The Orphan Uprising (The Orphan Trilogy, #3) (7 page)

After showering, he adopted the guise of a bespectacled tourist complete with a false moustache, Hawaiian shirt and fake suntan. Nine then returned to the rental car he’d left parked nearby and began driving south toward Saint Clair County. As the miles passed, he could think of nothing else except the wife and son he’d been separated from.

#

While Nine was driving toward Naylor’s residence, Omega orphan-operative Twenty Three entered an afterhours medical center in downtown Papeete, in Tahiti. He approached the duty nurse in reception and showed her a recent photo of a pregnant Isabelle. Speaking fluent French, he asked if she’d seen anyone resembling Isabelle. The nurse assured him she hadn’t.

Undeterred, the operative left the center and drove to Papeete’s public hospital. Entering the hospital’s maternity ward, he asked the male duty nurse if he’d seen anyone resembling the pregnant woman in the photo. The nurse laughed, pointing out that the ward’s patrons were all pregnant woman, so, yes he had seen someone resembling her.

Twenty Three wasn’t amused. He strongly advised the nurse to study the photo closely. Something about the visitor unsettled the nurse so he studied the woman in the photo. Still he didn’t recognize Isabelle. Twenty Three cursed and marched from the ward.

The operative was beginning to feel frustrated. He’d shown Isabelle’s photo to scores of people and not one had recognized her. Not for the first time that night he questioned what was so damned important about the woman, or her baby for that matter. Naylor had told him he wanted mother and baby, alive, but he hadn’t said why.

Twenty Three lamented the fact that this is what his life had come to. He knew any half-trained private eye could do what he’d been tasked with. Yet here he was, an elite operative with perhaps thirty kills to his name, and he’d been relegated to working all day and night to find some pregnant woman.

12

An urgent after-hours board meeting Andrew Naylor had called for was taking place at Omega HQ in south-west Illinois. Every chair around the large table in the agency’s boardroom was occupied except for one – Marcia Wilson’s. However, the CIA Director was still present courtesy of a live holographic video feed from her office in Langley, Virginia. Her life-size image was so lifelike it was as though she was there in the flesh.

At the head of the table, Naylor rose to speak. He paused theatrically for a moment to ensure he had the attention of everyone present. The twelve people who made up his audience included all of Omega’s directors as well as Doctor Andrews, the only non-director present. “We all know why we are here,” he said without preamble.

The directors nodded. They had all been well briefed before the meeting. Among them were Omega’s remaining four founding members. Besides Naylor, they included billionaire Fletcher Von Pein, pharmaceutical magnate Lincoln Claver and computer software designer Bill Sterling.

The other eight founding members had either died, resigned or in two unfortunate cases disappeared mysteriously without trace. Naylor had personally led the investigation into their disappearance, but gotten nowhere. Marcia and another director had misgivings over the manner in which Naylor had conducted the investigation, though they didn’t voice their criticisms too loudly. The incident served as a reminder to the directors that no-one was indispensable.

Naylor continued, “Before we get into that, I’m pleased to report the boy arrived at the school in good health.” Everyone present was aware
the school
was a euphemism for one of the agency’s underground medical labs. Naylor turned to Doctor Andrews who sat at the far end of the table. “Doc. Over to you.”

The stern-looking doctor, who was spearheading the agency’s cloning activities, stood up and pressed a button on a remote control device. Video images immediately appeared on a screen on the wall behind him. “This footage was taken last night. It shows the boy arriving at the school.”

Every eye in the room was fixed on the video that showed a sleepy Francis being carried into an austere, hospital-like facility by a burly, white-coated orderly. He was placed on a bed and immediately subjected to a physical inspection by a team of white-coated doctors and nurses. Behind them, more white-coated personnel scurried back and forth as they went about their everyday business.

As he was prodded and probed, a wide-eyed Francis reacted as any five-year-old would, and began howling for his mother. A nurse immediately jabbed him with a needle and the boy soon quietened.

Throughout all this, Doctor Andrews kept up a steady patter, assuring the Omega directors that the boy had suffered no ill-effects from his sudden separation from his parents.

“Get to the point, Doc.”

The interjection came from one of the agency’s founders. Fletcher Von Pein, who was appropriately seated at Naylor’s right hand, was known for his directness. A former Federal Reserve majority shareholder, the elderly but still dynamic Von Pein wasn’t one to mince his words. “What do our friends at KSK think of our latest acquisition?”

Doctor Andrews knew Von Pein referred to Omega’s pharmaceutical company,
KaizerSimonsKovak
, and the
acquisition
he referred to was Francis. “They’re delighted by the initial test results.”

“That seems very quick,” a sceptical Von Pein commented.

“Blood samples were taken from the boy in Papeete and immediately air-freighted to the school,” Doctor Andrews explained. “KSK’s people confirmed the results showed the boy’s DNA is unique. It’s like nothing they’ve seen before.”

Noting the bemused looks on the faces of several directors who had not been privy to the decision to seize Francis, Naylor instructed the doctor to outline the reasons for the boy’s abduction.

“Certainly.” Doctor Andrews was now in his element, lecturing on cutting-edge medical matters. “As the progeny of one of the original Pedemont orphans, the boy obviously inherited his father’s superior genes. Those genes will help fast-track Stage Three of our cloning program to create more perfect human beings.”

The directors hung on his every word. They were very aware of the spectacular success he’d had in recent years in the cloning field – success that was already translating to huge revenues for the agency.

Doctor Andrews continued, “The boy will also be a good test subject.” He deliberately avoided using the term
human guinea pig
, preferring
test subject
to convey what was in store for Francis. It sounded more benign. “KSK have a new cancer drug our testers are currently testing on monkeys.” The directors knew the
testers
he referred to were the illicit drug testers the agency used to shield its legitimate KSK operation from any accusations of wrongdoing. “Our testers can’t wait to put the boy on a course of the new drug to see how he responds.”

“How are the monkeys doing?” Von Pein asked.

Doctor Andrews shuffled uncomfortably. “None have survived to date, but our scientists are confident humans will prove more resilient.”

Von Pein didn’t look convinced, but he refrained from further comment.

The other directors fired a barrage of questions at Doctor Andrews, which he fielded to the best of his ability.

As the discussion ran its course, Marcia Wilson spoke for the first time, diverting attention from the doctor to her holographic image. “What about the boy’s mother?”

Naylor motioned to Doctor Andrews to leave the boardroom. The doctor gathered up his files and quickly departed. Naylor waited until the door closed behind the departing doctor before addressing Marcia. “Isabelle Hannar is in the advanced stages of pregnancy and we believe she’s still in Tahiti,” Naylor said. “Twenty Three is there looking for her now and I’ve sent another operative to help him. We should have her soon. It’s a small island.”

“And the boy’s father?” Marcia asked.

“There’s been no sighting of Nine since he checked in at the airport in Papeete,” said Naylor, “but it’s a safe bet he’s in the States now.”

“You know he’s coming for you, don’t you Andrew.” Marcia said. It was more a statement of fact than a question.

“Yes, I’ve already worked that out,” Naylor said dryly. “Some of our operatives have been assigned to watch out for me.”

“I’d put our elites on the case,” Marcia suggested, referring to the agency’s orphan-operatives. With their superior genes and advanced training, she knew the
elites
had no peers in the murky world of espionage

“I agree with Marcia,” Omega co-founder Lincoln Claver volunteered. “We can’t take any risks with that maverick operative.”

Naylor didn’t need any persuading. He vividly remembered how disruptive, and deadly, the renegade ninth-born orphan could be. “Alright, I’ll call a couple of them in from the field.”

“Call in half a dozen,” Von Pein said. “This has to take priority over anything else we’ve got going on right now. He has to be hunted down and shut down before he can cause any trouble.”

Naylor nodded. He agreed with Von Pein. The revenues Omega stood to make, directly and indirectly, from the tests Francis was soon to be subjected to were potentially massive. Naylor knew every effort had to be made to ensure Nine didn’t jeopardize what had been started. “I’ll call them in as soon as the meeting’s over.”

As Naylor pondered the situation for a moment, he realized a part of him was actually enjoying the prospect of Nine returning to the scene. It was a challenge and he hadn’t experienced too many of those of late – not since the Omega Agency had all but achieved its New World Order goal. Things had been running very smoothly and even though the agency had reached the promised land in terms of global domination, Naylor often found himself getting bored.

The more he thought about Nine, the more Naylor realized he lived for this stuff and loved orchestrating events in Omega’s favor. Working in this hyper state was like a grandmaster’s game of chess to him where every move or every decision often meant the difference between success and failure.

Naylor came out of his reverie when he noticed Von Pein staring at him. The old man was frowning.

13

It was well after midnight and Nine was beginning to think it unlikely Naylor would be returning home that night. Still disguised as a bespectacled tourist in his Hawaiian shirt and fawn khaki trousers, he’d been observing the Omega boss’s mansion from a stand of trees on a nearby hilltop for some time. He was grateful it was a summer’s night. Had it been winter, he’d be frozen stiff by now.

In the bright moonlight, the house was clearly visible – as was the four-wheel drive vehicle parked outside it. The vehicle belonged to one of the three Omega staffers Nine knew were currently inside the house. He’d glimpsed each of them periodically as they did their rounds, inside and outside, over the past few hours. Their physiques, and the way they carried themselves, flagged to him they were operatives. He thought one or possibly two of them looked familiar.

Naylor’s non-appearance prompted Nine to wonder if Naylor suspected he was in immediate danger.
You know I’m coming for you, don’t you, you old bastard.
When two staffers emerged from the house and drove off, that confirmed it for Nine: his mark had gone to ground. He knew if Naylor was returning home, all his people would have stayed put to ensure he had protection.

Faced with the realization he wouldn’t be able to confront Naylor that night, a disappointed Nine decided to break into the house anyway to see what he could find. He left the cover of the trees and jogged silently down the hill.

Mindful that one man remained inside the house, he kept to the shadows and moved silently. He was grateful the man’s colleagues had left all the exterior lights on when they’d departed. That had rendered the property’s security lights temporarily surplus to requirements.

Just before he reached the house, the headlights of a fast-approaching vehicle warned him he’d soon have company. Nine hid behind a garden shed as a late model Volvo slid to a halt in front of the house. Peering around the corner of the shed, he was pleasantly surprised to see Naylor climb out of the Volvo. The Omega boss was closely followed by his driver, a young man who looked as though he came from the same mould as his recently departed colleagues. The pair disappeared inside the house.

Nine decided to give Naylor time to turn in before breaking in. He didn’t have long to wait. The upstairs lights were extinguished within ten minutes, signalling in all likelihood that Naylor had gone to bed. Then the front door opened and a man Nine had never seen before emerged and began patrolling the grounds. A tough-looking individual, he moved like the prizefighter he once was.

Aware the house would be protected by the most sophisticated security alarms known to man, Nine had been racking his brains how to gain entry without alerting anyone. The answer came when Naylor opened his bedroom window. However, that fleeting opportunity passed by when the observant staffer patrolling outside whistled to his boss and signalled to him to shut the window. Naylor closed it immediately.

Nine’s eyes scanned the top of the house. Its castle-like battlements concealed the roof, but the rogue operative was willing to bet it contained solar panels or a skylight, or both. Picking his moment, he scaled a drainpipe and hauled himself up and over the battlements.
There you are, my beauty
. The skylight he’d hoped to find was almost at his feet.

Retrieving a screwdriver he’d brought along for just such a purpose, he quickly unscrewed the skylight and lowered himself down into the attic. There, he produced his pen-torch and quickly located a trapdoor, which he assumed would lead to the house’s top floor and to Naylor’s bedroom. It did. In no time, Nine found himself outside Naylor’s bedroom. The old man was fast asleep. His features were just discernible in the moonlight that filtered through the curtains, and his snores could be heard above the whirring overhead fan.

Nine knew what he had to do. He needed to get information out of Naylor, but before that he needed to ensure the staffer on duty inside the house wouldn’t cause him any problems.