Celt_The Journey of Kyle Gibbs

by Wayne Marinovich

  The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and he felt the tension rising within him again at the thought of being out after dark. David jumped when his company phone rang. The caller ID read - Control Room. He took a deep breath.

  ‘They’re attacking us! Send back up!’ he screamed into the handset and fired a shot into the air. He dropped the phone onto the concrete and drove his heavy black size eleven boot onto it.

  ‘And that is all she wrote,’ he said, walking around to the back of the van.

  Chapter 36

  Wimbledon Common, Wimbledon, England, UK - 2019

  David McLaren looked at his wristwatch and took out a black lock-knife from his trouser pocket. He snapped it open and slipped it under the thin metal band that served as the vehicle security seal. ‘Oops,’ he said, as the seal ripped open and he reached for the large stainless steel handle. With a tug towards him, then upwards, the door hissed slightly as the rubber seal eased open. He pulled the door and swung it open, around to the side of the van. Jumping up the three small steps, he walked down the van corridor.

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen. We have reached the end of your journey, so please leave your trays tables in the upright position and please don’t leave any personal belongings behind as the staff members are a little immoral, and you might not see your goodies again. Can Mr Gibbs make himself known to the cabin staff, please?’

  ‘Hey, funny man. I’m Gibbs. Just who the hell are you?’

  ‘Never mind my name, sir. I am just a bloke who owed a mutual friend of ours a large favour,’ he said, producing a key and opening Gibbs’s handcuffs.

  He walked along the cubicles and released the other four men. ‘Mind your step out of this contraption. People have died to get you here, and it would be tragic if one of you fell and broke your bloody arse.’

  ‘You sure do like the sound of your own voice, my friend,’ Gibbs said, rubbing his wrists.

  ‘Just ecstatic to have completed my side of a very longstanding bargain,’ he said, cupping his ear. ‘And speaking of which, I think I hear them approaching.’

  Around the corner another small white transit van appeared, followed by a large black Range Rover. They raced up to the group of men, stopping just short in a flurry of dust.

  Six men wearing red tracksuit tops jumped out carrying shotguns and pistols of different makes. They walked a few metres away from the security van to secure the perimeter. Martin appeared out of the driver’s seat of the Range Rover, smiling at Gibbs.

  ‘Hello, lover,’ he said, a skewed grin on his face.

  Gibbs shook his hand and then realised that he was smiling. ‘Thanks for this, Martin.’

  ‘My pleasure, mate, although Sheila would have had my balls as a trophy if I fucked this up. I take it that we’re all square for the army truck?’

  ‘All squared up, mate,’ Gibbs replied.

  Martin turned to Dave and shook his hand. ’Consider your debt paid, Dave.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Time to leave, gentlemen, they will start looking for this van very soon,’ Martin said, throwing Gibbs the Range Rover keys. ‘There are weapons and other ammunitions in the back if you need them. Let’s go. Sheila is waiting for us.’

  Chapter 37

  Richmond-upon-Thames, London, England, UK - 2019

  Gibbs could almost hear his ribs creaking as Sheila hugged him, lifting him off his feet. Her smoky laugh which everyone loved was music to his ears. ‘Glad you got out in one piece, pet.’

  ‘Thanks to you and your boys,’ Gibbs replied.

  ‘Well, we can stand here and exchange pleasantries, or we can get you back out the door to find the shit who killed Sharon. I will keep the email evidence hidden along with the phone message from Sharon,’ she said.

  ‘I would like to hear them before I leave, Sheila.’

  ‘Not now, Gibbs. There will come a time when I’ll let you listen to the message, and you can grieve all day long if you need to. Right now you have more important things to do, and time is not you friend. One of our scouts reported that Kirkwood is still at the address, but they must be looking to move soon.’

  ‘Okay, lovely. You two have become regular Bonnie and Clyde now, running the Vikings,’ Gibbs said.

  Sheila laughed out loud. ‘Like I said, I started the gang, pet. Don’t give Martin the credit, it’ll go to his head. Now go and get this bastard. I will drive to Heathrow to see if I can get my hands on any flight plans, just in case you miss him.’

  ***

  The black Range Rover’s 3.6-litre engine roared as Shredder hit the accelerator to pass a large truck holding up the few cars on the road to Wimbledon. They sped along without a word passing between them, then slowed down to turn into Somerset Road, which was once lined with luxurious family homes and flats in the quiet leafy suburb. All of the houses now had tall brick walls and steel fences out front, with barbed wire and glass on top to deter intruders. Machine gun-wielding guards patrolled inside the perimeters to deal with those who made it through.

  They inched up to house number thirty. ‘Pull over here, Shredder, let’s scope out the address before going in,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Right, gents, I have loaded up four magazines each,’ Killey said from the back seat as he passed the magazines forward for the suppressed Glock 17’s that Shredder and Gibbs had chosen.

  They sat watching the split-level, grey plastered mansion with four chimney stacks on the roof for fifteen minutes. A rooftop balcony had been purposefully built with wood and metal scaffolding to keep surveillance on either direction of Somerset Road. Gibbs lifted his binoculars and looked straight at a man lying on the temporary balcony, who had his binoculars trained on them.

  ‘Looks like we have been made, gents,’ Gibbs said. ‘Let’s just sit tight. No one raise a bloody weapon.’

  ‘Someone has joined him in the watching game. Look at the left first-floor window below him,’ Shredder said.

  ‘Martin has armed men covering the back of the house so they will have to come out onto this street if they want to leave,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘There!’ Shredder pointed to a black BMW X5 that was reversing from the garage on the side of the premises. It pulled in front of the large white front door and stopped. Shortly afterwards the front door opened, and four armed men walked out and surrounded the X5.

  ‘They’re moving out,’ Gibbs said. ‘Killey, you cover the man on the roof balcony, Shredder, use the car bonnet as cover and take out as many of those men as you can. I am going to make a break for that neighbour’s gate and try and get Kirkwood as soon as he comes out,’ Gibbs said.

  Killey got out and used the open door window to lean on. He focused his pistol on the figure lying on the roof. As soon as the man saw Gibbs get out and advance to the neighbour’s brick gatepost, he moved his rifle around to cover him, and Killey opened fire in quick silenced bursts. Bits of concrete and roof tile exploded. The man who had ducked down reappeared and tried to aim at Gibbs, but Killey let another burst off, covering him in debris.

  A first-floor window swung open, and a man dressed in black let rip with a volley of bullets at the gatepost. Shredder returned fire from over the bonnet of the parked Range Rover and hit the man in the chest, sending him backwards into the dark interior of the room.

  The four men stationed around the X5 had all gone to ground and were opening fire in all directions. Gibbs, who had managed to reach the gatepost, took out the closest man, just as two men charged out of the main door of the house and dived into the X5. The panic-stricken face of the man he had been looking for was only just visible for a second, as David Kirkwood’s bodyguard shielded him from the attack, and shepherded him into the car. Gibbs got off two rounds into the bodyguard before he slumped down in the car doorway.

  One of the men in front of the car tumbled forward from his kneeling position. Gibbs just locked his sights on a third man when he saw the brief flicker of reverse lights on the X5 as the driver shifted through the automa
tic transmission. They were about to escape.

  Gibbs fired two rounds into the back of the x5 then his Glock’s chamber locked open. Empty. His hand dropped to his belt for another magazine.

  Meanwhile, Shredder had read the play unfolding before him and fired a few rounds at the BMW before he realised that the gate was still closed, so he started to walk out from behind his covered position, emptying another magazine. The X5’s engine roared as it pulled off, following the bend of the driveway to the right, and then it burst through the closed cast iron gate, catapulting it outwards across the road.

  ‘They’re on the move!’ Shredder screamed.

  Gibbs stepped out from behind the gatepost and shot the last man who was trying to get back into the house. The Range Rover screeched to a halt next to Gibbs, and he jumped in just as another shooter appeared at the first-floor window, firing at them as they passed. A bullet hit the side post between the front and back window and went straight through into the opposite door.

  ‘Jesus, that was close,’ shouted Shredder.

  ‘You catch the direction they are heading?’ Gibbs asked.

  ‘Turned left at the next road,’ Shredder said. They sped down past the old All England Lawn Tennis Club that was once home to the Wimbledon Championships, then approached a T-junction and stopped, looking in either direction.

  ‘Damn it!’ shouted Shredder. ‘Any idea which way they went?’

  Gibbs opened the window and called over to a young street dweller. ‘Hey, kid. You see a big black BMW come down this way?’

  The kid smiled and held his hand up, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, asking for something in return. Gibbs aimed his Glock out of the window at the kid, whose eyebrows shot up. He pointed to the left.

  Killey threw out a pound coin to the boy as they raced off.

  ‘Damn softie!’ Gibbs said.

  ‘We don’t have to be horrible to everyone we meet, you know,’ Killey said, and leaned over to his right as Shredder screeched around another corner.

  ‘There the bastards are,’ Shredder said and downshifted again, the revs wailing again as the power went down to all four wheels.

  ***

  David Kirkwood was shaking with fear as he crouched down on the floor behind the front passenger seat. Again and again, he was thrown forward against the driver’s seat as the he slammed on the brakes. He desperately tried to wipe the blood off his hands from the bodyguard’s body which he had struggled to push off him as they sped away. Relief flooded through him when he realised that it could have been him lying dead in the paved driveway. He felt lucky to be alive as bullets clunked into the back of the BMW.

  Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he started to dial the number of a man who knew what to do in these situations.

  ‘Where are you now, David?’ the man asked.

  ‘Being shot at in the back of a bloody car, where do you think?’

  ‘Okay, David if you want my help, the first thing you are going to have to do is bloody pull yourself together and remain calm. Where exactly are you headed?’ he asked again.

  ‘We are headed towards the M4 motorway out of London towards Heathrow. I am supposed to catch a plane out of here this evening,' David shouted.

  ‘Okay, that is perfect. Do you know where the Styx Enterprises warehouse is? The one near the old Terminal Four?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Tell your driver to get there as fast as possible and we’ll be waiting for you with a trap set to take care of these men once and for all,’ the man said.

  Chapter 38

  Chiswick, London, England, UK - 2019

  Gibbs thrust his hand onto the dashboard to brace himself as Shredder hit the brake to avoid slamming into a large truck that had pulled out of a side road. The black Range Rover’s wheels screeched for a few meters before Shredder spun the steering wheel over to the left and the large car swerved around the old truck and bounced up onto the pavement with a thump, flattening an old post box as they stopped.

  ‘Move the bloody truck,’ he screamed out of the window, but the shocked truck driver flipped him the middle finger. Shredder reached down and pulled up the Glock, resting it on the window frame. The driver’s eyes widened, and he slammed the gear shift into reverse to send the truck slowly lumbering backwards.

  The Range Rover pulled out onto the street again and headed towards the old Wandsworth one-way system again.

  ‘Bloody heck, we have been around Wandsworth a few times today,' Killey said. 'Do us a favour and don’t lose them, mate.’

  ‘You do the looking. I’ll do the bloody driving,’ Shredder said. The X5 turned off down a narrow street and headed along the Thames River towards Putney.

  Killey opened the right passenger window and leant his body out, aiming for the X5 driver. He fired and the first bullet hit the back window upright of the BMW. The driver swerved to the left and the second and third bullets tore through the side mirror, ripping it from the bodywork.

  The X5 swerved across the road a few times as Gibbs and his team once again got close. In the narrow streets of Putney, which were lined with old parked cars and rusty vans, getting alongside for a killer shot was proving impossible.

  Flashing blue lights in the rear-view mirror caught Shredder’s eye.

  ‘Oh goodie, the police have decided to join our merry little chase,’ he shouted over the high revs of the engine. ‘How many are there, Killey?’

  ‘Two small Mitsubishi Impreza. Damn it, those things can motor along.’

  Gibbs spun around. ‘We have to get rid of them, mate. Pretty soon they’ll be joined by a helicopter or two and then we’ll never bloody get away.’

  ‘With pleasure, boss.’

  Killey reached down for the semi-automatic shotgun that was on the floor then spun around in the back seat and leaned out of the window.

  ‘Hold her steady, Shredder,’ he screamed.’ Bring them up on the right-hand side.’

  Shredder swung to the left, leaving a small gap for the first Impreza to drive into. The police cordially accepted and drove into the space provided. The shotgun roared twice. Killey swore as he missed the tyre and took out the front light and left-hand fender.’

  ‘Again, Shredder.’

  ‘Fucking get him already,’ Shredder shouted, and swerved.

  Killey took his time and squeezed the trigger, and the tyre blew. The front of the Impreza dipped down onto the rim, rubber exploding and flying everywhere. The car lurched to the left and smashed into a parked Mercedes, stopping instantaneously. The police car following it slammed on the brakes and just managed to stop short of the wrecked car, its path blocked.

  ***

  In the centre of the large metal-clad hangar, the old Boeing 747 stood as a testament to man’s greatest achievement in the sky. Many of the small windows had been removed from the upper and lower decks making the once majestic plane look like a tramp with missing teeth. Adding to the humiliation, two of the monstrous Rolls-Royce RB211 engines had been pirated for other flying planes, rendering it crippled.

  Alex Brun walked into the hangar through one of the side doors and looked up at the large plane’s nose, which dwarfed everything around it. He shouted a few orders to the assembled group of men, all dressed in black uniforms with black riot gear helmets on their heads. Everyone was armed with variants of the American M16 machine guns and went through meticulous checks and preparations.

  Alex dialled a number on his phone. ‘Hello, sir.’

  ‘Yes, I am aware of the original plan, sir, but Mr Kirkwood was insistent that those chasing him were trying to kill him,’ he answered.

  Alex listened for a while as the man on the other end of the line laid out the new plan.

  ‘Yes, sir, I have told them to make their way to the main hangar where we are now positioned and waiting. Gibbs is hard on their heels and should follow them into the hangar.’

  He was cut off by the man on the other end again. ‘Okay, sir, I will take care of him myself
, sir.’

  ‘No, sir, I won’t leave any loose ends.’

  ***

  The chase continued as the two cars sped over the quiet and deserted Chiswick Bridge, swerving to miss a burnt out refuse lorry that was still smouldering.

  ‘Shredder, we are not getting a decent crack at passing them on these suburban roads, so let’s back off a few yards and see where they lead us,’ Gibbs said.

  ‘Gotcha, boss. Do you still think they might be heading to Heathrow?’

  ‘Yes, I’m pretty convinced.’

  Shredder turned left at the broken traffic light just after they crossed the bridge.

  ‘What the bloody hell are you doing?’ shouted Gibbs.

  ‘A shortcut, boss,’ he replied, and worked his way up the gears again.

  ‘You'd better not lose him.’

  ‘We all believe that he is heading to the airport, so we can head him off this way,’ Shredder shouted, and snapped the steering to the right into another suburban street. The Range Rover responded with a slight body roll and threw Gibbs and Killey against the left-hand doors.

  ‘Well, we won’t get them if you crash us into someone’s living room,’ Gibbs shouted.

  Two more side streets and it brought them to the intersection with the M4 motorway, a main road out of London. ‘Now we wait,’ Shredder said.

  ‘And you had better pray that they come this way,’ Gibbs said.

  The men sat watching the empty road, when after a few minutes Killey broke the silence. ‘Blue flashing lights heading this way.’