The Orphan Factory (The Orphan Trilogy, #2) (24 page)

Realizing he was being dismissed, Kentbridge gathered up his papers, nodded to Naylor and Marcia, and left the office. He couldn’t help noticing Marcia remained seated. That was a clear signal that there were some things within the agency she would now be privy to that he’d be excluded from, and that didn’t sit well with him.

At reception, he almost bumped into Naylor’s visitor – one of the agency’s founding members. The visitor was Lady Penelope, the graceful fortysomething British Royal who had visited the Pedemont Orphanage for its annual inspection a few weeks earlier. She smiled at Kentbridge. “Hello, Special Agent Kentbridge.”

The special agent returned the smile. “Ma’am.” Unsure whether to bow, curtsy or shake her hand, he hurried out of reception.

As he headed for the lift that would speed him to the surface, Kentbridge speculated on what could have brought Lady Penelope a mile underground in mid-west America to meet with Naylor on this occasion. He was very aware Lady Penelope had invested heavily in Omega, plus she remained its only direct link to the all-powerful British Royal Family.

Before the lift had carried him half way to the surface, he’d given up speculating. He just hoped Lady Penelope’s visit had nothing to do with Nine. That wouldn’t be a good look.

43

While Kentbridge was preparing to return to Chicago, the orphans were enjoying some rare time out at the Pedemont Orphanage. Time out, during which they were left to their own resources, was a perk they’d been receiving a little more often of late – notably since Nine’s disappearance. For that they were grateful to their missing fellow. They were aware he was responsible for the recent lengthy absences of Kentbridge and Marcia and others.

Speculation as to why and how Nine had absconded was rife among the orphans and staff at Pedemont. It annoyed the orphans that he hadn’t confided in any of them. Not that he could count more than a couple of them as friends as such, but they all felt he’d disrespected them by not confiding. A few even felt he’d deserted them and they envied his sudden freedom from the agency that so totally ran their lives.

Those orphans who sympathized with Nine – and even one or two who didn’t – hoped he’d alert the FBI, or the media perhaps, to their situation. While none of them considered themselves abused children, for they knew no better, they instinctively felt something wasn’t right about their upbringing. Having seldom mixed socially with children outside the orphanage, they couldn’t compare their situation with that of others. Nevertheless, they sensed not all was as it should be.

On this occasion, half a dozen of the orphans had opted to spend some of their time out practicing martial arts in the orphanage’s gym. With the absence of Kentbridge and other agency staffers, they fooled around, inventing new holds and techniques over and above what they’d been taught. Some of the results were hilarious and before long two of the orphans, Four and Ten, were sporting black eyes, and another, Eighteen, a blood nose.

To one side, the blonde Seventeen and Nine’s friend Thirteen, the Polynesian male, went toe to toe – not sparring, but arguing.

Thirteen was defending Nine’s actions. “Why act so surprised, Seventeen? He felt like a prisoner. Just like all of us do. But Nine had the guts to do something about it.”

“Stop talking crap!” Seventeen almost spat in his face. “He’s always been a spoiled little brat and thought he was superior to us. That’s the only reason he ran off. That and he didn’t like it that he wasn’t the best at everything around here.” The girl smirked, believing she had won the argument.

“Oh really?” Thirteen smiled. “So just remind me what he wasn’t the best at?”

“Nine failed to finish the mission in Montana,” Seventeen stated, referring to the deer hunting exercise several weeks earlier. “I completed it,” she added proudly.

“Yeah, but that was hardly beating him,” Thirteen replied. “Nine loves animals. That’s the only reason he couldn’t finish that mission. But what else has he ever come second in?”

Seventeen’s blue eyes turned dark as she struggled to think of another example. Exasperated, she shoved Thirteen. “Let’s spar.”

The two orphans began sparring. While their fellow orphans continued fooling around on the practice mats, Seventeen and Thirteen went at each other with the same intensity she and Nine usually showed when they were matched up. The muscular Polynesian boy was stronger than Seventeen, but she was more skilled in the deadly Teleoites and certainly the more ferocious of the two.

It wasn’t long before the other orphans had to pull Seventeen off Thirteen. She looked like she was out to kill him.

#

On arrival back in Chicago, Kentbridge drove straight from the airport to his home in upmarket Oak Park. He knew he should have checked in at the orphanage first, but couldn’t face it. The comforts of home called, not to mention his beloved wife. Besides, it was dusk already.

Driving into Oak Park, he could feel his worries lifting and his cares evaporating. It always happened. Upmarket Oak Park, one of Chicago’s most sought after suburbs, had that effect on him. With its tree-lined streets and expensive yet tasteful homes, it was the antithesis of Riverdale where the orphanage was based and where he spent most of his time these days.

Once uncharitably described by its native son Ernest Hemingway as
a place of wide lawns and narrow minds
, Oak Park suited Kentbridge. The renovated bungalow he shared with his wife Rachel was a haven away from the rat race. It was also handy to the expressway and to the historic Columbus Park and its golf course. The Kentbridges were both keen golfers, though only Rachel had time to actually play the game these days.

It was almost dark when Kentbridge pulled into his driveway and parked his Chrysler in the carport adjoining the bungalow. The home’s interior lights were on, giving the place a warm glow.

Inside, Rachel was preparing their evening meal. She greeted her husband with a kiss when he entered the kitchen. It was then she noticed he was hiding something behind his back. “What have you there?” she asked innocently.

Kentbridge produced a bunch of roses he’d purchased at the airport. Buying roses for her whenever he returned from a trip was a long-time ritual he’d started early in their married life. She always knew he’d bring roses, but always feigned surprise.

“How sweet,” she smiled.

“Is that worth another kiss?”

She answered him with a kiss. A long kiss this time.

Kentbridge never took his wife for granted. She was the one good thing in his life – the one constant. Educated at Princeton University, she was the daughter of an Illinois senator who had died before serving a full term. Her father had been an associate of the Omega Agency and a confidant of Andrew Naylor, and it was through that connection that she had met her future husband.

Rachel had once shared her father’s political ambitions, but put them aside to start a family with Kentbridge. That hadn’t happened. After one stillbirth and complications that led to an aborted pregnancy, their plans for a family were dashed. They thought of adopting, but life intervened and they remained childless.

Kentbridge often wondered if that accounted for his devotion to his young charges at the orphanage. Certainly his devotion had been above and beyond the call of duty. Rachel had often reminded him of that.

Thinking of the orphans reminded him of Nine.

Where are you, you little bastard?

He had a week to find him.

And find you I will
.

44
 

The science fiction movie
Terminator 2: Judgment Day
, starring Arnold Schwarzenegger, was the main topic of conversation as Nine walked Helen home from the movies. As it was a week night and Helen had school the next day, she was under strict instructions to go straight home after the movie. Her father had insisted on that.

Mister Katsarakis had also insisted one of Helen’s girlfriends accompany the pair given he knew nothing about Nine or his background. A school friend had accompanied them to the movie, but she’d since gone her own way leaving the couple to walk home alone. They walked hand in hand and were fast becoming an item.

A week and a half had elapsed since the fugitive orphan attended his first Salsa dance class, and in that time their relationship had blossomed. He’d attended two more dance classes with Helen and had even spent an evening helping her with homework at her house, much to the consternation of her father who would have preferred her companion was a nice Greek boy. Despite his misgivings, Mister Katsarakis had allowed the friendship because his daughter had convinced him that’s all it was – a friendship.

“That was a cool movie,” Helen said, referring to the James Cameron film they had just seen. “But the plot was totally unbelievable, don’t you think?”

Nine nodded, but thought to himself that one never knew what was happening in secret in the world they lived in.
I am living proof of that
.

He kept his lips sealed about such things, not wanting to appear any more different or unusual to Helen than he sensed he already did. For the first time in his life he almost felt normal. If it wasn’t for his memories of another life in his recent past, he believed he’d have felt completely normal. Helen had that effect on him. In her presence he felt whole. It was almost as if his seemingly predetermined past didn’t exist.

The orphan even allowed himself to dream really big and consider fanciful things like marrying Helen one day. They’d head down to Mexico. Once over the border, they’d be able to live without him having to look over his shoulder every five minutes to see if Kentbridge or one of his operatives was coming for him.

As if reading his thoughts, Helen suddenly asked, “Do you ever think about the future and growing up and being able to do adult things?”

Nine nodded.

“I do,” Helen continued. “I want to see the world and experience other cultures. What do you want?”

“A regular life,” he answered without hesitation. After all, he’d thought of nothing else for as long as he could remember. “And to be part of a community.”

A somewhat bemused Helen shook her head.

“I just want to be an average person, nothing special,” Nine insisted.

“Don’t ever say you want to be average, Luke. You’re going to do amazing things.”

The orphan was aware she’d understand where he was coming from if she knew of his claustrophobically controlled upbringing, but she could never know.

“Why do you try so hard to seem average?” Helen asked.

“What do you mean?” Concerned, he wondered if she had worked out something about him or his background.

“You are very bright, Luke. That’s obvious to anyone who spends more than five minutes with you. Maybe you’re even a genius.” She kissed him. “And you’re very cute, too. But I’m most attracted to your mind. So don’t ever hide it from me, okay?”

Nine nodded and kissed her back. He felt happier at that moment than he’d ever dared hope. For the first time in his life, a real person was accepting him for who he was – intelligence and all.

Now hand in hand, the couple entered the street Helen lived in. They kissed again and continued their leisurely stroll. There were less street lights and less traffic now. For the moment, they felt as though they were the only people in the world.

So preoccupied had Nine been he hadn’t noticed a group of African-American youths following them. Finally, he saw them. A quick glance confirmed there were half a dozen of them. It was obvious they belonged to a gang. Only thirty yards away and striding purposefully toward the young couple, their intentions were clear.

Nine cursed that he’d been so absorbed by his girlfriend’s beauty and his change of fortune he’d failed to remain alert and scan his surroundings as he’d been trained to do. He thought of running, but dismissed the idea as he realized Helen couldn’t outrun the youths. Instead, he gripped her hand tight. “Do exactly what I say,” he whispered.

“What?” Helen didn’t understand. Then she saw the youths. “Luke?”

Nine pulled Helen to a stop and slowly turned to face the approaching youths. He saw at once he’d miscalculated. There were eight youths. Two had been concealed behind the others. And they were big. Nine estimated the shortest was his height.

The youths surrounded the couple, sneering and throwing racial insults at them.

Helen gripped Nine’s hand so hard her fingernails bit into his flesh.

“Helen,” the orphan whispered. “Let go of my hand.” She gripped harder and Nine had to forcibly free his hand. At the same time he assessed the situation. It didn’t look good: eight youths looking for trouble – all older and bigger than him.

The youths closed in on the couple. As they did, Nine’s mind was working at a million clicks per second. Calculating their chances, he realized he needed a weapon.

The ringleader, a big guy who wore a muscle shirt to show off his impressive physique, jabbed Nine in the chest with his forefinger. “Gimme your wallet, white boy.”

Nine reached into the inner pocket of the new leather jacket he wore, produced his wallet and handed it over without comment. As he did that, another youth grabbed the purse Helen carried. She looked at Nine, terrified.

“Man, these white kids are scared to death!” another youth joked.

The ringleader opened Nine’s wallet and whistled when he saw the wad of notes it contained. “A good evening’s work, boys. Let’s go.” He cuffed Nine over the ear for good measure and turned to go when the same youth who took Helen’s purse approached the orphan. The shortest of the youths, he pulled his jacket aside to reveal he carried a knife in his belt.

“I’ll take your jacket, too, dog,” Shorty said.

Nine reluctantly handed over his jacket. He just hoped no-one would show any interest in the arm band he wore to keep the White Gold in place on his forearm. He was very aware the edges of plastic bag that held the precious substance protruded from beneath the arm band.  Shorty was too busy trying on the jacket to notice, but the ringleader noticed.