‘How the fuck did you let them get away, Captain Warren?’ John Mountford shouted down the other end of the line. ‘We hired you specifically because you said you could neutralise Gibbs and his team in Africa when the time came. You assured us that your plan was simple but effective.’
‘Mr Mountford, things don’t always go according to plan on operations like these. I can…’
The billionaire cut him off. ‘Being prepared for the unexpected goes with the territory on these type of operations, Captain. You should have known that they would not simply roll over and surrender.’
‘We were as prepared as we could be, Mr Mountford.’
‘Well, that doesn’t seem to be the case now, does it? Your role was a critical cog in our strategy for Africa, starting with this simple mission. We needed you to frame Gibbs then eliminate his team at the refinery. That’s all you had to do. I am starting to wonder whether we should have contracted Sergeant Gibbs.’
Silence stretched between them.
‘They couldn’t have gotten very far, sir,’ John said, strangling back his rage.
‘Well, why don’t you get in touch with the contacts you said you had in the area and finish the job you were hired to do? I don't want to hear from you until it is done. What happens if Gibbs and his team realise that they were set up as scapegoats and decide to come after us?’
‘I’ll get right on it.’
‘You made a mess of this. Now you have to clean it up!’ The line went dead.
***
The Zodiac raced along the calm sea within the safety of the long and sandy Lobito peninsula. Gibbs could see the rest of his team in the other boat a kilometre or two ahead of him. They had already turned east and were heading straight for the beach below the Lobito Lighthouse. He felt calm and determined as the fresh sea air swept around his face. Their exit plan was now in motion, and he knew that it was a solid one. Getting back to London was the only priority. The answers to all his questions lay with two men there.
Twenty-five minutes later both teams had reached the sandy beach and successfully hid the Zodiacs from local prying eyes. The longer they remained undetected, the bigger the gap they could put between the teams and the Angolan authorities pursuing them. Two old green trucks were parked in the lot of the abandoned lighthouse. Gibbs called the group together.
‘Gents, as you have probably guessed, we are going to have to fly below the radar for a while to get clear of Angola. Neil, you and your team, will head inland as discussed, before turning south to go through Botswana and on to Johannesburg. JP, Shredder, Killey and I will head north through the DRC before making our way back to Europe,’ Gibbs said.
Opening up his bag, Gibbs pulled out the brown paper package that JP had given him at the start of the job.
‘Here are our additional passports I had made before we left London. Memorise your names and come up with a plausible backstory, just in case. Make sure these stories will stand up to questioning because we have no corresponding drivers licences or bank accounts.’
Opening his passport, Killey smiled. ‘Duncan McLeod? Not a stereotypical Scottish name at all.’
‘They’re good enough to get us through Africa. We have no credit cards so will settle all bills and bribes in cash,’ Gibbs said.
‘So this is what you had JP doing behind our backs in London,’ Shredder said. ‘Nice one, boss. We should be able to cross the borders quite easily with these.’
Nodding his head, Gibbs replied, ‘What’s more, the false identities that we travelled out to Africa on, will now show up as never having returned to the UK. Should anyone be looking for the men who were involved in the coup in Angola, they will draw a blank.’
‘If there are no more questions,' Gibbs said. 'Let’s get the hell out of here.’
‘Thought you might have got us a more comfortable ride home, boss,’ Shredder said.
‘It's more than you deserve. There are hidden compartments behind the drums of diesel in the back of the trucks for us to hide in should we need to. Water and mattresses should make it slightly more comfortable on the trip, but we will take it in turns up front and also share the driving until we cross the border. We’re being smuggled in under the guise of being diesel traders.’
JP chuckled as he opened up the driver’s door. ‘No bloody smoking in the back there, children, or we’ll arrive back in London a lot sooner, and in tiny pieces.’
***
The journey out of Angola passed by without any incident all the way to the border with the Democratic Republic of Congo or DRC. With the local fixers paving the way and greasing the right palms through the border posts, they quickly approached their target, Brazzaville, its capital.
‘Jesus, this road is crap, I am going to lose my bloody lunch,’ Killey said, hidden in the back of the dirty truck under layers of wooden pallets. The trucks slowed down again ‘Arrrgh, I hate these frikkin potholes probably more than that idiot Kirkwood.’
’That's the hundredth time you've said that,’ Shredder said.
’Just putting it out there,’ Killey said, flicking him the middle finger.
‘Ssssh!’ Shredder said, raising his finger to his mouth. Before Killey could continue grousing, they heard shouting outside. The truck ground to a complete halt. Gibbs peeked out through a crack in the wooden planks that hid them from view and spotted four African youths carrying AK47’s as they stood behind another makeshift roadblock of two forty-four gallon drums and a large makeshift boom, cut from a nearby acacia tree.
‘Bloody kids are playing pirates,’ Gibbs whispered. ‘I hope JP’s fixers can talk our way through here. I don’t want to have to shoot kids.’
He slipped the Glock17 pistol out of its holster. He raised it and aimed through a gap in the side panels. The young boy who was doing all the shouting was between fourteen or fifteen years old and carried an old Beretta 9mm pistol. The little man was shouting orders while frantically chewing on a piece of chewing gum. Without a word, Shredder and Killey drew their weapons. Gibbs gestured to Killey to move into position on the roof of the truck to get a better vantage point.
One of the youths walked around to the back of the truck, his AK47 dwarfing him as it hung from a strap around his neck. He chewed his gum frantically and climbed the small three rung ladder that hung from the back of the truck.
The young man flipped open the flap of canvas that covered the back and squinted into the darkness as he waited for his eyes to acclimatise to the black interior.
Shredder squeezed his trigger finger a little more. The sight of his SA80 targeted between the boy’s eyes.
More shouting came from the group at the front of the truck as the fixer furiously haggled with them.
The bored youth, standing on the back ladder, scanned the metal drums of diesel and stacked pallets of wood then jumped off the back of the truck, satisfied that it was empty.
The shouting and gesticulating continued in front of the truck for another five minutes when finally the young men accepted their bribe of cash, pencils and JP’s hunting knife. Gibbs could see the young men discussing their trophies as the truck finally passed, big grins on their faces.
Chapter 21
Somewhere in southern England, UK - 2019
Gibbs swayed to the rhythm of the train as it clacked along on the slightly misshapen and bent rail tracks out of Dover. He looked at his reflection in the graffiti-scratched mirror. A tired and gaunt looking man who he barely recognised stared back at him.
Twenty hours earlier they had left the heat and mosquito-infested Congo for the grey and cold Paris Gare du Nord train station. Coming through the Channel Tunnel was the easiest way to sneak into the United Kingdom as the border control booths were empty most of the time.
Gibbs rubbed his face and splashed water on it from the water bottle he was carrying. In an hour, they would arrive at Victoria Station and then blend back into the chaotic masses of London.
‘Come on, boss, get your round of drinks in,�
�� JP said as Gibbs walked into the empty bar coach. ‘These kind folks serving us could do with a bit of cash. One of them just told me that they traded two beers for a packet of potatoes the other day.’
‘I hear trading is the new future,' Gibbs said. 'Anyway, didn’t I just get one in?’
‘Well you are the boss, so we drink on your account because you nearly got us killed,’ JP said.
‘Don’t forget who got us out again. You should be bloody thanking me.’
‘So, what’s the plan then?’ Shredder asked, leaning on the bar staring into the dark pint of stout in his hand.
‘Once we hit Victoria, I think it’s best we split up for a few days and find obscure hostels or hotels to stay in. I will contact Sheila every morning and evening around eight. I’ll leave any instructions with her, and you can leave any messages in the same way. If it is critical, you all know where she lives, but don’t go there unless it’s urgent. I’m going to get hold of Kirkwood personally even if I have to stand outside his office until the little shit shows his face,’ Gibbs said.
‘I think there are quite a few amongst us who would like a little one on one time with him,’ Shredder said.
‘If it turns out that he did set us up, you will have to take a bloody number. The more I think about the operation, the more I think we were meant to get caught by the Angolan government. Someone set us up, and I am going to find out whose idea it was. In the meanwhile, lie low and keep out of sight,’ Gibbs said.
***
Gibbs sat on the end of the double bed at the White Lady bed and breakfast. The room was decorated like a country fair, and he hated all the old tattered frilly and lacy fabrics from a time of plenty, long gone. It was conveniently located a few streets behind Vauxhall Station, so was pretty central for getting around London. Steam train travel was one of the few reliable forms of travel left, due to a resurgence and easy accessibility of coal in the UK. Lying back on the bed with every intention of having a few hours of sleep, the nagging urgency to find the people who tried to kill him and his team bubbled beneath his skin.
Picking up the cheap mobile phone he had bought from a street vendor at Victoria, he dialled a number from memory.
‘Hello, lover,’ he said.
‘Well hello, stranger, how are you?’ Sheila said.
‘Alive and well, thanks. Thought I would just check in and see if you want to hook up tonight.’
‘I’m afraid not. I am seeing someone now so our little arrangement will have to be postponed for a while,’ she said.
‘Well, that is just a damn shame. Can’t you send him away for the evening?’ Gibbs joked.
‘I am sure Martin would love that.’
‘The gang lord? Well, talk of jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire,’ he said.
‘Easy, lover,’ she said, laughing out loud. 'By the way, there were a few calls for you from a Captain Matthews. Apparently she has transferred down to London and is keen to catch up with you. She sounds like she knew you quite well.’
‘She’s my wife.’
‘What…you never told me you were married! You cheating bastard…’
Gibbs interrupted her tirade. ‘You gullible woman. What has Martin done with your sense of humour?’
‘You’re a bloody arse, Gibbs. Do you know that?’ she said.
‘I know. Now give me Sharon’s contact number,’ Gibbs replied.
***
The bitter liquid burnt the back of Gibbs’s throat as he took another long sip of the cheap house red. He looked up at the waiter. ‘Is that the best plonk you have, mate? It could strip paint.’
The man in the smart white shirt and black apron shrugged and grabbed the jug of wine from the table.
‘Leave it!’ Gibbs said. ‘Just call an ambulance to have my stomach pumped in an hour or so.’
Dexter’s was one of the last few remaining restaurants in Vauxhall, situated on Kennington Lane, and judging by the queue of people standing outside trying to get in, was still quite popular. Serving in Iraq with the owner had been a help when he made the call the previous evening to get a booking.
‘Thanks for squeezing me in, Andy,’ Gibbs said, looking up at the tired face of the ex-paratrooper who was wiping his hands on his food-stained white apron. ‘Looks like the restaurant business is booming.’
‘Anytime, Gibbs. It’s always great to see a friend from the service. You doing well for yourself these days? Most of the people outside are just desperate souls trying to hold onto their old way of life. Still, I shouldn’t complain,’ he said.
‘No, you shouldn’t, but I guess we all have to do whatever makes us feel normal. Have you ever thought of getting back into the game? You know, doing more mercenary work. It pays extremely well if you get my drift.’
‘I would love to, but I took a few bullets to the gut and hip on the last job so I doubt anyone will employ me again.’
‘Rubbish, mate. Times have changed. A good soldier is a good soldier and in very short supply. Remind me to give you my number before I leave. My agent still has loads of work, well, when you can get hold of the idiot.’
‘Sure, let’s see what he has.’
‘Great. Now, do you have any decent wine hidden away somewhere, mate?’
Andy laughed. ‘That plonk is all you can get nowadays. It’s homemade and kicks like a mule with chillies wedged up his arse. The local ganglord who supplies all the protection in the local area also delivers this alcohol, so I have to buy from him.’
‘So you have to take orders from criminals now?
‘That’s the way it works now, mate. If you need something; chances are your local gang will be able to get it for you.’
Gibbs’s concentration was snapped away from his old friend to the door as Sharon Matthews walked through. Gibbs recalled the last time they had met; she was in uniform and staring at him as he lay naked on a bed. He blushed and felt the butterflies in his stomach take off in a swarm. She looked stunning with her shoulder-length blonde hair falling loosely on her brown leather jacket that hung over the skin-tight blue denim jeans she wore.
‘Hello, Gibbs,’ she said, a warm smile lighting up her vivid blue eyes.
Gibbs stood up too quickly, knocking over his glass of wine. ‘Shit…Hello, Sharon.’
Andy smiled. ‘Okay then. Best I leave you two clumsy Bambi's alone then.’
They both laughed a little too loudly and sat down. Andy poured more wine as Gibbs explained what had happened to them in Angola as well as the interesting journey back.
‘Why won’t you let me help you, Gibbs?’ she asked. ‘I still have a lot of colleagues in the military and a few spread across MI5 and MI6.’
‘Blimey, living it up with the spooks, are we?’ Gibbs said. ‘Are they still tapping everyone’s calls and emails?’
‘They probably are. How else would they get the information they need nowadays?’
‘I don’t think I could ever trust them, all that bloody espionage,’ Gibbs said.
‘And all this from a man who has just gone on a secret mission and illegally crossed international borders after going on the run from the very secret organisation he did a job for.’
Gibbs chuckled. ‘Well, when you put it like that.’
‘Why don’t you give me a list of names that you want them to look out for?’ Sharon asked. ‘They owe me a couple of favours.’
‘I don’t know, Sharon, I’ve learnt the hard way that these men are not to be trusted, and they have a surprisingly long reach. Besides, you’ve only just arrived in London, and the last thing I want to do is drag you into all of this.’
‘Listen, Gibbs, it will give me something to sink my teeth into. One of my ex-boyfriends still works at MI6 so I could give him a call and find out what news they have on the coup,’ she said.
‘How ex is he?’ Gibbs asked.
She smiled at him. ‘A long time ago, Gibbs. He helped me with a few legal cases when we served in Iraq together, so we still keep in contact.�
��
‘It would be a great help if he could find out anything, but I don’t want you meeting up with him in person and getting involved in any of the usual spy crap that they do,’ Gibbs said, reaching across the table and taking her hand.
***
Lord Butler sat at the long mahogany dinner table quietly eating his leek and potato soup. The liquid warmed his body making him feel content and at peace. The vicious darkness that lurked within him was dormant. He leaned back when the plate was empty, and a young male servant whisked it away as another dish was placed before him. His favourite piping hot lamb stew.
‘What’s that one’s name?’ he asked, staring at the young man who left in the direction of the kitchen.
‘That’s Lloyd, sir.’
‘Invite him to join me in the library for a glass of brandy after dinner, would you?’ Lord Butler said.
‘Of course, sir,’ the elderly servant said.
‘The phone rang during the soup course, Jackson. Was it urgent?’
‘Mr Brun is still holding on for you on line three, sir, he says that it is important. Shall I take a message or bring the phone through?’
‘I’ll take the call in here.’
‘Hello, Alex,’ Lord Butler said.
‘Good evening, sir. I apologise for interrupting your evening.’
‘That’s quite okay, my friend, I was just finishing up. What is so urgent?’
‘My contacts have finally managed to trace Kyle Gibbs to London, sir. I have someone tracking them as we speak,’ Alex replied.
‘Excellent news, Alex.’
‘Do you want me to take care of them, sir? They are starting to ask questions, and I have seen one of them staking out Mr Kirkwood’s premises.’
‘No, Alex, I think it is still too early to step into the game, but please drop John Mountford a line and pass on the information to him.’
***
Gibbs adjusted the position of the Glock17 which he had stuffed into the back of his jeans. He looked down the Clapham high street to where JP and Shredder were standing between two empty market stall frames. JP shook his head.
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