The Orphan Uprising (The Orphan Trilogy, #3) (16 page)

Observing Three’s reflection in the viewing window, Nine promised himself he wouldn’t take his fellow orphan on in a fair fight. He was relieved when the operative lost interest in what was going on in the lab and walked off down the corridor.

Nine gave it ten seconds then followed Three at a circumspect distance. Along the way he noticed a sign above a closed door. It read:
Control Office
. He made a mental note to return to it.

As they walked, Nine thought back to his days as an active operative and performed a quick mental stocktake of Three’s abilities. As well as being highly accomplished in Teleiotes, he was an excellent marksman – almost as good as Seventeen. Of all the Pedemont orphans, Seventeen had been without peer as a sharpshooter. She’d proven that on the Guyana job.

Three had also earned a deserved reputation as the most ingenious of the orphan-operatives when it came to killing. He had devised some unique methods of terminating his targets over the years, and word of this had spread among his colleagues.

Nine didn’t doubt that Three had refined his skills to even higher levels since he’d left Omega. He took it as a good sign that one of Omega’s orphan-operatives, or elites, had been sent to the Thule lab.
It could mean Francis has been sent here
. Equally, he knew Naylor would have sent high level reinforcements to intercept him at the African lab, so he was aware he shouldn’t read too much into Three’s presence.

Either way, Nine realized he’d have to deal with Three and with any other Omega operatives who may be with him. Pedemont orphans would be a major obstacle to his plans if they weren’t immobilized.

Whether or not Three was the only Omegan assigned to Thule Air Base was answered when the operative entered a room toward the end of the corridor. Before Three closed the door behind him, Nine caught a glimpse of Fourteen, a blond, Aryan-looking operative of Nordic descent. So now he knew at least two of his fellow orphans were at the base.

As Nine continued past the room, his mind was racing. He debated whether to charge in and shoot them both dead with the USP pistol he carried on him. That thought was dismissed almost immediately as he realized such drastic action would alert the entire base. He couldn’t risk that. His strategy relied on remaining undetected.

30

Nine retraced his steps, vowing to sort the problem posed by Three and Fourteen later. He’d deal with them when they were alone and apart. Together, they presented too big a problem.

The former operative returned along the corridor to the control office he’d passed earlier. Testing the door handle, he found it was locked. That obstacle was resolved almost immediately when the door opened and a female technician emerged. Nine smiled at her and entered the office before the door had time to close behind the departing technician.

Inside, he found a controller seated before a line-up of computers and television screens. The controller, a middle-aged man, was monitoring activity in the lab. His attention was on the computer monitors and he wasn’t aware he had company.

Nine checked the door was locked then drew his pistol and approached the unsuspecting controller who remained engrossed in the images on one of the monitors.

The first the controller became aware he wasn’t alone was when he felt the barrel of Nine’s pistol against the back of his head. Before he could utter a noise, a strong hand covered his mouth.

“One word and you’re dead,” Nine said quietly. “Understood?”

The startled controller nodded vigorously.

“Good.” Nine removed his hand and moved around in front of the controller. With his free hand, he pulled out a photo of Francis and held it up before the controller’s eyes. “This is my son, Francis Hannar. Is he here?”

The controller looked from the pistol in Nine’s right hand to the photo in his left hand and then back to the pistol. Sweat rolled down his forehead and he shook with fear.

Nine waved the photo closer to the man. “This boy, have you seen him.”

The controller looked at the photo again then shook his head, indicating he hadn’t seen Francis.

“Yes or no,” Nine said losing his patience.

“No,” the controller whispered.

“Look again!” Nine held the photo even closer to the man’s face.

“No I haven’t seen him!” the controller blurted out.

Nine felt his heart sink. He was reasonably confident someone in the controller’s position would know all the lab’s inmates by sight. “Where do you keep the registrations of subjects?”

The controller looked blank.

“Experimental subjects or orphans or whatever the hell Omega is calling them these days!” Nine snapped. “The children you people subject to these inhuman experiments.” Nine looked pointedly at one of the television screens. 

The controller glanced at the screen in time to see a white-coated scientist injected a dye into a small European boy whose skin had been turned black by a regime of such treatments. Now he understood what Nine was asking. “All registrations are filed electronically,” he stammered.

“Show me.” Nine waved his pistol threateningly.

The controller, who now shook more violently than ever, moved the mouse on his desktop computer and then typed in a password. Within seconds, a list of names appeared on screen in alphabetical order.

“Are these the children?” Nine asked.

The controller fidgeted nervously. In his haste to please the intruder, he realized he’d brought up the wrong list.

“Well?” Nine asked.

“No, they’re the names of patients who have passed away.”

The reality of what Nine was facing came home to him. Omega’s experiments were high risk and right there, on the screen before him, was the proof. “My God,” he muttered. “You people are no better than the Nazis.” Nine rounded on the controller as if he was personally responsible.

“Please! I’m just following my employer’s instructions.”

“Don’t give me that,” Nine responded. He felt like pistol whipping the frightened man as he had Naylor. Instead, he remained as calm and detached as humanly possible. “Bring up the list of live patients.” He put special emphasis on the word
patients
, and the sarcasm wasn’t lost on the controller.

Within seconds, more lists appeared on screen. These, too, were in alphabetical order.

“These are the children currently undergoing treatment here,” the controller said.

“Treatment!” Nine scoffed. He wanted to remonstrate with the man over his choice of words, but for the moment was fully focused on finding Francis’ name in the lists on the screen. Nine scrolled through the lists twice, but found no mention of his son. Turning to the controller he asked, “Is there a list of recent arrivals?”

The controller nodded and brought up another list. “This is everyone who has arrived in the last month.”

This list contained only six names. Nine saw at a glance Francis’s name was not among them.
So he’s not here
. His immediate reaction was almost one of relief. The thought of his son being interned here in this chamber of horrors had chilled him to the bone.

Then reality kicked in and he reminded himself if Francis wasn’t here – as appeared to be the case – he’d be in a similar facility in Africa, and it would take time to get there.
Time Francis may not have
.
Or me for that matter
. Even allowing for a clean getaway from Thule, he estimated it would be a good three days before he’d arrive in the DRC.

Resigned to departing Thule Air Base without Francis, Nine looked directly at the controller. The poor man was convinced he was about to be shot. Instead, Nine gagged him using the controller’s own handkerchief then trussed him up using computer cords. He tied him firmly to a protruding gas pipe so he couldn’t move far.

Before opening the door, Nine looked back at the controller. “Following your employer’s instructions is no excuse. You know that, don’t you?”

The controller just looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Don’t you?” Nine repeated, pointing his pistol at the man.

The controller nodded, indicating he did know that.

Nine concealed his weapon and slipped out into the corridor. Closing the door quietly behind him, he heard the familiar
click
as it self-locked. He hoped it would be at least half an hour before someone found the trussed-up controller. That would give him time to get off the base.

First, he needed to find one or both of his former colleagues, Three and Fourteen. He hoped his fellow Pedemont orphans may be able to reveal information the controller could not.

Nine retraced his steps yet again – this time back to the room where he’d seen the two orphan-operatives.

31

Standing outside the room, Nine quickly looked up and down the corridor. There was no-one in sight. He drew his pistol and then pressed his ear against the door. Not a sound.

Keeping his pistol concealed beneath his white coat, Nine knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again.

“Coming.” A voice came from inside.

Nine recognized the voice was Fourteen’s. Even after all these years, he still recognized the voice of a fellow orphan.

The former operative sensed he was being viewed through the door’s spy hole. He just hoped his technician’s guise would stand up to the scrutiny of his fellow orphan. The door opened, indicating his disguise had stood up to initial scrutiny at least.

Fourteen was exactly as Nine remembered him, only older. The years had not been kind to the operative with the Aryan features. His once youthful Nordic look had been replaced by a hardness that probably reflected the life he’d led since graduating from the orphanage as a fully fledged operative.

“Yes?” Fourteen asked curtly.

The operative seemed annoyed to have been disturbed and Nine wondered if he’d been about to take a nap. He wouldn’t blame him if he had been. After all, it had gone midnight.

“I work in Precinct Eleven,” Nine said maintaining his strong Danish accent. “I have an urgent security matter I wish to discuss.”

“Very well.” Fourteen stepped aside “Come in.”

Nine’s eyes swept the room as he stepped through the doorway. He saw at a glance they had the room to themselves and immediately wondered where Three was. Behind him, Fourteen closed the door and indicated to Nine that he should sit. He obliged, sitting down on the nearest chair. Fourteen sat down facing him.

Surveying the room again, Nine could see it served as a day room for the use of his former colleagues while they were at the base. There was a television set in one corner and a bookshelf in another. Unwashed coffee mugs could be seen in a sink in front of a coffee urn and newspapers lay strewn over a small table.

“Well,” Fourteen asked, “how can I help you?”

Nine stood and handed his opposite the clipboard he’d picked up. He pointed to some doodles the clipboard’s previous owner had left on it. “I’ve been keeping a record of the daily activities in the main lab,” he said.

Fourteen frowned as he tried to make sense of the doodles. He was concentrating so hard he never saw the butt of the machine pistol that smacked against his skull.

Pocketing his pistol, Nine immediately locked the door. He didn’t want to be disturbed by Three, or by anyone else for that matter. The former operative pulled a telephone cord from the wall and used it to firmly tie the unconscious Fourteen’s hands behind his back. Then he propped his fellow orphan up against the wall and waited for him to regain consciousness.

Looking at Fourteen, Nine reviewed what he could recall of him. Of all the Pedemont orphans, Fourteen had been the most studious. What he may have lacked in physicality, he made up for with brainpower and ruthlessness. Nine recalled that next to Seventeen perhaps, Fourteen was the most ruthless of the orphans. Indeed their mentor, Tommy Kentbridge, had once nicknamed Fourteen
Mister Ruthless
.

A groan indicated the operative was coming to. Nine walked to the sink and poured cold water into a mug. He then threw the mug’s contents over the groggy operative’s face. Fourteen’s eyes flew open as he regained full consciousness.

“Welcome back,” Nine said.

Fourteen squirmed as he tested the bonds that secured his hands.

“No point in struggling,” Nine cautioned. He spoke in his normal voice now. “I used an Axle hitch.”

Fourteen noted the change in his assailant’s accent. He now sounded American.

Nine continued, “I could have used a Barrel knot or a Constrictor knot perhaps, but they have their limitations.” He recited almost verbatim a lecture Kentbridge had once given the orphans on which knots to use to restrain someone. “Or I could have gone for a Killick hitch or a Span loop, but they’re not totally reliable either.” As he spoke, he could see Fourteen trying to work out who his assailant was. “Then again, I could have- -”

“Nine? Is that you?” Fourteen asked. Something about his assailant reminded him of the ninth-born orphan.

“Got it in one. Well done, Fourteen.” Aware he’d already spent too much time at the air base, Nine knelt down in front of his former colleague. “Where’s Three?”

“He went back to the barracks for some shut-eye.”

Nine tried to assess whether Fourteen was lying. All the signs were he was telling the truth. He fished the photo of Francis from his pocket and held it up in front of the operative. “Have you seen my son here?”

Ignoring the question, Fourteen said, “Naylor said you’d probably show up.”

“Yeah well there was a one in two chance I’d come here, so it wouldn’t take Einstein to work that out.”

“How’s life outside Omega, anyway?”

“It’s just fine thanks.” Nine simultaneously held the photo closer to Fourteen’s face and, with his other hand, released the safety catch on his pistol. “Don’t make me ask again.”

Fourteen could see Nine meant business. He looked at the photo and shook his head. “No.”

“Do you know if he was sent here?”

“No. Naylor didn’t tell us that in case this exact scenario eventuated.”

Again, Fourteen seemed to be telling the truth. It made sense to Nine that Naylor wouldn’t have told his operatives which of the labs Francis had been sent to. That way, the truth couldn’t be prized out of them. Nine felt it would be a waste of time asking the next question, but he had to ask it. “Do you know where they sent him?”