by James Morcan
“We go out there, we die,” Nine said. “We stay here, we die.” He spoke with a calmness that amazed the others given the urgency of their situation. Pointing to a rope he’d spotted coiled on the far side of the room, he said, “Someone grab that rope.”
While his fellow orphan Thirteen scurried across the room to retrieve the rope, Nine looked at One then pointed to an air vent high on a nearby wall. As if reading Nine’s mind, Numero Uno jumped up onto a desk with his borrowed crowbar and set about removing the air vent cover from the wall. It soon gave way and fell onto the desktop.
“There’s our escape route,” said Nine. “It’ll take us to the outside of the building where Tommy’s waiting for us. You lead the way, Numero Uno.” Nine took the coiled rope from Thirteen and handed it up to One. “You’ll need that.”
The Native American boy looped the rope over his shoulder, hoisted himself up into the air vent and disappeared from sight as he began crawling along it.
“How do we know it’ll lead to the outside of the building?” Seventeen asked.
“Air vents always lead to the outside,” Nine replied.
Seventeen scowled at Nine, but mercifully held her tongue.
Jumping up onto the desktop, Nine looked down at Seven, an African-American boy who wore a backpack. “You next, Seven. And take care of that document.” Nine knew Seven had the recovered Omega document in his backpack.
The other orphans queued, awaiting their turn. Nine was relieved they’d fallen into line. Not a moment too soon. The air was becoming pungent as its oxygen was relentlessly replaced by H2S. Nine, like all the orphans, was feeling light-headed and breathing was becoming even more difficult. They were all coughing now.
One by one, the children entered the air vent. Soon, only Nine remained in the storeroom. He glanced nervously at the door. It and the hastily erected barricades were rapidly giving way to the blows of sledgehammers. I need to buy us some time. Nine quickly gathered up papers from the desktop and the desk’s drawers, and crammed them into a bin before retrieving a cigarette lighter from his pocket and setting fire to the paper.
It was a calculated risk. He knew H2S was combustible, but he was also aware it needed to be at a certain density before igniting. He just hoped the deadly gas hadn’t reached the required density yet. If it had, he and anyone else in the vicinity would be toast. So far, so good: the pile of paper burned harmlessly.
The orphan hoisted himself up into the air vent and began crawling along it. Breathing immediately became easier as fresh air filled his lungs. He removed his torn shirt from around his face as he continued crawling.
Nine caught up to the others in no time. He was relieved to see the air vent did lead to the outside of the building. It opened out onto an enclosed balcony just big enough to accommodate himself and the other three orphans still in the building. Looking over the edge, he was even more relieved to see Kentbridge and the first four orphans on the ground twenty odd floors below. They were waiting anxiously for the remaining orphans to abseil down the rope Numero Uno had tied to a protruding pipe.
After another sixty seconds, only Nine and Seventeen remained on the balcony.
“You go first,” Nine said.
For once, Seventeen wasn’t going to argue. She scrambled over the balcony and began abseiling down, happy to leave Nine to face the music alone.
“And make it quick!” Nine called after her. Aware the pipe the rope was tied to would only hold one person at a time, he had to wait until Seventeen was safely down before climbing down after her.
Behind him, he heard a commotion as the Nexus assassins finally smashed their way into the storeroom. Now he had them to contend with as well as the risk of being blown to hell in an explosion.
In the storeroom, the Nexus assassins pinpointed the orphans’ escape route. Several climbed up into the air vent and began crawling along it, holding their weapons in front of them; others spotted the fire Nine had lit and hastened to extinguish it.
7
Nine was twenty feet from the ground, abseiling at speed down from the balcony, when the inevitable happened. A mighty explosion blew the building’s roof off and a fireball erupted from the air vent, incinerating those inside it. The rope disintegrated, sending Nine flying. He landed in a heap at Kentbridge’s feet, winded but unharmed.
As the sound of the explosions faded, the screams of the few Nexus assassins who had survived could be heard.
Kentbridge shoved Nine into a waiting van with the other orphans then jumped in behind the wheel and drove off at speed. As the agent accelerated along Chicago’s Magnificent Mile, night suddenly turned to day when a bright white light came out of nowhere. It engulfed everything, momentarily blinding Kentbridge and his charges.
“Mission accomplished!”
Kentbridge’s voice invaded the deepest recesses of each orphan’s brain. Nine and his fellow orphans came out of the trance they had all been in. Everything they’d just experienced was reality – virtual reality to be precise.
Like most Omega technologies, it was a technology that was decades ahead of official science, and although virtual reality was widely known and available to the public, this military version had been suppressed from the masses because of its incredible power.
Carrying out assignments under the influence of this particular software was no different to performing them in real life – at least not as far as the mind was concerned. A virtual environment was considered the perfect training ground for the orphans to master the complexities of espionage. It allowed them to do so without actually risking their lives.
Kentbridge and the orphans were in the Pedemont Orphanage’s concealed basement, or dungeon, as the orphans referred to it. Beyond Omega, its tutors and its orphans, no-one knew of its existence. Not even the child welfare officers or other such persons who had cause to enter the orphanage from time to time on routine visits. The enormous basement was kept secret for good reason: it was where all of Omega’s advanced scientific training technologies were housed.
The orphans removed their virtual reality goggles. In Nine’s case, it took him a moment to refocus his vision and his mind from the virtual world to the real world. Still fuzzy, he looked around the basement. His eyes gradually focused on the supercomputers in the foreground and floatation tanks in the background. In between, biofeedback machines and an assortment of other equally advanced instruments also came into focus.
The variety of technologies available reflected the importance the Omega Agency placed on developing the subconscious mind. The subconscious was always favored over the everyday conscious mind, which was considered too slow to be effective.
All the activities the orphans participated in were performed well beyond average speed, be it playing chess, reading books, doing martial arts or learning languages. Kentbridge and specially recruited tutors would push their young charges at accelerated speeds so their conscious minds couldn’t keep up. Only when they outran their conscious minds like this could the subconscious kick into action.
As the orphans stood up and stretched their bodies after the hour-long virtual reality session, Kentbridge reminded them of its purpose. “The subconscious mind is where all higher intelligences exist,” he said matter-of-factly. “Every genius throughout history – Tesla, Einstein, Da Vinci – tapped into the infinite power of their subconscious minds.”
As the orphans dispersed around the basement, Kentbridge caught Nine’s eye and nodded to him as if to say, well done. He knew the ninth-born orphan had taken control of the situation during the virtual reality mission and had done everything right. Kentbridge realized it was wrong to show favoritism to any of the orphans, but there was something about Nine that reminded the agent of himself.
As Kentbridge briefed a colleague – a veteran Omega operative – who was preparing the next team of orphans for the same virtual reality mission Nine’s small group had just completed, Doctor Pedemont entered the basement along with his assistant, Nurse Hilda
. They each carried a tray laden with the now familiar phials.
“Time for your White Gold Powder,” the elderly doctor announced.
As they’d done three times a day for as long as they could remember, each orphan poured their phial’s contents under their tongue and ingested the White Gold Powder sublingually. The substance was one of the most important aspects of the orphans’ evolution and was partly responsible for their brilliance.
Doctor Pedemont and Nurse Hilda left the basement with the now empty phials, and the remaining orphans headed over to a partitioned classroom area where Kentbridge joined them. This was where they were homeschooled, their Omega masters having long since decided that mainstream education was beneath them.
“Let’s pick up from yesterday’s teachings on the Gulf War,” Kentbridge began. He wrote Iraq 1990-1991 on a blackboard. “Now that the West has control of Iraq’s massive oil reserves, President Bush will be replaced.” The chalk squeaked as he wrote Bill Clinton on the board. “Bill Clinton will be our country’s next President. The election later this year is just a formality. The result has already been decided.”
The orphans memorized everything as Kentbridge wrote a list of people and groups above Clinton’s name. Individuals listed included Kissinger and Cheney, while the Trilateral Commission and the Federal Reserve were among the organizations.
Kentbridge spun around from the blackboard and held up an infamous photograph of former US Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld shaking hands with Iraqi President Saddam Hussein. Kentbridge gave the photo to Eleven, a stunning brunette orphan who had been genetically engineered specifically for beauty. She looked at the image before sharing it with the other orphans.
“That photo was taken in Baghdad in 1983 during the Iran-Iraq War,” Kentbridge stated. “Officially, Donald Rumsfeld was sent as special envoy of President Reagan. The thing is though, people, Saddam was already a known war criminal by that stage.”
When the revealing photo reached Nine, he studied it before flipping it over. On the reverse side was a handwritten question. It read: Saddam Hussein = CIA Puppet?
Nine turned the photo over again and inspected Rumsfeld’s smiling face. The handshake looked suspiciously like a deal had gone down. Nine couldn’t be certain, but nothing would surprise him given the game he understood secret organizations such as Omega orchestrated on the world stage.
The ninth orphan also understood that game often involved an official story – usually presented to the media via politicians – that created a believable enough smokescreen to conceal the truth. And he was learning the truth nearly always had to do with money and power.
While the photo was being passed along and studied by the other orphans, Kentbridge stood back and allowed them time to digest things. As head of the Pedemont Project, his style of teaching was to force the orphans to think for themselves and reach their own conclusions. In saying that, there were certain things he felt he needed to impose what he knew from experience to be the truth. And one of those things was the reality of how the world actually operated.
From the many years he’d spent in the Omega Agency, the special agent understood there were no obvious good guys or bad guys on the world stage. Contrary to the PR spin generated within Congress and spoon-fed to the well-meaning American public by a gullible or at least malleable media, Kentbridge also knew there were no clear sides anymore. As he often told the orphans, patriotism was a useless emotion because the modern world was no longer shaped by countries or governments. In fact, nations had long since been superseded by the vast spider web of elite conspirators spanning the globe.
Kentbridge wrote a phrase on the blackboard: Invisible puppet masters pulling strings.
Without explaining the phrase, he continued, “Listen to what our President recently said.” He pointed a remote control at a nearby television set and a pressed a button. Immediately, video footage of President George H. W. Bush making a speech played on the TV screen. It was a speech he’d given to Congress following the expulsion of Iraqi forces from Kuwait, announcing victory over Saddam Hussein.
As they watched and listened to the recorded speech, the orphans noted something which the vast majority of political commentators, and certainly the public at large, had never picked up on. That something was that President Bush subtly mentioned the phrase New World Order several times throughout his speech.
8
Nine caught a glimpse of Helen as he stood up to cheer with sixty odd thousand other NFL fans packed into Soldier Field stadium. It was only fleeting, but he felt sure it was her. The Chicago Bears’ linebacker had just scored a touchdown and the crowd had erupted. Everyone was on their feet.
Nearby, a New York Giants supporter started abusing the umpire. He was quickly silenced by the fiercely loyal Bears supporters. This was Chicago’s home fortress. Giants fans were not welcome.
As the frenzied celebrations died down and spectators resumed their seats, Nine scanned those sitting several rows in front, searching for another glimpse of the girl. His view was blocked by an elderly lady and the large Bears flag she waved incessantly. C’mon lady, gimme a break. It took all his patience not to snatch the flag from her.
Seated between his friends Ten and One, the ninth orphan could only wait until the woman tired of her flag-waving. Unfortunately, her energy and enthusiasm seemed boundless.
Next to One, Kentbridge pumped his fist as he watched a replay of the touchdown on a big screen. “You show 'em!” the Omega agent shouted to Chicago’s linebacker. Kentbridge, who made a habit of bringing two or three orphans to Bears home games every season, loved his football.
Nine had become a passionate Bears fan, too, but today his mind was on other things. Desperate to confirm it was Helen he saw, he stood up on his seat to see beyond the flag still being waved in front of him.
It is her!
He felt his heart race when he spotted the back of Helen’s head about five rows down. Sitting with her father, she wore a white woolen cardigan and her long dark hair flowed freely in the winter breeze.
Mercifully, the elderly fan ceased her flag-waving for the moment, and Nine had an uninterrupted view. He watched Helen intently. She turned her head to reveal her profile. As always, her beauty mesmerized him.
Even when the game resumed, Nine couldn’t take his eyes off her. He noted her father had his arm tightly around her, and he felt immediately envious. Nine had never had a father. He wasn’t sure if Helen had a mother, but figured she was lucky to have one parent at least.
For some reason, Helen didn’t look at all happy, though. Nine wondered why she appeared so melancholy. You don’t know how good you’ve got it, Helen.
#
Later that same day, Nine observed Helen yet again, this time from the tree house back at the Pedemont Orphanage. He patted Cavell’s head as he studied the dark-haired beauty through his binoculars. As usual, Helen was doing her homework before dinner at the window in the neighboring apartment building. “She’s a knockout, Cavell.”
The dog whimpered sympathetically.
A part of Nine felt slightly creepy to be always spying on Helen like this. It wasn’t right and he knew it. But he was addicted. Viewing Helen was his only connection to normal, everyday existence. Studying her facial expressions and her reactions to things as they occurred – like interacting with her father or talking on the phone – gave him an insight into regular life.
Birds circling above in the late afternoon sky caught Cavell’s attention. He sat up and began barking at them.
“Easy boy.” Nine patted the dog, calming him.
Nine raised the binoculars and looked through the tree house’s peep-hole again. As he refocused the lenses on Helen, he was shocked to see she was now crying. Tears streamed down her face. Nine had no idea why she was so upset, but it completely fascinated him.
For some reason, Helen looked more beautiful than ever. It was as if her display of suffering made her more attainable. Until now, she had seeme
d too perfect to ever exist in Nine’s orbit, but now he could see she suffered just like he did. Probably not as much as him, he conceded, but clearly she was emotionally fragile, as he was, and she hurt inside.
As he adjusted the binoculars and zoomed in on Helen’s dark, Mediterranean eyes, he felt an overwhelming desire to reach out to help her, to rescue her, to take away her pain. A part of him didn’t think that was realistic given he was a manufactured orphan who did not officially exist. Nevertheless, he couldn’t stop thinking about rescuing her.
Logic didn’t seem to come into the equation. Not now that he was in love.
Nine looked down at Cavell for a moment as he considered his feelings. He hesitated. Love? If he was honest, he didn’t even know what the word meant. He had never given or received love before, but maybe this was what it felt like. Nine looked back to see Helen was no longer at the window. He felt an immediate sense of loss.
The shrill ringing of a dinner bell from within the orphanage interrupted Nine’s reverie. He cursed when he remembered it was his turn to cook for his fellow orphans. Dinner would be late tonight and that would be his fault, and there’d be repercussions. Kentbridge would make sure of that.
Nine tore his eyes away from the window opposite, hoisted Cavell over one shoulder then reluctantly climbed down from the tree house. At the foot of the old sycamore tree, he dropped Cavell onto the lawn and ambled toward to orphanage’s ground floor kitchen. He knew he should hurry, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
9
“As operatives,” Kentbridge said, “you must never fail to see the wood for the trees. In other words, never become too narrowly focused.”
All twenty three orphans listened intently as they stood before their master and tutor on the sidewalk outside the Pedemont Orphanage. Kentbridge surreptitiously glanced up and down the street, demonstrating how he constantly observed everything about the nondescript Riverdale neighborhood.