The Ninth Orphan (2 page)

Nine was knowledgeable enough about human anatomy and medicine to
understand
the nerve hypersensitivity he felt was an entirely normal
post-surgery symptom.

Despite the pain and light-headedness, he gathered his things – including the tracking device, surgical instruments and bloodstained towels – bundled them into his backpack and checked out of Baguio Mountain Hotel. In the establishment’s car park, he headed toward a rental car and jumped in. After starting the engine, he wrapped the microchip in several sheets of tinfoil before driving off.

#

Later, Nine steered one-handed as he drove along one of Baguio’s zig-zag mountain roads. His left arm was throbbing like hell and the high altitude seemed to make it worse. Nine just hoped the wound wasn’t becoming infected. He knew that was always a danger in the tropics.

Despite the pain, he felt
a sense of exhilaration
. Finally, he was attempting to break free from
his covert and mysterious employer, the Omega Agency.

As he drove, Nine observed Filipinos going about their everyday lives. School children walking home. Nuns entering a church. Peasants working in rice fields. The winding road afforded occasional glimpses of densely forested terrain
which stretched to the horizon
.

Ignoring his pain as best he could, Nine drove fast. He knew it was only a question of time before his Omega superiors sent people to look for him. For starters, since completing his assignment in the Philippines, he hadn’t sent on the crucial maps and plans they were waiting for.

Furthermore, since wrapping his tracking device in tinfoil, he knew his masters would now be aware he’d gone AWOL. He planned to rectify that problem soon.

Speeding along a rare stretch of straight road, he thought about the contents stored on the
flash drive
in his backpack. The invaluable information represented the opportunity he’d been waiting for all his life: to escape the tentacles of the organization that had destroyed his childhood and taken away his true identity.

Another thirty minute drive over the jagged roads of Benguet Province brought him to his destination
–
an ostrich farm near Ambuklao Lake. A large holding surrounded by high fences, it was home to five hundred red ostriches.

The orphan drove onto the property. From enquiries he’d made earlier by phone, he knew this was the ostrich farm’s outskirts. The farmhouse was miles away. He didn’t anticipate being disturbed during the short time he expected to be on the property.

Nine soon found what he was looking for
–
half a dozen ostriches grazing in one corner of the farm. Stopping his vehicle, he reached under the seat and produced a pair of wire-cutters and a dart gun. Opening the glove box, he pulled out two darts, slipping one into the gun’s breach. Nine also grabbed the tracking device he’d wrapped in tinfoil.

Approaching the semi-domesticated ostriches slowly so as not to spook them, he selected the largest male – a fine creature about nine foot high. Without wasting time, he lined up the ostrich in his sights and fired the dart into the bird’s sturdy rump. The startled ostrich reared up then charged the nearest fence, shaking it. The other ostriches took off in fright.

The dart’s drug soon took effect and the targeted ostrich staggered a few paces before falling to the ground. Thankfully, it was close to the fence. Nine approached the fallen bird warily. He’d used the minimum dosage to do what he intended doing and hoped he’d judged it right. “Easy boy,” he murmured. “I won’t hurt you.”

Nine fished the tinfoil package from his pocket. Unwrapping it, he attached the microchip tracking device to a length of adhesive tape which he then wound firmly around one of the ostrich’s legs. That done, he produced his wire-cutters and began cutting an opening in the fence. In no time at all he’d cut a hole as big as a doorway.

The ostrich slowly regained its senses. Nine positioned himself between it and the other ostriches as the giant bird groggily stood up. “Run!” he shouted. The ostrich bolted through the opening in the fence. Satisfied, Nine watched it flee until it disappeared from view. The last he saw of it, the ostrich was loping toward distant Ambuklao Lake.

Nine felt naked without the microchip, a device which had been implanted into his arm – courtesy of the Omega Agency – many years earlier. Ever since then, his Omega masters had known where he was at any hour, day or night, anywhere on Earth.

He smiled to himself as he pictured Kentbridge studying the red dot that represented his location in the Philippines and wondering why his ninth-born orphan was roaming the country’s mountain provinces.

2

T
wenty three red dots flashed at various places on a digital map of the world. The dots represented the locations of the Omega Agency’s field operatives. Carrying out high-level black ops on all seven continents, the twenty three operatives included males and females of almost every race.

The red dots confirmed only two Omega operatives were currently in Asia. Seventeen, a blonde female, had recently landed in Luzon, the main island of the Philippines. Nine’s dot, which only a short time earlier had mysteriously vanished before reappearing, indicated he was also situated on Luzon.

Omega director Andrew Naylor and veteran agent Tommy Kentbridge studied the digital map grimly. Neither looked happy as the two dots in the Philippines rapidly converged.

Physically at least, the two officials were chalk and cheese. Naylor was a short, but dapper man in his late fifties. His skin was badly pock-marked and he had a lazy eye which people found disconcerting as they could never be sure if he was looking at them or someone else. Unfortunately for him, his personality matched his appearance.

Fifty-three-year-old Kentbridge looked like someone who could take control of any situation. At six foot one and with a commanding presence, he quickly earned the respect of all who came into contact with him.

An audible groan from Naylor confirmed what Kentbridge already knew. The director was seething at the latest turn of events.

Kentbridge had seen enough. The results of the past few hours had made him sick to his stomach. Hiding his concern, he swiveled his chair and surveyed the Omega Agency’s headquarters. It was a hive of activity as usual. Scientists, IT specialists, political analysts and other high-ranking officials were on duty. Sworn to secrecy, each was the best in his or her chosen field.

Although it looked like the interior of any corporate headquarters, Kentbridge knew appearances in this case were highly deceiving. For a start, these headquarters were located one mile below ground, hidden beneath a long-since abandoned hydro dam in south-west Illinois.

The secret facility was not only off limits to the general public, it was completely off the US Government’s radar. In fact, like everything else connected with Omega, knowledge of its existence was beyond
any
government.

Kenbridge was jolted back to the present when a coffee cup smashed against the near wall, leaving an ugly brown caffeine stain on the paintwork. He spun around and saw the cup had been thrown by an irate Naylor who was now pacing.

“
I knew something was up when Nine didn’t send us Yamashita’s co-ordinates,” Naylor cursed. His tone was accusing.

Kentbridge couldn’t offer any solutions. Only a few hours earlier, he’d assured Naylor his protégé wouldn’t double-cross them. Now they had a rogue agent on their hands – the first in the agency’s history.

When Nine’s red dot vanished at Baguio Mountain Hotel, Kentbridge had sensed his star operative was attempting the unthinkable. If Nine had been killed, or even buried, the signal from his microchip would have revealed his location. When his dot had reappeared on the map at an ostrich farm an hour later, it was clear Nine had betrayed them.

Not letting up, Naylor asked, “I thought you knew your orphans, Tommy?”

“
Something must’ve happened to him,” Kentbridge said lamely.

“
Something happened alright. He got greedy!”

Kentbridge couldn’t argue with that. When Nine had pondered the fact that he alone knew the whereabouts of one of the largest treasure discoveries of recent times, the temptation must have gotten to him, he reasoned.

Although Naylor’s anger was directed at Nine, Kentbridge understood the situation didn’t reflect well on him personally. After all, the twenty three operatives were his responsibility. Consequently, feelings of humiliation, betrayal and anger coursed through him.
Goddamn you, Sebastian!

Kentbridge stiffened as his cell phone buzzed. Caller ID told him it was Seventeen. He and Naylor had sent her to the Philippines to track Nine down. Kentbridge glanced at the Omega director before answering the call. “Talk to me, Seventeen.”

#

“
The plot thickens,” Seventeen said into her cell phone. As the blonde operative spoke to Kentbridge, she stood with one booted foot planted firmly on the neck of the ostrich Nine had darted earlier that day. She’d shot the animal moments before from a chartered helicopter that now waited for her on the edge of Ambuklao Lake.

Seventeen, who was an excellent shot, had deliberately wounded the ostrich which was now rapidly bleeding to death, too weak even to resist the boot that pinned its neck to the ground. At twenty nine, Seventeen had a cruel streak in her; she liked mortally wounding animals – and occasionally people – to observe how long they took to die. “I’ve found Nine’s tracking device – stuck to an ostrich.”

She momentarily held the phone away from her ear as Kentbridge let out a string of expletives. Seemingly unconcerned, Seventeen studied the tracking device she held in her other hand while she gave Kentbridge time to digest the bad news.

“
Say again,” Kentbridge ordered, calmer now.

“
Nine removed his microchip and taped it to the leg of an ostrich.”

“
Where are you?” This voice wasn’t Kentbridge’s. Seventeen recognized it belonged to Naylor. He’d obviously snatched the phone from Kentbridge.

“
Ten miles from the farm Nine visited, sir.” She could hear a muffled conversation between the two men at the other end.

It was Kentbridge who came back to her this time. “Seventeen, you know what you have to do, don’t you?” It was more a statement than a question.

“
Yes.” Seventeen knew she had to track down Nine, recover the all-important information and dispose of one rogue orphan. She ended the call and ran back to the waiting helicopter. Behind her, the wounded ostrich could only watch her as she departed. It was too far gone to even raise its head.

“
What about the ostrich?” the Filipino pilot asked as she jumped in.

Seventeen didn’t answer right away. Her icy blue eyes studied ripples on the lake’s surface. “Forget the bird,” Seventeen finally answered. “Get me to Manila, quick.”

The pilot looked strangely at his passenger and, without further argument, lifted his craft skywards and set course for the Philippine capital. Visibility wasn’t helped by the light which was rapidly diminishing as dusk arrived.

As the helicopter cruised toward Manila, Seventeen felt a twisted satisfaction knowing she’d just been given full authorization to hunt down and terminate Nine. That was something she’d secretly wanted to do all her life.
You’re a dead man, Sebastian
.

#

Sebastian, also known as Nine, had many other nom de plumes – the latest being Jaime Ortega, the alias he’d chosen to go with the disguise he’d morphed into since breaking from the Omega Agency.

Nine had long since left Benguet Province and was more than half-way to Manila’s Ninoy Aquino International Airport. He was making good time in the jeep he’d
borrowed
from one of the mining camps he’d passed en route. Since ditching the tracking device, the rental car had been the last link to him, so he’d dumped it too.

As the last of the sun’s rays sunk below a distant mountain range, the fugitive agent flicked his headlights on. Speeding through the semi-darkness, he glanced at himself in the rear-vision mirror. He saw a Mestizo, or Eurasian Filipino, staring back.

Jaime Ortega was a character he’d created only a few hours earlier. An angry scar ran down his face from his forehead to his chin. His hair and eyes were jet black and his face was slightly swarthier than Nine’s usual complexion – all acquired through clever use of hair dye, contact lenses and make-up.

He was dressed in boots and overalls. A hard hat rested on the front passenger seat. Nine knew if anyone of consequence saw him they’d inevitably mistake him for an employee of one of the region’s many mining companies.

It was a perfect disguise. Perfect, because he was unrecognizable as well as indistinguishable from the millions of other Spanish-descended Mestizos in the country.

Nine was under no illusions. He understood if his fellow Omegans ever tracked him down, that would be the end. His masters wouldn’t spare him regardless of the millions of dollars they’d invested in him over the years. Besides, he knew the information on the flash drive in his possession was a thousand times more valuable to Omega than his own personal worth.