The Orphan Uprising (The Orphan Trilogy, #3) (40 page)

Seventeen had survived two uncomfortable hours in the back of the vehicle as Chai had driven along one of the roughest roads on the island to reach their destination. The local anaesthetic the doctor had given her before removing the bullet from her collarbone had worn off early in the journey, causing the former operative considerable pain.

Now, as Manoa and other strapping members of the Pomare te opu fetii, or family, carried Seventeen toward Isabelle’s dwelling, the dressing around the wound had turned pinkish, indicating the wound was bleeding despite the stitches. Manoa’s wife, Atea, supervised the men as they carried Seventeen through the doorway and onto a spare bed in the main room.

Isabelle, who had finally managed to fall asleep with baby Annette in the next room, woke with a start when she heard voices. Climbing off her bed, the Frenchwoman hurried to investigate and got the surprise of her life when she saw her sister-in-law. “Jennifer!” She hurried to Seventeen’s side. “What happened to you?”

Seventeen shook her head weakly. “I’ll tell you later.” She didn’t have the strength to go into the ins and outs of her near-death experience.

“Any word from Sebastian?”

Looking at Isabelle, Seventeen could see her eyes were full of hope. She shook her head.

Isabelle looked crestfallen.

Seventeen reached out and touched Isabelle’s hand. “How’s my little niece?” she asked.

Realizing one of her hosts must have mentioned she’d had a girl, Isabelle smiled. “She is beautiful!”

“Let me see her.”

Atea intervened. “You can see the baby later,” she insisted, waving one fat forefinger at Seventeen and looking every inch the matriarch of the Pomare te opu fetii. “For now you rest.”

Seventeen didn’t intend arguing with the big Tahitian woman, so she just lay back on the pillow.

“Quite right,” Isabelle agreed. “You get some sleep and Annette will be here when you wake up.”

Seventeen nodded, but Atea wasn’t finished yet. She insisted on checking the visitor’s wound. Expertly removing the soiled bandages, she studied the wound and the stitches that covered it. Sure enough, blood was leaking from the wound.

Atea snapped an order at her husband who hovered nearby. Manoa hurried from the room and returned a couple of minutes later with several palm fronds, which he handed to Atea. She selected one of the fronds and folded it several times so that it was just big enough to cover the wound. Then, using the other fronds as a dressing, she wrapped them around Seventeen’s chest and tied them so they were as secure as any bandage. “Now you can sleep,” she ordered her patient.

Seventeen needed no encouragement. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since arriving in Tahiti. That, combined with the painkillers the doctor had given her earlier, meant she was well overdue for a decent sleep.

Atea shepherded the others from the room, leaving the two guests alone. Seventeen closed her eyes as Isabelle sat down beside the bed. The Frenchwoman began humming a lullaby and stroking her sister-in-law’s hair.

As she dozed off, the last thing Seventeen heard was the sound of Chai’s Land Rover starting up. Their loyal Thai friend was preparing to return home. Seventeen vowed she would thank him for helping her as soon as she had the chance.

The former operative had no way of knowing, but she would never get the chance to thank Chai.

#

Just over an hour after leaving Seventeen and beginning his return journey, Chai had to brake suddenly as his Land Rover crested a rise in the bumpy, one-way, dirt road he was negotiating. Another four-wheel drive vehicle was approaching at speed from the opposite direction.

There was no room to manoeuvre as there was a high bank on one side of the road and a big drop on the other. If both vehicles hadn’t braked when they did, they’d have collided for sure. As it was, they stopped only a few yards apart.

The driver of the other vehicle looked as surprised as Chai felt. A thirtysomething mixed-race individual, he could be seen collecting his wits as he got himself together after the near miss. Chai noted also that the driver had been driving one-handed and his right shoulder was heavily bandaged.

The young Thai wasn’t to know that the driver was Nineteen, the operative who had not so long ago tried to kill Seventeen. Nor could he know that an hour earlier Nineteen had visited his family’s commune outside Papeete.

Nineteen had learned of the Thai family’s connection with Seventeen and Isabelle soon after arriving in Tahiti. After he’d had his shoulder wound attended to, he visited the commune and threatened to harm family members if they didn’t tell him where the two women were. He’d been bluffing as he hadn’t a clue whether or not they knew of the pair’s whereabouts. The bluff hadn’t worked and he’d been forced to shoot Chai’s elderly grandmother in the foot to encourage the family’s cooperation. That had the desired impact and frightened family members had readily told him where Chai had just taken Seventeen and where he’d taken Isabelle before that.

The first that Chai knew something wasn’t right was when Nineteen disembarked from the vehicle holding a pistol in his left hand. Chai immediately threw the Land Rover into reverse and gunned the accelerator. Fast though he was, he wasn’t as fast as the bullet that pierced the windscreen and lodged in his forehead.

Still accelerating, Chai unknowingly drove over the edge of the embankment.

Looking over the edge, Nineteen watched as the Land Rover bounced off rocks and trees on its way to the bottom. The vehicle burst into flames as it finally came to rest on its roof.

Satisfied, the operative returned to his vehicle and resumed driving toward the settlement that harbored the people he was looking for.

86

While Isabelle watched over Seventeen, and Nineteen drove ever closer to their Tahitian hideout, Nine sat looking at Francis who at that moment was asleep in an apartment in downtown Las Vegas.

The drive from Nellis Air Force Base had been uneventful. After dropping Ten off on the side of the road, Nine had driven straight to the same apartment he’d taken a short-term lease out on earlier. The ground floor apartment had its own private courtyard and an underground garage with internal entry, which meant he could access it without being observed.

On arriving at the apartment, Nine had hugged Francis until the boy complained he couldn’t breathe. He’d then subjected his son to a full physical, inspecting him for any signs that he’d been experimented on or otherwise tampered with. To his great relief, Francis appeared to be in good health – physically at least.

Mentally, it was another matter. Francis seemed withdrawn and nervous. Nine had been prepared for that. He knew the boy had been through a traumatic experience, being forcibly abducted and then interned with strangers in an underground laboratory. The former operative clung to the fact that children were resilient and time was a great healer.

Although ecstatic to be reunited with Francis, Nine was aware his mission wasn’t over. He still had to return his son safely to the arms of Isabelle. That would mean departing Las Vegas, and then America, unobserved.

Nine was very aware he would still be on Omega’s most wanted list despite the media scrutiny the agency was now under. He knew his former masters couldn’t afford to allow him to live to testify against them in court.

Taking one last look at his son, Nine wandered through to the main room and turned on the television. Flicking through the channels, he was delighted to see that every commercial channel was screening news flashes on the Omega Agency and the allegations that swirled about it.
Bingo!
His emails had had the desired effect.

Nine watched with interest as live footage of Naylor’s mansion was screened from rural Illinois. Half a dozen news teams and their vehicles could be seen parked outside the front gate, and a man who claimed to be Naylor’s gardener told reporters his boss was away and so was not available to comment.
Talk your way outta this one, Naylor
.

Another channel screened live shots from Nellis Air Force Base and archived aerial shots of Thule Air Base, in Greenland, and Carmel Corporation’s coltan refinery in the DRC. Speaking off screen, a reporter advised viewers that these were the sites of Omega’s alleged medical labs. The live coverage from Nellis showed scores of international media representatives assembled outside the base’s front gate. In the skies above, at least three news helicopters could be seen at any one time.

Nine flicked over to CNN News in time to see thirty or more news teams assembled in front of a disused hydro dam a few miles from Naylor’s residence. The former operative immediately recognized it as the location of Omega’s underground HQ. He turned the volume up as a male TV reporter spoke to camera.

“Behind me is the old Roxburgh Hydro Dam that provided almost twenty per cent of southwest Illinois’ electricity needs until Harmony Power Corporation unexpectedly closed it down forty years ago,” the reporter said. “Since then, if the allegations made by the mysterious Mister Sebastian Hannar are proven correct, it has served as the gateway to a shadowy underground organization whose activities, and influence, defy belief and could sink the current Administration.”

Nine had heard enough for the moment. He turned the television off and sat down in the nearest comfy chair.

While happy about recent developments, he remained worried – and for good reason. His heart was rapidly giving out on him. The heartburn he’d experienced earlier had returned and the pills he’d been popping were becoming less effective.

Nine was aware he must act fast if he was to get Francis to safety. His son was his first concern. Then, and only then, could he have the operation the doctors had said could save his life.

#

A subdued Naylor watched the televised coverage of the morning’s events alone in his office at Omega HQ. He’d been a virtual prisoner there since the world’s media had assembled outside the security fence that surrounded the old hydro dam above ground. The newscast included earlier footage showing a shocked Marcia Wilson being escorted in handcuffs from CIA headquarters in Langley by two FBI types. 

“Doug Cassidy is ready for you now, sir,” Naylor’s PA said over the intercom system from her office next door.

“Thank you.” That was what Naylor had been waiting for. He switched off the intercom and hurried from his office. There, waiting for him in reception, was his fellow director Scott Henderson. Omega’s protocols dictated that the board’s full blessing was required and at least two directors had to be present for what was about to happen.

Naylor and Henderson were walking toward the nearest elevator when the older man remembered he’d left his cell phone in his vehicle, which was parked in the car park above ground. He asked his PA to retrieve it for him then resumed walking.

The pair entered an elevator and descended three floors in silence to what was effectively the basement. The elevator doors opened out into Omega’s IT department. It comprised sterile rooms with computers wall to wall. The computers were manned by white-coated IT technicians who, not surprisingly, also looked subdued. Like their boss, they were also very aware of the media furore going on in the world outside.

Naylor and Henderson were met by Omega’s youthful IT manager, Doug Cassidy, who, at that moment, looked the most subdued of anyone. That didn’t surprise Naylor. After all, Cassidy was aware he was about to be asked to commit murder.

Cassidy led the two directors to a private suite at the end of a long corridor. As Naylor had asked, they had the suite to themselves. Its solitary piece of furniture – a desk – supported a laptop computer connected by power cords to half a dozen miscellaneous pieces of high-tech electrical equipment.

“Lock the door, Doug,” Naylor ordered.

A now white-faced Cassidy closed and locked the door.

“Okay,” Naylor said, “you know what to do.”

“Are you sure about this, sir?”

Naylor didn’t respond. He just directed a steely glare at his subordinate.

Cassidy had his answer. “Yes, sir.”

Naylor and Henderson watched as Cassidy walked over to the laptop and accessed the Internet. After entering a password, ten red dots appeared on screen. They were overlaid on a map of the world. Both directors were aware each dot represented a surviving Omega orphan-operative whose whereabouts was immediately obvious. At a glance, they could see the operatives were currently spread over three continents and, in one case, in Tahiti.

For Naylor, the ten red dots symbolized Omega’s failure. It wasn’t that long ago there were twenty-one dots on screen every time he’d looked at it and twenty-three dots before that when Nine and Seventeen had been active operatives. Turning to Cassidy, he asked, “Can you reach them all in one hit?”

“No sir. It has to be one at a time.”

“Okay, let’s get on with it.” To Naylor the dots didn’t represent human beings. They represented money. Big money. Giving them life through the Pedemont Project’s ground-breaking artificial insemination program and then raising them as future operatives in the orphanage, had cost Omega many millions of dollars. However, every single orphan had returned many millions more and helped Omega achieve its dream of establishing a New World Order.

Cassidy was shaking as he prepared to carry out Naylor’s orders. After making several adjustments to the equipment on the desktop, he manoeuvred the laptop’s cursor until it rested on one of the red dots on the screen.

“Who is that?” Henderson asked. The dot he was looking at was one of two that appeared to be joined. Their location showed they were in, or above, the Pacific Ocean, just north of Tahiti.

“That’s Operative Number Six,” Cassidy said.

“Where’s he now?”

“She. Six and Twenty One are flying to Papeete,” Naylor said. “I pulled them out of Nellis Air Force Base to go help Nineteen find the Frenchwoman and her baby in Tahiti.” In his mind’s eye, Naylor could picture the red-headed Six. She and her identical twin sister Five were the only twins to result from Omega’s Pedemont Project. Like her sister, Six was a first class operative.