The Orphan Uprising (The Orphan Trilogy, #3) (38 page)

Mindful that One could return at any moment, Nine gambled that he’d done enough to bring Ten out of his mind-controlled state. He then reminded his old friendof an incident he personally would never forget. “Remember that time you nearly drowned in the Little Calumet?”

Now emerging from the influence of MK-Ultra, Ten recalled the incident his fellow orphan referred to. He and Nine had snuck away from the orphanage for a swim in the nearby Little Calumet River. It had been a hot summer’s day and he’d nearly drowned when he was struck by cramp. Only Nine’s intervention had saved him. “I remember,” he murmured.

Nine could see he was getting through to his opposite. He kept talking, reminding Ten of fleeting happy moments – in amongst the many unhappy moments – they’d shared together as boys. As he talked, he could almost see Ten’s mind racing as he pieced together fragments of his forgotten past.

Ten slowly joined in the discussion, adding his own thoughts and memories. His whole demeanour had softened. He was fast becoming the friend that Nine remembered.

Out of the blue, Nine asked, “Ten, will you help me rescue my son?”

Before Ten could reply, the door opened and One reappeared, dashing Nine’s hopes of recruiting his old friend as an ally.

“As we suspected,” One said, “he came alone.”

“No surprises there,” Ten said.

Nine observed that Ten appeared to have reverted to his former cold self. He wondered if the operative had slipped back into his mind-controlled state. Nine didn’t have long to wait before that question was answered.

80

Ten pointed to a file on a desk just behind One. “Pass that file to me will you, Numero Uno?”

As One turned to pick up the file, Ten reversed his grip on the pistol he was still holding and whacked his fellow operative over the head with it. The blow felled the big fella. Even though it had been a solid blow, it hadn’t knocked him out. The second blow did, however.

Ten quickly checked One’s pulse to ensure he was still alive. He was.

“He always was a tough one,” Nine observed.

“Yep,” Ten grinned. “What now?”

“Get me out of these restraints and put them on Numero Uno.”

Working quickly, Ten removed the bindings from around Nine and un-cuffed him. Then, as Nine had suggested, he slipped the hospital restraint jacket over One and cuffed him to a protruding pipe. As One began to come round, Ten gagged him using a spare tea-towel.

“Can we leave him here?” Nine asked.

Ten nodded. “We are the only ones who use this room, and I have the only key.” Ignoring One, who was now glaring at him, Ten added, “I doubt anyone will have any reason to come looking for him for several hours.”

As Ten double-checked One’s restraints, Nine retrieved his container of pills from his pocket and popped two of them for good measure. His heartburn had subsided, but he didn’t want a repeat of it. Then he retrieved his smart phone from his backpack and immediately accessed the emails he’d filed in it. Before sending them, he looked at Ten. “I have something I have to do. Can you get my son?”

“Sure thing.”

Ten hurried from the office, leaving Nine alone with the trussed up Native-American operative.

Sitting down at the nearby table, the former operative opened the first of his carefully formulated emails. It was addressed to US intelligence and law enforcement agencies, high profile politicians and international media. The latter category included Reuters and other news agencies, CNN and other major television networks, Time Magazine and similar publications, major daily newspapers throughout America as well as smaller, independently-owned media outlets with no links to the mainstream news agencies.

Intelligence agencies on the list included the FBI and NSA, but not the CIA who worked hand-in-glove with Omega as Nine knew only too well.
They’ll find out soon enough
. Politicians on the list included the Vice President and Governors of selected states.

The email, which would be accompanied by the two confidential files that Nine had downloaded from Naylor’s computer, also contained examples of Omega’s activities going back twenty years. It catalogued contract killings and other criminal business practices complete with names, dates, places and times. The names included all Omega’s orphan-operatives and, most damningly, all the directors on the agency’s board.

Skimming the email one last time, Nine clicked
Send
. Watching it go gave him great pleasure. The former operative then posted the explosive information on various social networks including Facebook and Twitter. He was confident it would soon go viral.

Ignoring the impotent glares Numero Uno continued to direct his way, Nine then opened the second email. An exact copy of the first, it was for his European attorneys and contained new instructions for them. Those instructions included a directive to immediately forward the email to appropriate agencies, media and politicians throughout Europe.

After skimming this email, he clicked
Send
. As soon as the
Message Sent
notice appeared, Nine felt he could relax slightly.
Let the games begin
. He was aware the emails and their damning attachments would put the Omega Agency in the public spotlight for the first time in its history. They would also ensure Naylor and his fellow directors would be put to the proverbial blowtorch.

The former operative’s motivation for sending the emails was to put Omega into a state of disarray and give his former masters more to worry about than trying to stop him finding Francis. He hoped that with an ounce of luck it would be smooth sailing from here on – for Francis and himself, and for Isabelle and Seventeen.

Nine had been so involved with rescuing his son, he hadn’t thought about his wife in a while. He suddenly felt guilty and wondered whether the baby had arrived yet.

The former operative’s thoughts were disrupted when Ten returned holding Francis.

“Papa!” Francis beamed.

Nine took his son from the operative and hugged him tight for the second time that night. “Hello, boy.” The happy father found it hard to contain himself. He felt like dancing around the room and laughing with joy.

“I knew you’d find me,” Francis said.

Nine couldn’t help himself: the floodgates opened, and he cried as he’d never cried before.

An anxious Ten placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We need to get outta here.”

Nine pulled himself together. He looked intently at his fellow orphan. “You sure you want to do this?”

Ten grinned. “It’s too late to back out now, isn’t it?” He looked pointedly at his trussed-up colleague.

“I dunno what to say, bud.”

“Don’t say anything. Just get me and the boy outta here.” As an afterthought Ten added, “I assume you know how to do that?”

Nine winked at him knowingly then turned back to Francis and kissed his cheek. “I need you to be very quiet for me. Can you do that, son?”

Wide-eyed and no longer sleepy, Francis nodded.

“Good boy.” Nine turned to Ten. “Let’s go.” Still holding Francis, he picked up his backpack and hurried from the office. He didn’t even spare One a glance as he departed. In the corridor outside, he dropped his smart phone into a wastepaper bin – a precaution against Omega finding him as a result of tracing the emails he’d just sent from the phone.

Ten followed. Before closing the door behind him, he looked back at the big Native-American. “Don’t go anywhere, Numero Uno,” Ten said. The last sight he had of One was him glaring at him as the door closed. Ten locked the door after him and hurried after Nine.

81

Members of the same Thai family who had sheltered Isabelle and Seventeen previously were now anxiously gathered around Seventeen as their family doctor, also a Thai, probed the former operative’s flesh with a scalpel. He was looking for the bullet that had smashed her collarbone.

While the wound wasn’t life-threatening, it was messy and Seventeen was bleeding quite heavily. The operation was being performed under local anaesthetic, so the patient was fully aware of what was happening.

Seventeen knew she was lucky to be alive. Nineteen had come close to killing her in her hotel room, and how she’d subsequently evaded him in her little Honda rental car she wasn’t quite sure.

After phoning Chai from the car parking building just before she’d passed out, the Thai had arrived within the hour and transferred her, unobserved, into the back of his Land Rover. From there, he’d driven Seventeen straight to the family commune where the doctor, an elderly man who reminded her of Confucius, was already waiting for her.

The doctor gave a little exclamation as he found the bullet. Clasping it with a pair of tweezers, he withdrew it and held it up triumphantly for all to see. Chai and other family members nodded in appreciation of the doctor’s skill. They and the doctor then conferred, speaking their native tongue in hushed tones.

“What is it?” Seventeen asked.

Chai approached her. “The doctor says your collarbone has been splintered. He wants us to get you to the hospital.”

“No hospital, Chai,” Seventeen said firmly.

Chai nodded. He seemed perplexed – frightened even – but didn’t say what was bothering him.

Seventeen guessed what was on the young man’s mind. While she was at the commune, she was putting Chai’s family at risk. They were all very aware there were people in Tahiti who wanted her dead and who wouldn’t rest until she was. Anyone found giving her shelter was putting themselves in obvious danger. Seventeen reached out to Chai. “Can you take me to Isabelle’s village?”

Chai’s face immediately lit up. He liked the sound of that. “Yes,” he said.

“Good. We can leave now if you like.”

“Are you sure?” He wasn’t certain Seventeen should be moved so soon after being operated on.

“Well, as soon as the good doctor here has stitched me up.”

Chai quickly conferred with the doctor again. The doctor nodded and immediately began stitching his patient’s wound.

#

In CNN’s Los Angeles newsroom, cadet journalist Randy Jenkins was racing to finish typing a local news story before his shift ended. It was his last stint working nights and he was looking forward to resuming normal daytime shifts.

This particular shift had been busier than usual as the duty editor was away and Randy was having to check his superior’s incoming emails from time to time, to ensure nothing newsworthy slipped through the cracks.

The familiar
ding
from the duty editor’s computer in an adjoining office alerted the young journo to the arrival of yet another email. Annoyed at the latest disruption, he walked next door to check it.

Randy had to read the email twice before it dawned on him it was no ordinary news story. While he’d never heard of the email’s sender, one Sebastian Hannar, the cadet could tell he was looking at a potentially explosive scoop.

Senior journalist Darren Henderson chose that moment to check on Randy. The deputy editor had asked Henderson to keep an eye on the lad, so he made a point of looking in on him every half hour or so. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“You better look at this,” Randy said.

Picking up on the excitement in the young man’s voice, Henderson looked over Randy’s shoulder at the email. He did a double take as he digested the email’s opening paragraph. “What the hell?”

“My sentiments exactly,” Randy said.

Henderson pushed the young cadet aside and studied the email’s contents. By the time he opened the first of the two attachments, he was shaking with excitement.

Similar scenes were being played out at that very moment in newsrooms, intelligence and law enforcement agencies, private offices and even in a few private residences around the world.

#

At CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, the firm’s Director Marcia Wilson was reading the same email. It had been forwarded to her by an FBI mole her agents were cultivating. She, too, was shaking. But it wasn’t because she was excited. Marcia was horrified, frightened and alarmed all at the same time.

#

In the White House Oval Office, in Washington D.C., the President received an urgent phone call from his Vice President. Not trusting the fact he’d called over the secure line, and fearful others could be listening, the Vice President simply said, “Omega is about to go into receivership.”

The President knew immediately what his Vice President was talking about. The coded phrase he’d used meant that Omega’s cover was blown and they were finished.

82

Naylor was dictating correspondence to his PA in his office at Omega’s HQ when his phone rang. His PA answered it. The caller was one of the agency’s directors, Scott Henderson, a New York-based publishing mogul.

The PA handed the phone to her boss. “It’s Scott Henderson, for you.”

Naylor took the phone. “Hello Scott.”

“We need to talk privately,” Henderson said.

Naylor waved one hand dismissively at his PA and she quickly left the room. “What’s up?” He flicked a switch so that Henderson was on speakerphone.

“I take it you haven’t heard the news?”

“What news?’

“Turn on CNN. Now.”

Naylor didn’t like Henderson’s tone. He had a foreboding feeling as he pressed the TV remote on his desktop. The wall-mounted television screen flickered to life and the Omega boss watched as a female reporter delivered a news report live to camera.

“Repeating this breaking news,” the reporter said, “allegations have been made that a secret American organization believed to be a major player in the New World Order is behind a raft of criminal activities spanning the past 30 years.”

Naylor sat bolt upright in his chair. He suddenly felt dizzy and close to collapse.

The reporter continued, “The organization named at the center of the allegations is the Omega Agency whose headquarters are said to be in a subterranean facility in the state of Illinois. The allegations have been made by a Sebastian Hannar, who claims he is a former employee of the agency. If proven to be correct, the allegations could prove disastrous for the current Administration.”