by James Morcan
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.
Anxious that Naylor didn’t wake and sound the alarm, Nine glided over to the sleeping man. He reached out and his strong fingers tightened around the vagal nerve in Naylor’s neck. The old man woke, but he only remained awake for a second. In that time, Nine saw fear in his startled eyes.
Naylor appeared to be sleeping again, but Nine new differently. He was actually unconscious and would remain that way for several minutes at least. Now the former operative could turn his attention to dealing with the Omega staffer whom he guessed was downstairs.
A quick search revealed the staffer was in the kitchen. Nine wasn’t surprised to see it was the young driver who had delivered Naylor to the house a short time earlier. He was making a coffee for himself. Nine had no doubt the man was an operative. Tall and lithe, he had the air of someone who knew how to take care of himself.
Not willing to risk a physical confrontation, Nine drew out his Glock 18 machine pistol from the holster hidden beneath his loose-fitting Hawaiian shirt and stepped into the kitchen. The young operative did a double-take and immediately reached for his firearm.
“Don’t do it,” Nine warned.
The surprised operative deliberately placed both hands
on the tabletop in front of him so as not to prompt the stranger with the gun to do anything silly – like shoot him. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’ll ask the questions,” Nine said. “Now stand up and turn around. I want to frisk you.”
The young operative did as he was told. He stood up and turned, expecting to be frisked. Instead, Nine reversed his grip on the pistol and whacked his opposite across the back of the head. He caught the unconscious operative before he hit the floor so as to minimize the noise and not attract the attention of the staffer patrolling outside. That done, he tied the operative up using a dressing gown cord he’d brought from Naylor’s bedroom, and he gagged him using his own handkerchief. As a precaution, he removed the operative’s firearm, a Magnum .44 revolver, from its holster and hid it in a cupboard.
Nine had planned to deal with the other staffer outside, but changed his mind. He wanted to get back to Naylor, and was prepared to gamble that he could extract the information he needed from the old man and depart the premises before the other staffer knew anything was amiss.
The former operative quickly returned upstairs armed with a jug of cold water he’d poured from the tap over the kitchen sink. Reaching Naylor’s bedroom, he tipped the water over the still unconscious man, waking him. Startled, Naylor tried to sit up, but Nine restrained him. “Just catch your breath for a minute,” Nine said quietly. He knew from experience it would take a few moments for Naylor to come round fully.
As his senses slowly returned, Naylor could only stare up at Nine and wonder what the rogue operative had in store for him. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“You know why I’m here, Naylor.” Nine didn’t wait for a response. “You took my son and I want to know where he is.”
“I don’t know- -”
Nine rammed the end of his Glock’s barrel into Naylor’s open mouth. “Don’t tell me you don’t know where he is!” he hissed.
Naylor’s eyes bulged with fear. Unable to speak, he could only shake his head impotently.
Nine withdrew the pistol from Naylor’s mouth. “You have one more chance to tell me the truth. Otherwise you’re dead.”
“I have some files down in my den!” Naylor blurted out, his lazy eye twitching violently.
Nine yanked Naylor out of bed. Only now, did he realize the old man was naked. Screwing up his nose in disgust, he retrieved Naylor’s dressing gown from the foot of the bed and threw it at him. “Put that on before I’m sick.”
Naylor hurriedly donned his robe.
Nine then pushed him out of the room toward the stairs. “You lead the way. And quietly.”
As Naylor led Nine down to the den, he wondered why his staffer wasn’t coming to his rescue. He had his answer when they walked past the kitchen. Through the open door, he saw the young operative – trussed up and still unconscious.
14
On reaching Naylor’s den, Nine quickly checked that there were no windows or other openings to the outside of the house. He needn’t have bothered: the den was below ground level. Satisfied, he switched on the light and motioned to Naylor to sit down.
By now, Naylor had recovered some of his composure. As he sat down behind his desk, he looked pointedly at the machine pistol levelled at his gut. “Any shots from that thing will be heard for miles around. My men outside will be onto you like a ton of bricks.”
“There’s only one man outside,” Nine countered, “and you’ll be dead so it won’t matter a damn to you what anyone else may or may not do to me.”
There was a long, drawn out silence as the two arch enemies surveyed each other. Scanning the den, Nine’s eyes rested on a small, framed photograph of a young, blonde woman on a bookshelf behind Naylor. The woman seemed familiar. Looking closer, he realized he was looking at Seventeen. What the hell? He guessed the photo would have been taken around ten years earlier. It dawned on him that Naylor must be carrying a torch for his fellow orphan-operative. You dirty, old man. Finally, Nine returned his attention to his captive. “Okay, where is he?”
Resigned to giving his rogue operative some information, Naylor started talking. “Francis has been taken to one of our medical labs.”
“The Black Forest lab?”
“No, we shut that operation down years ago.” Naylor said.
That made sense to Nine. He guessed Naylor wouldn’t have risked doing anything to prompt him to release the incriminating evidence he’d gathered if the Black Forest lab was still operating.
“We have secret labs in Greenland and the Democratic Republic of the Congo,” Naylor continued, “so he’ll be interned in one of those.”
“Which one?” Nine was losing patience.
“That I don’t know.” Ignoring Nine’s disbelieving look, Naylor hurried on. “A lot has changed since you were with the agency.”
“I don’t doubt that, but let’s not pretend you don’t have your finger on the pulse.”
“The chain of command has shifted.” As Naylor spoke, he slowly opened his desk drawer and reached for the loaded pistol he kept there. “Our operation is now run by Omega splinter groups and other shadow organizations which have links to elite, secret societies.”
As Naylor’s hand closed around his pistol, Nine leaned across the desk and slammed the draw against the old man’s wrist. Naylor yelped in pain. Nine then reached into the drawer and pulled out the weapon. Extracting the cartridge, he threw the pistol into a wastepaper bin and continued as if nothing had happened. “Exactly where are these labs?”
“I can show you,” Naylor grunted as he massaged his injured wrist.
“Okay, but no more tricks. You can’t fool me, so don’t even try.”
Naylor stood up and walked to another desk that supported a computer. He booted it up, entered his personal password and brought up two files marked Confidential.
Nine looked on over Naylor’s shoulder as the Omega boss opened the first of the files. It related to the agency’s lab in Greenland and was headed Medical Laboratory #3. Nine immediately pointed that out to Naylor. “You said there were only two labs.”
“There are now that the Black Forest lab has been closed,” Naylor said. “The Greenland lab was established while the one in Germany was still functioning.”
Nine studied his opposite closely. For once, he seemed to be telling the truth. He motioned to Naylor to move over. The old man gave up his seat for Nine who resumed reading, scrolling through the file’s contents at the rate of a page a second just as he’d been taught to do as an operative-in-waiting at the Pedemont Orphanage.
With every page, his concern for Francis grew. The document contained a litany of medical horrors that ranged from never-before attempted organ and face transplants to unsanctioned cloning procedures and flat-lining experiments. Medical and scientific text was supported by graphic photographs of subjects – children and teenagers – who had been subjected to these experiments. Some were grotesque in the extreme.
Nine opened the second confidential file. It was headed Medical Laboratory #1 and related to Omega’s secret lab in DRC, or the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Scrolling through the pages of this file, the former operative could see it made for equally gruesome reading. If anything, the scientific experiments being conducted at the DRC lab were even more horrific than at the lab in Greenland.
Naylor fidgeted nervously as Nine continued reading. He could imagine what was going through his rogue operative’s mind.
The awful reality of what Francis was going to be subjected to slowly dawned on Nine. It was clear he’d been abducted for some sort of experiment. But what? He looked up at Naylor and pointed his Glock at his head. “Talk old man. And make it good. Tell me why you took my son.” With that, he pulled a mini-digital recording device from his pocket and placed it on the desktop between them. A red light indicated it had been recording all along. “You’ve already hung yourself, so you might as well tell me everything.”
Naylor’s eyes were drawn to the recorder. Tearing h
is eyes away from the device, he could tell from the expression on Nine’s face that there was murder in his heart. He had to control the sudden pressure in his bladder to prevent himself from pissing where he sat. “I can explain.” He took a deep breath. “You’re the only one of the Pedemont orphans who has a child. Coming from a mixture of your exceptional genes and your wife’s regular genes, Francis has unique DNA. He’s a one-of-a-kind.”
“What will be done to him exactly.”
Naylor hesitated. Nine waved his Glock menacingly, prompting him to continue. “He will assist our cloning program,” Naylor continued. “He’ll undergo a range of tests- -”
“Tests? What tests?” Nine was growing more alarmed by the second.
“I don’t have specifics, but they’ll be scientifically conducted and monitored by Doctor Andrews’ team.”
Nine could feel his disbelief and anger growing in equal measure. He felt like his head was about to explode. Irate beyond words, he jumped to his feet and pistol-whipped Naylor, leaving the old man’s face cut and bloodied. “You bastard!” Nine swore at the Omega boss who now lay groaning on the carpet. “Just what gives you the right to play God with my son?”
As Nine remonstrated with Naylor, he didn’t hear the faint sound of someone behind him until it was too late.
15
The first that Nine realized something was wrong was when he tried to sit up. He couldn’t. And he had a splitting headache. When he attempted to open his eyes, the light was blinding and everything seemed to be spinning.
As normality slowly returned, Nine realized he was lying on the floor of Naylor’s den. It dawned on him he’d been bushwhacked and he cursed that he hadn’t been more attentive.
The staffer he’d seen outside was now standing alongside Naylor, talking to someone on his cell phone. He was holding Nine’s Glock in his other hand and he surveyed the intruder as he spoke. Naylor was gingerly dabbing at his bloodied face with a tissue.
