The Orphan Uprising (The Orphan Trilogy, #3) (21 page)

Three motioned to Shag to go one way and he went the other. The Omega operative was cursing. This was not going to plan.

When the chopper had struck the ground, it was only Nine’s seatbelt that saved him from being thrown through the windscreen. The impact had left him dazed and winded. His ribs hurt – a result of the seatbelt’s resistance to the centrifugal forces that had thrown him forward – and he wondered if he actually had broken a rib or two.

Nine’s first thought had been to escape the smoking chopper before it burst into flames. He’d scrambled to extricate himself from the smoking craft. Safely on the ground, his next thought had been to evade whoever it was he’d seen waiting for him in the trees, and he’d sought to distance himself from the chopper as quickly as he could.

In the first couple of minutes, Nine had identified two people pushing through the dense undergrowth. It had been clear to him they were prepared to sacrifice stealth for speed in their haste to reach the downed chopper. Now there was only silence.

41

Nine knew they were coming for him and was grateful he had his machine pistol. He estimated he’d moved perhaps fifty yards from the crash site. His path had taken him toward the farmhouse he’d seen earlier.
What to do?
He debated whether to sit tight and wait for his quarry to show themselves or whether to keep moving.
Problems either way
. He decided to keep moving. The longer he delayed, the more time his quarry had to call in reinforcements.

The former Omega operative thought if he could get to the farmhouse without being spotted, he could possibly jump-start one of the cars he’d seen and get away.

Nine wondered what had happened to Lars. Logic told him the men who were now hunting him had dealt with the biker.
I could do with your help right now, my Viking friend
. He pressed on.

Movement in the undergrowth nearby warned Nine that he had company. Crouching behind a bush, pistol raised, he saw Shag approaching. The agent had his rifle at the ready and was literally tip-toeing through the forest to avoid standing on a branch or twig. He seemed oblivious to the fact that, in the still of the forest, he might as well be an elephant crashing through the undergrowth.

Nine debated whether to shoot the agent or try to subdue him quietly. He decided the latter too risky, so promptly killed him with three well-placed bullets.

Forty yards away, the burst of gunfire that shattered the silence immediately told Three where his quarry was. The lack of return fire also told him his back-up had been taken out of the picture. Now it was just him and Nine.

Three began moving toward the sound then pulled up when he realized Nine was coming toward him. He hid behind a tree and waited.

Nine realized he was making too much noise, but it couldn’t be helped. His intention was still to reach the farmhouse and make his getaway from there. To do that, he had to keep moving. He’d entered an especially dense patch of undergrowth and was having trouble pushing through it. In the process, he advertised his whereabouts loud and clear.

Three waited until his fellow orphan had passed his hiding place before revealing himself. “Freeze!” he ordered.

Nine pulled up. He didn’t have to look behind him to know he’d been out-maneuvered.

“Drop the gun then turn around slowly,” Three said.

Nine did as he was told. He smiled when he saw the orphan he’d grown up with all those years earlier. “Well, well. I should have known it would be you.”

“You’ve been up to your old tricks, I see.” Three returned the smile. It was a cold smile with little affection behind it.

The mixed-race operative’s stance was relaxed and his demeanor casual, but Nine noted the pistol he held was rock-steady and pointed straight at him.

“Still causing problems for Omega, eh Nine?” Three asked.

“More than a few I hope.” Nine continued to assess his opposite as he spoke. Three appeared to be as fit and dangerous as ever. Despite the exertions of the last few minutes, the operative appeared to be hardly breathing. That reminded Nine how dangerous the man could be. “What now?” he asked.

Three seemed ready to shoot Nine. He hesitated as another idea came to him. “Lead the way back to the clearing.” He indicated with his pistol the direction Nine should take.

Nine set off.
What are you up to, Three?
The operative followed a prudent distant behind, pistol ready. As they walked, Nine looked for an opportunity to turn the tables. There was none.

They soon reached the clearing. Through the trees, Nine could see Lars’ bike parked where he’d left it. Again he wondered where the big man was. Then he saw Lars’ body just inside the treeline. He didn’t need to inspect the biker to know he was dead. Lars’ head was thrown at an unnatural angle to one side, his neck clearly broken.

“You’ll see I found your friend,” Three said matter-of-factly.

“If you’re gonna shoot me, shoot me!” Nine snapped. He hated Three at that moment.

Three shoved Nine toward a tree. “Spread,” he said.

The former operative realized Three intended to frisk him. He did as asked, leaning against the tree’s trunk and spreading his legs. Three expertly frisked him, confirming he was unarmed.

Three spun him around, pointing his pistol between Nine’s eyes. “I have something better than a bullet planned for you, my friend.”

Three ordered Nine to stand in the middle of the clearing. The former operative fully expected to be shot then and there. To his surprise, Three placed his pistol behind a tree then joined him in the clearing. It dawned on Nine that his fellow orphan wanted to kill him with his bare hands.

Nine’s initial reaction was one of intense relief. Under normal circumstances he’d be dead by now. However, he soon recalled he wasn’t in the best of health while Three looked as fit as ever.
I know who I’d put my money on right now
. Regardless, he clung to hope.

“Let’s settle this the old fashioned way,” Three said as he went into a fighter’s crouch and began circling Nine. The mixed-race operative was in his element now. This was what he lived for – pitting his speed and strength against a worthy opponent. The very thought of what was to come excited him. He crouched low, looking for an opening.

Nine’s thoughts were very different to Three’s. He was aware there was more than just his life at stake. Also at stake was Francis’ life and possibly the lives of Isabelle and their unborn child. He was also remembered once again that he wasn’t the fighting machine he once was. His heart condition had taken its toll. And if that wasn’t enough, his injured ribs hurt like hell.

42

Three attacked first, feinting with a left hook while kicking out ju-jitsu style with his right foot. Nine just managed to avoid the blow, but he was too slow to dodge the right cross that followed. It clipped his jaw, stunning him for a second or two. If it had landed flush, it would have knocked him out cold.

That first exchange reminded Nine how deadly Teleoites was. The brainchild of their mentor, Tommy Kentbridge, it was a mix of all the martial arts – ju-jitsu, karate, boxing and judo included. His expertise in Teleoites had saved his life more than once, and had ended the life of at least half a dozen assailants during his operational years.

Nine didn’t wait for Three to come at him again. He took the initiative and launched himself at his opposite, hurting him with a swinging elbow that connected above Three’s eye and caused a nasty gash. Three subconsciously licked at the blood as it tricked down into his mouth.

Encouraged by his early success, Nine employed one of his favourite strategies, simultaneously throwing punches and kicking without let-up. Three was forced to back-peddle to avoid the blows. Picking his moment, he ducked beneath a punch and used his right foot to sweep Nine’s legs out from under him. Nine went down hard and Three was onto him in a flash.

All Nine could do was cover up as Three rained blows down on him from all angles. He could feel his energy draining and wasn’t sure how much more punishment he could take. Heart pains served as a warning that he needed to finish this quick if he was to survive.

Sensing Nine was fading, Three used a wrestling technique to get behind his opponent and employ a strangulation grip. He placed his left forearm across Nine’s throat and, with his right hand, slowly tightened the grip.

Nine was struggling to breathe. He knew he’d be asphyxiated if he didn’t escape the hold Three had on him. But try as he may, he couldn’t dislodge the vice-like grip.

As he began to lose consciousness, he remembered the voice-commands used to activate and de-activate mind control in the orphans. “Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars,” he gasped, “Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto. Release me.”

Nine could feel himself going as Three’s grip continued to tighten. The voice-commands seemed to have no effect.
Has he been de-activated?
He repeated the planets’ names over and over, clinging to consciousness in a desperate bid to survive.

Three suddenly released his grip. Nine struggled to his feet, gasping for air and fighting against the pains that now coursed through his chest. He looked at Three and saw the operative’s eyes were glassy. Three seemed to be looking right through him and was obviously somewhere else at that moment.

As the heart pains threatened to overwhelm him, Nine fished out the pill bottle he always carried in his pocket and downed a couple of pills. Relief came, though not as fast as usual.

Afraid Three would snap out of his trance, Nine hurried to retrieve the pistol he’d left behind a tree. He returned moments later, pistol in hand. Three saw the weapon, but didn’t appear to register that his life could now be measured in seconds. 

As before, when he’d shot Fourteen, Nine had to contend with his conscience. The idea of killing a fellow orphan still repelled him, but again he had to put his family’s welfare first. Three was trying to stop him saving his son.

Nine shot the operative at point-blank range.

#

Isabelle felt like she was going stir crazy. The Frenchwoman had been cooped up inside for three days now – a virtual prisoner in the motel she shared with Seventeen at Taravoa. She felt like an elephant, her lower back hurt, every joint ached and she was constantly tired. And the baby was making her presence known increasingly often.

Alone for the moment, Isabelle was sorely tempted to disobey her minder’s instructions and venture outside for a stroll around the grounds. Before popping out to stock up on more food and provisions, Seventeen had left her with strict instructions not to so much as even look outside. She was paranoid Isabelle would be seen and her whereabouts reported to Fifteen or Twenty Three. The former operative had no doubt her fellow orphans would have set up a network of eyes and ears around Tahiti to help them in their search for Isabelle. After all, that’s what she’d have done.

As the walls closed in on Isabelle, the temptation became too great. She
had
to venture outside, if only for a few minutes.

Dark glasses and a big sun hat hid her face, but the light cotton dress she wore did nothing to hide her pregnant state.

The motel’s head cleaner, a large Tahitian woman, spotted Isabelle as soon as she stepped foot outside. She was walking between units, cleaning materials in hand, when she noticed the pregnant guest.

Noting the unit Isabelle had emerged from, the cleaner hurried back to the vacated unit she’d just finished cleaning. There, she used the unit’s telephone to make a call.

43

At Omega headquarters, Naylor presided over another extraordinary board meeting. The meeting had been prompted by the news, relayed to him earlier that day by CIA Director Marcia Wilson that one of her agents and Omega operative Number Three had been found shot dead on a property on the outskirts of Kangerlussuaq, in Greenland. Worse, Nine had effectively disappeared since his exploits at American Summit Camp and before that at Thule Air Base.

Marcia was currently in the hot seat and she was being grilled by founding director Bill Sterling. Like his fellow directors, he wasn’t happy about the mayhem Nine had caused.

“You had people at every airport in Greenland?” Sterling asked.

“At every international airport, yes,” Marcia said defensively.

“And still you couldn’t find one man or stop him leaving the country?”

“We don’t know for sure that he has left Greenland.”

“Would you bet against it?” Lincoln Claver asked.

“I wouldn’t,” Fletcher Von Pein said, jumping into the discussion. “We’ve known for a long time now the man’s a human chameleon. If he doesn’t want to be found, we know from hard-earned experience he probably won’t be.”

Sitting at the head of the table, Naylor was content to let the discussion run its course. He recognized his fellow directors were worried by recent events, and with good reason. They were all only too aware that Nine’s actions could sink Omega’s secret offshore medical laboratories and, if word got out, potentially destroy the careers of every person sitting around the table. So, he was content to allow his fellow directors to vent their frustrations for the moment at least.

Claver eyeballed Marcia. “So, assuming he has left Greenland and is en route to our lab in Zaire, or the Democratic Republic of the Congo or whatever the hell they call it these days, what’s the guarantee he won’t make your people look stupid all over again?”

By now, Marcia was fair bristling. She looked to Naylor for support, but none was forthcoming, so she ploughed on. “For starters Lincoln, it’s not only the CIA’s people watching out for Nine, it’s Omega’s as well. We’re all in this together. I’ve doubled my original number of agents in Kinshasa and have people at all the major airports in the DRC.”

“And I despatched two more operatives to our lab there yesterday,” Naylor added.

“Our elites I hope?” Sterling asked.

“Yes, two of our orphan-operatives were on assignment in South Africa,” Naylor said, “so I sent them as back-up to the three already in the DRC. I believe they arrived in Kinshasa last night our time. They’ll be arriving at our lab soon if they aren’t there already.”