The Orphan Uprising (The Orphan Trilogy, #3) (20 page)

Nine released the safety on his pistol. The metallic
click
promoted his hostage to jump.

“We have had other children here!” Doctor Talbot blurted out. “But not for several months, and I’ve never seen your boy. Honest.”

Nine could see she was telling the truth. Cross-examining her, he established that young subjects bound for Omega’s lab at Thule were sometimes processed at this branch. The doctor stressed that it was a rare occurrence, and claimed she and her colleagues had no idea what awaited the children when they were transferred to Thule.

On learning this, the former operative felt the same crushing disappointment he’d experienced at Thule after confirming Francis wasn’t being held there.

As a final act, Nine escorted the relieved doctor back to the storeroom and locked her in with the others. He would advise the people at American Summit Camp of their predicament once he was safely back in the air.

#

Nine didn’t have long to wait before the chopper arrived to collect him. As soon as he was in the air, he ordered Rasmus to head for Kangerlussuaq International Airport. Then he used the radio-telephone to advise a bemused radio operator at the ice station that the Americans at the nearby lab building had somehow locked themselves in a storeroom and were in need of rescue. He didn’t give the operator a chance to cross-examine him.

The former operative then called Hells Angels biker Lars Khader and relayed final instructions to him. These related to his upcoming departure from Kangerlussuaq.

Nine was aware Naylor would have heard of his exploits in Greenland by now and would have people looking for him at Kangerlussuaq and, indeed, at all six of the country’s international airports. He had a feeling he may need backup. Hence the call to Lars. The irony of relying on a gang leader and drug pusher to watch his back wasn’t lost on him.

Nine’s thoughts were already on his next destination, Africa, and on his son.
Hang on Francis, I’m coming for you
. The macabre and shocking sights he’d seen at Thule ate away at him. He couldn’t bear to think of Francis being thrown into such an environment, and he wondered how the boy was coping.

Another twinge in his chest reminded him of his ailing heart condition. Popping a couple of pills, Nine wondered if he was up to what lay ahead. He fully expected he’d be flying into a maelstrom in Africa. That is
if
he managed to depart Greenland in one piece.

Exhausted and dispirited, Nine lay back and closed his eyes as the chopper continued its flight south over the ice sheet. His last thought before drifting off to sleep was how Isabelle and Seventeen were getting on back in Tahiti.

39

Seventeen didn’t like leaving Isabelle alone at the motel, not even for a minute, but there were times she had to venture out – for food and other day-to-day essentials, and to check her emails to see if Nine had made contact. This was one of these occasions.

The former operative was still in the guise of Isabelle’s husband, stubble and all.

After purchasing food at a Taravoa supermarket, she then called in at a local Internet café. The result was the same as always: other than the usual spam, there was no email from her brother.

Seventeen returned to her Jeep and soon found herself driving past the township’s picturesque boat marina. The road she followed took her up onto the isthmus that separated Tahiti Nui from the Tahiti Iti peninsula to the south. Friendly Tahitians waved at her as she drove along the windy road. Seventeen returned their waves with a masculine thumbs-up sign, in keeping with her latest disguise.

The Tahitians weren’t the only people using the road. Every minute or two, a French Army truck would rumble past. Some carried uniformed soldiers and served as a reminder to tourists and locals alike that Taravoa was a military town and the old fort at the top of the isthmus was in use as an army training center.

Within minutes, the original stone walls of Fort Taravoa came into view, signalling to Seventeen that she’d reached the summit. Judging by the number of army trucks and personnel coming and going, there was some kind of training exercise underway.

As Seventeen looked for a place to park the Jeep, she reviewed what she knew of the fort. Her memory still wasn’t what it once was, but it was improving by the day thanks to Nine’s timely intervention. She recalled the French had built the fort during the French-Tahitian War of the 1840’s if she wasn’t mistaken. It was used to help subdue the last of the rebellious Islanders on the Tahiti Iti peninsula. During World War Two, it gained some notoriety when German residents were interned there.

Seventeen found what she was looking for – a parking spot that afforded glorious views over the township below. Disembarking from the Jeep, she strolled to a lookout to admire the views.

Just then a late model convertible passed by, catching Seventeen’s eye. Its fire-engine red paintwork made it hard to miss. And its top was down so Seventeen caught a glimpse of the driver.
Fifteen!
It had only been for an instant, but Seventeen was sure it was her fellow orphan.

Fearing Fifteen was onto them, Seventeen jumped into the Jeep, started it up and headed back downhill. She drove fast and soon had the convertible in view.

A few minutes later, Seventeen held her breath as the convertible approached the turnoff leading to her motel. Thankfully, Fifteen continued driving south toward the peninsula. Seventeen followed at a discreet distance for a mile or so until it was clear that her fellow orphan really was departing Taravoa.

The former operative returned to the motel. There, she found her sister-in-law looking at a small framed photo of Nine and Francis she was holding. Isabelle had obviously been crying.

“What’s wrong?” Seventeen asked.

“Nothing,” Isabelle lied. Knowing that Seventeen had gone to check her emails, she asked, “Anything from Sebastian?”

Seventeen shook her head.

“Something must be wrong,” Isabelle murmured.

“No news is good news.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely.” Seventeen tried to sound and look more positive than she felt. “If Sebastian had bad news he’d let us know.”

Seventeen’s words had a calming effect on Isabelle. The look of despair on the Frenchwoman’s face was replaced by hope. Seventeen realized that hope may be misguided, but she said nothing. Nor did she tell Isabelle she’d just seen one of the Omega operatives who were hunting them.

40

While Isabelle and Seventeen were making the most of a bad situation, the mixed-race orphan-operative Three was surveying outbound passengers in the Departures Lounge at Kangerlussuaq International Airport.

The Omega operative was looking out for Nine, and he wasn’t alone. He had the assistance of three CIA agents whom Marcia Wilson had despatched from the firm’s Berlin office at Naylor’s request. One of them was currently with Three in the airport’s upstairs Departure Lounge while the other two were downstairs, monitoring outbound travellers who were checking in.

The same scenario was being repeated at Greenland’s other international airports. More Omega operatives had been called in to try to stop Nine leaving the country and they, too, were being supported by seconded CIA agents.

For Three, the mission had suddenly become personal. The termination of Fourteen back at the Thule Air Base lab had occurred on Three’s watch, and he wasn’t happy about that. He knew he was in Naylor’s bad books as a result of what had gone down and was intent on redeeming himself.

While Three was looking out for Nine, he was himself being observed. Lars Khader had been watching out for a gentleman of Three’s description arriving from Thule after Nine had called him from the chopper. It hadn’t taken Einstein to deduce that the mixed-race traveller who arrived dressed in civvies aboard a US Air Force chopper soon after that call was Three.

The big biker had observed the operative studying other travellers at the airport and briefing three similarly dressed, fit-looking individuals at the same time.

Like Three, Lars wasn’t working alone either. His network of
eyes and ears
extended to employees of Greenland’s major airports – in particular the baggage handlers and airline ground staff. Moving huge quantities of illegal drugs around the country required the cooperation of such people. Mindful of this, Lars had been busy in recent months lining the palms of people he thought could help him.

The time had arrived to call in a few favors. Because he needed to depart to meet Nine at another location, Lars had quietly recruited the services of several airport personnel who were in his debt. He had surreptitiously pointed out Three and the CIA agents, and asked his contacts to keep him informed of their movements by cell phone.

Now, as Lars awaited the arrival of Nine’s chopper in a forest clearing on a farmlet on the outskirts of Kangerlussuaq, he was receiving calls every five minutes updating him on the movements of the mysterious men who were so keenly observing departing travellers at the airport.

One of the calls alarmed him. A barman working in the Departure Lounge reported that Three had departed the airport not long after Lars had left. The barman said a baggage handler had confirmed that the agent had driven off in a rental car, and he appeared to be in a hurry. Lars hoped there was an innocent explanation for that.

The familiar whirring of blades alerted him to the chopper’s arrival. Low cloud cover hid the approaching chopper from view, but Lars estimated it would land within the next couple of minutes.

Whirring blades was the last sound Lars heard. He never even saw the arm that encircled his throat nor the hand that snapped his neck.

Three let his victim fall to the ground then stepped back to admire his handiwork. Lars had fallen awkwardly, his arms, legs and head splayed at odd angles. His sightless eyes stared up at his killer. Three thought he looked more like a rag doll than a Hells Angels gang leader.

The Omega operative almost regretted that he’d surprised his victim and hadn’t given him the opportunity to make a fight of it. He guessed the big man would have given him a run for his money.

Lars would never know that Three had realized from the outset he was being observed at the airport. The operative had quickly identified Lars as the observer and had pointed him out to the CIA agents he was collaborating with.

When Lars had left the airport astride his Harley-Davidson, one of the CIA agents – a nondescript, thirtysomething man uncharitably referred to as
Shag
by his colleagues – had followed him to the farmlet. Shag had alerted Three who had joined him soon after.  

The CIA agent placed the sniper’s rifle he was carrying on the ground then tried dragging Lars into the nearby spruce trees. Grunting, he looked around at Three. “Help me, will you?” The big biker was a handful for one man.

Three helped Shag drag the body out of sight.

“What about the Harley?” Shag asked.

“Leave it where it is. He’ll be expecting to see it.”

Shag retrieved his rifle and re-joined Three under cover of the trees just as the chopper dropped below the cloud cover above them.

Three drew his pistol from a shoulder holster. “Remember, the passenger’s mine.” He had to shout to make himself heard above the sound of the chopper. “You take the pilot.”

Shag nodded and the two professionals separated. They knew to follow protocol and establish a field of fire from opposite sides of their target.

Inside the chopper, Nine studied the terrain as the craft descended. He was no longer in disguise, having dispensed with his Inuit guise during the flight from the ice sheet. The forest clearing came into view and he drew out his machine pistol in readiness for the landing.

Nine saw the Harley, but there was no sign of Lars. He thought that odd as the biker had phoned him on his cell from the clearing five minutes earlier to advise it was all clear. He’d assumed Lars would be in the clearing with his bike.

Just before the chopper dropped below the treeline, Nine noticed a hundred yards or so off to his right two late model cars parked outside an old farmhouse. He found that odd, too, as Lars had assured him he’d come alone.

“I don’t like this,” Nine said aloud as the chopper continued its descent.

Rasmus slowed the chopper’s descent and prepared to land. The craft’s skids were now only a few feet off the ground.

Nine was growing increasingly concerned. Still there was no sign of Lars.
He should be here
. Then he saw it – a shadowy figure in the trees. Whoever it was, he was too short to be the biker. “Abort the landing!” Nine screamed. “Abort!”

Rasmus reacted quickly, jerking on the joystick, but he was still too slow to avoid the heavy calibre bullet that smashed through the front windscreen and lodged in his brain.

The chopper tilted over and began rising at a forty-five degree angle to the ground, its engine screaming. Nine tried to prize Rasmus’ lifeless fingers from the joystick, but was powerless to prevent the chopper’s blades striking the upper branches of the surrounding trees.

The out-of-control craft carved a path through the treetops until it ran out of steam. Its blades stopped turning and the chopper fell to the ground.

From Nine’s perspective, the chopper’s death-throes seemed to happen in slow motion. In reality, it was all over in a matter of seconds. In that short space of time however, the chopper had carried its passenger a good fifty yards from the forest clearing and from the killers waiting for him there.

Three and his companion had reacted quickly when the chopper crashed. However, the undergrowth was dense and it took them a couple of minutes to reach the craft’s final resting place. When they arrived, they found the chopper upside down on the ground. Smoke rose from its engine and sparks threatened to turn the craft into a fireball.

The pilot’s body could be seen through the smoke. Rasmus was still at the controls, strapped in his seat. There was no sign of Nine.