The Orphan Uprising (The Orphan Trilogy, #3) (27 page)

Although the storm had passed, light rain continued to fall and the camp remained a quagmire. Negotiating the muddy ground reduced the rebels to a sometimes comical study-in-motion as they tried to keep their footing and remain upright.

Nine was marched, slipping and sliding, to the militia’s war tent where Lusambo and his lieutenants had been meeting since Leila’s discovery that her husband’s nephew was among the children interned at the medical lab at Carmel Corporation’s refinery. Since that discovery, as Nine was about to learn, several rebels had identified long-lost young relatives among the photos he’d left with the Lusambos.

As he was escorted into the war tent, Nine could sense anger among the rebels. The incidence of missing children was a common occurrence in the DRC, and in most African countries for that matter. But this was different. Omega’s medical lab was right under the militia’s noses and the abducted children were being subjected to the most horrifying scientific experiments imaginable. The realization that some of the orphanage’s subjects were related to the rebels made it personal, too. Lusambo’s men wanted blood.

All eyes turned to Nine as the rebels became aware of his presence. Lusambo motioned to him to approach, and the two greeted each other warmly.

“I did not think we would meet again, my friend,” the captain smiled.

“Me either, captain.”

Lusambo then explained why Nine had been brought back. He said he planned to embark on a rescue mission to save Francis and the other children under cover of darkness the following night.

Nine’s relief was tempered by the fact his plans had been delayed twenty-four hours. He had hoped to get to Lusambo in time for a raid on the lab that night, but that wasn’t to be. The night was nearly over and the raid had to be carried out under cover of darkness. It would be far too risky to attempt it during daylight hours.

It was then Nine noticed Leila among the lieutenants assembled around Lusambo. He hadn’t noticed her before as she now wore army-style fatigues complete with a military-issue pistol in her belt, and was hardly distinguishable from the other rebels. Leila smiled warmly at him.

Nine also noticed the rebels were passing around the photos he’d left earlier of Francis and the other children. Francis’ photo, and those of children the rebels had recognized, had been photocopied so that each rebel involved in the raid would have a set of the relevant images. It turned out seven more children had been recognized and, of those, five were directly related to the rebels.

The blood ties between the children and the rebels had played into Lusambo’s hands. As soon as the children had been recognized, his men had fully supported his plans. Without their total support, any raid on the well defended refinery would be tantamount to suicide. Even with their support, it was a tall order. Lusambo’s hundred-strong militia had been reduced to fifty. A quarter of his fighting men were over the border, in Rwanda, on another mission. Nearly as many again were bedridden as a result of an influenza epidemic that was sweeping the DRC’s eastern regions and half a dozen were recovering from wounds received in a recent fire-fight.

Given the captain had to leave at least twenty rebels behind to defend the base in the event of attacks by Government troops or other militias – a not uncommon occurrence – that left only thirty men at his disposal for the planned raid on the refinery. Not good odds and he knew it.

For the next hour, Lusambo and his lieutenants grilled Nine about the medical lab and the people who were running it. The former operative told them everything he knew, and furnished them with the photos he’d taken of the lab and the refinery from the air. These proved invaluable to the men who were about to risk their lives attacking a facility which until now they’d deemed too well defended to breach.

The rebels took special note of the strength and location of the armed guards. After sometimes heated debate, they agreed on a plan of attack.

Nine was impressed by Lusambo’s democratic leadership style. He obviously valued his men and their opinions, and ruled accordingly. Equally, the men knew who the boss was and deferred to him when tough decisions were needed.

The meeting concluded as the grey light of dawn arrived through the drizzle. Lusambo ordered his men to get some sleep and prepare to depart as soon as darkness returned. He then took Nine aside. “There’s the small matter of ensuring our agreed terms are met,” he said.

Nine knew instantly what he was driving at. The captain wanted to ensure his client kept his side of their arrangement. It would mean taking the rebel leader at his word, but there was nothing else for it. Nine drew his cell phone from his pocket. “I will text my funds manager at a certain Swiss bank and the first instalment will be transferred immediately to a bank account of your choice.”

“As simple as that?”

“Yes. I should delay texting until it’s normal trading hours in Switzerland.”

Lusambo looked at his watch and did a quick calculation. “It will be normal trading hours there in exactly three hours.”

Nine was impressed by the captain’s general knowledge. “Correct.”

Satisfied, Lusambo ordered a Ugandan rebel to escort Nine to a small tent that would serve as his private quarters for the day ahead. “You’ll find some breakfast waiting for you in the tent,” he said. “I suggest you get some sleep, too, my friend. You may need it.”

Nine needed no encouragement on that score. He’d been suffering niggling little chest pains for the past hour or so and was nearly out on his feet. He knew he was in desperate need of sleep and just hoped his ailing heart would hold out long enough to rescue Francis.

57

Seventeen knew something was wrong as soon as she struck up a conversation with the Papenoo River Valley Lodge’s proprietor. The normally engaging Fraulein Schmidt wasn’t her normal cheerful self. From the moment Seventeen bumped into her, the proprietor had seemed tense and withdrawn.

The former operative had been walking to the lodge’s store to purchase some items before it closed for the evening when she’d come across Fraulein Schmidt. Usually, whenever they saw each other they would chat for a while – often about places they’d both visited and sights they’d seen in Germany and elsewhere on the Continent.

However, on this occasion Seventeen had the impression the proprietor was nervous and anxious to be on her way.

Like all Omega operatives, Seventeen was an expert at reading body language and picking up on other signs. After parting company with Fraulein Schmidt, every cell in her body told her something was wrong. Bypassing the store, she hurried back to her unit.

Isabelle knew something was up as soon as her sister-in-law entered the kitchenette. She was learning to recognize the signs. “Please don’t tell me we have to move again.”

“Afraid so.” Seventeen told Isabelle about her strange encounter with the proprietor.

“She may be worried about something,” Isabelle said in the proprietor’s defence.

“I’m sure she is. I have a feeling she’s worried about us.”

“But- -”

Interjecting, Seventeen said, “I think someone has got to her.”

Isabelle was about to protest then thought better of it. She’d learned that Seventeen had a well-developed sixth sense for such things and she now trusted her.

“We have to hurry.” Seventeen was mindful the lodge was at the end of a no-exit road and they would be trapped if someone was coming for them.

The two women quickly retrieved their bags and possessions, and loaded them into the stolen station wagon before climbing in. Not wanting to draw any more attention than necessary to their sudden departure, Seventeen disengaged the handbrake and allowed the car to roll silently down the driveway to the road before starting the engine.

Once out of earshot of the lodge, Seventeen gunned the accelerator and sped along the narrow, windy gravel road toward the main coastal highway some ten miles to the north.

The two fugitives had no way of knowing that at that very moment a red convertible was approaching from the northern end of the road. Fifteen was at the wheel and Twenty Three next to him in the front passenger seat. They were accompanied by their newly arrived fellow orphan-operative, Eight, who rode in the back seat. She’d arrived in Tahiti the previous day.

Of Asian heritage, Eight had attributes that complemented her colleagues. In particular, she spoke Tahitian fluently. Naylor had considered that a positive as the signs were Isabelle had bypassed conventional tourist accommodation in favour of hiding amongst the native people. That was the logical explanation for the Frenchwoman’s disappearance since she’d been tracked to Taravoa. Having an orphan-operative on the case who could speak Tahitian would be a big advantage – of that Omega boss Andrew Naylor was sure.

Night was approaching as the station wagon Isabelle and Seventeen traveled in reached the top of a bluff high above the river. Despite the fading light, Seventeen drove with the headlights off so as not to draw the attention of her former colleagues if in fact they were on their way.

Seventeen drove as fast as she dared. As she nursed the car around a bend she saw an approaching vehicle – a red convertible. It was beginning its climb up the same bluff the station wagon was now descending and it, too, was being driven with its headlights switched off.

Though too far away to identify, Seventeen was in no doubt the convertible was the same one she’d seen Fifteen driving in Taravoa. “Damn!” She pulled over to the side of the road, out of sight of the oncoming car.

“What is it?” Isabelle asked. She hadn’t seen the convertible.

“We have company.” Seventeen could now hear the convertible. Its revving motor indicated it was traveling at speed.

Isabelle heard it, too, and was suddenly very afraid.

Seventeen was also frightened, but she pushed the fear to the back of her mind and focused on finding a solution – just as she’d been trained to do.
How long have we got?
She estimated the convertible would reach them within a minute, or ninety seconds at best.
We can’t go back
. She had already deduced there was no point in returning to the lodge. It was near the end of the no-exit road and offered no escape route.

Looking ahead, Seventeen noticed a roadside picnic area just in front of a sharp bend.
That’ll have to do
. She planted her foot on the accelerator and the car shot forward.

“What are you going to do?” Isabelle asked.

“Don’t ask. Just hang on tight.” Seventeen glanced down to ensure Isabelle’s seatbelt was on. It was.

Seventeen drove into the picnic area and turned the station wagon so it was facing the road at a ninety degree angle. Then she waited, her foot resting lightly on the accelerator. Beside her, Isabelle closed her eyes and held her breath.

If she’d judged it right, the former operative knew the occupants of the approaching convertible wouldn’t see the station wagon until they were too late. She was waiting at the edge of the road just before the tight bend. The other side of the road fell away to the river some forty feet below.

It would all come down to timing. If she didn’t time it right, Seventeen knew she wouldn’t achieve what she hoped to do, and that was ram the convertible and send it and its occupants plummeting down the cliff-face. In a worst case scenario, she was aware she could miss the other vehicle completely and drive over the cliff herself.

Seventeen and Isabelle tensed as the sound of the approaching convertible grew louder.

Just before the convertible rounded the corner, Seventeen had a horrible thought.
What if it’s not Fifteen?
She remembered she hadn’t actually identified the car’s driver when she’d sighted it a few moments earlier. Logic told her it was Fifteen, but she couldn’t be sure.

As the convertible rounded the corner, instinct took over. What followed took only a few seconds, but to Seventeen it seemed like an eternity. She simultaneously switched on the station wagon’s headlights and revved the accelerator, ready for a fast take-off.

In the first second, she identified the familiar features of Fifteen in the driver’s seat and Twenty Three next to him, and she noticed the woman with Asian features in the back seat; a second later she’d identified the woman as Eight, another fellow orphan; at the same time, she released her foot from the brake and the station wagon shot forward.

58

Isabelle screamed as the vehicle struck the convertible just behind the driver’s door. In the headlights, she and Seventeen saw the startled expressions on the faces of the convertible’s three occupants as the station wagon rammed them at full throttle.

The convertible didn’t stand a chance. It disappeared over the side of the cliff, rolling twice before trees and shrubs arrested its fall a few yards from the river’s edge.

Seventeen had managed to stop the station wagon a couple of feet from the cliff-edge. She looked at Isabelle. “You okay?”

White-faced, Isabelle nodded. She was too shaken to speak.

Seventeen reversed the station wagon into the picnic area then turned off the engine and grabbed a torch from beneath the dashboard. “You stay here.” She jumped out and ran to the cliff-edge. As she ran, she drew a tiny pistol out from beneath her loose-fitting shirt. Although the 9mm semi-automatic pocket pistol had a limited range and only carried eight rounds, its small size made it easier to conceal and that suited Seventeen. She’d deliberately kept the weapon hidden from Isabelle, not wanting to alarm her any more than she already was.

Looking down over the edge of the cliff, Seventeen was disappointed to see signs of life around the convertible, which had come to rest on its side. It was now too dark to identify the survivors, but she saw a shadowy figure moving in the car’s front seat and another staggering about a few feet from the car. The latter occupant had obviously been thrown clear.

Unintelligible groans came from the figure in the front seat. Seventeen couldn’t tell if it was Fifteen or Twenty Three, but it was a safe bet it was one or the other. This was confirmed when a woman’s voice was heard enquiring after the wellbeing of her fellow operative. Even after so many years, Seventeen was able to recognize Eight’s voice. More groans from the operative still in the car signalled that he wasn’t faring well at all. There was no sign of the third passenger.