The Orphan Uprising (The Orphan Trilogy, #3)

by James Morcan

  Seventeen found what she was looking for – a parking spot that afforded glorious views over the township below. Disembarking from the Jeep, she strolled to a lookout to admire the views.

  Just then a late model convertible passed by, catching Seventeen’s eye. Its fire-engine red paintwork made it hard to miss. And its top was down so Seventeen caught a glimpse of the driver. Fifteen! It had only been for an instant, but Seventeen was sure it was her fellow orphan.

  Fearing Fifteen was onto them, Seventeen jumped into the Jeep, started it up and headed back downhill. She drove fast and soon had the convertible in view.

  A few minutes later, Seventeen held her breath as the convertible approached the turnoff leading to her motel. Thankfully, Fifteen continued driving south toward the peninsula. Seventeen followed at a discreet distance for a mile or so until it was clear that her fellow orphan really was departing Taravoa.

  The former operative returned to the motel. There, she found her sister-in-law looking at a small framed photo of Nine and Francis she was holding. Isabelle had obviously been crying.

  “What’s wrong?” Seventeen asked.

  “Nothing,” Isabelle lied. Knowing that Seventeen had gone to check her emails, she asked, “Anything from Sebastian?”

  Seventeen shook her head.

  “Something must be wrong,” Isabelle murmured.

  “No news is good news.”

  “You think so?”

  “Definitely.” Seventeen tried to sound and look more positive than she felt. “If Sebastian had bad news he’d let us know.”

  Seventeen’s words had a calming effect on Isabelle. The look of despair on the Frenchwoman’s face was replaced by hope. Seventeen realized that hope may be misguided, but she said nothing. Nor did she tell Isabelle she’d just seen one of the Omega operatives who were hunting them.

  40

  While Isabelle and Seventeen were making the most of a bad situation, the mixed-race orphan-operative Three was surveying outbound passengers in the Departures Lounge at Kangerlussuaq International Airport.

  The Omega operative was looking out for Nine, and he wasn’t alone. He had the assistance of three CIA agents whom Marcia Wilson had despatched from the firm’s Berlin office at Naylor’s request. One of them was currently with Three in the airport’s upstairs Departure Lounge while the other two were downstairs, monitoring outbound travellers who were checking in.

  The same scenario was being repeated at Greenland’s other international airports. More Omega operatives had been called in to try to stop Nine leaving the country and they, too, were being supported by seconded CIA agents.

  For Three, the mission had suddenly become personal. The termination of Fourteen back at the Thule Air Base lab had occurred on Three’s watch, and he wasn’t happy about that. He knew he was in Naylor’s bad books as a result of what had gone down and was intent on redeeming himself.

  While Three was looking out for Nine, he was himself being observed. Lars Khader had been watching out for a gentleman of Three’s description arriving from Thule after Nine had called him from the chopper. It hadn’t taken Einstein to deduce that the mixed-race traveller who arrived dressed in civvies aboard a US Air Force chopper soon after that call was Three.

  The big biker had observed the operative studying other travellers at the airport and briefing three similarly dressed, fit-looking individuals at the same time.

  Like Three, Lars wasn’t working alone either. His network of eyes and ears extended to employees of Greenland’s major airports – in particular the baggage handlers and airline ground staff. Moving huge quantities of illegal drugs around the country required the cooperation of such people. Mindful of this, Lars had been busy in recent months lining the palms of people he thought could help him.

  The time had arrived to call in a few favors. Because he needed to depart to meet Nine at another location, Lars had quietly recruited the services of several airport personnel who were in his debt. He had surreptitiously pointed out Three and the CIA agents, and asked his contacts to keep him informed of their movements by cell phone.

  Now, as Lars awaited the arrival of Nine’s chopper in a forest clearing on a farmlet on the outskirts of Kangerlussuaq, he was receiving calls every five minutes updating him on the movements of the mysterious men who were so keenly observing departing travellers at the airport.

  One of the calls alarmed him. A barman working in the Departure Lounge reported that Three had departed the airport not long after Lars had left. The barman said a baggage handler had confirmed that the agent had driven off in a rental car, and he appeared to be in a hurry. Lars hoped there was an innocent explanation for that.

  The familiar whirring of blades alerted him to the chopper’s arrival. Low cloud cover hid the approaching chopper from view, but Lars estimated it would land within the next couple of minutes.

  Whirring blades was the last sound Lars heard. He never even saw the arm that encircled his throat nor the hand that snapped his neck.

  Three let his victim fall to the ground then stepped back to admire his handiwork. Lars had fallen awkwardly, his arms, legs and head splayed at odd angles. His sightless eyes stared up at his killer. Three thought he looked more like a rag doll than a Hells Angels gang leader.

  The Omega operative almost regretted that he’d surprised his victim and hadn’t given him the opportunity to make a fight of it. He guessed the big man would have given him a run for his money.

  Lars would never know that Three had realized from the outset he was being observed at the airport. The operative had quickly identified Lars as the observer and had pointed him out to the CIA agents he was collaborating with.

  When Lars had left the airport astride his Harley-Davidson, one of the CIA agents – a nondescript, thirtysomething man uncharitably referred to as Shag by his colleagues – had followed him to the farmlet. Shag had alerted Three who had joined him soon after.

  The CIA agent placed the sniper’s rifle he was carrying on the ground then tried dragging Lars into the nearby spruce trees. Grunting, he looked around at Three. “Help me, will you?” The big biker was a handful for one man.

  Three helped Shag drag the body out of sight.

  “What about the Harley?” Shag asked.

  “Leave it where it is. He’ll be expecting to see it.”

  Shag retrieved his rifle and re-joined Three under cover of the trees just as the chopper dropped below the cloud cover above them.

  Three drew his pistol from a shoulder holster. “Remember, the passenger’s mine.” He had to shout to make himself heard above the sound of the chopper. “You take the pilot.”

  Shag nodded and the two professionals separated. They knew to follow protocol and establish a field of fire from opposite sides of their target.

  Inside the chopper, Nine studied the terrain as the craft descended. He was no longer in disguise, having dispensed with his Inuit guise during the flight from the ice sheet. The forest clearing came into view and he drew out his machine pistol in readiness for the landing.

  Nine saw the Harley, but there was no sign of Lars. He thought that odd as the biker had phoned him on his cell from the clearing five minutes earlier to advise it was all clear. He’d assumed Lars would be in the clearing with his bike.

  Just before the chopper dropped below the treeline, Nine noticed a hundred yards or so off to his right two late model cars parked outside an old farmhouse. He found that odd, too, as Lars had assured him he’d come alone.

  “I don’t like this,” Nine said aloud as the chopper continued its descent.

  Rasmus slowed the chopper’s descent and prepared to land. The craft’s skids were now only a few feet off the ground.

  Nine was growing increasingly concerned. Still there was no sign of Lars. He should be here. Then he saw it – a shadowy figure in the trees. Whoever it was, he was too short to be the biker. “Abort the landing!” Nine screamed. “Abort!”

  Rasmus reacted quickly, jerking on t
he joystick, but he was still too slow to avoid the heavy calibre bullet that smashed through the front windscreen and lodged in his brain.

  The chopper tilted over and began rising at a forty-five degree angle to the ground, its engine screaming. Nine tried to prize Rasmus’ lifeless fingers from the joystick, but was powerless to prevent the chopper’s blades striking the upper branches of the surrounding trees.

  The out-of-control craft carved a path through the treetops until it ran out of steam. Its blades stopped turning and the chopper fell to the ground.

  From Nine’s perspective, the chopper’s death-throes seemed to happen in slow motion. In reality, it was all over in a matter of seconds. In that short space of time however, the chopper had carried its passenger a good fifty yards from the forest clearing and from the killers waiting for him there.

  Three and his companion had reacted quickly when the chopper crashed. However, the undergrowth was dense and it took them a couple of minutes to reach the craft’s final resting place. When they arrived, they found the chopper upside down on the ground. Smoke rose from its engine and sparks threatened to turn the craft into a fireball.

  The pilot’s body could be seen through the smoke. Rasmus was still at the controls, strapped in his seat. There was no sign of Nine.

  Three motioned to Shag to go one way and he went the other. The Omega operative was cursing. This was not going to plan.

  When the chopper had struck the ground, it was only Nine’s seatbelt that saved him from being thrown through the windscreen. The impact had left him dazed and winded. His ribs hurt – a result of the seatbelt’s resistance to the centrifugal forces that had thrown him forward – and he wondered if he actually had broken a rib or two.

  Nine’s first thought had been to escape the smoking chopper before it burst into flames. He’d scrambled to extricate himself from the smoking craft. Safely on the ground, his next thought had been to evade whoever it was he’d seen waiting for him in the trees, and he’d sought to distance himself from the chopper as quickly as he could.

  In the first couple of minutes, Nine had identified two people pushing through the dense undergrowth. It had been clear to him they were prepared to sacrifice stealth for speed in their haste to reach the downed chopper. Now there was only silence.

  41

  Nine knew they were coming for him and was grateful he had his machine pistol. He estimated he’d moved perhaps fifty yards from the crash site. His path had taken him toward the farmhouse he’d seen earlier. What to do? He debated whether to sit tight and wait for his quarry to show themselves or whether to keep moving. Problems either way. He decided to keep moving. The longer he delayed, the more time his quarry had to call in reinforcements.

  The former Omega operative thought if he could get to the farmhouse without being spotted, he could possibly jump-start one of the cars he’d seen and get away.

  Nine wondered what had happened to Lars. Logic told him the men who were now hunting him had dealt with the biker. I could do with your help right now, my Viking friend. He pressed on.

  Movement in the undergrowth nearby warned Nine that he had company. Crouching behind a bush, pistol raised, he saw Shag approaching. The agent had his rifle at the ready and was literally tip-toeing through the forest to avoid standing on a branch or twig. He seemed oblivious to the fact that, in the still of the forest, he might as well be an elephant crashing through the undergrowth.

  Nine debated whether to shoot the agent or try to subdue him quietly. He decided the latter too risky, so promptly killed him with three well-placed bullets.

  Forty yards away, the burst of gunfire that shattered the silence immediately told Three where his quarry was. The lack of return fire also told him his back-up had been taken out of the picture. Now it was just him and Nine.

  Three began moving toward the sound then pulled up when he realized Nine was coming toward him. He hid behind a tree and waited.

  Nine realized he was making too much noise, but it couldn’t be helped. His intention was still to reach the farmhouse and make his getaway from there. To do that, he had to keep moving. He’d entered an especially dense patch of undergrowth and was having trouble pushing through it. In the process, he advertised his whereabouts loud and clear.

  Three waited until his fellow orphan had passed his hiding place before revealing himself. “Freeze!” he ordered.

  Nine pulled up. He didn’t have to look behind him to know he’d been out-maneuvered.

  “Drop the gun then turn around slowly,” Three said.

  Nine did as he was told. He smiled when he saw the orphan he’d grown up with all those years earlier. “Well, well. I should have known it would be you.”

  “You’ve been up to your old tricks, I see.” Three returned the smile. It was a cold smile with little affection behind it.

  The mixed-race operative’s stance was relaxed and his demeanor casual, but Nine noted the pistol he held was rock-steady and pointed straight at him.

  “Still causing problems for Omega, eh Nine?” Three asked.

  “More than a few I hope.” Nine continued to assess his opposite as he spoke. Three appeared to be as fit and dangerous as ever. Despite the exertions of the last few minutes, the operative appeared to be hardly breathing. That reminded Nine how dangerous the man could be. “What now?” he asked.

  Three seemed ready to shoot Nine. He hesitated as another idea came to him. “Lead the way back to the clearing.” He indicated with his pistol the direction Nine should take.

  Nine set off. What are you up to, Three? The operative followed a prudent distant behind, pistol ready. As they walked, Nine looked for an opportunity to turn the tables. There was none.

  They soon reached the clearing. Through the trees, Nine could see Lars’ bike parked where he’d left it. Again he wondered where the big man was. Then he saw Lars’ body just inside the treeline. He didn’t need to inspect the biker to know he was dead. Lars’ head was thrown at an unnatural angle to one side, his neck clearly broken.

  “You’ll see I found your friend,” Three said matter-of-factly.

  “If you’re gonna shoot me, shoot me!” Nine snapped. He hated Three at that moment.

  Three shoved Nine toward a tree. “Spread,” he said.

  The former operative realized Three intended to frisk him. He did as asked, leaning against the tree’s trunk and spreading his legs. Three expertly frisked him, confirming he was unarmed.

  Three spun him around, pointing his pistol between Nine’s eyes. “I have something better than a bullet planned for you, my friend.”

  Three ordered Nine to stand in the middle of the clearing. The former operative fully expected to be shot then and there. To his surprise, Three placed his pistol behind a tree then joined him in the clearing. It dawned on Nine that his fellow orphan wanted to kill him with his bare hands.

  Nine’s initial reaction was one of intense relief. Under normal circumstances he’d be dead by now. However, he soon recalled he wasn’t in the best of health while Three looked as fit as ever. I know who I’d put my money on right now. Regardless, he clung to hope.

  “Let’s settle this the old fashioned way,” Three said as he went into a fighter’s crouch and began circling Nine. The mixed-race operative was in his element now. This was what he lived for – pitting his speed and strength against a worthy opponent. The very thought of what was to come excited him. He crouched low, looking for an opening.

  Nine’s thoughts were very different to Three’s. He was aware there was more than just his life at stake. Also at stake was Francis’ life and possibly the lives of Isabelle and their unborn child. He was also remembered once again that he wasn’t the fighting machine he once was. His heart condition had taken its toll. And if that wasn’t enough, his injured ribs hurt like hell.

  42

  Three attacked first, feinting with a left hook while kicking out ju-jitsu style with his right foot. Nine just managed to avoid the blow, but he was too slow to
dodge the right cross that followed. It clipped his jaw, stunning him for a second or two. If it had landed flush, it would have knocked him out cold.

  That first exchange reminded Nine how deadly Teleoites was. The brainchild of their mentor, Tommy Kentbridge, it was a mix of all the martial arts – ju-jitsu, karate, boxing and judo included. His expertise in Teleoites had saved his life more than once, and had ended the life of at least half a dozen assailants during his operational years.

  Nine didn’t wait for Three to come at him again. He took the initiative and launched himself at his opposite, hurting him with a swinging elbow that connected above Three’s eye and caused a nasty gash. Three subconsciously licked at the blood as it tricked down into his mouth.

  Encouraged by his early success, Nine employed one of his favourite strategies, simultaneously throwing punches and kicking without let-up. Three was forced to back-peddle to avoid the blows. Picking his moment, he ducked beneath a punch and used his right foot to sweep Nine’s legs out from under him. Nine went down hard and Three was onto him in a flash.

  All Nine could do was cover up as Three rained blows down on him from all angles. He could feel his energy draining and wasn’t sure how much more punishment he could take. Heart pains served as a warning that he needed to finish this quick if he was to survive.

  Sensing Nine was fading, Three used a wrestling technique to get behind his opponent and employ a strangulation grip. He placed his left forearm across Nine’s throat and, with his right hand, slowly tightened the grip.

  Nine was struggling to breathe. He knew he’d be asphyxiated if he didn’t escape the hold Three had on him. But try as he may, he couldn’t dislodge the vice-like grip.