by James Morcan
The blizzard and partial blackout weren’t the only obstacles the operatives had to contend with. They now had an even bigger problem: East Jackson Boulevard and the surrounding streets were filling up with children and their guardians. The children had just finished competing in the first of a three day international spelling bee hosted by the city.
Within minutes, several hundred children of various nationalities had spilled out of the competition venue and were making their way to whichever one of the Loop’s numerous hotels they were staying at. Those in the company of parents were being shepherded along while many of the older children – including some who had never seen snow before – frolicked in the streets, throwing snowballs at each other.
The emergence of so many children made searching for one twelve-year-old boy akin to looking for a needle in a haystack.
Like Kentbridge and the other operatives, Marcia was rapidly tiring of trudging the city’s pavements in near Arctic conditions. When she thought her frustration levels couldn’t go any higher, she was struck on the head by a stray snowball. “Goddamn it!” She spun around and unbuttoned the top of her coat to reveal the handle of her holstered pistol.
A group of half a dozen children took off in all directions. Marcia was almost tempted to give chase when she noticed Kentbridge and his three operatives approaching.
The two groups converged on the pavement outside the large art deco building known as the Chicago Board of Trade. Like most of the buildings around it, it was in darkness, which suited the Omegans. All were flushed from their recent exertions.
Kentbridge addressed Marcia as well as the five operatives now gathered around him. “Nine could have gone in any direction since you last saw him,” he said. “He can’t have traveled far yet, so let’s split up and surround him east, west, north and south.”
Kentbridge didn’t wait for any agreement from Marcia or the others. Technically speaking Marcia was superior to him in the Omega hierarchy, but she wasn’t anywhere as experienced as him in conducting field operations. Besides, this mission involved one of the Pedemont orphans and Kentbridge was king in that department.
“We’ll create a circle around Nine,” the orphan’s master added. “And then, at my command, make the circle smaller and smaller until one of us smokes him out.”
Aware time was ticking, and in no mood for a debate, he motioned to the others to make tracks. They immediately took off in different directions. “And no-one harms the boy!” he shouted after them. “Naylor’s orders.” He turned and starting running east toward the Lake Michigan corner of the Loop.
#
Walking cautiously down Dearborn Street, Nine noticed he wasn’t the only kid out and about on this unforgiving, wintery evening. There were children everywhere. What the hell? The orphan had no way of knowing where they’d come from or why they were there, but he welcomed their presence. He laughed internally at the thought of Kentbridge and his operatives having to try to pick him out of hoards of children – many of them boys around his own age. Good luck, Tommy, and good luck to your stupid spooks!
As if in answer to his cynical wish, Kentbridge appeared near a fountain not fifty yards away. Nine observed him in his peripheral vision instead of actually looking directly at him. It wasn’t immediately clear if his master had seen him, but he was approaching fast. However, Kentbridge’s attention seemed to be on other children in the vicinity.
Fighting to quash the fear he suddenly felt in every cell of his body, Nine kept walking. How to outwit the maestro? He knew Kentbridge would spot any sudden movement.
Nine casually joined a large group of young school children who were being escorted to their hotel by half a dozen teachers. At five foot eight, he was a good few inches taller than his younger companions, but he compensated by walking bent-kneed so he didn’t stand out above the crowd. He quickly pushed his way through until he was in the middle of the group.
Risking a glance above his young companions, Nine confirmed that Kentbridge had seen him earlier. The special agent had made straight for the group and was now scanning the faces of all the children as he pushed through them.
Nine crouched lower and prayed he wouldn’t be spotted again. The tactic worked and out of the corner of his eye he saw Kentbridge go past him. Unfortunately, Nine’s comical walking style drew laughter from children around him.
“He walks like a duck,” a young girl declared, pointing at Nine.
“A duck with a carrot stuck up its ass,” an older boy near her retorted.
More children joined in the hilarity. Two teachers came to investigate. They stared strangely at Nine who maintained his strange, bent-kneed walk. Before they could ask what he was up to, Kentbridge caught up with Nine.
“I’ll handle this,” Kentbridge announced. He reached out for Nine, but the boy evaded him, ducking behind one of the teachers.
“What on earth?” The teacher, a motherly-looking woman, was bemused.
“Call the police,” Nine pleaded. “This man is trying to kidnap me.” He sprinted off.
The teachers looked warily at Kentbridge.
Keen to allay their fears, he smiled. “Fatherhood. It’s a tough job, isn’t it?” he said as he ran after Nine.
Behind him, the teachers smiled understandingly. The younger of the two – a male trainee teacher – chuckled as he watched what he assumed was an irate father pursuing his disobedient son.
Sprinting through the carpet of snow under streetlights, Nine estimated he had a twenty yard lead on Kentbridge. Quick though he was, he could feel his master was gaining ground by the second. Nine looked over his shoulder and saw Kentbridge was talking on his satphone as he ran. The orphan guessed he was advising Marcia and the other operatives of their whereabouts.
Approaching an intersection and now only ten yards behind the boy, Kentbridge told Marcia, “We’re at the corner of Dearborn and East Monroe Streets.” Pocketing his phone, he soon caught up to Nine. A sudden swerve by the orphan caught him by surprise and he slipped over on the icy pavement. As he fell, he just managed to grab Nine’s right ankle. “Gotcha!”
Desperate, Nine shook his right leg, dislodging Kentbridge’s grip. The special agent was left holding Nine’s shoe as the boy scrambled away.
Pushing himself to his feet, Kentbridge drew his pistol and pointed it at Nine’s retreating back. “Freeze or die!”
Nine pulled up and slowly turned around to face his master. He studied him for a full second and reached the conclusion Kentbridge wouldn’t shoot him. Too much had been invested in him over the years. Omega wanted him alive at all costs. Nice try, Tommy. He gave Kentbridge a cheeky grin then sprinted off into the night.
Before Kentbridge could give chase, he had to wait for three good samaritans who appeared from around a corner carrying a billboard that had been blown loose by the blizzard. It only took a few seconds for them pass by, but by then there was no sign of Nine.
The little bastard called my bluff.
Kentbridge would never have shot the boy. For a start, Naylor would have fired him, or worse, if he ever terminated one of the agency’s precious creations. More importantly, the orphans were the closest thing Kentbridge had to children, and shooting any one of them would almost feel as if he had killed his own flesh and blood. Especially Nine.
The sound of running feet alerted Kentbridge to the arrival of Marcia and the other operatives. He was still holding Nine’s shoe when they reached him.
“Where is he?” Marcia asked, breathless.
Using the shoe to indicate the direction Nine ran, he said, “He won’t get far in the snow with a bare foot. My guess is he’ll go to ground nearby. Let’s go.” Kentbridge jogged off after Nine.
The other operatives followed. Kentbridge didn’t have to see the expressions on their faces to know they would have all preferred to have been curled up in front of a fire at home, drinking hot cocoa and watching television. He felt the same way. It only served to harden his resolve to catch Nine.
As he ran through the blizzard, a part of Kentbridge wondered how the hell the wayward orphan was continually evading capture. Granted, he had trained Nine and the other kids to the hilt, but none of them had yet reached their teens and there was still so much more they had to learn.
Doctor Pedemont really must’ve selected perfect genes.
Two blocks away, Nine was still running. He knew Kentbridge would expect him to do the sensible thing and hide indoors, so he decided to do the unexpected. Rather than persevere running minus one shoe, he’d discarded his other shoe. That enabled him to run faster, but now both feet were freezing and rapidly turning blue. He just hoped he didn’t end up with frostbite.
23
Half an hour later, a barefoot Nine had been reduced to a walk. His feet were so numbed by the cold he could no longer feel them. They were red, raw and blistered. Passersby gave him strange looks as he limped along, though no-one offered to help. Tired and cold, he knew he had to find a pair of shoes quickly or risk gangrene.
Buying footwear from one of the few convenience stores still open wasn’t an option for Nine realized he would then show up on the stores’ surveillance cameras, and he was in no doubt Omega would be monitoring all the city’s cameras.
Determined to avoid the main streets, he turned from one dimly-lit alleyway into another one. He was drawn to the rear of a five-star hotel where he could hear boys’ voices coming from inside one of its conference rooms.
An overweight teenager emerged from the room onto a landing and flicked a still glowing cigarette butt onto the ground. It landed at Nine’s bare feet. So intent was the chubby teen on returning to the warmth of conference room, he didn’t even see the orphan. Chubby – the moniker Nine immediately bestowed on him – hurriedly retreated inside, leaving the door to shut slowly of its own accord behind him.
Nine intercepted the door before it could close and lock him out. He peeked through the gap and saw Chubby had rejoined half a dozen other boys who were lounging about on comfy chairs. They were evidently guests of the hotel. All studious looking, their attention was on a geeky boy who studied a dictionary. Nine realized they were contestants practicing for the spelling bee which he’d now heard about and knew was set to continue the next day.
“Laissez faire,” Geeky read aloud, confirming Nine’s suspicion.
A cocky blond boy sitting opposite Geeky correctly spelled out the word.
Nine spotted an opportunity. He had instantly determined the boys were from wealthy families. They behaved and spoke as if they’d been brought up in the Hamptons or Beverly Hills, and they reminded him of younger versions of Ivy League students. His attention had been drawn to their trendy designer footwear – in particular a pair of Reebok cross-trainers the blond boy sported.
Studying Blondie, he assessed him to be a year or two older than himself. However, he was around Nine’s size and his Reeboks looked like they’d be a perfect fit.
“Organoleptic,” Geeky called out from behind his dictionary.
“Organoleptic,” Nine said as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
The boys spun around and looked askance at the barefoot intruder who had appeared from nowhere.
“O-R-G-A-N-O-L-E-P-T-I-C,” Nine continued. “Organoleptic.”
“Who’re you?” Chubby asked.
“Someone who really needs a pair of shoes.” Nine pointed at Blondie’s Reeboks. “Those will do me fine.” He pulled out his wallet and produced a hundred dollar bill, which he placed on the floor in front of them. “So, how about this? We’ll have a spelling contest and if you win, as I’m sure you will, that hundred bucks is yours.” He stared directly at Blondie. “And if I somehow fluke a win then I win your Reeboks.”
The friends all looked at each other, bemused. Finally, Geeky asked, “Are you even competing in the spelling bee?”
“No. I don’t go to school.”
“You realize this guy is the New York State spelling champ and one of the favorites to win the title on Tuesday?” Chubby asked, glancing toward Blondie.
Nine shrugged nonchalantly. He didn’t need to look at the blond boy to know he’d fired up his competitive juices. He could sense it.
Blondie took the bait. He stood up and strolled over to the new arrival, pausing only a foot away. “Well, where did you learn to spell--”
“Listen,” Nine interjected. “I don’t have time to tell you my life story. Do we have a bet, or not?”
Bristling, Blondie considered the challenge.
“Take his money,” one of the others urged.
Blondie looked disdainfully at Nine’s bare feet. “No bet.”
“If you’re such a great speller, surely you can beat a nobody like me?” Nine said.
“Outspell him and take his money!” Geeky said.
Blondie shook his head. “Na, it’d be like takin’ candy from a baby.” He placed his hand on Nine’s chest and, although the orphan matched him for height, he did his best to look down his nose at Nine. “Sorry, but by the looks of you, you clearly need to hang on to any money you have.”
Realizing he was getting nowhere with Blondie, Nine looked at the others. “Anyone?”
They turned their backs on him. By default, Blondie was their leader; if he said no to a hundred bucks, they weren’t going to argue.
Knowing he was beat, Nine was about to retrieve his bill from the floor and leave when an attractive redheaded girl suddenly entered the conference room. Red immediately got the full attention of everyone in the room. She sat on a couch alongside the boys, crossed one long, shapely leg over the other and studied the strange, tall, barefoot visitor.
Nine noticed Blondie’s demeanor instantly change. It was obvious he had the hots for Red. Sensing an opportunity, Nine said, “Oh well, if you’re too scared to compete against me, I’ll be on my way.” Nine bent down to retrieve his hundred dollar note.
“Who said anything about being scared?” Blondie said, belatedly rising to the challenge. The cocky blond boy immediately removed his Reeboks and placed them on the floor next to the bill.
Nine placed the bill inside one of the shoes, signifying the winner takes all.
Red and the others looked on. The redhead was intrigued by the strange, green-eyed boy amongst them.
“First one to get a word wrong loses,” Nine announced. “Deal?”
“Deal,” Blondie said. The two barefoot combatants shook hands. Blondie motioned toward Geeky who was still holding the dictionary. “You mind if he officiates?
Nine shook his head, indicating he didn’t mind. “You start.”
Sensing blood, the other boys stood up and formed a circle around the contestants. Red joined them as the impromptu spelling competition began.
“Onomatopoeia,” Blondie said.
Nine spelt the word out aloud almost before Blondie had finished saying it.
All eyes were on Geeky as he flicked through the dictionary to check the spelling. The pages flew beneath his well practiced thumbs. “Correct!” he shouted somewhat louder than necessary.
Blondie glared at Geeky as if his friend had somehow let him down. Now the attention was back on Nine.
“Dysmenorrhea,” the orphan said after some thought.
Blondie hesitated for a moment then slowly spelt the word.
Again the dictionary pages fair flew as Geeky whizzed through the D’s. “Correct!” Even louder than before.
Blondie smiled triumphantly and shot a glance at Red. He was perturbed to find her attention was on his opponent.
Nine caught Red looking at him and shot her a confident smile.
Irked, Blondie clicked his fingers toward Chubby and pointed to a heavy textbook lying on the seat he’d not long vacated. Chubby picked up the textbook and handed it to Blondie who immediately thumbed through it, searching for what he hoped would allow him to deliver the killer blow. He hadn’t wanted to resort to using the textbook, but he sensed he had a worthy adversary in Nine, and so wanted to use
every advantage. Blondie smiled as he found the word he was convinced would bring victory. He surveyed Nine as a shark would survey a sardine before dining. “Komatik,” he said smugly.
Nine was familiar with the word and knew it was the name of a dogsled used in northeastern Canada. He also knew Blondie had mispronounced the word. Whether that was deliberate or not, he couldn’t be sure. But now wasn’t the time for knit-picking. Again, the orphan spelt the word without any hesitation or fuss.
Blondie and the others looked at Nine with a new respect. Meanwhile, Red looked at him with respect and more. If she was intrigued before, she was now totally intrigued and made no secret of it. Nine didn’t appear to notice, but Blondie did. He was bristling and worried at the same time. The others moved in closer to the two combatants. It was as if they could smell the blood now.
It was Nine’s turn to call out a word. Before he could, Geeky motioned to him. “Do you want the textbook?”
Nine shook his head, indicating he didn’t need such props. Looking Blondie in the eye, he said, “Cymotrichous.”
Blondie’s face froze. He had obviously never heard of the word, which meant having wavy hair.
“S-I--”
“Incorrect,” Nine interjected triumphantly. “The word begins with the letter C.”
Shocked, Blondie looked to Geeky who thumbed through his dictionary at frantic speed. All except Nine collectively held their breath.
After what seemed an eternity, Geeky said, “He’s right.”
Blondie snatched the dictionary from Geeky to see for himself. He flushed with embarrassment when he realized he’d been beaten. Embarrassment turned to anger when he saw the girl he’d wanted to impress now only had eyes for the victor. Pulling a hundred dollar bill of his own from his wallet, he placed it alongside the other bill in the shoe and glared at Nine. “Double or nothing?”
Nine was tempted, but he didn’t want to push his luck and risk getting caught, even though he was now off the streets. Something told him he needed to find a safer place to overnight. He pocketed his own bill and handed Blondie’s bill back to its peeved owner. “Nope. Have to go.” Nine slipped into his newly acquired Reeboks as the others looked on speechless. None of them could believe what they’d just witnessed.
