by James Morcan
Fighting against the tiredness that threatened to overwhelm him – a side-effect of the cocktail of drugs the doctor had prescribed – Nine reviewed what he knew and what he suspected. He knew professionals had abducted his son for he came from their world and recognized the signs; he knew they’d targeted Francis for they sought him out amongst all the other children; and he knew they’d taken him away in the floatplane.
That was the extent of what he knew. There were still so many unanswered questions. Why has Omega come back for me now after so many years? Why did they take Francis and not me? What do they hope to gain?
“A drink, sir?”
Nine’s thoughts were interrupted by an airline hostess pushing a drinks trolley along the aisle. He ordered a strong black coffee, hoping that would help keep him awake.
Once served, he turned his attention to his next step. Something told him he needed to contact his old nemesis Andrew Naylor, the head of the Omega Agency. If Omega’s involved, he’ll know about it. After all, the Pedemont Project and the twenty-three orphan-operatives who had evolved out of that groundbreaking experiment was Naylor’s brainchild.
Thinking of Naylor reminded Nine how much he hated the man. He blamed him personally for the years he spent as a prisoner of Chicago’s Pedemont Orphanage, being trained to become an elite operative; he also blamed him for the deaths of his mother, Annette Hannar, Isabelle’s parents, and his childhood sweetheart, Helen Katsarakis, whose only crime was that she had befriended him.
Nine thought back to his last sighting of Naylor. That had been at the off-limits Bilderberg conference at Saint Michael’s Mount, in Cornwall, just before he’d gotten off the grid. It turned out Naylor was also a senior Bilderberger.
On that occasion, Nine had convinced Naylor he knew all about the Omega Agency’s horrific scientific experiments on children at a secret medical laboratory, or orphanage, in Germany’s Black Forest. He’d produced graphic photographs to back up what he was saying, and advised that copies of those, together with other incriminating documents, had been left with attorneys in Berlin and London. That had given him the leverage he needed to escape Omega’s clutches. He’d warned Naylor that his attorneys had been instructed to release the documents to the media should anything untoward ever happen to himself or Isabelle. Naylor had been only too happy to agree to his terms.
What has changed in the last five years?
Nine couldn’t imagine what had so emboldened Naylor that he’d suddenly be prepared to risk everything he and Omega had worked so long and hard to achieve. Naylor had always been paranoid about protecting the agency’s secrecy. While the former orphan-operative had the option of contacting his attorneys and ordering the release of the incriminating documents, he realized that wouldn’t leave him with any leverage when he confronted Naylor over the whereabouts of his son. Worse, he’d almost certainly never see Francis again.
It gradually dawned on Nine that Francis’ abduction could somehow be connected to the Black Forest orphanage or one of the other underground medical labs Omega was rumored to be operating elsewhere in the world. Whilst with Omega, Nine had heard the rumors that the agency was conducting illegal scientific experiments on genetically enhanced children at various isolated labs. He’d seen it for himself in Germany, and didn’t doubt for a minute there could be others.
Nine shuddered at the thought of Francis ending up in such a place. He tried to dispel the memories of the grotesque and zombie-like children he’d seen at the Black Forest orphanage. The memories persisted. Why Francis? Connecting the dots, he knew it would be common knowledge within Omega that his son shared some of his unique genes. As far as he knew, he was the only one of the Pedemont orphans who had a child.
He kept coming back to the same conclusion: if Omega had become aware of Francis’ existence, they’d abducted him for some scientific experiment. Please God, no. It didn’t bear thinking about.
Finally succumbing to his tiredness, Nine fell asleep only to be immediately wakened by an announcement over the intercom that the plane would soon be landing in Papeete.
5
After Taiohae, the main street of Tahiti’s capital Papeete always seemed more like Paris’s iconic Avenue des Champs-Elysees to Nine and Isabelle. Tourists and locals competed for space as they paraded up and down the busy street. The cab that the pair traveled in even had to negotiate a minor traffic jam as they were ferried from Faa'a International Airport to their hotel.
While Nine was desperate to fly to America to begin his search for Francis, he had some urgent matters to attend to first. His first priority was to ascertain what the Tahitian authorities were doing, if anything, about Francis’ abduction and whether they had received any reported sightings of him or the floatplane.
A phone call to the offices of both the French National Police and the Gendarmerie confirmed there had been no sightings of Francis or the plane, and until there was they were powerless to act.
Ending the call, Nine pocketed his cell phone. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Isabelle who had been hanging on to every word, choosing instead to look out the cab’s rear window at the sights of Papeete.
“Nothing at all?” Isabelle asked.
“Nothing,” Nine mumbled.
Isabelle began weeping silently. Nine put one comforting arm around her as he tried to make sense of the fact that the floatplane had not been sighted in Tahitian waters or airspace. He considered various scenarios. The plane could have crashed. It could have flown to another island. It could have transferred Francis to a boat out at sea. He knew all were possibilities, but kept his thoughts to himself.
Nine’s next priority was to ensure his wife’s safety before departing Tahiti. He realized he couldn’t take her with him, especially not in her pregnant state. She was already entering her eighth month and the baby could arrive any day.
Isabelle had also insisted that Nine consult with his heart specialist while they were in Papeete. He’d reluctantly agreed after she made it abundantly clear she wouldn’t take no for an answer. So the specialist’s clinic would be his next port of call after they checked in at their hotel.
As Nine paid the cabbie and escorted Isabelle into the hotel, he didn’t notice they were being observed. If he had, he’d have been concerned. His observer was a fellow orphan-operative from the Omega Agency.
Number Twenty Three, who was the youngest of the Pedemont orphans, recognized Nine immediately. Living and training with each other day in, day out for the best part of eighteen years at the orphanage meant it was improbable any would forget their fellow orphans.
Omega Director Andrew Naylor had ordered Twenty Three to fly to Tahiti to look out for the rogue operative. He had anticipated Nine would act quickly to find his son and Papeete would be his first port of call. Naylor wanted to keep tabs on Nine’s movements at all times as he knew how troublesome he could be.
Twenty Three, a suntanned and fit-looking individual who dressed casually to fit in with the locals, was getting to know Papeete well. This was his third visit to the Tahitian capital since a fellow orphan-operative had spotted Nine arriving for one of his quarterly consultations with his specialist. That had been a year earlier. Since then Twenty Three had been tasked with keeping tabs on Nine.
As soon as Nine and Isabelle disappeared from view, Twenty Three fished his cell phone from the pocket of his floral shirt and speed-dialed a number. “It’s Sandy Phipps.” He used the nom de plume of his current character. Omega’s orphan-operatives never traveled as themselves. “I’ve seen our Mister Darrell Royden,” he said, using Omega’s code name for Nine. “He’s traveling under the name Sebastian Anderson.”
Nine had adopted the name Sebastian Anderson soon after fleeing the Omega Agency. Even at the risk of being tracked down, he’d refused to forsake his Christian name. After all, that was the name his mother had given him.
Twenty Three finished relaying his information then set up a watching brief from a café opposite the hotel’s fro
nt entrance.
#
Omega boss Andrew Naylor sat alone with his thoughts as he digested the news he’d just received from Twenty Three. It was as he’d expected: Nine’s search for his son had begun.
The hard-nosed, sixty three-year-old was in his office at the agency’s headquarters in southwest Illinois. Omega HQ was a subterranean facility hidden deep below an abandoned hydro dam. It wasn’t to be found in any telephone directories. Few in the US federal government knew of its existence, and even fewer outside it knew – such was the level of secrecy that surrounded this, the world’s most powerful and influential intelligence agency.
A recent image of Nine filled a large video screen set into the wall facing Naylor’s desk. It had been taken by Twenty Three during Nine’s previous visit to Papeete three months earlier. The former operative looked tanned, healthy and relaxed.
Staring at the image, Naylor was worried. He feared that Nine could do what he’d threatened to do years ago and instruct his attorneys to release information that would make life extremely difficult for him and for Omega. That information included evidence linking Naylor and the agency to illegal scientific experiments on children at the Black Forest orphanage in Germany.
While he’d ordered the immediate destruction of the lab, the possible repercussions resulting from the release of such information made him shudder. The good name he’d forged for himself as recently retired Director of the CIA, and chairman – past and present – of numerous major organizations, would be subjected to the minutest scrutiny. If the allegations were ever proven, he’d be vilified and imprisoned.
However, Naylor had considered all that. He’d thought of little else since learning of Nine’s whereabouts and his family situation a year earlier. The gains to be had from adding Francis, with his unique set of genes, to Omega’s secret medical program outweighed the risk of Nine going public. And to the best of his knowledge, the former operative never knew the existence of, let alone the whereabouts, of the other underground labs Omega operated around the globe.
Naylor was gambling that Nine would realize he’d never see Francis again if he ordered the release of the so-called evidence. He hoped the rogue operative would be aware that Omega would terminate Francis and the other children under its control if he went public.
As always when he was worried or stressed, Naylor could feel his lazy eye start to twitch. He cursed his lazy eye: it had made him the butt of private jokes within the agency and it advertised to all and sundry that he was under pressure. The damned twitch had ensured he rarely succeeded at poker – a game he’d had a lifelong love affair with but which had never returned him a decent dividend.
There was a knock on the door and a prim secretary looked in. “Marcia Wilson is on the line for you, sir.”
“Thank you.” Naylor waved his secretary away then pushed a button on a control panel on his desktop. On the video screen before him, the image of Nine was replaced by a live video feed from the office of his successor at the CIA. There was no sign of firm’s newly appointed director, though she could be heard talking to her personal assistant off screen. All that could be seen for the moment was Marcia’s desk and chair. The paperless desktop supported a laptop, three color-coded telephones and a miniature American flag.
The static scene reminded Naylor he’d sat behind that very desk not that long ago. That was before Marcia had succeeded him. He’d personally groomed the no-nonsense, fortysomething African-American to take over from him ever since she’d made her mark as a senior agent at the Omega Agency. Of all the moles Omega had in high places, she was the standout success.
Finally Marcia came into view. She sat down behind her desk and nodded to the camera. “Hello Andrew. Good news I hope?”
“Yes.” Naylor proceeded to update Marcia on the latest developments concerning Nine and his son. Marcia seemed relieved all was going to plan. Before ending the call, Naylor reminded her of an earlier arrangement they’d made. “You will help us find Darrell Royden, right?”
Marcia knew that Naylor was using the codename allocated to Nine. “As soon as you give me his flight details and ETA, I’ll send people to the airport.”
“Okay, but they’re to tail him only. They’re not to touch him until I give the word.”
Marcia was aware Naylor was still worried about the information Nine had on the Black Forest lab. “Understood.” She wondered what Naylor had planned for the rogue operative once he was apprehended.
As if reading Marcia’s mind, Naylor added, “When the time’s right, we’ll take care of the problem.”
Marcia was in no doubt what Naylor meant by that.
6
Isabelle sat alone in her hotel room watching an early evening news report on television. In a pre-recorded interview, a gendarme was talking to a female reporter about Francis’ abduction. He expressed grave concerns for the boy’s safety and acknowledged the authorities had no clues to follow.
A photo of a de Havilland Canada DHC-3 Otter floatplane, like the one that took Francis away, filled the screen. When it was replaced by a recent photo of her son, Isabelle broke down. She had to turn the volume up using the TV remote so that she could hear the rest of the interview above her sobs. The interview ended with the gendarme asking the public to report any sightings of the boy or the floatplane.
Isabelle muted the volume and resumed reading the latest issue of Tahiti’s daily newspaper, Les Nouvelles. Francis’ abduction was the lead story. Again, a photo of Francis added to Isabelle’s grief.
She was still crying several minutes later when Nine walked in. He’d been to see his heart specialist, keeping the earlier promise he’d made to his wife.
“Sebastian!” Isabelle stood up and stumbled into Nine’s arms.
Nine’s eyes strayed to the photo of Francis on the newspaper’s front page. He didn’t need to ask what was causing Isabelle’s distress.
Finally, Isabelle made an effort to pull herself together. Drying her eyes, she asked, “What did the specialist say?”
“He confirmed what our doctor back home said,” Nine lied. “I had a mild heart attack and shouldn’t over-exert myself.” He pointed to several bottles of heart pills he’d placed on a tabletop a few seconds earlier. “As you can see, he has given me more medication.”
Nine was making a good fist of shielding Isabelle from the truth. His specialist had confirmed he’d only suffered a mild heart attack, but he’d also warned that Nine needed an operation to mitigate the risk of another more serious attack. And he needed it sooner rather than later. However, Nine saw no point in sharing any of that with Isabelle. It wouldn’t help her. Nor would it help him find Francis.
What Nine did share was his latest plans: he told Isabelle he’d arranged for her to stay with Thai friends who lived in a commune a short drive from Papeete. They were related to Nine’s former spiritual master, Luang. Although the monk’s family members were mourning his violent death, they were only too happy to offer sanctuary to Isabelle.
“It’s important no-one knows where you are,” Nine said. He didn’t need to explain that Omega could use her to get to him if she fell into their hands. “Chai will collect you later tonight.”
Isabelle nodded, indicating she understood. She and Nine knew Chai well. He was Luang’s nephew.
Isabelle knew Nine would not be able to communicate with her due to Omega’s advanced global intelligence network. She suddenly became concerned at the thought of not knowing if her husband was okay or whether he’d found their son. “How will I know what’s going on?”
“I’ll risk sending one email when I’ve found Francis.” He handed Isabelle a slip of paper. “As you can see, I’ve set up an email account for you under an assumed name. Memorize that in case you lose it. It’s your user name and password.”
Isabelle took the slip of paper from him.
Nine continued, “In two or three days, you should start checking your emails every couple of days, but only at an Internet caf�
�. Nowhere else.”
Isabelle wasn’t happy, but she resigned herself to being kept in the dark until Francis was found.
There was more bad news to come. Nine sat Isabelle down and looked into her eyes. “There’s something else you need to know.”
Isabelle braced herself.
Nine took a deep breath. He knew this wasn’t going to go down well. “We’ll never be able to return home. They know where we live now, so we will always be at risk in this part of the world.”
That came as a shock to Isabelle. Since relocating to French Polynesia, she’d never envisaged living anywhere else. It was Utopia as far as she was concerned. “Where will we go?” she asked.
“I’ve made arrangements.”
“Where, Sebastian?”
“Vanuatu.”
Isabelle looked at Nine in horror. The Frenchwoman knew little about Vanuatu other than that it was an island territory somewhere near Papua New Guinea on the other side of the Pacific. She seemed to recall it was inhabited by fierce cannibal tribes, but wasn’t sure.
7
Toward midnight, Nine secreted Isabelle out the hotel’s rear door, away from any prying eyes that may be monitoring the establishment’s front entrance. Although he hadn’t spotted anything untoward, he knew it was possible that Omega had someone on the ground in Papeete watching out for him.
The couple followed a path leading away from the town. They walked slowly to allow for Isabelle’s pregnant state. Nine supported her as best he could given he was also carrying her suitcase and extra travel bag.
After several minutes, they reached the main road where a Jeep awaited them. Nine led Isabelle straight to it.
A wiry Thai youth jumped out of the vehicle and opened the front passenger door for Isabelle. He nodded respectfully to Nine while helping Isabelle climb into the Jeep. Nine threw her luggage onto the back seat.
No introductions were needed for the youth was Luang’s nephew Chai, and they’d socialized with him and his family on many occasions. Chai lived with family members in a small, self-contained commune for other Thais and expatriates. It was half an hour’s drive inland – close enough to civilization should Isabelle need to get to hospital, but isolated enough to escape prying eyes.
