by James Morcan
“I assure you, I haven’t seen or heard from Number Nine in years,” Seventeen could be heard saying.
The hairs on the back of Nine’s neck came erect. He knew now the men were from Omega. Only the agency knew him by his number.
“You don’t mind if we look inside, do you?” a man with a deep voice asked.
“I most certainly do,” Seventeen replied. “Hey!”
There were sounds of a commotion as the visitors burst in. A second later, there was a gunshot followed by the sound of Seventeen screaming.
Nine ran to investigate. He burst into the room to find his grandfather lying motionless on the floor. Blood from the bullet lodged in his chest stained his shirt. He was clearly dead. Nine would learn later that the old man had risen to assist his granddaughter and had been shot when one of the intruders had mistaken his walking stick for a firearm.
It took Nine only a split second to assess the situation. Both the intruders were armed and they were obviously under orders to shoot first and ask questions later. Virtual clones of the staffers Nine had clashed with at Naylor’s, they were obviously Omega operatives. The older one had his back to Nine while the other had his pistol trained on a distraught Seventeen.
The older operative spun around too late. Nine shot him stone cold dead with a clean head shot then deliberately shot his companion in the thigh. The wounded operative dropped his weapon and clutched his thigh as he fell to the floor. Nine was onto him in a flash, kicking the fallen weapon out of reach and delivering a savage kick to the operative’s head for good measure.
Satisfied the two operatives were out of commission, Nine looked around to see Seventeen kneeling beside their grandfather. She sobbed uncontrollably as she cradled the old man in her arms. Nine went to her side.
Seventeen looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. “They killed him,” she said. “Why did they do that?”
“Because I was here,” Nine said. The former operative felt as flat as he sounded. He knew their grandfather would be alive if he hadn’t visited. He also realized he’d just killed a man. Once that wouldn’t have bothered him. Now it left him feeling shaken and on the verge of throwing up.
Nine had a feeling there’d be more deaths before he found Francis. A groan alerted him that the wounded operative was coming round. Nine returned to his side. He could see he was in a bad way. Blood from the wound in his thigh stained the carpet. The operative grimaced as Nine pulled him up into a sitting position.
“Who sent you?” Nine asked.
The operative spat at his interrogator.
Nine pushed his finger into the bullet hole in the operative’s thigh. The wounded man screamed in agony.
“Who sent you?” Nine asked again, reinserting his finger into the hole.
Screaming, the operative said, “Andrew Naylor!”
Nine withdrew his finger from the bullet hole. “Good. Now that wasn’t hard, was it?” Before the operative could answer, Nine knocked him out again – this time with a blow to the head with the butt of his machine pistol. He turned back to Seventeen. “You okay?”
Seventeen was too distraught to answer. She could only sob as she cradled Sebastian Senior in her arms.
Nine realized he should share Seventeen’s grief. However, when he looked at his grandfather he felt like he was looking at a stranger. He’d never had the chance to bond with Sebastian Senior. That made him angry. He blamed Omega for that state of affairs. They had raised him to believe he had no family. It was only later in life he’d learnt he had blood relatives.
The irony of meeting his grandfather and then losing him in the space of a couple of minutes didn’t escape him. Nine could feel his anger reaching boiling point.
Seventeen’s unabated sobbing suddenly got on his nerves. “Stop that!” he ordered.
Startled, Seventeen looked up at him. She stifled her sobs, pushed herself to her feet and looked at her brother as if in a trance.
Nine realized he must leave immediately. He was aware neighbors would have reported the gunshots and it was likely the police would be arriving soon. Returning to the front window to see if there was any activity outside, he wasn’t surprised to see a small group of people had gathered on the sidewalk across the street. They were obviously alarmed by the gunfire.
The former operative was about to head outside when Seventeen reached out and touched his arm. “I’ll help you,” she whispered.
“What?”
“I’ll do as you ask.”
19
Nine had given up on any thought of his sister assisting in his quest to find Francis. He’d considered her a lost cause. Now he could see she’d stopped crying and had regained some of her poise. And he could see a glimmer of something in her eyes he hadn’t seen for many years. “You’ll help me?”
Seventeen nodded. “Yes. There’s nothing left for me here.”
Nine debated whether to accept her offer. He was aware it’d be a huge risk sending Seventeen to Tahiti to be with Isabelle. However, Nine felt it would be an even bigger risk to leave his wife alone as Omega would most certainly want the unborn baby. He just hoped blood really was thicker than water and that his sister wouldn’t return to being the spiteful individual he remembered from his childhood.
As Nine looked Seventeen in the eye, his gut told him to give her a chance. “Okay. Get your things together. We have to get out of here.”
“What about Grandpa?”
“There’s nothing we can do for him. The authorities will ensure he gets a proper burial.”
Seventeen looked over at the wounded operative who was still unconscious. “And him?”
“We’ll leave him for the authorities to deal with also. He can explain to them why he and his buddy broke into your home with guns blazing.” Nine looked hard at his sister. “You sure you want to help?”
Seventeen nodded. “Just give me a minute.” She returned to her room. There she threw clothes and toiletries into an overnight bag, and retrieved a false passport, disguise aids and other emergency items she’d hidden for just such an emergency as this.
When Seventeen returned to the dining room, she found Nine speaking in hushed tones on a cell phone.
Nine ended the call quickly and motioned to her to follow him outside. As soon as they stepped outside the bungalow, they saw the ranks of concerned neighbors had grown considerably. At least twenty people had gathered across the street. Nine placed a protective arm around his sister as he steered her toward his waiting rental car. “Say something to them,” he whispered.
Seventeen looked at her neighbors. “Home invaders have just killed grandpa,” she shouted. “My friend is taking me to hospital.”
“She’s been shot,” Nine added.
The horrified neighbors seemed to accept that. Already, the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance.
Nine bundled Seventeen into the car, jumped in behind the wheel and accelerated away. As he drove, he imagined it wouldn’t be long before Naylor sent someone to investigate what had happened to his two operatives. He wondered how Naylor knew he’d be at his sister’s residence. Then he recalled the Omega boss had noted his interest in the photo of a younger Seventeen in his den. He realized Naylor had probably suspected he’d read the file on his sister and noted her home address.
#
Approaching the city centre, Nine studied Seventeen next to him in the front passenger seat. His sister had been sobbing since they’d left the bungalow. Nine could see she was a mess and rebuked himself for even thinking of recruiting her to help him. But there was no-one else he could turn to, to protect Isabelle. Not with Seventeen’s skills at least.
Casting his misgivings aside, he turned to his emotional passenger. “We need to talk.”
Seventeen rallied herself. Drying her eyes, she looked at Nine and waited to hear what was on his mind.
Nine just hoped what he had to tell her wouldn’t push her over the edge. Steel yourself, sis. He said, “When I was at Naylor’s,
I read a confidential file he had on you.”
Seventeen remained silent, willing Nine to continue.
“I have reason to believe he had sexual relations with you without your realizing it.”
“Sex with Naylor? You have to be joking. D’you think for a minute I could have had sexual relations with that dirty ol’ man and not remember?”
Undeterred, Nine continued. “I assume you’ve heard of MK-Ultra?”
Seventeen nodded. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“When we were youngsters, you, me and all us Pedemont orphans were programmed as part of an MK-Ultra mind control initiative.” Seventeen shook her head in disbelief, but Nine ignored her scepticism. “The program was discontinued after the CIA’s involvement was leaked to the media, but the control codes remain dormant in each of us. Except for me. I got myself deprogrammed after I found out about it.”
“How did you find out?”
“Tommy told me that time you tracked us down in the Black Forest. He used mind control on you when you were about to shoot me.” Nine could see Seventeen was trying to recall the event, but it eluded her. “He even tried to use it on me and almost succeeded.”
“What does all that have to do with Naylor abusing me?”
“The file contained some pretty damning evidence.”
“Go on.”
“There were references to you being subjected to mind control experiments during your last year or two with the agency, and there were photos of you in various stages of undress.”
Seventeen gasped.
“Naylor even keeps a framed photo of you on his bookshelf.”
As Seventeen struggled to disseminate this shocking information, she began to understand what had caused her fall from grace during her final two years with Omega. “So I was under MK-Ultra all that time.”
“Yep. You still are. And Naylor used the program’s codes to exercise mind control over you to keep you as his personal sex slave by the looks.”
“The bastard!” Seventeen felt violated. She wanted revenge. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Do what you want to him,” Nine said, “but first we need to get you deprogrammed. You still have the control codes embedded in you.”
“How do I get deprogrammed?”
“I happen to know someone.” He was referring to one Clarence Fisher-Tinbull, an old FBI contact who knew everything there was to know about MK-Ultra. He’d phoned the man on Seventeen’s behalf from her bungalow forty minutes earlier. Clarence had deprogrammed Nine during a rare visit to mainland USA after he and Isabelle had settled in the Marquesas Islands.
“Is that necessary?”
“Yes. You won’t be any help to me, or Isabelle, if Naylor or anyone else in Omega can still control your mind.”
“He’d have to catch me first.”
“A simple phone call would suffice. All he’d have to do is reach you by phone and recite the voice prompts, or codes, and you’d be under his control.” Nine could tell by the expression on Seventeen’s face that she agreed with his rationale.
“Okay. Make the arrangements.”
Nine smiled for the first time in a while. “I already have.”
They drove several blocks in silence. Nine suddenly remembered something he shouldn’t have overlooked. He angrily thumped the steering wheel. “Goddamn it!”
“What?”
Nine looked at Seventeen. “Your microchip,” he said referring to the miniature electronic tracking device Omega had surgically embedded in the forearm of each of the Pedemont orphans when they were youngsters. It enabled their Omega masters to keep track of them no matter where in the world they were at any time.
“Relax,” Seventeen said. “They removed mine when they dismissed me. Obviously, I was such a mess they considered I’d never be a threat to them, or anyone else for that matter.”
That came as a relief to Nine. He was aware if his sister was still on the grid, Naylor would know where they were at that very moment.
20
Half an hour later, Nine and Seventeen were safely parked in the basement of an inner city car parking building. Aware they would now both be on Omega’s wanted list, they were adding the finishing touches to new disguises they’d adopted.
Nine was in the front seat, studying his new look in the car’s rear vision mirror, while in the back seat Seventeen added blusher to her face with the aid of a hand mirror. Like her brother, she, too, had a portable kit containing various disguise aids. Working within the car’s confines, it was slow going – especially for Seventeen who had never been the most proficient of the orphan-operatives when it came to shape-shifting and adopting new guises.
By the time they’d finished they resembled a posh business couple who could pass for bankers or attorneys, or successful members of any profession for that matter.
Nine now wore his hair parted in the middle. He sported a fashionable stubble while blue-colored contact lenses hid his startling green eyes. Clever use of makeup made him look extremely pale-skinned. Blonde Seventeen was now a brunette and she wore her wig tied up in a bun. Rouge gave her cheeks a red glow and fashionable dark-tinted spectacles hid her icy blue eyes.
Never a fan of resorting to different guises – though she’d had to use them often enough when an active Omega operative – Seventeen had protested when Nine said they must disguise themselves. She’d quickly backed down after her brother reminded her that the agency would be watching out for them and would have guessed the siblings were now in cahoots.
Nine surreptitiously studied his sister in the mirror. He could see she was still a mess – not physically so much, but mentally. Sebastian Senior’s death had left her shattered and even more befuddled than before. Nine knew some drastic action was needed if she was to keep her sanity and be of any use to him. He’d explained to Seventeen what was in store for her. She’d seemed to accept it, but he couldn’t be sure.
Satisfied with their appearance, they left the car and walked up a flight of steps that opened out into Michigan Avenue. It was mid-afternoon and the inner city was predictably busy, which suited them just fine. They quickly merged with the crowds.
Their destination was the office of former FBI agent-turned consultant Clarence Fisher-Tinbull. It was conveniently a stone’s throw from the parking building they’d just left. Exactly who Clarence consulted for, Nine wasn’t sure, but judging by the trappings of wealth that surrounded him, consulting paid handsomely.
As Nine led Seventeen through the ground floor entrance of an office tower, she hesitated. “Can we trust this man?”
“We can trust him. He helped me out before, remember?”
After an elevator took them to the top floor suite, the siblings found themselves in a spacious reception room in the offices of Clarence Fisher-Tinbull Consultancy. A pert secretary told them to wait while she advised her boss his next appointment had arrived.
Nine could see Seventeen was becoming increasingly stressed over what she was about to undergo. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “It’s a breeze.” He concealed the lie behind a smile.
Seventeen wasn’t convinced. She appeared ready to flee.
The office door opened and Clarence Fisher-Tinbull entered the room. Nine almost didn’t recognize him at first. In the intervening years since he’d seen him, the once-fit FBI agent was now decidedly rotund with a set of jowls to match.
Nine stood and extended his hand. “Hey, old-timer. What have you done to yourself?”
Clarence didn’t recognize Nine even though he’d been expecting him. He shook the extended hand. “Hell, is that you, Sebastian?”
“Afraid so,” Nine chuckled.
Clarence glanced at Seventeen.
“Let’s complete the introductions in your office, shall we?” Nine was anxious not to draw any more attention to Seventeen and himself than necessary. Clarence’s secretary was already showing interest in them.
“Of course.” Clarence ushered the couple through
to his office. As soon as he’d closed the door, Nine introduced Seventeen. Clarence gave her a perfunctory nod then turned to back Nine. “Forgive me, but can you prove you are who you say you are? I need to be sure.”
It was clear to Nine that Clarence wasn’t yet convinced he was who he claimed to be. That was a comforting reminder of how effective his latest disguise was.
Nine thought of something his opposite would be aware only he could know. “You once said the thirty minutes it took you to deprogram me was a record. Has anyone broken that record yet?” He was referring to when Clarence had deprogrammed him after he’d learnt he was part of Omega’s MK-Ultra mind-control program. The then-FBI agent had told him it usually took at least an hour to deprogram victims, as he so aptly called them, of MK-Ultra.
“So it really is you.” Clarence looked relieved.
“Who else?”
Clarence returned his attention to Seventeen. He knew why she was there, having been briefed over the phone by Nine. Clarence invited Nine to make himself at home in his office then ushered Seventeen through to an adjoining room.
Nine flashed an encouraging smile at his sister before Clarence closed the door, leaving him alone. He felt more than a little nervous for Seventeen, for he knew what she was in for.
Four years earlier, in these very offices, Nine had entrusted himself to Clarence’s deprogramming skills. Then, as now, the former FBI agent was the only person in the world he could have turned to for the deprogramming services he provided. After all, Clarence’s knowledge of MK-Ultra was second-to-none. He’d been directly involved in the controversial use of MK-Ultra mind control among Gulf War veterans and, later, in the deprogramming of many of those same veterans.
While the procedure had only taken thirty minutes in Nine’s case, he swore it was the longest thirty minutes of his life. In that time, Clarence had hypnotized him and forced him to relive some of the worst experiences he’d had when growing up at the Pedemont Orphanage and, later, when an operative in the field. Because Seventeen had been subjected to active mind control over a long period, Clarence had confided that her deprogramming would be more difficult. And so it would transpire.
