The Orphan Factory (The Orphan Trilogy, #2) (41 page)

“Good. Now here’s Senior Agent Wilson. She will brief you on your new roles.”

There was a pause then Marcia came on the line. She got straight to the point, advising them of the precise location of the Amazonian village they were heading for and the time the funeral of
Quamina Ezekiel’s mother was scheduled for. Seventeen scribbled furiously in a notepad as Marcia spoke. The funeral was scheduled for eleven o’clock the following morning – exactly twenty four hours away.

“Our assets in Georgetown have confirmed Ezekiel has finalized his travel plans,” Marcia said. “He’ll definitely be at the funeral.” She then quickly explained exactly why Ezekiel had to die and what the British Royals’ interest was in Guyana.

Kentbridge came back on the line. “I’d remind you, you’ll only have a very small window during the funeral to terminate him.”

“Who takes the shot, sir?” Nine asked.

“Seventeen,” Kentbridge said without hesitation.

Nine had no argument with that. Seventeen was a fine shot, even better than him. Even so, it irked him that she would get the glory when they successfully completed the mission. He was in no doubt about the outcome. The mission would be successful.

“Let’s wrap this up,” Kentbridge said. “Seventeen, you have the co-ordinates for the post-mission extraction, right?”

“Yes.” Seventeen knew he referred to the designated rendezvous point for the British Military helicopter to extract them from after the hit.

“Okay, you two. Good luck and remember that Quamina Ezekiel must die.”

The line went dead. Nine and Seventeen looked at each other in a new light. Each knew their survival now depended on the other. The very future of Omega, not to mention their lives, depended on them cooperating.

“I gotta take a leak,” Nine said. He wandered off for some privacy, leaving his partner alone with her thoughts.

Seventeen’s mind had been racing to process the latest developments and to disseminate the information her Omega masters had just given her and Nine. Now the options and likely ramifications were becoming clear. If they succeeded in terminating Ezekiel, order would be restored to the only Commonwealth nation in mineral-rich South America, thereby pleasing the Monarchy and ensuring Omega’s survival; if they failed, and Ezekiel lived, Omega would be liquidated and probably the orphans too.

Even if she was being melodramatic about the fate of the orphans in the event of a failed mission, Seventeen shuddered to think what she would do if the organization that had created her suddenly ceased to exist. Omega was her whole life.
My destiny
.

Nine returned to her side and the pair began preparing for the last stage of their trek that would take them to the village where the last act of the mission would be played out.

Seventeen surreptitiously studied Nine as he rechecked the contents of his pack. Truth be told, she didn’t give a rat’s ass whether or not he survived, but she knew she needed him if she was to succeed, and if she was to survive. With this in mind, she thrust out her hand. “We can complete this mission, right Sebastian?”

Impressed by Seventeen’s sudden display of unity, Nine shook her hand. “Of course we can, Jennifer. We are Omegans. We complete every mission.”

74

As Nine and Seventeen continued their trek, their Omega masters were discussing the mission’s new status back at the agency’s HQ. Naylor, Kentbridge and Marcia were hunched over a map of Guyana in the boardroom.

“I don’t like our chances,” Naylor grumbled. “They’re just babes in the woods!”

“I believe they can do this,” Kentbridge countered, “despite their lack of operational experience. They’re the best of all the orphans.”

“Well, they are going to have to learn on the job now,” Marcia piped up.

“And learn quickly,” Naylor added.

All three were worried. They’d been worried from the outset, but the mission had taken a new turn. Instead of being able to depend on three seasoned operatives to complete the mission, they now had to rely on two graduates of the Pedemont Project. Two inexperienced youngsters at that.

Kentbridge was the most concerned of all. Nine and Seventeen weren’t just orphans to him. They were almost like his own kids, and he feared for their wellbeing as a parent would.

#

Dusk was falling as Nine and Seventeen neared their destination. While they still had some daylight, they stopped to check Seventeen’s map to determine their exact whereabouts.

An
X
marked the location of the Ezekiel family’s ancestral village. It was not far from the Brazilian border. The village was so small and unimportant there was no access other than by river craft or helicopter. There were no roads for at least fifty miles in any direction. Its long Amerindian name was virtually unpronounceable, so the orphan-operatives just referred to it as
Ezekielville
.

“We’re still two miles short!” Seventeen exclaimed as she squinted at the map in the fading light.

They had intended to reach the village outskirts while it was still light, but dense jungle had slowed their progress since setting out from the hut. Now they were faced with a two-hour trek through the dark.

“Not a problem,” Nine said as he pulled his night vision goggles from his pack.

Seventeen followed suit and the pair resumed walking with their goggles at the ready for when darkness eventually set in.

75

Dawn’s arrival gave the orphan-operatives their first good look at the village they’d nicknamed
Ezekielville
. They had arrived at the village’s outskirts long after dark the previous evening. Not wanting to risk stumbling across lookouts who may be guarding the village, they had opted to lay low some distance away until daylight.

Now, as the first rays of sun pierced the sky, they had a good view of the village from their chosen vantage point – a brush-covered rocky outcrop a mile from the village outskirts. With the aid of their binoculars, they could see the village was nothing more than a collection of some fifty or so modest houses and huts spread out along the near bank of a muddy river. The houses were of European-style construction and mainly occupied by Guyanese of mixed race, while the huts were native-style and occupied exclusively by Amerindians.

The racial mix was confirmed as residents stirred and ventured outside. While Amerindians accounted for most of the population, there were some who were clearly of European and African heritage.

The orphans were aware the Amerindians they observed were of the Wapishana tribe, an ancient people who had occupied the jungles of Guyana and nearby Brazil for many centuries.

Referring to the notes she’d taken when talking to Kentbridge and Marcia earlier, Seventeen identified Ezekiel’s family home. She pointed to a large homestead a little removed from the other houses. It was palatial by comparison and befitting of the family home of Quamina Ezekiel.

The orphan-operatives studied the homestead intently. They knew that was where the funeral would take place in a few hours time.

While Seventeen studied the homestead and its surrounds, Nine looked for a suitable kill site – a closer hiding place that would offer an uninterrupted view of the homestead while concealing them and allowing a ready escape. After several minutes, he had seen nothing that compared to their current hiding place. The problem was the distance. Even for the best military snipers it would require a near-impossible shot.

As if reading his mind, Seventeen said, “I’ll shoot from here.”

“You sure?”

Seventeen grunted. She could see there was no better site.

“It must be a mile at least,” Nine cautioned.

“Let me check,” Seventeen said. “Pass me the tape measure will you?” The item she referred to was an ETM, or laser-operated Electronic Tape Measure, the US Army had developed. It was favored by soldiers in the field for its accuracy and ease of use.

Nine retrieved the ETM device from Seventeen’s pack and handed it to her. She pointed it at the Ezekiel homestead. Within seconds a measurement showed up on the ETM’s miniature LCD screen.

“One thousand eight hundred and thirty yards,” she said thoughtfully.

“Over a mile.”

“So be it.”

There was nothing more to say. It was clear there was no better kill site. This would have to do.

They retreated into the jungle behind them to start preparing for what was ahead. As they returned to their campsite, Seventeen did the math.
One thousand eight hundred and thirty yards.
Her longest successful shot on the practice range was one thousand seven hundred yards, and then it had taken two attempts to hit the target. Today’s shot would be one hundred and thirty yards further.
Can I do this?
She looked at Nine. “I can do this, Sebastian.”

“I know you can, Jennifer.”

They still had five hours to wait. Seventeen busied herself disassembling her rifle and reassembling it then cleaning and re-cleaning it; Nine poured over maps, familiarizing himself with the local terrain and memorizing the best routes from the kill site to their pre-arranged extraction point some five miles to the north.

The familiar buzzing of the satellite phone interrupted their preparations. Seventeen answered the call.

It was Kentbridge. “Change of plans,” the special agent advised. “Ezekiel’s departure from Georgetown has been delayed. The funeral has been postponed to mid-afternoon. He’ll arrive by chopper just before and fly out straight after.”

The line went dead.

“Damn it!” Seventeen cursed. “Our small window of opportunity just got smaller.” She just wanted this over with.

“Stay cool, Jennifer,” Nine said. He could see Seventeen was becoming stressed. Not for the first time he wondered how confident she really was about taking out Ezekiel.

#

The two orphan-operatives lay side by side surveying the village from the same rocky outcrop they’d occupied earlier. They lay beneath brush-covered netting – a precaution in case the expected helicopter flew directly over their position. Both were aware early discovery of their presence would end their mission and probably end their lives, too.

Nine glanced at his watch. “Two o’clock. They should be here soon.”

The village had come alive since their early morning surveillance. Scores of villagers, and many others from beyond the village, converged on the Ezekiel family home for the funeral. Outsiders arrived on foot and also courtesy of the many craft that plied the nearby river. These ranged from traditional dugout canoes to motorized craft.

The homestead itself was a hive of activity as grieving family members greeted friends and neighbors. A coffin occupied pride of place on the home’s front verandah. Draped in the national flag of Guyana, the coffin was covered in magnolias and other local flowers brought by some of the guests. 

It didn’t surprise Nine or Seventeen when they saw four Wapishana Amerindian men lift up the coffin and carry it indoors. In their original briefing, they’d been told the funeral service would be held inside the homestead as Guyanese security officials considered Quamina Ezekiel would be too exposed attending an outdoor funeral.

Wind flags positioned around a walled compound behind the homestead indicated that’s where the helicopter bringing Ezekiel would land. Half a dozen armed Wapishana men guarded the site in anticipation of its arrival.

Lying shoulder to shoulder next to Seventeen, Nine could feel the tension in her. For the first time ever, he thought he sensed fear in her.

Seventeen was tense alright, but it wasn’t fear. She was tense with the anticipation of a kill – her first kill as a sniper. This was what she’d been born to do. This was what she lived for. She could imagine no other life.

The blonde orphan-operative had dispelled her earlier misgivings and replaced them with supreme confidence. After all, she could hit a tin can a mile away, and today’s target would be a damned sight bigger than a tin can.

Seventeen’s weapon of choice was an AWM .338 Lapua Magnum, a dedicated long-range sniper rifle favored by the British Military, but also widely used by the armed forces of other nations. She preferred it over American alternatives because it was lighter and offered less muzzle flash, recoil, smoke and report. In her opinion, its stainless steel, fluted twenty seven inch barrel was the ultimate compromise between velocity and precision. At that moment, the barrel was resting on a tripod two feet in front of her face.

Seventeen trained the rifle’s telescopic sight on the wind flags in the compound and was relieved to see they barely fluttered. The air was mercifully still. That was important to her. She was very aware wind made a sniper’s task all the more difficult. A strong or swirling wind could turn a normally straightforward kill shot into a lottery. She lay her rifle down beside her.

As the minutes ticked by, Seventeen’s thoughts turned to the event that was bringing her target to them: the recent death of Ezekiel’s mother. She looked at Nine. “It seems very convenient the old lady passed away this week, don’t you think?”

“I think someone may have helped her on her way.”

Seventeen immediately thought of the butchered Omega operatives they’d found in the hut. “If I had to bet, our former colleagues had something to do with that,” Seventeen said as she lovingly ran her hand over the barrel of her rifle. “Someone must have tracked them back to the hut.”

The pair were interrupted by the distinctive sound of a helicopter’s whirring blades. They looked up to see not one, but three choppers flying toward the village in formation. The choppers flew almost directly overhead. Two landed in the homestead’s compound while the third hovered above it. Armed Guyanese soldiers piled out of the grounded choppers and lined up, weapons at the ready, to await the arrival of the third chopper.

Nine and Seventeen assumed the heavy military presence was a result of the recent discovery of their Omega colleagues. Ezekiel’s supporters obviously knew someone was out to get their man and they were doing everything in their power to protect him.