‘Who was it?’
‘It was one Martin Stander, aka Simeon de Klerk, aka Jean-Pierre Greeff,’ John said, signalling across to the busty hostess.
‘He is Gibbs’s South African connection. I wonder what he is doing in the UK.’
‘You don’t get to wonder about anything anymore, Captain. That is now beyond your remit. He is here now, and we are tailing him until he leads us to the rest of the team. Once that has been achieved, I will pass on their whereabouts, and you can finish off your damn mission. Here is a contact number for the crew who are tailing him. Now get out of my sight.’
***
JP Greeff finished off the last of his pint of lager and walked out of the pub onto the warm sunlit London high street. He wasn’t sure if it was the effects of the few beers or the large bank account that he had just withdrawn money from, but life was good. He turned off the busy Oxford Street to head down to the small hotel he was staying at, and his thoughts turned to the juicy steak he was going to order when he got there.
The side road bustled with street traders and beggars, all working their little patch of London. A quick flash of the pistol under his jacket chased away a few persistent beggars who harassed him for loose change, and he knew to guard his wallet for most of the walk. It all added to the charm of the historic city that was once again in flux, and he loved being part of it. Another young urchin ran up to him, begging for food. JP was near the hotel door so decided to capitulate and give the little man his spare change. As he reached for his wallet, a strange feeling washed over him, a feeling honed from battlefields around the world. He was being watched.
He dropped the coins on the ground as the glancing blow of the bullet hit the side of his head like a battering ram forcing him against the wall of the building. Then two quick hits to the back drove the wind out of him. He looked down at the red stain of the through-and-through, showing on the right-hand side of his shirt, then he coughed up the blood from his collapsing lung.
JP didn’t hear any gunfire and a feeling that he was floating took over as his legs gave way. He could hear a passer-by screaming as he clutched his blood-stained chest and rolled forward, pushing himself up on one arm as two more bullets narrowly missed his head, smashing into the marble pillar of a nearby doorway.
‘Kom jong - come on man,’ he groaned to himself in his native Afrikaans. His legs felt like jelly and resisted his commands, but he managed to stumble towards the corner of the street block. Another bullet just nicked his right shoulder. He cried out, gritting his teeth as he made it around the corner of the building. Jumbled thoughts flashed through his mind, the pain was excruciating as he tried to take a deep breath to slow it all down. It felt like he had a truck resting on his chest and he wheezed then coughed up more dark red blood into his hand.
‘Let me help you,’ a voice with a German accent said. Someone grabbed him by his arm and ushered him away from the main street.
‘Cheers, mate, can you call an ambulance, please?’ JP said, wiping the blood away from his mouth.
‘Sure,’ the helper said, subtly moving his free arm to his belt. He slipped out a silenced Sig 226 pistol, thrust it into JP’s ribs and pulled the trigger three times.
***
Gibbs slammed his beer down on the stained and rickety oak table, splashing amber liquid everywhere, his eyes riveted on the television that was encased in a metal cage and bolted to the wall. ‘Do me a favour, mate,’ he called to the barman. ‘Can you turn up the volume on the TV?’
He sank back into his seat just as Shredder and Killey returned from the beer garden outside, with two young ladies in tow. Gibbs glanced at them and then pointed to the television screen. The headline, “South African gunned down near Oxford Street,” streamed across the bottom of the screen as a reporter delivered a broadcast from outside a London hotel.
‘JP?’ Shredder asked, his face suddenly pale.
‘I think that’s his hotel. The reporter said they haven't confirmed an identity yet,’ Gibbs said, his gaze fixed on the screen.
The young woman with Killey asked, ‘Do you know the man that was shot?’
Gibbs glared at her and then back at Killey.
‘Love, why don’t you girls go and get us a round of drinks, we need a few minutes of privacy here,’ Killey said.
The on-scene reporter rambled on about the time of the shooting and possible motives. The bit of news that did get their attention was the fact that witnesses said the bullets were coming from all directions, and also that the man was gunned down in a quiet side street nearby.
‘Sounds like pros,’ Shredder whispered. They all nodded.
Gibbs took a long sip of his draught beer and took out his mobile phone.
‘Who are you calling, boss?’ Killey asked.
‘Whichever of the shits will take my call,’ Gibbs answered, sliding off the chair to head outside.
Chapter 26
Oxford Street, Central London, England, UK - 2019
‘Sir, I am not getting any answer from Mr Greeff's room,’ the voice said on the other end of the line. 'May I take a message…wait a minute, sir? Let me try one more time.'
Gibbs frowned as the phone rang again.
‘Hello, this is Detective Mills here. I have been told that you are asking for Mr Greeff. May I enquire what your business is with him?’ the voice said.
Gibbs hung up the phone and went over to the minibar. He cracked open the two miniature bottles of scotch and poured them into a tumbler, lifting it in a toast to acknowledge a fallen brother in arms. He smiled as he recalled the big man’s smiling face and loud laugh. ‘Safe travels and good battles, big man,’ Gibbs whispered, swallowing hard.
The shrill ringing of his phone snapped him out of his gloom. ‘Yes!’ he answered.
‘It’s David Kirkwood.’
Gibbs threw the empty glass against the room wall and watched it shatter. Emotions raged inside him as he looked at the phone handset, wanting to strangle it. He took a long slow breath. ‘Kirkwood, you bastard! Where the fuck have you been? I have left you so many bloody messages. What happened in Angola?’
‘Jesus, Gibbs, slow down. I’ve been a little busy of late. It seems I’ve also been linked to the coup attempt, and I have had to go into hiding because someone is targeting me too.’
‘We had a major attempt on our lives a few days ago, and now JP is dead, so pardon me for not caring about your scrawny arse.’
‘Who did you tell about the mission, because it seems that my name is now linked with yours?’ David asked.
‘No one, you idiot. Why would we tell anyone?’
‘Just calm down, man. We will need to work together to find out who is trying to kill all of us,’ he said.
‘I think someone in the Billionaires Club is responsible for the whole damn thing. I’ll chase that lead down, you get busy looking into JP’s murder,’ Gibbs said.
‘Take it easy, mate. Going after a member of the Billionaires Club is a bit premature, don’t you think?’
‘You don’t get tell me what to do, Kirkwood, let’s get that straight from the outset. I will not rest until we get to the bottoms of JP’s murder. He should have died in some godforsaken jungle. Not assassinated on a city street in cold blood,’ Gibbs retorted.
‘I understand your grief.’
‘You don’t understand anything about losing a man in combat, Kirkwood, so don’t try and make out that you do. We have to find out who did this and fast. Do you have any additional information regarding the shooting?’
‘Just why would I have any additional information about this?’
‘You claim to have all these resources and contacts at your fingertips. So start using some of them, or were you lying to me about your influence?
‘I have a source in the Met Police who I know is working on the case. All they have so far is that his murder was perpetrated by at least two people, and they have found the likely spot from where the sniper pulled the trigger, no weapon or cart
ridges were found though.’
‘The grouping of bullets in the chest and ribs show two shooters who knew what they were doing. It happened on a busy street in broad daylight, and they say they have no witnesses. Have you heard anything on the wire about a contract out on my team?’ Gibbs asked.
‘No, nothing, Gibbs. It might not have anything to do with the job you have just done. JP could have made many other enemies. Are you sure you are not overreacting a little here, Gibbs?’
‘Overreacting? I’ll show you overreacting when I wring your scrawny little neck. In case you don’t know already, the media have just released his real name and the fact that he was checked in at the hotel on a false passport. Who do you suppose leaked that to them? In the messages I left you, I told you that we were all being targeted as a group, so they might have decided to take us out individually. Whoever they are.’
‘Okay, you have a point. I still have a few other sources I can contact to see if you are on a hit list. Now stay put and please don’t do anything stupid. If you give me the address of where you and your guys are staying, I can arrange for extra protection.’
Gibbs laughed. ‘Fat chance, Kirkwood! I know how this all works, we will remain below the radar until I can get some answers. You don’t seem to be able to give me the answers I want, so set up an immediate meeting with Mason Waterfield.’
‘He won’t meet with you now, and you know that. Not with one of your men all over the bloody news.’
‘We have not been paid the balance of the cash for Angola yet, so tell him it’s in his interest to meet with me before his involvement in the failed coup is leaked to the press.’
‘You seriously can't try to threaten a man like him without proof, Gibbs. There are simply far too many people between you and him who could take the fall.’
‘Including you?’ Gibbs asked.
‘Give me a bloody break, Gibbs. I am owed a lot of money too, so I would be stupid not to try and protect him on this issue. I am just being honest here.’
‘Fine, Kirkwood, but now it’s my turn to be frank. If we decide to go underground, things could get very difficult for this illustrious Billionaires Club. I was smart enough to record a few of my meetings, and the one with Mr Waterfield at his mansion makes for interesting listening.’
David Kirkwood was silent for a moment. ‘I’ll try and set up a meeting, but you are playing a very dangerous game, Gibbs.’
‘Dangerous games don’t scare me, Kirkwood. You of all people should know that. Just set up the damn meeting or I will leak everything to the press.’
Chapter 27
Carlington Estate, Surrey, UK - October, 2019
Gibbs followed the heavy-set man who was dressed in a tight fitting tweed shooting jacket as they slowly walked away from Carlington House and down a small leafy lane. It was a surprisingly warm day for autumn in the UK, and he loved being out in the countryside again. The poverty and squalor of London were a long way away from the luxurious old manor and those who called it home. Scanning the horizon for threat or menace, he only saw the occasional farm worker going about their business of preparing the soil for planting. Most of these labourers worked for the landowner, which Gibbs assumed to be Mason Waterfield.
The brawny man ahead of him was clearly no farm worker, though, and judging by the bulge in the left side of his jacket, he was armed. Gibbs felt very naked without a sidearm, which he had been forced to relinquish when he arrived at the mansion.
They continued along the overgrown public pathway, over a mud-covered footpath stile and then walked across three more fields, the sound of gunfire getting louder as they approached.
The pheasant drive was already in full flow by the time they arrived, and Gibbs spotted Mason standing in an enclosed wooden hide, shotgun raised aloft as the distant beaters drove the pheasants towards their guns. Small puffs of smoke flashed from the shotgun barrels a split second before the thunderous noise reached Gibbs.
They had to wait until the bird drive was complete, and after thirty minutes of sitting down at the foot of an old oak tree, Gibbs was summoned to one of the hides.
‘Good morning, Gibbs,’ Mason said as he entered. ‘You certainly have made quite a nuisance of yourself over the past few days, haven’t you?’
‘Well, when I cannot get the answers I want, I’m forced to keep rattling cages until I get to the man who has all those answers.’
‘I see, and I assume you think that I am that man,’ Mason said. ‘Well, how can I be of service?’
‘I have a few issues that need clarifying, but you can start by telling me what the hell happened down in Angola?’
Mason motioned for Gibbs to enter the hide and asked his two bodyguards to step away. ‘What in particular would you like to know?’
‘Let’s start with why the hell we were forced to scramble out of there with our tails between our legs. We only just managed to destroy four of the storage tanks and pipeline before the Angolan forces overran the refinery,’ Gibbs said, his temper flaring.
‘Did you do everything that you could have done to destroy the plant?’
‘Under the circumstances, I would say yes, but I should have been involved in the planning of the coup, Mason. The taking of Luanda was far more important than us securing an oil depot,’ Gibbs said. ‘I would also like to know who the hell sent John Warren after us once the coup had gone tits up. Was he on your payroll or was he hired independently by the Angolan government? Which you have to admit, would be one hell of a coincidence?’
Mason stood with his arms folded and his legs spread apart. His jaw muscles clenched as he ground his teeth. ‘Four teams were sent to Angola at the same time as you. All had to execute different tasks that would add to the overall cohesiveness of the mission. The planning was done with certain strategic goals in mind and not all of them would have been made available to you.’
‘Well, obviously the coup failed because the government wasn’t overthrown, now was it?’
‘This is sensitive information, Gibbs, but between us, the strategic plan was never to topple the Angolan government,’ Mason said.
‘What? So what the hell were we doing there?’
Mason stood looking at him for a few more seconds.
‘Okay, I am going to trust you with classified mission information because of the recent incident with your colleague. I need you to keep this to yourself,’ Mason said. ‘The plan was to create a simple diversion. A simulated coup to get the Angolan government which was already at the negotiating table, to discuss what has become the main issue in the central African region.’
Gibbs took a step towards Mason. ‘I’m sorry, but did you just say a diversion? Are you saying that my men and I risked our lives for a fucking diversion?’ he said, his voice low and menacing. ‘Do you know how many rebel fighters lost their lives for your so-called diversion?’
‘Come on, Gibbs, you’re a soldier and more importantly, a mercenary, you know that lives are sometimes lost for the greater cause, whether you agree with that cause or not.’
‘So what was the greater cause here, then? Oil?'
‘Oil was simply a front, Gibbs, but by stepping in and squashing an attempted coup, the Billionaires Club has secured a vital deal with the Angolan Government, who have now signed up to be part of a new economic resource zone with Botswana, Zimbabwe and Mozambique.’
‘For what possible reason?’
‘Water,’ Mason replied. ‘Our aim is to control this critical resource across the globe to prevent any conflicts and wars that may result from any attempted exploitation of the valuable resource. This new African zone will secure and control all the water flowing in the Cubango, Okavango and Zambezi rivers. It is the most precious of resources we have now, and the Billionaires Club wants to control as much of it as we can, either directly or indirectly. That was the reason for the diversionary coup, Gibbs. To get the unequivocal trust of the Angolan government.’
‘So, from what you’ve just said to me,
my team’s role is complete, then?’
‘Yes, it is, although we will need your talents in the future. We are going to need men with your skills, under the proviso that you hand over any recordings you may have of our conversations. Although, personally I think that was just a bluff, wasn’t it?’
‘Well, that depends on your next two answers. Firstly, why the hell are people still trying to kill us? And secondly, why haven’t we received the rest of the money you owe us?’
Mason frowned. ‘Well, that cannot be right. I will have a chat with the other members…’
‘Who? Like, John Mountford? I have it on good authority that it was him who hired Captain John Warren to eliminate us in Angola.’
‘Leave that point with me, Gibbs, as the Chairman of the Billionaires Club I can tell you that we never sanctioned any hit on you or your team. I will look into it,’ Mason said.
‘What about the balance of our payment?’
‘We paid David Kirkwood in full, covering all your costs and salaries more than two weeks before you left these shores. So as your agent, you will have to take that up with him.’
‘That jammy little bastard…’ Gibbs started to say when suddenly something hit him on the side of the head, and he staggered sideways, grabbing onto one of the wooden beams in the roof of the hide. He looked across at a shocked Mason before it all started to go dark. His legs gave way, and he slumped to his knees.
A few seconds later he opened his eyes and shook his doughy head. Touching the side of his temple caused a shooting pain into his brain as he stared down at the crimson liquid smeared on his fingers. ‘Bastards,’ he said.
Rolling over, he looked across to where Mason lay slumped against the opposite side of the shooting hide. Blood trickled from a hole in his temple and streamed down his grey hair onto his shooting jacket, a surprised stare etched onto his face.
Celt_The Journey of Kyle Gibbs Page 15