Celt_The Journey of Kyle Gibbs

by Wayne Marinovich

  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 meant 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 had been warned about. These were the target of the snipers.

  Blinking his eyes 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. Suddenly a man dressed in army fatigues appeared at the open door in the front of the building and spoke in Arabic to the guard, who threw off his blanket and stood up to stretch. The three SAS soldiers dropped down silently onto one knee, keeping their guns trained on the guards.

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

  Would he spot them?

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

  Gibbs looked across at 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 other guard.

  He looked at the guard through his MP5 nightscope and slid his forefinger onto the trigger. The guard had sat down again with his blanket around him and looked like he was going to fall asleep.

  The guard stirred briefly 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. Gibbs squeezed the trigger. The guard 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 twice in the chest. He stumbled backwards, golden urine lit 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 in front 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 sound 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 cloudless 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. In a quick sideways 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 just 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. Gibbs froze for a split second then fired a long covering volley into the room. He heard a male voice cry out in pain, followed by silence.

  Gibbs wondered how many more guards were inside and was loudly answered when he heard the machine gunfire from inside as chips of mud and plaster from the door frame radiated outwards. They could hit Killey at any second.

  Gibbs hit the dust floor again and reached across, dragging 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, disorienting everyone 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 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 both men and continued to move through the adjacent rooms, checking for any 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 was that of a teenage boy, an 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, first scanning the desert in front of their target then up in the direction of the main building. All seemed clear. Occasional sporadic gunfire could still 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, still in shock.

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

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

  ‘Yes, there weren’t that many of them. It’s all clear inside now. I caught 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. ‘That was bloody stupid of me.’

  ‘Aye, you do. I’ll take payment in cases of beer when we get back home. And don’t worry about it, mate. This will stay between us,’ Gibbs said.

  The night sky to the east was changing to an orange glow in the cloudless morning, and the barrenness of their surroundings became more apparent. Gibbs stood and faced the main buildings that had fallen into silence. Looking down at his hands, he clenched his fists to stop them from shaking.

  ‘You still see your old man’s face every time you kill?’ Killey asked, walking up behind him.

  ‘Yeah, it’s as if those memories send me to a bloody dark place,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘It will get easier, mate.’

  He 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, are you smoking pla
in cigarettes now?’

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

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

  ‘You only live once, kid, so get about living, will you?’ Killey smiled, grabbing Gibbs’s shoulder again.

  ***

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

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

  ‘Nothing we couldn’t handle, sir,’ Gibbs said. ‘There are a load of documents lying around inside and 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 will all be relieved at ten hundred hours, so wait for the intelligence boys to get here, then get back to the vehicles.’

  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 dark passageway. As they approached the wooden door, Lord Butler felt himself gag again; the scent of death instantly filled his nostrils and stung the back of his throat. I hope the bastard hasn't died. A headache throbbed in the centre of his forehead from too much champagne the previous night.

  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 something about the damn smell in this corridor? It will 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, will you?’

  ‘Sorry, sir. I didn’t think…’

  ‘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 had a small 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 then 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, Monhinder, 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 and then leant to one side and spat out a bloody globule of spit on the floor. ‘You are a monster, Butler. So fuck you and your organisation.’

  Lord Butler took a long deep breath and was determined to remain calm. ‘Well, you have had enough time to digest the generous offer we have made you. But 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 nice and cosy and intimate in the room upstairs.’

  ‘This did not happen,’ Monhinder said, staring at the graphic content in the photos in disbelief.

  ‘Of course it did, my dear man, and it is 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 may very well 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 are all psychotic and will not get away with this!’

  ‘Thank you for the compliment, Monhinder. The thing is, dear chap, I have already gotten away with it.’

  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, is helping me out by checking that everything is forensically accurate at the scene where you will be my leading star. Your leading lady will be the young woman next door, and you will, of course, 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.

  ‘Monhinder, sign the bloody papers and it 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.

  ‘Monhinder, let me make you a slightly different offer to the ones who have already signed up to date. If you sign over all your assets and wealth to the Billionaire Group of companies and agree to serve with honour for five years, you will be able to walk away from this with all the profits of the investments made on your behalf and 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. ‘Fine. Have it your way, Francis, I accept under duress.’

  ‘Splendid decision, good man,’ Lord Butler said. ‘You will be welcomed with open arms into the Club.’

  Twenty minutes later Lord Butler felt elated as he clutched the signed documents to his chest and walked up the stairs to his study. The massive subcontinent of India was now covered, which meant he had men covering 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 at the trauma he had just endured.

  He gingerly walked over to Lord Butler. ‘Francis. I have a long way to travel and would like to be excused if I may.’

  ‘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.

  ‘And I wasn't offering you a choice, Monhinder,’ Lord Butler said, signalling to Alex.

  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. A knot formed in his stomach when he looked at the four-poster bed where the graphic photographs had been taken. He stepped aside to let Alex enter. Standing in a row at the foot of the bed was his luggage, which had already been packed for him.

  A bald, heavy-set man in a dark blue overall stepped out from behind the door and crept up behind the billionaire, slipping a yellow nylon noose over his head.

  ‘What the…?’ he screamed, pawing at the tightening noose.

  A third man with a physique of a bodybuilder ran out from the en-suite bathroom and tackled Monhinder to the ground. They grabbed the
trailing end of the rope that had been passed over one of the big ornate oak beams in the room ceiling and pulled slowly, lifting Monhinder into the air. As his legs lifted off the ground, his feet kicked out wildly as he clutched at his throat.

  Alex Brun checked that the long corridor behind him was empty and walked back into the room, closing the door behind him. Slipping an old straight razor with an ivory handle out of his pocket, he lovingly slid his thumb over the blade, drawing a droplet of blood. Now it was time for him to have some fun.

  Chapter 4

  Camp Bastion, Afghanistan - 2013

  A hot wind blew a swirl of dust and debris through the opening of the beige tent. An uncomfortable heat sapped all the energy of the tired soldiers who sat on an old paisley print couch in the centre of the tent. Eight green army bunks were made up and lined up along the sides of an adjoining tent. Gibbs and Killey were playing football on a games console, which was one of the preferred ways for soldiers to pass the time between assignments

  ‘Are you boys Gibbs and Killey?’ a soldier asked, entering the tent.

  They both nodded without taking their eyes away from the TV screen. ‘And who wants to know?’

  ‘Fraser Byrne, but everyone calls me Shredder,’ he said, and threw his kit down onto an empty army bunk. ‘I come bearing welcome gifts for you. Your new orders, well… our new orders really, as I will be joining you.’

  Gibbs stood up to shake his hand and was surprised at how tall the new man was. Gibbs stood over six feet tall and was now looking into the new man’s neck. ‘Damn, Shredder, you are a lanky piece of shit, aren’t you?’