The Orphan Uprising (The Orphan Trilogy, #3)

by James Morcan

  Skimming the email one last time, Nine clicked Send. Watching it go gave him great pleasure. The former operative then posted the explosive information on various social networks including Facebook and Twitter. He was confident it would soon go viral.

  Ignoring the impotent glares Numero Uno continued to direct his way, Nine then opened the second email. An exact copy of the first, it was for his European attorneys and contained new instructions for them. Those instructions included a directive to immediately forward the email to appropriate agencies, media and politicians throughout Europe.

  After skimming this email, he clicked Send. As soon as the Message Sent notice appeared, Nine felt he could relax slightly. Let the games begin. He was aware the emails and their damning attachments would put the Omega Agency in the public spotlight for the first time in its history. They would also ensure Naylor and his fellow directors would be put to the proverbial blowtorch.

  The former operative’s motivation for sending the emails was to put Omega into a state of disarray and give his former masters more to worry about than trying to stop him finding Francis. He hoped that with an ounce of luck it would be smooth sailing from here on – for Francis and himself, and for Isabelle and Seventeen.

  Nine had been so involved with rescuing his son, he hadn’t thought about his wife in a while. He suddenly felt guilty and wondered whether the baby had arrived yet.

  The former operative’s thoughts were disrupted when Ten returned holding Francis.

  “Papa!” Francis beamed.

  Nine took his son from the operative and hugged him tight for the second time that night. “Hello, boy.” The happy father found it hard to contain himself. He felt like dancing around the room and laughing with joy.

  “I knew you’d find me,” Francis said.

  Nine couldn’t help himself: the floodgates opened, and he cried as he’d never cried before.

  An anxious Ten placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We need to get outta here.”

  Nine pulled himself together. He looked intently at his fellow orphan. “You sure you want to do this?”

  Ten grinned. “It’s too late to back out now, isn’t it?” He looked pointedly at his trussed-up colleague.

  “I dunno what to say, bud.”

  “Don’t say anything. Just get me and the boy outta here.” As an afterthought Ten added, “I assume you know how to do that?”

  Nine winked at him knowingly then turned back to Francis and kissed his cheek. “I need you to be very quiet for me. Can you do that, son?”

  Wide-eyed and no longer sleepy, Francis nodded.

  “Good boy.” Nine turned to Ten. “Let’s go.” Still holding Francis, he picked up his backpack and hurried from the office. He didn’t even spare One a glance as he departed. In the corridor outside, he dropped his smart phone into a wastepaper bin – a precaution against Omega finding him as a result of tracing the emails he’d just sent from the phone.

  Ten followed. Before closing the door behind him, he looked back at the big Native-American. “Don’t go anywhere, Numero Uno,” Ten said. The last sight he had of One was him glaring at him as the door closed. Ten locked the door after him and hurried after Nine.

  81

  Members of the same Thai family who had sheltered Isabelle and Seventeen previously were now anxiously gathered around Seventeen as their family doctor, also a Thai, probed the former operative’s flesh with a scalpel. He was looking for the bullet that had smashed her collarbone.

  While the wound wasn’t life-threatening, it was messy and Seventeen was bleeding quite heavily. The operation was being performed under local anaesthetic, so the patient was fully aware of what was happening.

  Seventeen knew she was lucky to be alive. Nineteen had come close to killing her in her hotel room, and how she’d subsequently evaded him in her little Honda rental car she wasn’t quite sure.

  After phoning Chai from the car parking building just before she’d passed out, the Thai had arrived within the hour and transferred her, unobserved, into the back of his Land Rover. From there, he’d driven Seventeen straight to the family commune where the doctor, an elderly man who reminded her of Confucius, was already waiting for her.

  The doctor gave a little exclamation as he found the bullet. Clasping it with a pair of tweezers, he withdrew it and held it up triumphantly for all to see. Chai and other family members nodded in appreciation of the doctor’s skill. They and the doctor then conferred, speaking their native tongue in hushed tones.

  “What is it?” Seventeen asked.

  Chai approached her. “The doctor says your collarbone has been splintered. He wants us to get you to the hospital.”

  “No hospital, Chai,” Seventeen said firmly.

  Chai nodded. He seemed perplexed – frightened even – but didn’t say what was bothering him.

  Seventeen guessed what was on the young man’s mind. While she was at the commune, she was putting Chai’s family at risk. They were all very aware there were people in Tahiti who wanted her dead and who wouldn’t rest until she was. Anyone found giving her shelter was putting themselves in obvious danger. Seventeen reached out to Chai. “Can you take me to Isabelle’s village?”

  Chai’s face immediately lit up. He liked the sound of that. “Yes,” he said.

  “Good. We can leave now if you like.”

  “Are you sure?” He wasn’t certain Seventeen should be moved so soon after being operated on.

  “Well, as soon as the good doctor here has stitched me up.”

  Chai quickly conferred with the doctor again. The doctor nodded and immediately began stitching his patient’s wound.

  #

  In CNN’s Los Angeles newsroom, cadet journalist Randy Jenkins was racing to finish typing a local news story before his shift ended. It was his last stint working nights and he was looking forward to resuming normal daytime shifts.

  This particular shift had been busier than usual as the duty editor was away and Randy was having to check his superior’s incoming emails from time to time, to ensure nothing newsworthy slipped through the cracks.

  The familiar ding from the duty editor’s computer in an adjoining office alerted the young journo to the arrival of yet another email. Annoyed at the latest disruption, he walked next door to check it.

  Randy had to read the email twice before it dawned on him it was no ordinary news story. While he’d never heard of the email’s sender, one Sebastian Hannar, the cadet could tell he was looking at a potentially explosive scoop.

  Senior journalist Darren Henderson chose that moment to check on Randy. The deputy editor had asked Henderson to keep an eye on the lad, so he made a point of looking in on him every half hour or so. “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “You better look at this,” Randy said.

  Picking up on the excitement in the young man’s voice, Henderson looked over Randy’s shoulder at the email. He did a double take as he digested the email’s opening paragraph. “What the hell?”

  “My sentiments exactly,” Randy said.

  Henderson pushed the young cadet aside and studied the email’s contents. By the time he opened the first of the two attachments, he was shaking with excitement.

  Similar scenes were being played out at that very moment in newsrooms, intelligence and law enforcement agencies, private offices and even in a few private residences around the world.

  #

  At CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, the firm’s Director Marcia Wilson was reading the same email. It had been forwarded to her by an FBI mole her agents were cultivating. She, too, was shaking. But it wasn’t because she was excited. Marcia was horrified, frightened and alarmed all at the same time.

  #

  In the White House Oval Office, in Washington D.C., the President received an urgent phone call from his Vice President. Not trusting the fact he’d called over the secure line, and fearful others could be listening, the Vice President simply said, “Omega is about to go into rece
ivership.”

  The President knew immediately what his Vice President was talking about. The coded phrase he’d used meant that Omega’s cover was blown and they were finished.

  82

  Naylor was dictating correspondence to his PA in his office at Omega’s HQ when his phone rang. His PA answered it. The caller was one of the agency’s directors, Scott Henderson, a New York-based publishing mogul.

  The PA handed the phone to her boss. “It’s Scott Henderson, for you.”

  Naylor took the phone. “Hello Scott.”

  “We need to talk privately,” Henderson said.

  Naylor waved one hand dismissively at his PA and she quickly left the room. “What’s up?” He flicked a switch so that Henderson was on speakerphone.

  “I take it you haven’t heard the news?”

  “What news?’

  “Turn on CNN. Now.”

  Naylor didn’t like Henderson’s tone. He had a foreboding feeling as he pressed the TV remote on his desktop. The wall-mounted television screen flickered to life and the Omega boss watched as a female reporter delivered a news report live to camera.

  “Repeating this breaking news,” the reporter said, “allegations have been made that a secret American organization believed to be a major player in the New World Order is behind a raft of criminal activities spanning the past 30 years.”

  Naylor sat bolt upright in his chair. He suddenly felt dizzy and close to collapse.

  The reporter continued, “The organization named at the center of the allegations is the Omega Agency whose headquarters are said to be in a subterranean facility in the state of Illinois. The allegations have been made by a Sebastian Hannar, who claims he is a former employee of the agency. If proven to be correct, the allegations could prove disastrous for the current Administration.”

  Naylor watched and listened in stunned silence. He could feel another headache coming on and his lazy eye was starting to twitch uncontrollably. His worst nightmare was coming true.

  “Mister Hannar has provided information to CNN that would seem to support his allegations,” the reporter continued. “CNN’s lawyers are investigating the legal ramifications of releasing details of the allegations. Until their findings are in, we are limited in what we can say. However, we can say the most concerning of the allegations are to do with clandestine Omega Agency-run medical laboratories. Mister Hannar alleges these facilitate unsanctioned scientific experiments on children who are either orphans or who have been forcibly removed from their natural parents. We understand law enforcement officials are en route to the laboratories named to investigate these particular allegations now.”

  “Are you watching this?” Henderson asked.

  Naylor was so transfixed and engrossed by what was unfolding on screen he’d forgotten his fellow director was on the other end of the line. In their separate offices, they watched as photos of themselves and the other Omega directors appeared on screen. The reporter named the directors, giving prominence to Naylor and fellow director Marcia Wilson.

  “Andrew Naylor, said to be one of the original founding members of the agency, has been named as chairman of Omega’s board, while fellow director Marcia Wilson is none other than the current Director of the CIA,” the reporter said. “Omega’s whistle-blower claims Miss Wilson’s involvement with the secret organization represents a conflict of interest that threatens the very security of the United States.”

  Naylor had seen and heard enough. He switched his television set off and tried to marshal his thoughts.

  “What the hell are we going to do, Andrew?” Henderson asked.

  Naylor couldn’t think straight. This was a worst case scenario and, truth be known, he hadn’t planned for it because he never believed it would come to this. Now that it had, he could feel himself slipping into panic mode.

  “Andrew?”

  Pulling himself together, Naylor said, “Stay by your phone. I’m going to organize a conference call right now. It’s imperative we are all on the same page when the media vultures descend on us.” The Omega boss ended the call then began massaging his temple. His headache was becoming intolerable.

  Naylor pressed a buzzer beneath his desk. A moment later, his PA looked in.

  “You called, sir?”

  “Organize an immediate conference call involving all the directors. No exceptions. Tell them it’s urgent.”

  “Yes sir.” The PA hurried to do Naylor’s bidding. She could tell by the look on his face he wasn’t exaggerating when he said it was urgent. Something was up. Something big.

  83

  Following the same underground route and consulting the same plans he’d used to access the lab at the Air Force base, Nine had reached the disused warehouse outside the base’s perimeter fence in less than fifteen minutes. The return journey had been incident-free except five minutes into it Nine had to ask Ten to carry Francis as the boy was becoming too heavy for him. Ten saw that something was ailing his friend, but hadn’t said anything.

  Dawn was breaking as they emerged from the tunnel into the disused warehouse. Nine cautiously led the way to the rental van he’d left parked outside. Opening its rear door, he looked at Francis. “Can you be a good boy and lie down on the seat?” He didn’t want anyone seeing his son in case the word was already out that Francis had been taken from the lab.

  Francis, still wide awake, nodded. He was starting to enjoy this new adventure with his hero.

  The former operative lay Francis down on the rear seat. “Good boy.” He turned back to Ten. “I’m sorry I had to get you involved in this.”

  “Listen, old friend,” Ten said sincerely. “You opened my eyes back there. I don’t know what I was thinking.” It was clear he didn’t have a clue he’d been in a mind-controlled state, and Nine didn’t have time to explain it to him. “Anyways, I’d rather die a free man than live like a robot.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Nine grinned. Then he grew serious. “Listen, we have to part company here. I- -”

  “You don’t have to explain,” Ten interjected. “I’m already ahead of you.” The operative knew exactly why Nine was suggesting they split. He tapped his right forearm, indicating he hadn’t forgotten the miniature microchip embedded in it. Like Nine, he was very aware he could be tracked at any time by his Omega masters. “I’ll get it removed first thing.”

  “Make that a priority. They’ll be looking for you as soon as they know you’ve bailed.”

  Ten nodded. He understood. By his reckoning he had a couple of hours before anyone would notice he or Francis had gone missing. The big danger was someone could find One in the meantime, but there was nothing he could do about that. Either way, he knew he had to act fast.

  “Where will you go?” a concerned Nine asked.

  “To the first medical clinic I find open in Vegas.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you a lift into town then we really must separate.”

  “Sounds good.”

  The two jumped into the van and drove back toward Las Vegas. Much as Nine felt grateful to his friend, he couldn’t wait to part company because of the danger Ten’s microchip presented to himself and to his son. He knew someone at Omega could be watching Ten’s movements at that very moment on a computer screen. And if for any reason they were suspicious, they could arrange for the operative to be apprehended, or worse, by someone on the ground in Las Vegas in no time at all.

  As if reading Nine’s mind, Ten pointed to cab parked in a cab rank up ahead. “Drop me there.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yup.”

  Nine pulled up opposite the cab rank and held his right hand out to Ten. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for us.”

  “Me either,” Ten grinned.

  “As soon as you’ve attended to that microchip, get off the grid and stay off it. Got that?”

  “Got it.”

  “That means no credit cards, no phone calls, no contact with anyone you know.”

  “Yes mother.�
�

  “And never be yourself again. Get into disguise and stay in disguise.”

  “Don’t you have somewhere you should be?” Ten grinned mischievously at Nine then turned around and winked at Francis. Jumping out of the van, he slammed the door shut, banged the side of the van twice with the palm of his hand then waved Nine on his way.

  As Nine resumed driving toward downtown Las Vegas, he observed his friend in the rear vision mirror and silently wished him well. At that moment, Ten was where he had been five years earlier when he’d fled Omega and gotten off the grid.

  The distant howl of sirens reached Nine through the van’s open window. It came from the direction of Nellis Air Force Base. No sooner had he heard it than more sirens shattered the early morning calm. Seconds later, three police cars sped past, sirens howling and lights flashing. They were heading toward the base. And so it begins. Nine guessed his emails had already set new events in motion.

  Moments later a CBS News van sped past. It was also heading toward the base, leaving Nine in no doubt his emails were behind the sudden activity.

  84

  The Omega Agency’s board was in disarray. That much was obvious even before the urgent conference call Naylor had requested got underway. Marcia Wilson had resigned from the board as soon as the media storm broke; Naylor’s longsuffering PA tasked with organizing the call advised her anxious boss that two other directors had gone to ground and couldn’t be contacted, another had ended up in hospital with chest pains and yet another – founding member Bill Sterling – had committed suicide.

  Marcia’s resignation wasn’t unexpected. In her capacity as Director of the CIA, her involvement with Omega had become untenable since she and the agency had so publicly been linked. There was already widespread speculation that she would soon be relieved of her post at the CIA and may face criminal charges. Similar rumors and speculation swirled about Naylor and, indeed, around all Omega’s directors.