by James Morcan
Seventeen was surprised there were any survivors at all. Then she noted the drop from the road was more benign than she’d imagined. The ground sloped away toward the river, and trees and shrubs protruded from the cliff-face. She deduced the vegetation had slowed the convertible’s fall.
Now Seventeen was faced with a decision: whether to try to finish off the survivors or make a clean getaway. She opted for the getaway as she was under no illusions her pocket pistol couldn’t match the firepower of the weapons her fellow orphans would be carrying.
#
At his mansion in Saint Clair County, in Illinois, Naylor walked from his front door to his upstairs bedroom. The Omega boss had just seen off his family doctor who had made a house call at his request.
Naylor’s headaches had worsened and had seen him confined to bed for most of the day. His doctor had dispensed prescription drugs during the visit and these had taken effect almost immediately to his patient’s great relief.
The cocktail of drugs Naylor had been on for some days now also left him constantly tired. Hence his decision to take the day off work and stay in bed.
It was another hot summer’s night and that only added to his discomfort. As he stripped and lay down naked beneath the whirring bedroom ceiling fan, Naylor was in no doubt that Nine was the cause of his continuing headaches. He cursed the ninth-born orphan yet again then tried to get some sleep.
Naylor was starting to doze off when his cell phone rang on a bedside cabinet. He snatched it up and put it to his ear. “Naylor,” he snapped.
“Sir, it’s Sue Lee calling from Papeete,” a woman’s voice informed him.
Naylor instantly recognized the codename his operative, Eight, was currently using. “Yes, Miss Lee.” He sensed from her tone that bad news was coming.
Eight relayed to him the events of the past few hours, explaining how an unknown person, or persons, had rammed the car in which she and her fellow operatives had been traveling. The crash had killed Fifteen instantly and left a badly injured Twenty Three hospitalized.
Two minutes was all it took for Eight to explain in detail what had happened. In that time, Naylor’s headache returned with a vengeance. “Do you know who it was?” he asked.
“No, sir. It was dark and the vehicle came out of nowhere.”
“Damnation!” Naylor cursed. He didn’t think to ask after Eight’s welfare. “Alright, I’ll send reinforcements. Meanwhile, you stay on the case.” Referring to Isabelle, he added, “I want that woman found.”
“Yes- -”
Naylor ended the call and flung his cell phone across the room. He then sat on the edge of his bed and began massaging his temple as he tried to figure out exactly who was helping the Frenchwoman evade her pursuers. He was in no doubt someone was helping Isabelle.
His former operative, Seventeen, came to mind. The seventeenth-born orphan hadn’t been sighted since she and Nine had been seen together in Chicago, so Naylor knew it was possible she had flown to Tahiti to help Isabelle evade his operatives.
Naylor hadn’t considered Seventeen before because he thought she was too fragile – mentally at least – to be of any use to anyone. Now he wasn’t so sure.
59
Carmel Corporation’s coltan refinery looked deceptively calm as Nine and the other members of Lusambo’s raiding party studied it from the surrounding jungle. Refinery employees working the night-shift could be seen attending to a variety of mundane tasks while trucks came and went after delivering their loads of ore – all under the watchful eye of armed guards.
The twenty-two strong raiding party had arrived at the refinery just after midnight. Using an existing vehicle track, the raiders had driven to within a mile of the refinery then walked the rest of the way through the jungle so as not to advertise their presence.
Captain Lusambo looked at his watch. “They should be here soon.” He was referring to the ten rebels who were traveling by boat to the refinery.
The plan was to use the boat as a decoy, distracting the refinery’s armed personnel long enough for Lusambo’s main fighting force to access the refinery grounds, enter the medical lab building, and rescue Francis and the children who had been recognized in the photos Nine had supplied.
Before setting out from the rebels’ base, Leila had pleaded with her husband to free all the children who were being held at the lab. It had taken some persuading by Lusambo to convince his wife that would be impractical. However, before leaving he’d had to promise her he’d do everything in his power to ensure all the children were freed and the orphanage closed down after the mission had been completed.
Now, studying the refinery and the adjoining lab building, Lusambo wasn’t at all confident he could keep his promise. The facility was well guarded – he’d counted twenty armed guards and knew there could be twice that number on the premises – and it was strategically sited, making a surprise attack almost impossible. All vegetation around the refinery had been cleared, leaving a grass belt fifty yards wide between the refinery’s perimeter fence and the edge of the jungle.
Nine had reached the same conclusion: breaching the refinery’s defences and rescuing Francis was going to be difficult. It was not a given anyone would survive the mission let alone rescue any children – not tonight or any time in the future.
Now, to add to the difficulties the raiders faced, the rain had stopped, the clouds cleared and a full moon lit up the night. The raiders would be seen as soon as they left the cover of the trees.
The sound of a boat’s engine reached them. Its distinctive throbbing told them it was the boat they’d been waiting for.
“That’s us,” Lusambo confirmed. He turned to his rebels who were waiting in the trees behind and let out a long, low whistle. They immediately readied their weapons and prepared for the signal to move forward.
Looking at them, Nine saw most carried AK-47’s. Three mortars and a rocket-launcher had also been brought along, and Nine was aware similar weaponry had been loaded onto the boat that was now approaching the refinery. The former operative was armed with a machine pistol Lusambo had loaned him, and a hunting knife one of the captain’s lieutenants had given him.
Nine found he was having to keep a lid on his excitement. The realization he could soon be holding Francis in his arms was almost intoxicating. He couldn’t think of anything else. Please let him be here. And please let him be okay. Nine daren’t think of his son’s condition. Have the bastards experimented on you, Francis? He pushed that thought out of his mind as soon as it entered.
“There it is!” Lusambo said.
At first Nine couldn’t see anything. Then he saw the boat’s shadowy outline against the moonlit reflection of the river.
A sudden commotion inside the refinery grounds signalled that others had also become aware of the boat. Night-time visits to the refinery by boats were a rare occurrence – and then only by appointment – so an unscheduled visit in a region notorious for militia activity was cause for alarm.
As Lusambo had hoped, his boat’s arrival made it the center of attention among the guards and other personnel at the refinery. A siren sounded and a dozen or so armed guards emerged from barracks adjoining the refinery’s administration building. They marched in disciplined ranks through the refinery’s manned security gates and down toward the jetty, which was now lit up like daylight courtesy of a spotlight located in a lookout tower.
Nine and Lusambo watched as the boat’s crew tied the craft to the jetty, and Skipper, the boat’s Ugandan master, disembarked. He carried a large bag, which Lusambo was aware contained goods that could pass for genuine items of trade.
As he’d been instructed to do, Skipper walked innocently toward the guards who were now only a few yards from him. Behind him, rebels disguised as common crewmembers began unloading similar bags onto the jetty as if anticipating a late-night trade.
To Nine and the others watching, the guards’ actions and body language indicated they were annoyed rather than alarmed by the
late night visit. Their weapons remained shouldered. It was obvious they’d fallen for the ruse and considered the visitors genuine traders.
As the guards reached Skipper they checked the contents of his bag and began remonstrating with him. Although they couldn’t be heard from where Nine and the others were hiding, it was clear the guards weren’t happy about being dragged out in the early hours to prevent unauthorized traders from entering the refinery grounds.
Skipper appeared to be doing a good acting job, trying to convince the guards his employer had gained permission for the visit. The gangly Ugandan even fumbled in his pockets, searching for non-existent paperwork to support his claim.
While this was going on, the ten rebels now on the jetty sauntered toward their skipper, bags slung over their shoulders. The guards started to become agitated when they noticed the men approaching, but still they kept their firearms shouldered.
A senior guard began shouting at Skipper, ordering him and his men to return to their boat. By this time, the rebels were only a few yards away.
Finally, Skipper motioned to the rebels that trading wouldn’t take place that night. The rebels did their best to appear upset, just as they’d been coached to do earlier.
Watching them, Lusambo couldn’t help but chuckle. He whispered, “I do swear my men are worthy of an Oscar nomination.”
Next to him, Nine asked, “In what category? Best Supporting Actors?”
The captain looked at his client. “No.” He grinned. “Special Effects.”
Nine looked mystified.
“Keep watching,” Lusambo said. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the fireworks started.
60
Down at the jetty, Skipper re-joined his men and they pretended to be resigned to returning to their boat. The guards turned and started retracing their steps to the refinery. Behind them, the rebels reached into their bags and pulled out an assortment of weapons.
One of the guards saw the danger, but was too late to save himself and his comrades. Half their number was cut down in the first volley of bullets. The others managed to un-shoulder their arms and loose off a few wild shots, but they, too, were quickly mown down.
Skipper had the presence of mind to order one of his men to deal with the spotlight that lit them up like sitting ducks. A rebel took aim at the spotlight, fired and missed. He fired again. Another miss. As Skipper berated his hapless sharpshooter, the rebel took aim yet again. Third time lucky. The bullet found its mark and the spotlight was extinguished.
While this was happening, Nine and the other raiders were already running across the open ground toward the barbwire perimeter fence behind the refinery. They somehow reached the fence without being noticed. Two rebels with wire-cutters cut an opening in the fence and the raiders entered the grounds. Still not a shot had been fired in their direction.
The rebels down by the jetty had already forced their way past the refinery’s security gates, shooting dead the two guards stationed there. Now they split up and looked for vantage points from which they could lay down cover fire for Lusambo’s main force.
In and around the refinery and the adjoining buildings, panic reigned supreme as guards, workers and other employees ran blindly, trying to escape the gunfire. To add to their confusion and fear, mortar shells began falling in their midst – a result of the mortar fire being directed their way by three rebels Lusambo had left behind at the edge of the jungle. On cue, the trio were expertly loading, firing and reloading the two mortars they’d brought with them.
The mortar fire was directed toward the front of the refinery so as not to endanger the rebels tasked with rescuing Francis and the other children. The downside of this strategy was the shells were landing within range of their comrades who had arrived by boat and who were now laying down diversionary fire. Two of them were killed and another wounded by mortar shell shrapnel in the first couple of minutes.
Lusambo had anticipated such casualties. He considered it inevitable collateral damage – regrettable but nonetheless inevitable.
As they neared the medical lab building, Nine and a small group of rebels split from the others and sprinted toward the building’s main entrance. It was their job to force entry and secure the building’s interior while Lusambo and the others set up a defensive cordon around the building. Once that had been achieved, Nine’s group could locate and rescue the children.
Until now, no shots had been directed their way. The diversionary tactics the rebels had employed seemed to have worked a charm.
Elsewhere on the premises, Thirteen and his fellow Omega operatives had woken as soon as the siren had sounded in response to the boat’s arrival. Their sleeping quarters were in different buildings: Thirteen and Twenty Two were based in the lab building itself, Four and Twelve were based in the adjoining admin building, and Eighteen was based in one of the nearby apartment blocks.
Thirteen and Twenty Two had walked down toward the jetty to investigate who the late night visitors were. They were still inside the perimeter fence when the shooting had started.
In the three chaotic minutes that had elapsed since then, the two operatives had sprinted back to the medical lab building where they found their Omega colleagues already waiting for them. That was as per the protocols Thirteen had established. The Polynesian operative knew that any attack on the refinery would be likely to have been organized by Nine, and therefore the lab building would be the target.
Those same protocols dictated that the operatives occupy pre-arranged defensive positions on the building’s ground floor regardless of what may be going on outside the building. Should they be over-run, they’d retreat to the floors below ground one floor at a time. Each man knew what was expected of him.
Eighteen and Twelve waited, weapons at the ready, behind a heavy oak counter in the ground floor reception area while Thirteen, Four and Twenty Two hid in separate rooms and vantage points behind reception.
Whatever was going on outside the lab building didn’t overly concern the operatives. Their only concern was to protect Omega’s investment – the medical lab – and to kill Nine if he showed up.
As Nine and his companions neared the building’s entrance, their luck changed. Machinegun-fire felled one rebel and badly wounded two others, effectively reducing their number to four. The shooting came from a machinegun post at the top of the nearby admin building.
Nine and the others who were still in one piece found cover beneath the lab building’s entrance. Behind them, the two wounded rebels were shot dead as they tried to crawl away.
The survivors’ respite was short-lived as more guards appeared from nowhere and directed shots their way. They were soon accounted for by Lusambo’s men who then turned their attention to the shots coming from the machinegun post atop the admin building. Lusambo sent half a dozen of his men into the building to deal with that particular problem.
Taking advantage of the brief respite, Nine and his three companions entered the lab building’s reception area only to be greeted by a hail of gunfire. The former operative recognized the tell-tale rat-tat-tat of machine pistols – a favoured weapon of Omega operatives in close-quarter combat conditions such as these.
Nine had never doubted he’d come face-to-face with more of his fellow orphan-operatives. He just wondered who Naylor had sent this time. Any misgivings he may have had about killing more Omega operatives vanished as he and his companions dived for cover to escape the withering gunfire.
In the confusion, Nine had been separated from his rebel comrades. He risked a quick look around the side of an upturned desk and caught a glimpse of two male figures on the other side of the reception area. They were crouched down at either end of the oak reception counter. Nine thought they looked familiar. Risking another quick look, he recognized one of the men. Eighteen! The operative’s Oriental features were instantly recognizable even though Nine hadn’t seen him in well over a decade.
Looking to his right, Nine saw that his three companions remained
pinned down by the gunfire. They were sheltering behind large, steel filing cabinets to avoid the shots the two operatives continued to direct at them. It appeared the pair hadn’t noticed their fellow orphan.
Nine caught the attention of the nearest rebel – a young Congolese man - and motioned to the two grenades hanging from his belt. The young rebel immediately unhooked one of the grenades and rolled it along the marble floor, bowling ball style, toward Nine. The former operative hoped its pin remained intact. It did. He scooped the grenade up and peeked around the corner of the upturned desk to ensure the two combatants were still where he’d last seen them. They were. One of them noticed Nine and directed gunfire his way. Was that Twelve? He thought he recognized him.
Nine pulled the pin from the grenade then threw it toward the two operatives.
“Grenade!” Eighteen shouted.
61
In the enclosed space, the explosion was deafening. It shattered every window in the reception area and blew a hole in the wall behind the reception desk. It also killed the two orphan-operatives instantly.
Nine’s ears were still ringing as he raced over to check on the pair. The first body was unrecognizable as his face had been blown away. However, a tell-tale Chinese symbol tattooed on his forearm confirmed to Nine that it was indeed Eighteen. He’d been with him when, in a moment of rare rebelliousness, his fellow orphan had visited a tattooist in downtown Chicago and ordered the tattoo. That had been on Eighteen’s sixteenth birthday. Their mentor, Tommy Kentbridge, had grounded them both for a month and threatened to beat them to within an inch of their lives if they did anything like that again.
