. The GGC bastards repeatedly blackmailed me to continue with missions up until the discovery in Poland recently, where my men and I deserted and now support Vargen’s resistance.

  ‘Warlord Reid has been filling me in with the stories of corruption and coercion that you all seemed to have suffered at the hands of the Grand Founders and their GGC. I hope that you’ll support the resistance efforts to end the reign of the Phoenix Council.’

  Reid stood up. ‘Thank you, Captain Gibbs, we have been discussing Vargen’s proposals for some hours now, so all that is left to do is to put it to a vote. By a show of hands, everyone. Who agrees to support Vargen and the resistance in their quest to topple the GGC and more importantly the Phoenix Council? By doing so, you agree to send all your available men to London with Captain Gibbs.’

  The majority of the warlords nodded in agreement and raised a hand. A thin red-haired man with a short red goatee stood up. ‘What happens once the GGC is eliminated? Surely a power vacuum will be created, and it will need filling. We have to prevent another such organisation from stepping in.’

  ‘Vargen believes that if we get the new energy source working and stable, it should be shared with all the warlords. This means that you and your colleagues will still have to preside over your own areas to ensure that the energy is rolled out correctly. It is a starting point, but you will all have to decide on the best way forward. Whether that is one big country or hundreds of little countries,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘That would mean redrawing the boundaries as we know them, beyond anything that has been done before,’ an Irish warlord piped up.

  ‘That’s correct. We find ourselves in a time like no other in history. Everything we know will have to be thought out and redrawn,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Aye, ain’t that the truth,’ Reid agreed.

  • • •

  Christina unzipped the large green tent flap and stepped into the sunshine. Gabrjel had woken her with the news that his scouts had seen four trucks heading in their direction. She hadn’t slept well and made her way through the camp, that had been set up in the lush green grass of a farmer’s field. Passing between the tents, she made her way to the camp canteen for much-needed coffee.

  René and Gabrjel were arguing.

  ‘You two still at it?’ she said. ‘You have been going on like old women since we left Southampton all the way to B
asingstoke.’

  ‘We shouldn’t have given the southern warlord that much bribe money. René’s poor negotiating cost us a fortune to hire the trains to bring everyone here. And they didn’t even take us all the way.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have given us any help if we didn’t pay him his asking price,’ René snorted.

  ‘Okay, gentlemen. That is quite enough about the Southampton warlord. We are here now, and I have just been speaking to Tom Scott, the warlord of London. He’s on his way here with four trucks, additional fuel and ammunition.’

  Both René and Gabrjel’s eyes lit up. ‘Are we going to ambush them?’

  ‘That is the general idea, so if you two could look at a map of the area, and come up with a suitable ambush plan, that would be great.’

  The two men walked across to a larger army tent and disappeared beneath the flaps into the darkness. Christina sat down on a foldout chair, signing as she leant back. An overweight cook waddled over with a mug of hot coffee and placed it on the table next to her. ‘Thank you, chef,’ she said.

  After the third or fourth sip, she could hear the raised voices of René and Gabrjel drifting across from the operations tent. She placed the mug down and walked across.

  ‘Okay, gentleman, what is the problem this time?’ Christina asked.

  ‘We are trying to agree on the best place to ambush the convoy but have different opinions,’ René said.

  Christina walked up to the map desk and pointed to a spot on the map. ‘It’s a perfectly narrow and overgrown country road. We will place dead trees across the road and then box them in, once they pass. Remember, gents, this is a staged ambush so doesn’t have to be perfect. Warlord Scott will radio a distress call through to the GGC and notify them once the ambush has taken place, which will keep him above suspicion.’

  • • •

  Later that afternoon as the shadows grew longer across the field, Christina walked into the planning tent with the tall figure of Tom Scott, dressed in his customary jeans, Wellington boots and a blue shirt. René and Gabrjel were standing at a map of the London Floodzone. They were joined by four other rebel army soldiers, all dressed in their green fatigues.

  ‘Good afternoon, everyone. I think it is fitting that we get information from Warlord Scott first before we start planning the assault,’ Christina said. ‘What is happening in the Phoenix compound at the moment, Tom?’ she asked.

  ‘Everyone is panicking at the moment. The Phoenix Council is in session as we speak and I am told they are discussing which European city to attack first,’ Tom Scott said.

  ‘Do they have any idea about us?’ Christina asked.

  ‘Not that I know of. You’ve flooded the ops room with so many possible Vargen sightings, which they are struggling to look into all of them. It didn’t help that they missed the professor in Hamburg, so I believe that they’ll target Germany first before punishing any local warlords,’ Tom said.

  ‘Thankfully the professor has circulated copies of the verified documents to us and other leading figures in the megacities. The new technology cannot be stopped now,’ she said. ‘Any idea when they intend to attack?’

  ‘They are waiting for a couple of the Guard units to return before attacking the first of the warlords,’ Tom Scott said.

  ‘So if we wait a while, we could have an easy target on our hands,’ she said.

  Tom smiled. ‘They are placing a lot of trust in my men and me to pick up the slack. I have nearly a thousand able-bodied men camped in Richmond Park.’

  ‘The pieces of our plan are all starting to fall into place. Once Gibbs is in position in the north, the rebel coalition will be complete,’ Christina said.

  • • •

  ‘Lord Butler, you have the floor,’ Lady Winterton said, sitting down in her seat as chairman of the Phoenix Council. To her left at the long Grand Founders table, Lord Butler got to his feet, bowing to her slightly.

  ‘Thank you, Lady Winterton. I have here the transcripts of the calls between myself and the ops room.’

  The heavy wooden chamber doors flew open, interrupting him, and the sullen figure of Andrei Kirilenko skulked in.

  ‘Glad you can take the time to join us,’ Lord Butler said.

  Grand Founder Kirilenko waved him away dismissively and walked straight up to Lady Winterton, whispering something in her ear. She pulled away with a look of astonishment. ‘I’m sorry, Lord Butler, Andrei has an urgent announcement.’

  The tall Russian waited until he had complete silence then said. ‘I have here a transcript of a call that came in from the Hamburg warlord. It is directed to everyone in this chamber.’ He looked down at a single sheet of paper and read.

  ‘To all Grand founders of the Phoenix Council.

  ‘Today, in a secret location in Hamburg, a team of physicists have been successful in creating a stable fusion reaction at room temperature and have successfully powered all electrical equipment in the building for the last twenty-four hours. This experiment has been a resounding success despite your interference and attempts to monopolise this technology.

  ‘The technology has now been shared with other warlords, and all the scientists who are working for them.

  ‘A great day for global freedom and independence.’

  A hush fell over the Chamber as the reality of the message sunk in, then as one, all the Grand Founders got to their feet, shouting and remonstrating with one another.

  Jürgen Kohler tried to call for calm. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. This is no time for panic. Andrei, contact the warlord, let’s open a line of negotiation. We have to offer him whatever he wants for his silence. Everyone has his or her price. If we can control the flow of information, we can still control the other warlords.’

  • • •

  Two hours later all the Grand Founders were back in their allocated seats in the chamber after being summoned by the chairman.

  Lady Winterton read out an email that they had just received.

  ‘To all Grand Founders, Fellows and GGC Ministers.

  ‘This serves as a final decree to cease all military action and surrender all power to the Rebel coalition to implement the immediate devolution of all power and the redistribution of independence back to the provinces that you have governed by force.

  ‘You have twelve hours to give up the control of the GGC and evacuate your GGC strongholds around the world. Failure to comply will ultimately result in your destruction.

  Vargen’

  Silence followed.

  ‘I have more bad news,’ Lord Butler said. ‘Warlord Tom Scott has been ambushed south of London and is missing. We can’t rule out the fact that he may have joined the resistance. I expect that many of his men will follow, and this means that we’ll be without protection.’

  ‘This is madness. We have no choice but to surrender and negotiate our freedom in return for handing over power,’ Grand Founder Watanabe said.

  ‘We have weapons, ammunition and Phoenix Guard units to protect us. We are going nowhere. Anyone trying to weasel out of their responsibility will be shot,’ Lord Butler said, slamming his hand down on the wooden table top.

  ‘Seems like you are only too keen for us all to get caught, Lord Butler. Maybe the rumours are true. You are indeed Vargen’s informant,’ Andrei Kirilenko said.

  Lord Butler stood up and pointed his finger at Kirilenko. ‘Only a narrow-minded spook like you would come to that daft conclusion. Lies and insinuation are all you crazy Russian spies deal in. What proof do you have?’

  Andrei Kirilenko turned to face his accuser, his hand slipping down to his pistol.

  Chapter 55

  Phoenix Compound, Canary Wharf, London, UK - 2028

  The air in the Phoenix Chamber was thick with tension as Lord Butler, and Andrei Kirilenko stood facing one another in the centre of the chamber. The tall, muscular figure of the Russian, with his hand on his sidearm, towered over the short round figure of the founder of the Council. Lady Winterton stood up at the lectern.’
Come now, gentlemen. Let’s not behave like the rabble who are massing at our gates.’

  Jürgen Kohler broke the tension by walking over, placing his hand on Andrei’s, which had slipped off the safety of the gun in its holster.

  ‘Let’s not shoot someone by accident, my friend,’ he said.

  The Russian lifted his hand from his sidearm without breaking the stare with Lord Butler.

  Lord Butler’s jaw clenched. ‘Answer me this, Andrei. Do you happen to know how the London warlord made off with four good trucks and fifteen barrels of fuel yesterday? Did you have anything to do with that?’

  ‘Nice try, English, trying to pass the blame onto me,’ Kirilenko retorted. ‘I do not monitor what the warlord does every day of his life. Never mind when he decides to go for a drive in the countryside. I’m sure there are many things that you get up to, that we don’t know of.’

  ‘You should know as you’ve been bugging all our offices for the past year,’ Lord Butler said, a collective gasp resonating around the chamber.

  Lord Butler’s assistant walked around to Lady Winterton and handed her a folder. She opened it and read the first page, shock on her face. After a few minutes, she looked up at the Russian Grand Founder.

  ‘This is a statement from a third party, backing evidence that you issued an order to Warlord Tom Scott to head south with a load of fuel. What have you got to say about that, Andrei? Did you order this?’

  ‘Fabricated evidence by Lord Butler, trying to cover his tracks,’ he replied.

  Jürgen Kohler slipped the pistol out of Andrei Kirilenko’s holster and pressed it into the Russian’s back. ‘Guards! Arrest this man.’

  Andrei dipped to the left, spun around and whipped an almighty right hook at Jürgen Kohler. It hit him on the side of his jaw, and he recoiled backwards. The Russian ran for the door and straight into the oncoming GGC guards. He struck out at one of them with a right jab, landing the punch on his chin, the man rocking backwards as the Russian’s followed up with a left hook. The other guard managed to grab him around the neck. Two more guards entered the doorway, and together they wrestled him to the ground. A groggy Jürgen Kohler swayed a little then approached, pointing the pistol at the Russian’s face. They heaved Andrei to his feet and managed to cuff his wrists.