by James Morcan
This list contained only six names. Nine saw at a glance Francis’s name was not among them. So he’s not here. His immediate reaction was almost one of relief. The thought of his son being interned here in this chamber of horrors had chilled him to the bone.
Then reality kicked in and he reminded himself if Francis wasn’t here – as appeared to be the case – he’d be in a similar facility in Africa, and it would take time to get there. Time Francis may not have. Or me for that matter. Even allowing for a clean getaway from Thule, he estimated it would be a good three days before he’d arrive in the DRC.
Resigned to departing Thule Air Base without Francis, Nine looked directly at the controller. The poor man was convinced he was about to be shot. Instead, Nine gagged him using the controller’s own handkerchief then trussed him up using computer cords. He tied him firmly to a protruding gas pipe so he couldn’t move far.
Before opening the door, Nine looked back at the controller. “Following your employer’s instructions is no excuse. You know that, don’t you?”
The controller just looked at him, wide-eyed.
“Don’t you?” Nine repeated, pointing his pistol at the man.
The controller nodded, indicating he did know that.
Nine concealed his weapon and slipped out into the corridor. Closing the door quietly behind him, he heard the familiar click as it self-locked. He hoped it would be at least half an hour before someone found the trussed-up controller. That would give him time to get off the base.
First, he needed to find one or both of his former colleagues, Three and Fourteen. He hoped his fellow Pedemont orphans may be able to reveal information the controller could not.
Nine retraced his steps yet again – this time back to the room where he’d seen the two orphan-operatives.
31
Standing outside the room, Nine quickly looked up and down the corridor. There was no-one in sight. He drew his pistol and then pressed his ear against the door. Not a sound.
Keeping his pistol concealed beneath his white coat, Nine knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again.
“Coming.” A voice came from inside.
Nine recognized the voice was Fourteen’s. Even after all these years, he still recognized the voice of a fellow orphan.
The former operative sensed he was being viewed through the door’s spy hole. He just hoped his technician’s guise would stand up to the scrutiny of his fellow orphan. The door opened, indicating his disguise had stood up to initial scrutiny at least.
Fourteen was exactly as Nine remembered him, only older. The years had not been kind to the operative with the Aryan features. His once youthful Nordic look had been replaced by a hardness that probably reflected the life he’d led since graduating from the orphanage as a fully fledged operative.
“Yes?” Fourteen asked curtly.
The operative seemed annoyed to have been disturbed and Nine wondered if he’d been about to take a nap. He wouldn’t blame him if he had been. After all, it had gone midnight.
“I work in Precinct Eleven,” Nine said maintaining his strong Danish accent. “I have an urgent security matter I wish to discuss.”
“Very well.” Fourteen stepped aside “Come in.”
Nine’s eyes swept the room as he stepped through the doorway. He saw at a glance they had the room to themselves and immediately wondered where Three was. Behind him, Fourteen closed the door and indicated to Nine that he should sit. He obliged, sitting down on the nearest chair. Fourteen sat down facing him.
Surveying the room again, Nine could see it served as a day room for the use of his former colleagues while they were at the base. There was a television set in one corner and a bookshelf in another. Unwashed coffee mugs could be seen in a sink in front of a coffee urn and newspapers lay strewn over a small table.
“Well,” Fourteen asked, “how can I help you?”
Nine stood and handed his opposite the clipboard he’d picked up. He pointed to some doodles the clipboard’s previous owner had left on it. “I’ve been keeping a record of the daily activities in the main lab,” he said.
Fourteen frowned as he tried to make sense of the doodles. He was concentrating so hard he never saw the butt of the machine pistol that smacked against his skull.
Pocketing his pistol, Nine immediately locked the door. He didn’t want to be disturbed by Three, or by anyone else for that matter. The former operative pulled a telephone cord from the wall and used it to firmly tie the unconscious Fourteen’s hands behind his back. Then he propped his fellow orphan up against the wall and waited for him to regain consciousness.
Looking at Fourteen, Nine reviewed what he could recall of him. Of all the Pedemont orphans, Fourteen had been the most studious. What he may have lacked in physicality, he made up for with brainpower and ruthlessness. Nine recalled that next to Seventeen perhaps, Fourteen was the most ruthless of the orphans. Indeed their mentor, Tommy Kentbridge, had once nicknamed Fourteen Mister Ruthless.
A groan indicated the operative was coming to. Nine walked to the sink and poured cold water into a mug. He then threw the mug’s contents over the groggy operative’s face. Fourteen’s eyes flew open as he regained full consciousness.
“Welcome back,” Nine said.
Fourteen squirmed as he tested the bonds that secured his hands.
“No point in struggling,” Nine cautioned. He spoke in his normal voice now. “I used an Axle hitch.”
Fourteen noted the change in his assailant’s accent. He now sounded American.
Nine continued, “I could have used a Barrel knot or a Constrictor knot perhaps, but they have their limitations.” He recited almost verbatim a lecture Kentbridge had once given the orphans on which knots to use to restrain someone. “Or I could have gone for a Killick hitch or a Span loop, but they’re not totally reliable either.” As he spoke, he could see Fourteen trying to work out who his assailant was. “Then again, I could have- -”
“Nine? Is that you?” Fourteen asked. Something about his assailant reminded him of the ninth-born orphan.
“Got it in one. Well done, Fourteen.” Aware he’d already spent too much time at the air base, Nine knelt down in front of his former colleague. “Where’s Three?”
“He went back to the barracks for some shut-eye.”
Nine tried to assess whether Fourteen was lying. All the signs were he was telling the truth. He fished the photo of Francis from his pocket and held it up in front of the operative. “Have you seen my son here?”
Ignoring the question, Fourteen said, “Naylor said you’d probably show up.”
“Yeah well there was a one in two chance I’d come here, so it wouldn’t take Einstein to work that out.”
“How’s life outside Omega, anyway?”
“It’s just fine thanks.” Nine simultaneously held the photo closer to Fourteen’s face and, with his other hand, released the safety catch on his pistol. “Don’t make me ask again.”
Fourteen could see Nine meant business. He looked at the photo and shook his head. “No.”
“Do you know if he was sent here?”
“No. Naylor didn’t tell us that in case this exact scenario eventuated.”
Again, Fourteen seemed to be telling the truth. It made sense to Nine that Naylor wouldn’t have told his operatives which of the labs Francis had been sent to. That way, the truth couldn’t be prized out of them. Nine felt it would be a waste of time asking the next question, but he had to ask it. “Do you know where they sent him?”
Fourteen just shook his head.
Nine wasn’t fazed. I already know the answer anyway. He was resigned to having to travel to the other orphanage in Africa. The former operative stood up and looked around.
“Over there.” Fourteen nodded to a cushion on one of the chairs. He’d already deduced what Nine was looking for.
Nine picked up the cushion and knelt down beside Fourteen again. “Sorry I have to do this.”
Fourteen shrugged.
“I know. It ain’t personal. It’s business.”
Resigned to what was coming, the operative closed his eyes as Nine placed the cushion against his head. Nine pushed the barrel of his pistol hard against the cushion and prepared to pull the trigger.
32
“You could try American Summit Camp,” Fourteen said. His muffled voice could just be heard through the pillow.
“What’s that?” Nine lowered the pillow, but kept his pistol trained on the operative.
“I said you could try American Summit Camp. It’s a scientific station in the dead centre of the ice sheet.”
Nine had heard of the station. He recalled it was established in the late Eighties to support the country’s deep ice-coring efforts. “What about it?”
“I heard new subjects bound for the laboratory here in Thule are sometimes processed at a branch lab near the Summit Camp.”
“How near?”
“Five miles south of the camp. It’s signposted.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
Fourteen didn’t answer.
Satisfied he’d learned all he could from his fellow orphan, Nine returned the cushion to Fourteen’s head and pushed the barrel of his pistol hard into the cushion once again.
This time, Fourteen didn’t close his eyes. He just looked calmly at his fellow orphan.
Nine steeled himself to pull the trigger. He couldn’t do it. Despite their differences, the Pedemont orphans were like family. They’d been brought up together as siblings and the boys looked on each other as brothers. Although they’d since all gone their own separate ways, there was still that bond between them.
With a mighty effort, the former operative forced all such thoughts from his mind. You have to do what’s best for Francis. He steeled himself once more. This time he pulled the trigger.
The retort was muffled so efficiently it wouldn’t have been heard unless someone was standing right outside the door. Fourteen sagged to the side, clearly dead.
Nine quickly checked for a pulse. There was none. He stood up and prepared to leave.
Looking down at the body, he said, “You’re wrong Fourteen. This is very personal.”
For a split second he wondered why the operative had told him about Omega’s branch lab at American Summit Camp. An attack of conscience maybe. He decided his fellow orphan must have wanted to do one decent thing before he met his Maker.
Nine felt himself becoming emotional. He was suddenly filled with remorse. It felt like he’d just killed a brother. Pull yourself together man! He reminded himself that Fourteen had been trying to stop him finding his son, and he daren’t risk leaving him alive as he’d have presented too big a threat.
As he left the room, Nine clung to the hope he may yet find his son in Greenland. Striding along the same corridor he’d trodden earlier, he debated whether to find and kill Three. He dismissed that idea almost at once. Every minute he delayed increased his risk of discovery.
A recurrence of the chest pains he’d suffered earlier caused him to pull up. The pains weren’t as bad as before, but they were bad enough to cause him to lean against the near wall to support himself.
“Are you okay?”
An American woman’s voice startled him.
Nine looked around to see a uniformed nurse hurrying toward him. “I’m fine,” he assured her. “Something I had for dinner doesn’t agree with me.” He managed a smile.
“Well, if you’re sure.” The nurse walked on ahead.
“Thank you,” Nine called after her. He quickly popped a couple of heart pills. As always, they did the trick. He cautiously resumed walking along the corridor and dared not think head to the day the pills no longer worked their magic.
The former operative passed a door that had previously been closed. Glancing through the doorway he saw a sign that read: Children’s Quarters. No unauthorized entry. Nine hesitated. He knew he should keep moving, but here was an opportunity to verify once and for all that Francis wasn’t at this facility.
33
Nine stepped through the doorway into a corridor leading to the advertised sleeping quarters. He strode along it, passing a group of nurses on the way. They took no notice of him. His white coat and clipboard seemed to be a passport to all areas underground.
A door at the end of the corridor opened up into a large dormitory. In the semi-dark, it appeared to be home to some twenty or more sleeping children. These were obviously children who were not currently being tested, poked, electrocuted or otherwise tortured. Nine guessed it was probably one of a dozen or more such dormitories on the premises. It reminded him the lab’s young inmates probably never got to see daylight – not even in a land where the summer sun never set.
A burly English orderly appeared out of the darkness and challenged Nine. “Who are you?” His accent signalled he was a Cockney.
“Anker Frevert,” Nine replied falling back on his Danish accent. Recalling the name tag of one of the scientists he’d seen earlier, he added, “Professor Hipkiss asked me to check the sleeping patterns of the children in this room.”
“Why?”
“Who knows why the good Professor wants anything? I just carry out orders.”
The orderly chuckled. “You ’n me both, mate.” He continued on his rounds.
Nine approached the nearest bunk and found a young girl fast asleep beneath the blankets. He woke her gently. Showing her the photo of Francis by the light of a pen torch he carried, he asked, “Do you know this boy?”
The sleepy girl studied the photo then shook her head. “No sir, I don’t.” She spoke in the gruff voice of a grown man.
Nine recoiled from her and hurried to the next bunk where he got the same answer – this time from a boy whose face and hands showed signs of recent burn marks. He repeated the exercise another six times, each time getting the same answer the first two children had given him. None had seen Francis.
Now convinced beyond doubt his son wasn’t here, Nine hurried to remove himself from the premises. He felt sad for all the children he was leaving behind, but in truth there was nothing he could do. He’d need an army to help them.
#
Nine’s departure from Thule Air Base was surprisingly uneventful. Surprising because he’d spent three hours impersonating someone else inside one of the most secure facilities in the Northern Hemisphere, and in that time had incapacitated three people – in one case permanently – and still hadn’t been found out let alone apprehended.
The former operative had slipped back into the guise of Danish photo-journalist Johannes Petersson complete with fake ginger beard. As he drove his rental car from the base to the nearby port, he wasn’t to know he’d had a freakish run of good luck that was set to continue for a few hours yet.
Firstly, the hapless airman he’d left trussed up in the back of the Land Rover and the frightened controller he’d left tied up in the lab’s control office wouldn’t be discovered until the day shift personnel reported for duty. That wouldn’t be until eight in the morning, another five hours away. And secondly, Three wouldn’t find Fourteen’s body until the air base’s alarms woke him from his slumbers and alerted him to the fact that there’d been a serious security breach.
If Nine had known that, he’d have relaxed a little. As it was, he drove to the port fully expecting to be pulled over at any second.
It was with some relief he arrived at the main wharf and saw his Albermarle charter boat ready and waiting for him. After passing through the security gate without incident, he drove to the end of the wharf and parked the car beside the same yellow boatshed he’d visited earlier. There was no sign of Hans, the boatshed owner, which suited Nine just fine.
The former operative quickly transferred his luggage to the boat then locked the car, placed the key in an envelope and slipped it beneath the boatshed’s locked door, just as he’d arranged with the car hire firm. Then he returned to the Albermarle, cast off her mooring lines, fired up her powerful twin inboard diesel engin
e and motored out into the bay.
Ahead of him was a journey of some seventy-four nautical miles south to the small settlement of Savissivik.
Despite the early hour, Nine had plenty of company in the bay. The crew of a fishing boat returning to the port gave him a wave, and a crewmember aboard another fishing boat departing the port also acknowledged him. He noticed stevedores working the night shift also taking an interest in the Albermarle as she headed for open sea.
There was no doubt the Albermarle’s departure had been noted and that would be duly reported. Sooner or later, someone would put two and two together.
Nine knew full well when the alarm finally went up at the air base, the authorities would act quickly to cut off all escape routes from Thule. And if they didn’t, Three certainly would.
The former operative had estimated that traveling at near-maximum speed he had a journey of almost two hours ahead of him. Plenty of time to be apprehended, or blown out of the water! He just hoped he’d reach his destination before the balloon went up.
34
While Nine was cruising south from Thule along Greenland’s ice-free west coast, Isabelle was preparing for sleep in the bedroom she shared with one of her host family’s children in Tahiti. She was exhausted after another day of doing nothing in the tropical heat.
The day had gone like every other since Seventeen had joined her at the commune that was now home to them both. In the three days they had been together, they’d hardly shared more than a dozen words. Such was the animosity Isabelle felt toward the woman who had killed her parents. Most of the time had been spent keeping out of each other’s way and staying out of the hot sun as much as they could.
Seventeen’s only respite had been a daily visit to one of Papeete’s Internet café’s to check the email account Nine had set up for her under an assumed name before she’d left Chicago. So far, after each visit, she’d had to report back to Isabelle that there was no word from her husband.
That had only served to depress Isabelle further. If that wasn’t bad enough, the baby had been moving a lot of late, causing the Frenchwoman added discomfort on top of her other aches and pains.