The Orphan Factory (The Orphan Trilogy, #2)

by James Morcan

  Ace finally released Nine’s hand and began tucking into his pancakes. “Well, Luke, meeting you has made my day and I want you to know I really appreciate this.”

  Nine followed suit, attacking his plate of hash browns. He finished them even before Ace finished his pancakes. This wasn’t missed by the homeless man who studied the boy intently as Nine interrupted his eating to enjoy a gulp or two of his milkshake.

  Ace prided himself on his ability to read his fellow human beings, but he couldn’t work this one out. He sensed the boy was a good soul, but noticed an air of melancholy surrounding him. Sorrow even. “It can’t be that bad, Junior,” he ventured.

  Nine saw that Ace’s twinkling eyes seemed to be laughing at him.

  The bemused look on the orphan’s face prompted Ace to chuckle aloud. “How old are you, kid?”

  “Fifteen.”

  Ace’s all knowing eyes narrowed and he looked hard at Nine.

  “Twelve.”

  “Twelve,” Ace said. “Hell, kid. I’ve had more shitty days in the last twelve years than you’ve done shits.”

  Nine pondered that as Ace warmed to his task.

  “Yeah, that’s right, sport. You think about that.” Without waiting to be asked, Ace scooped up the last remaining pancake from Nine’s plate and started eating it. “If it’s good’nuff for me to get outta me cardboard box each mornin’, then it’s good’nuff for a young whippersnapper like you to get off ya lazy white boy ass and do somethin’ with ya life!”

  Nine was gob smacked. He hadn’t expected a lecture from the man he’d just shouted breakfast. But thinking on it, he had to agree Ace had a point. Consumed all his life by his miseries as a virtual prisoner of the Pedemont Orphanage, he’d never considered there could be others even worse off. And right under my nose here in the Land of the Free!

  #

  At the end of the working day, Nine was back at the same bus stop opposite the USPS Post Office on 5th Street. He had to wait only twenty minutes before Mister Katsarakis emerged from the building, briefcase in hand.

  The orphan could only guess at Mister Katsarakis’ mode of travel. He had no way of knowing if Helen’s father had traveled to work by car, bus or taxi, but he was about to find out. To his pleasant surprise, he discovered the gentleman was heading for home on foot.

  Nine fell in behind him, making sure there was always fifty yards or more between them as they headed further inland away from the beach. Several blocks distant, they entered a low-income residential area of Santa Monica. Small, modest bungalows lined both sides of the street. The homes had no yards to speak of. Local children had to play on the street if they wanted to play outside.

  Mister Katsarakis stopped outside a particularly drab bungalow. After checking the mail box, he opened the front gate.

  Nine crossed the street and hid behind some wild shrubs growing on a vacant section diagonally opposite the Katsarakis residence. His heart skipped a beat when the bungalow’s front door opened and Helen emerged, carrying a black and white kitten. She greeted her father affectionately before he disappeared inside. Helen lowered the kitten onto the small area of grass that separated the bungalow from the pavement, and watched as it tentatively explored its surroundings.

  Nine decided Helen looked more stunning than ever. Now that she was a Californian resident, she appeared to be more relaxed somehow. Her long, dark, silky hair flowed freely in the breeze and her feet were bare. Nine wished he’d brought Doctor Pedemont’s binoculars so he could see every inch of her gorgeous face.

  The orphan suddenly felt guilty spying on Helen like this. Like some voyeur, or worse. A ghoul maybe. He longed to reveal himself to her, but something told him now wasn’t the time. Nine knew he’d need to pick his moment. Preferably not when her old man’s around. He’d need to find his own lodgings and set himself up first, not to mention take steps toward becoming a bona fide citizen. In other words, he needed a bit of a foundation from which to court Helen.

  Nine reluctantly tore his eyes away from the Greek beauty and headed back in the direction of the beach. He knew it would be night soon and he still didn’t have a place to stay in.

  34

  It was almost dusk in Chicago, and Kentbridge had been inspecting the interior of the tree house behind the Pedemont Orphanage for ten minutes. He was still no closer to discovering why Nine had frequented it most afternoons. He’d noticed the green-eyed orphan’s attraction to the tree house on a few occasions of late, and the other orphans had reported they’d seen him climb up the sycamore tree every afternoon for the last month or so.

  The special agent had hoped the tree house would provide a clue to where Nine had gone. He ruminated on the fact he’d been reduced to relying on such long shots because he had nothing else to go on.

  With the help of the White Gold Powder, and a bit of luck, the crafty orphan had done the impossible and disappeared off the grid. And with all Omega’s available operatives tied up helping Naylor resolve the Nexus problem, Kentbridge was basically on his own. That, combined with the dearth of clues, meant he’d reached a brick wall.

  As far as Kentbridge knew, the young fugitive could be anywhere in North America by now. Despite the best efforts of Omega’s formidable IT department monitoring all police reports nationwide, as well satellite networks, there hadn’t been a sign of Nine since he’d narrowly avoided capture in Downtown Chicago.

  Kentbridge became aware he was about to have company when he heard Cavell, the orphanage’s resident dog, climbing up the ladder. Tail wagging excitedly, Cavell barked as he made it to the tree house.

  “What do you want, Cavell?” Kentbridge bent down and patted the dog.

  Cavell responded by rolling onto his back and inviting Kentbridge to rub his belly. The special agent obliged.

  “Where d’you think our boy went?”

  Cavell licked Kentbridge’s hand.

  The special agent stood up and surveyed the view. It was rapidly disappearing in the fading light. He allowed himself to daydream, relaxing his mind to allow himself to intuit the answer to Nine’s disappearance. Cavell sat patiently watching him.

  After a minute or so, Kentbridge opened his eyes and looked directly at the second floor window of the apartment building opposite. It was the same window that Helen used to sit at. He thought nothing of it and failed to recognize that his subconscious had just given him a clue. Not surprising as he didn’t even know Helen existed.

  Kentbridge looked down at Cavell who still sat looking up at him, just as he did when Nine frequented that very spot. “Let’s go, boy.” The special agent picked up the dog and descended the tree house ladder.

  No sooner had he entered his office on the third floor of the orphanage than he received a phone call from Naylor.

  “Are you alone?” Naylor asked.

  “I am.” Kentbridge thought the Omega director sounded tense.

  “We have our man.”

  “We do?” Kentbridge couldn’t be certain whether Naylor was referring to Nine or to the Nexus mole believed to exist within Omega’s ranks.

  “Yes. It’s the doctor.”

  Kentbridge had his answer. “Are you sure?”

  “Beyond any shadow of a doubt.” Naylor sounded miffed his subordinate would dare question him.

  Kentbridge couldn’t believe Doctor Pedemont was a double agent working for the Nexus Foundation. The doctor had been generously rewarded for his work with Omega’s orphans, and he would be well aware of the penalty for double-crossing the agency. “What do you want me to do, Andrew?” Kentbridge already knew the answer, but he had to ask.

  “You know what to do, Tommy.”

  “Yes, but I need to hear it.”

  “Terminate him.” The line went dead.

  Kentbridge didn’t hang up immediately. He sat staring at the telephone receiver in his hand.

  He’d always been fond of Doctor Pedemont. The thought of having to kill him didn’t sit well with the special agent, but he knew there was no
other choice. Naylor’s people at HQ would have left no stone unturned in the course of their investigation; if they said it was the doctor who was the Nexus mole, then it was the doctor. That being the case, he had to go.

  #

  At Omega’s subterranean headquarters in south-west Illinois, Naylor, too, had misgivings about terminating Doctor Pedemont. Not because he liked him. In fact, he didn’t particularly like the doctor. He’d always found him a little too eccentric for his liking.

  The Omega director’s misgivings were more based on pragmatism than sentiment: the orphans were the brainchild of Doctor Pedemont, and their inception was the direct result of his scientific knowledge and brilliance. Naylor knew the doctor had added more value to the agency than any individual could lay claim to – and that included himself and Kentbridge. The tragedy was, Naylor thought, Doctor Pedemont had so much more to contribute.

  More batches of orphans – clones in fact – were planned as part of Omega’s expansion. The doctor was crucial to those plans, and killing him would make the cloning procedures impossible.

  Why the doctor had gone over to Nexus, only he knew.

  #

  Kentbridge and Doctor Pedemont had been traveling more than an hour when the special agent turned his late model Chrysler west off US Route 12 between Volo and Fox Lake. They were heading for Volo Bog, an isolated area of woodlands, savanna and marshes best known for being the only remaining open-water quaking bog in Illinois.

  The two colleagues traveled in silence. Beneath the clear, starry sky, a bright full moon rendered the car’s headlights almost obsolete as they sped along a narrow country road. It was just before midnight and they had the road to themselves.

  Doctor Pedemont thought they were going to meet a Russian defector. Kentbridge had told him the Russian claimed to be one Boris Petrakov, a renowned scientist whose knowledge of genetics was said to match Doctor Pedemont’s. If that were the case, he would obviously be invaluable to Omega given its expansion plans.

  Apparently, Naylor hadn’t wanted the Russian to be seen anywhere near Omega HQ or the Pedemont Orphanage until they were totally satisfied he was who he claimed to be. Hence the secret meeting at this isolated location.

  It all made sense to Doctor Pedemont. As America’s, and possibly the world’s, leading biomedical scientist, he was the obvious person to meet the Russian and determine whether he was for real.

  Yet something didn’t seem right. Exactly what, he couldn’t put his finger on. Sure, he was carrying a terrible secret, but he’d covered his tracks well. He knew it was always possible there had been a leak at the Nexus end, but he doubted that. Their security was every bit as tight as Omega’s, and they valued his clandestine services and the valuable information he provided them with, of that he was certain. So they’d have covered their tracks too.

  The doctor glanced at Kentbridge. The special agent’s face gave nothing away. His full attention was on the road ahead as they sped through the night.

  Kentbridge knew Doctor Pedemont was uneasy. He was an expert at reading the body language of others.

  Damn you, doc. If you hadn’t gotten greedy, you’d be heading for a comfortable retirement instead of a muddy grave.

  He put his foot down harder still on the accelerator as if to steel himself for what he was about to do.

  Five minutes later, the car’s headlights illuminated the Volo Bog. Kentbridge pulled the Chrysler off the road and drove slowly along a dirt track alongside the bog. He’d obviously been here before as he drove without hesitation.

  Beneath the moonlight, the bog seemed to go on forever. For Doctor Pedemont, this was his first visit here. If circumstances had been different and he had a clear conscience, he’d have taken an interest in the site. After all, it had been deemed a National Natural Landmark.

  However, his conscience wasn’t clear and his earlier misgivings were intensifying by the minute.

  “This is the site,” Kentbridge said, breaking a long silence. He looked at his watch. “Mister Petrakov should be around here somewhere.” Kentbridge climbed out of the car and stretched.

  A nervous Doctor Pedemont also climbed out. “Was he coming on his own?’

  “No, Andrew sent one of our operatives to escort him.”

  The doctor looked around. “I don’t see another car.”

  Kentbridge pointed to a narrow boardwalk that led out over the bog. “They’re coming via inflatable from the other side of the bog. We have a bit of a walk ahead of us.” He strolled around to the car’s boot, opened it and pulled out a powerful torch. “Let’s go.”

  Following the torch’s beam, they set off along the boardwalk.

  “We got a good night for it anyway,” Kentbridge said conversationally.

  Doctor Pedemont was starting to feel more relaxed. Kentbridge hadn’t said much on the drive out, but he seemed more like his old self now.

  After two or three minutes fast walking, they came across a jetty to one side of the boardwalk.

  “Damn,” Kentbridge said. “They should be here by now.” He looked over Doctor Pedemont’s shoulder and smiled. “Ah, here they are.”

  The doctor looked around. He didn’t see anyone. Nor did he see the strong fingers that suddenly tightened around the vagal nerve in his neck. He was unconscious before he hit the boardwalk.

  Kentbridge bent down and frisked him, removing his wallet and any ID he was carrying. He then used his foot to push him over the edge of the boardwalk into the swampy water three feet below. The special agent switched off his torch and watched impassively as Doctor Pedemont slowly sunk. In less than fifteen seconds he was gone.

  It’s as if he never existed.

  By the light of the moon, Kentbridge strode back the way he’d come. As he walked, he reviewed his actions. There’d been no witnesses and there was no sign of a body; if by chance the body was ever found, it would be considered an accident or death by suicide for there would be no signs of violence; and it was known the doctor had a love of the outdoors and often went for nature walks. And, of course, the doctor’s real name was not Pedemont. Nor had he ever been a registered employee of the orphanage or the Omega Agency. Not that the latter officially existed anyway.

  The moon disappeared behind a cloud. Kentbridge stopped walking and stared out into the blackness for a moment.

  Not for the first time, he questioned what Omega had turned him into.

  35

  Nine became fully alert as the front door of the Katsarakis’ home opened and Helen emerged. He watched with baited breath as the young Greek beauty walked the short distance to the mailbox. She didn’t so much walk as glide. Her slender limbs looked tanned and shapely.

  The fugitive orphan had been waiting since sunrise for some sign of Helen. Hiding across the road behind the same wild shrubs from which he’d spied on her the previous day, he had already seen her father depart for work half an hour earlier. Now he watched as Helen retrieved the morning newspaper from the box and browsed its headlines.

  Nine took a deep breath as he psyched himself up.

  It’s now or never.

  Mustering all his courage, he stepped out from behind the shrubs and walked toward her. He tried his best to look cool. As he neared her, she remained engrossed in the newspaper, though he sensed she was aware of his presence. “Hi there,” he croaked, his voice cracking as nerves got the better of him. “I’ve just moved into the neighborhood and wondered if--”

  “I know who you are,” Helen interjected, stopping Nine in his tracks. Her head remained buried in the newspaper. Finally, she deigned to look at him. “You’re that weirdo who spied on me every day in Riverdale.”

  Her words cut him to the bone. Worse, she turned her back on him and resumed reading the newspaper as if he wasn’t there.

  The orphan woke, startled, and then relaxed when he realized he’d been dreaming. Relief flooded through him. Relief that Helen hadn’t actually directed such cruel words at him. He suspected the dream had been prom
pted by a fear of rejection. Either that or guilt over how he had spied on the stunning girl who had dominated his waking thoughts ever since he’d first seen her.

  Having regained his composure, Nine glanced around at his surroundings and at his new companions. Dawn was breaking. The boy had spent the night with a group of homeless people beneath the palm trees bordering Venice Beach, the colorful seaside community neighboring Santa Monica. Among them was Ace who was only an arm’s length away and still fast asleep.

  Nine had tracked down the friendly Native American after confirming where Helen was residing the previous afternoon. Some two dozen other homeless lay nearby. Like Ace, they were still asleep. Some slept in sleeping bags, others beneath blankets and a handful in cardboard shelters that served as makeshift homes.

  Twice during the night, they’d been moved along by local police. Finally, the cops had given up, allowing the homeless to sleep in peace. Officialdom’s intervention had worried Nine at the time, but he soon relaxed when he realized they weren’t looking for him.

  As an interim measure, until he found permanent accommodation, Nine had decided there was safety in numbers. Even though it went against his training, it felt right being part of a group. After all, he and his fellow orphans had never once been alone for more than half a day at a time. Besides, he trusted Ace.

  Nine studied the fiftysomething Native American as he continued to sleep. He couldn’t help thinking how normal Ace looked compared to the other homeless he’d seen on his travels. Ace had somehow maintained a physical dignity and pride in his appearance despite having been homeless for many years. His long, dark locks didn’t have a single gray hair that Nine could see.

  Ace was an enigma to the orphan who was already beginning to look on him as something of a father figure. Nine appreciated the worldly advice he’d received from him and hoped to receive more, especially when it came to his planned courtship of Helen.

  The homeless around him began to stir as the first rays of the morning sun cast a warm glow on the beach. The orphan threw his borrowed blanket aside and quickly checked his forearm to ensure the White Gold remained firmly in place. This was now ingrained in him as a several-times-a-day routine.