The Orphan Factory (The Orphan Trilogy, #2) (39 page)

Why such a massacre had occurred, the Omegans could only speculate. Some thought it may have been to stop a large-scale emigration out of America to a fabled Utopian society; others wondered if it was intended to create fear in the populace – fear of cults, fear of Communism, fear of anything foreign; and still others believed it was to create a precedence whereby any groups labelled a
cult
would be vilified without due diligence by the public.

Naylor leaned toward the latter theory. After all, it was only a minor stretch to apply the
cult
label to groups with differing political ideologies. Ideologies that may not fit with those of the mainstream political parties. Naylor also knew that what most citizens assumed to be factual reporting was often propaganda fabricated to provoke a certain reaction from the masses.

“So we are talking genocide?” Kentbridge asked, looking up from the file before him.

“Damn straight we are,” Sterling said. “Most of the cult members were murdered.”

“Our research reveals evidence for only a small number of suicides,” Naylor added. “Most of the deaths were undoubtedly the work of MK-Ultra brainwashed moles operating inside the Peoples Temple community.”

Naylor’s certainty was based on Omega’s own investigations, which blew big holes in the official mass suicide findings. Omegan research teams had confirmed major discrepancies in body counts, conflicting reports on the causes of death as well as no clear evidence on the exact numbers number of survivors.

“Jonestown was a Waco beta test,” Lincoln Claver added for Kentbridge’s benefit.

Ignoring Claver, Naylor said, “Although the CIA were involved to an extent, the MK-Ultra brainwashed assassins were all planted by Nexus.”

Kentbridge was all too aware of how powerful the Nexus Foundation was and had been for some time. In recent years, the clandestine organization had gone from strength to strength, placing their moles in illustrious positions of power. Those positions included Defense Secretaries, Secretaries of State and even a Vice President.

“It suited the authorities that mainstream media reported the Jonestown tragedy as a mass suicide,” Naylor continued. “The American public readily accepted that, shocking though it was. But make no mistake. It was primarily mass murder and the Peoples Temple was effectively turned into a slaughter house.”

Kentbridge remained skeptical. He’d heard various conspiracy theories about Jonestown before. How the Russians had been involved. How aliens were responsible. The list went on. “What about Jim Jones?” he asked. “By all accounts he was a megalomaniac. So isn’t it palpable he killed himself and his devotees followed suit as per the official story?”

“Jim Jones was certainly no saint. He was actually the devil’s assistant. The real devil being the powers-that-be that created the whole scenario. Especially Nexus.”

Kentbridge had to admit it seemed unlikely anyone could convince more than nine hundred people to willfully commit suicide, especially when so many were young children.

“Jim Jones’ defectors were Nexus agents or moles,” Naylor continued. “They’d been planted inside the Peoples Temple to destabilize the cult.” He pointed to the file in front of Kentbridge. “Quamina Ezekiel was one of those undercover agents. He assassinated scores of people in Jonestown. To this day, as he was under the influence of MK-Ultra at the time, he has no recollection of the killings.”

Naylor gestured to the map of South America that was still spread out on the table top. He pointed to Venezuela, one of the countries sharing a border with Guyana. “Nexus continue to use Ezekiel by triggering the mind control program in him every so often.”

“Why?” Kentbridge asked.

“Nexus have serious relations with the Venezuelan Government. And as you know, Venezuela
has been in a long running border dispute with Guyana.” Naylor pointed to western Guyana where a series of dotted lines indicated a disputed region known as
Zona en Reclamación
, or
the Reclamation Zone
– a territory Venezuela believed to be rightfully theirs. “The British Monarchy is opposed to foreign forces encroaching on its interests. After all, resources in the disputed region are valued in the billions of dollars.”

Sharp though he was, Kentbridge was struggling to disseminate all the information Naylor was throwing at him. He couldn’t work out where he, and more importantly, his orphans fitted in to all this.

Naylor could sense Kentbridge’s confusion, so got straight to the point. Looking at Ezekiel’s image on the big screen, he said, “This Nexus mole is unwittingly selling out Guyana by delivering sensitive information to the Venezuelan Government. Information that could potentially help Venezuela grab the disputed territory or at least its resources.”

Kentbridge studied the region Naylor referred to on the map. The dotted lines symbolizing the disputed Zona en Reclamación region covered much of western Guyana.

“The Monarchy wants us to take this Manchurian Candidate out so they can regain control of their Commonwealth territory,” Naylor said, still looking at Ezekiel’s image.

“And you want to send an orphan for this mission?”

As always, Naylor was impressed by how quickly Kentbridge worked things out. “Yes. Three of our operatives are already in Guyana, but this mission is so crucial I want one of our orphans there as back-up. To observe and offer assistance if required.” 

Now it all made sense to Kentbridge. This was what he’d been working toward these past eighteen years: sending his orphans out into the field, not on training exercises but on actual missions. And on vital missions – like this one.

“We need your best orphan, Tommy.” Naylor looked at Kentbridge expectantly.

Kentbridge thought of Nine. His protégé was soon to depart on his first overseas mission, as were all the orphans. In Nine’s case, he was about to catch a flight to Japan. That assignment would now have to be scrapped. “Nine,” Kentbridge said with certainty.

Naylor wasn’t a fan of the ninth-born orphan, and he didn’t attempt to hide that from the special agent. He hadn’t forgotten the headaches the boy had caused after fleeing from the orphanage six years earlier. “What about Seventeen?” he countered. “I hear she really has the killer instinct.”

Kentbridge shook his head. “Nine has always been my best pupil.” He could see the Omega director remained unconvinced. “Sure he’s been one of the most stubborn and sensitive orphans, but when required, Nine can be a cold, ruthless, cerebral killer, sir.”

“Let’s send Nine and Seventeen,” Marcia piped up. She ignored the glare Kentbridge directed her way. Noticing Naylor was considering her idea, Marcia spoke to him instead. “And this mission I’d suggest warrants two orphans.”

“Two it is then,” Naylor said with finality.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir,” Kentbridge ventured. “Nine and Seventeen don’t exactly get along.”

“This is not some domestic drama to play out within the walls of your little orphanage!” Naylor shot back. His lazy eye was beginning to twitch, advertising to all that he wasn’t happy. “Tell your two little brats to get along and complete the mission, otherwise there’ll be no Omega left and they’ll be destroyed along with the rest of our orphan products!”

Kentbridge didn’t react. He’d known Naylor long enough to expect such outbursts and not take them personally when they occurred.

Naylor regained his composure and turned to Marcia. “You are to co-ordinate the entire mission, starting with the unfortunate demise of Ezekiel’s mother.”

Marcia nodded. As it had been her idea to terminate the old lady, she had already worked out how that could be achieved.

Naylor continued, “Then instruct our assets in Guyana to finish off Ezekiel when he attends poor old Missus Ezekiel’s jungle funeral.” He turned back to Kentbridge. “And you send Nine and Seventeen to Guyana to provide back-up.”

“Okay. When?”

“Yesterday.” Naylor wanted there to be no doubt he expected the two orphans on the next available flight to Guyana. “Ezekiel has a meeting with high level Government officials later this week. We must get to him before that meeting takes place. Otherwise the Royals say they will lose control over a vital part of Guyana. If that happens, there’s no more funding and Omega is dead in the water!”

With that, the agency director stood up, signaling the meeting was over.

Almost in unison, Kentbridge and Marcia produced their cell phones and prepared to speed-dial their respective operatives.

71

By mid-afternoon the following day, Nine and Seventeen were already deep in Guyana’s Amazon rainforest, not fifty miles from the Brazilian border. They’d been walking nonstop since leaving their four-wheel drive rental vehicle at the end of a seldom used dirt road several hours earlier.

Tropical heat, humidity and mosquitoes assailed the unlikely partners as they followed the Maparri River in the isolated Kanuku Mountains, in southwest Guyana. A tributary of the Rupununi River, the Maparri was a scenic wonder. Its usually placid, crystal clear waters occasionally morphed into churning white water, cascading over high, spectacular waterfalls. More than once, the two orphan-operatives had to deviate away from the river to avoid impassable falls and rapids.

One of the most pristine Amazonian areas in all of South America, the region’s rich flora and fauna as well as the plethora of wildlife all combined to create a sensory overload. The chatter of monkeys high above in the trees was constant and the birdlife impressive with the colorful macaws and graceful herons prevalent. So dense was the jungle-like rainforest in places Nine and Seventeen had to use their machetes to hack their way through it. Their recently allocated jungle fatigues were now drenched in sweat and torn.

Since leaving the rental vehicle, Seventeen had set the pace. Nine was content to let her lead. Her fitness rivaled his, and she seemed to be in her element, swinging her machete at any vines or branches that threatened to slow her progress. They stopped only to fill their water bottles. Each knew the importance of maintaining their fluids in tropical climes.

Occasionally, the rainforest would retreat from the riverbank and they would catch a glimpse of the surrounding jungle-clad mountains.

But the orphan-operatives weren’t here to admire the view. They were on a mission, and it consumed the thoughts of each.

In Nine’s case, he was still in catch-up mode. Since his efficient handling of P.I. Milburn in Seattle earlier in the week, he had spent every waking hour preparing for what was supposed to his first overseas mission – in Japan. Then, while awaiting his departure flight at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport, he’d received a last-minute call from Kentbridge telling him to forget about Japan and catch the first flight to Guyana.

There hadn’t even been time for the special agent to fully brief Nine on his new assignment. One of Omega’s senior agents had had to deliver coded, written orders to him just before he’d boarded his plane, and Nine had studied them during the six-hour flight to Georgetown, Guyana’s capital.

In a nutshell, his orders were to meet up in Guyana with Seventeen who had left on an earlier flight. They were then to rendezvous with three veteran Omegans deep in the Amazon. From there, they would all make their way on foot to the isolated Amerindian village that was the ancestral home of their target, Quamina Ezekiel. Nine and Seventeen had been told Ezekiel would be there to attend his mother’s funeral. They had not been told her very recent death had been
arranged
by Marcia Wilson. The orphan-operatives were simply to provide support for the veteran Omega operatives who were tasked with assassinating Ezekiel.

During the flight, Nine had also tried to bring himself up to speed on the Jonestown incident. There were so many conflicting reports it was difficult to make head or tail of the tragic event. What struck him most
were the discrepancies in the body count, and Omega’s research people had come up with some interesting theories on that.

Nine was traveling in the hastily adopted guise of a British backpacker thanks to a change of clothes and a new passport delivered to him by the same senior agent who had delivered his coded orders back in Chicago. Now, as he and Seventeen continued to follow
the Maparri River, he reviewed his movements since arriving in Guyana.

After landing in Georgetown and passing through Customs, he had met with an undercover MI6 agent at the British Embassy. The agent had provided him with the weaponry, maps, rations and survival gear he now carried in his pack. Hours earlier, the same MI6 agent had provided Seventeen with the same gear plus a satellite phone. Cell phones were useless where they were going.

From Georgetown, Nine had travelled inconspicuously south by bus to the small town of Maparri. There, he’d met up with Seventeen who was traveling as a Swedish environmentalist supposedly doing volunteer work for IARPS, the International Amazon Rainforest Preservation Society. After hiring the rental vehicle, they’d driven as far as they could before striking out on foot.

Nine’s thoughts returned to the Jonestown incident and, in particular, to the information Omega’s research people had uncovered. First, the Guyanese army had reported only four hundred and eight cult members had died by their own hand. Then
The New York Times
reported the actual number was around five hundred. US Military personnel arrived several days later and the body count quickly rose – from seven hundred to a final tally of nine hundred and nine. In explaining the differing body counts, one American official was reported as saying, ‘The Guyanese couldn’t count’.

There were also conflicting reports on the causes of death.
The
New York Times
had reported the first medical official to arrive on the scene said he’d witnessed numerous gunshot victims. That didn’t tally with the official story that the majority had committed suicide by drinking cyanide. And no-one seemed to know exactly how many people were in Jonestown at the time. Therefore, reports listing thirty three survivors couldn’t be verified.