by James Morcan
During the flight, Nine had also tried to bring himself up to speed on the Jonestown incident. There were so many conflicting reports it was difficult to make head or tail of the tragic event. What struck him most were the discrepancies in the body count, and Omega’s research people had come up with some interesting theories on that.
Nine was traveling in the hastily adopted guise of a British backpacker thanks to a change of clothes and a new passport delivered to him by the same senior agent who had delivered his coded orders back in Chicago. Now, as he and Seventeen continued to follow the Maparri River, he reviewed his movements since arriving in Guyana.
After landing in Georgetown and passing through Customs, he had met with an undercover MI6 agent at the British Embassy. The agent had provided him with the weaponry, maps, rations and survival gear he now carried in his pack. Hours earlier, the same MI6 agent had provided Seventeen with the same gear plus a satellite phone. Cell phones were useless where they were going.
From Georgetown, Nine had travelled inconspicuously south by bus to the small town of Maparri. There, he’d met up with Seventeen who was traveling as a Swedish environmentalist supposedly doing volunteer work for IARPS, the International Amazon Rainforest Preservation Society. After hiring the rental vehicle, they’d driven as far as they could before striking out on foot.
Nine’s thoughts returned to the Jonestown incident and, in particular, to the information Omega’s research people had uncovered. First, the Guyanese army had reported only four hundred and eight cult members had died by their own hand. Then The New York Times reported the actual number was around five hundred. US Military personnel arrived several days later and the body count quickly rose – from seven hundred to a final tally of nine hundred and nine. In explaining the differing body counts, one American official was reported as saying, ‘The Guyanese couldn’t count’.
There were also conflicting reports on the causes of death. The New York Times had reported the first medical official to arrive on the scene said he’d witnessed numerous gunshot victims. That didn’t tally with the official story that the majority had committed suicide by drinking cyanide. And no-one seemed to know exactly how many people were in Jonestown at the time. Therefore, reports listing thirty three survivors couldn’t be verified.
Nine wasn’t exactly sure where the British Royals fitted into the whole conspiracy, or what their agenda was. All he knew about them was they were powerful. Ultra-powerful. And somehow, this mission would secure their support for Omega.
The details don’t matter. The bottom line is Quamina Ezekiel must die.
Nine stumbled on the exposed root of a tree and had to grab hold of Seventeen to avoid falling into the river. She steadied him then continued onwards as if nothing had happened.
The irony of having to work with his lifelong adversary on this, their first overseas assignment, wasn’t lost on Nine. He couldn’t begin to fathom why Kentbridge had paired him up with Seventeen on so vital an assignment.
Despite their differences, Nine had to admit he and Seventeen made a good team. They operated on the same mental frequency even if they couldn’t stand each other. In a way, it did make some kind of perverse sense. After all, they also shared much in common. Of all the Pedemont orphans, they were the most determined and resourceful – not to mention top of the class – and would use any means, fair or foul, to achieve their mission.
Nine studied Seventeen’s back as she pushed ever onwards to their scheduled rendezvous with the three veteran Omega operatives. Despite the gear she carried in her bulging pack, she showed no sign of tiring. And while Nine couldn’t see her face, he knew there’d be a steely determination in her eyes.
Like Nine, Seventeen was feeling at home in the dense rainforest. As she hacked a vine out of her way, she thought back several years to when Kentbridge had taken all the orphans to Nicaragua to orient them with tropical conditions. “A jungle holiday,” he’d called it.
“Yeah right,” Seventeen muttered to herself. “More like a jungle hell-hole.”
“What’s that?” Nine asked.
“Nothing.” Seventeen recalled they’d stayed at an isolated Amerindian village in Nicaragua. The orphans had been paired up with native trackers who taught their young charges the wilderness skills of their ancestors and showed them how to survive in the jungle.
That had been part of a month spent in Nicaragua and other Central American countries. Within that month of intensive training, every orphan had acquired the knowledge, skills and experience to operate effectively in any tropical rainforest. They’d become adept at tracking, hunting, finding food, reading the weather, spotting danger and other signs, and had gained an understanding Mother Nature’s many moods.
A movement in the undergrowth alerted Seventeen to the presence of something unseen. She stopped walking and gave a military-style hand signal. Nine immediately pulled up behind her and drew out a loaded pistol from his pack.
Moments later, an adult tapir broke cover and ran for its life in the opposite direction. The orphan-operatives recognized the ungainly, pig-like animal that was common to these parts and was often referred to by the Guyanese as a mountain cow.
Nine and Seventeen resumed their trek. High above, the canopy formed by the treetops momentarily cleared, as it occasionally did, bathing them in sunlight. The sun was now lower in the sky, signaling to the pair that night was approaching. They quickened their pace.
Crossing paths with the tapir reminded Seventeen of yet another jungle experience – this time while training in Guatemala – when she and the twins, Five and Six, had been startled by a pantera, or black jaguar. So rare was the pantera, neither their Guatemalan guide nor the other orphans would believe the trio had seen one.
“Let’s find a place to camp,” Nine said, interrupting Seventeen’s thoughts.
Seventeen looked back at her fellow orphan. “Roger that.”
Both knew from personal experience how quickly night fell in the rainforest. They set about finding a suitable campsite.
72
That night, Nine and Seventeen rested up in a cave they had discovered alongside the same river they’d been following most of the day. Seventeen was roasting a catfish over the hot embers of a fire she’d prepared. Nine had caught the fish just before darkness had set in. They ate the fish with a serving of the freezer-dried food rations they’d brought with them. The combination was surprisingly tasty.
After finishing their meal, the pair sat on opposite sides of the fire, staring into its flames. The crackling flames and the sound of bats deep in the cave’s inner sanctum were all that disturbed the silence.
Nine couldn’t help thinking again how strange it felt to be paired up with Seventeen. While she wouldn’t have been his first choice for a partner on a mission, he had to admit he could have done a lot worse. Glad she’s on my side and not against me. At that moment he caught Seventeen’s eye, and wondered what she was thinking about.
The silence between them stretched on.
Finally, Nine spoke. “If I’m to die here in Guyana,” he said reflectively as if talking to himself, “I don’t want to die as a number.”
Seventeen stared at him through the flames.
Looking into her icy blue eyes, Nine added, “My real name is Sebastian. Please call me that during this mission, okay?”
“Fine,” Seventeen replied, “on the condition that you call me by my real name.”
Nine nodded, hiding his surprise. He had assumed he was the only orphan with a real name.
“Jennifer,” Seventeen said. “That’s my name, so call me that from now on.”
Nine wondered if Jennifer was really her name, or whether she’d invented it to spite him. He was about to question her when the satellite phone in her pack buzzed.
Seventeen quickly retrieved the pack and pulled out the phone. “Septendecim.” She gave her coded Latin name.
“Seventeen,” Kentbridge said, “is everything going to plan?”
“Excellent.” Kentbridge then reconfirmed that Seventeen had the correct co-ordinates for the rendezvous location. Satisfied, he said, “Get some sleep. You’re going to need all your strength for tomorrow Quamina Ezekiel must die.”
“Yessir,” Seventeen said, but Kentbridge had already gone.
Looking on, Nine asked, “Everything okay?”
“Yep.” Seventeen busied herself preparing her bedroll. “Night, Sebastian.”
“Night, Jennifer.” Realizing that was all the conversation he was going to get from his companion, Nine laid out his bedroll on the cave floor and prepared for sleep.
The fire’s flickering flames cast eerie shadows on the cave’s walls. Somewhere beyond the entrance, a jaguar roared, but the orphan-operatives never heard it. They were fast asleep.
73
“I don’t like this one bit,” Seventeen whispered as she adjusted the binoculars she held to her eyes. They were focused on a hunter’s hut in a clearing in the rainforest a hundred yards distant.
“What can you see?” Nine whispered at her side. They were perched high in the branches of a magnolia tree.
“That’s the problem. There’s no sign of life.”
The pair had been studying the hut for the past fifteen minutes. It was the rendezvous point where they were to meet with the three veteran Omega operatives.
“Perhaps they decided not to wait for us?” Seventeen ventured.
Nine glanced at his watch and shook his head. “No, we’re an hour ahead of ETA. They wouldn’t have left without us.”
“Let’s check it out.” She began climbing down the tree, keen to get on with it.
Nine restrained her. “Give it another ten minutes. Just to be sure.”
As they waited, Nine felt a headache coming on. The uncomfortable symptoms were becoming all-too familiar. He had been experiencing headaches at least once a week of late, and even though he’d been given a clean bill of health from Doctor Andrews before flying out from Chicago, they persisted.
#
After ten minutes, nothing had changed. There was still no sign of life in or around the hut and Nine’s headache was still pounding away.
Without a word, the orphans descended the tree. On the ground they each selected a weapon from their packs. Nine grabbed his pistol while Seventeen pulled out a canister which she opened to reveal the parts of a high-powered sniper’s rifle. She assembled the rifle and loaded it in sixty seconds flat – a result of many years of practice.
They made their way cautiously through the rainforest toward the hut. Nine led the way this time.
At the edge of the clearing, they stopped. The hut, now only thirty yards away, still appeared deserted. Despite its remote location, deep in the Kanuku Mountains, it looked remarkably sophisticated. Its design was closer to a European settler’s cottage than an Amerindian abode. It even had a rudimentary radio aerial atop its tin roof and the remnants of a vegetable garden close by.
Nine’s sharp eyes picked out some shiny, foreign objects on the ground. He pointed to them.
Seventeen raised her binoculars and focused on the objects. She suddenly tensed. “Shell casings,” she whispered. “I’ll check it out. You cover me.”
The impetuous female orphan started to move toward the hut.
For the second time, Nine restrained her. “I’ll go,” he said. “You’re the one with the rifle. Best you cover me.”
Seventeen was about to argue then saw the logic. She nodded. Nine removed his pack and prepared to sprint to the hut.
“Go!” Seventeen whispered. Kneeling, she held her rifle in the firing position.
Pistol in hand, Nine took off. He zigzagged as he ran in case some unseen marksman was waiting for him. The shot never came.
He pulled up outside the hut’s door. It was only now he noticed it was slightly ajar.
The buzzing of flies came from inside along with a strong smell. It was the stench of death though Nine didn’t recognize it, having never been this close to decaying bodies before.
Holding his pistol in the ready position, he entered the hut. The smell was suddenly overpowering, and the flies buzzed angrily around the intruder.
At first, he couldn’t see anything. He cursed that he hadn’t thought to bring the night vision goggles he had in his pack. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the hut’s gloomy interior, he saw something that looked like a scene from a horror movie.
Three mutilated bodies lay strewn over the floor. Nine assumed these were the veteran Omega operatives he and Seventeen were meant to rendezvous with. Congealed blood framed gaping wounds on their heads, limbs and torsos. The nature of their ghastly wounds indicated they’d been shot and either stabbed or slashed – probably both.
It appeared the deceased had been attacked while sleeping. Two of them – both men – were still lying on their bed mats.
Nine thought he recognized the other victim – a woman. He moved closer and identified her as Samantha, the operative who had given the orphans their first lesson in the art of using makeup and other aids to form disguises. Her throat had been cut and there was a neat bullet hole in the center of her forehead. Samantha’s eyes were wide open and seemed to be staring at Nine.
The horror of what he’d walked into, combined with the overpowering stench, suddenly hit him. Nine turned and ran back outside, dry retching. He looked up to see Seventeen already running toward him, her rifle raised.
“What is it?” she asked breathlessly when she reach his side.
“Omegans,” he said as he pointed to inside the hut. “They’re all dead.”
“All of them?”
Nine nodded.
Seventeen barged into the hut. Nine pulled himself together and followed her inside. He found his partner going through the pockets of the two male victims. She was looking for anything that could confirm they were Omegans.
It struck Nine how cold and dispassionate Seventeen was at that moment. She was totally professional and didn’t seem remotely affected by their gruesome discovery. Her professionalism rubbed off on him. He turned his attention to the task at hand.
Seventeen found nothing on the male victims. She walked over to Samantha.
“Recognize her?” Nine asked.
Seventeen took a closer look. “Yeah. She gave me a hard time in makeup class at the orphanage.” Seventeen looked back at the two males. “I guess they’re also Omega.”
Nine and Seventeen eventually turned and stared at each other. The enormity of what they’d walked into hit them both. They instantly knew this was not going to be any ordinary mission. Not by any stretch of the imagination. The very future of the Omega Agency now rested entirely on their shoulders.
“Who did this?” Seventeen asked.
“Nexus.” Nine was in no doubt about who was responsible. If the Nexus Foundation hadn’t actually carried out the slaughter, they’d at least organized it.
Seventeen agreed. Thinking about their options, she realized the mission’s status had deteriorated beyond what they or their Omega masters could ever have envisaged. A complex mission from the outset, it had suddenly become far more complicated, convoluted and dangerous.
The worst case scenario was, if she and Nine couldn’t complete the mission, they and possibly all their fellow orphans could die. She was in no doubt that Naylor would not allow any of the Pedemont orphans to live if the Omega Agency was liquidated.
“Let’s go,” Nine said. “We gotta talk to Tommy.”
They exited the hut and jogged back to where they’d left their packs amongst the trees on the edge of the clearing. There, Seventeen retrieved her satellite phone and called Kentbridge. With Nine hovering close by, she summarized the latest development.
There was a long silen
ce before Kentbridge said, “Put me on speaker phone so Nine can hear as well.”
Seventeen flicked a switch and Kentbridge’s voice came over loud and clear, prompting Seventeen to turn down the volume slightly.
“Okay, your role in this mission has obviously changed, but the mission itself hasn’t. It will be up to you to terminate the target. Clear?”
Nine and Seventeen looked at each other. “Yessir,” they said in unison.
“Good. Now here’s Senior Agent Wilson. She will brief you on your new roles.”
There was a pause then Marcia came on the line. She got straight to the point, advising them of the precise location of the Amazonian village they were heading for and the time the funeral of Quamina Ezekiel’s mother was scheduled for. Seventeen scribbled furiously in a notepad as Marcia spoke. The funeral was scheduled for eleven o’clock the following morning – exactly twenty four hours away.
“Our assets in Georgetown have confirmed Ezekiel has finalized his travel plans,” Marcia said. “He’ll definitely be at the funeral.” She then quickly explained exactly why Ezekiel had to die and what the British Royals’ interest was in Guyana.
Kentbridge came back on the line. “I’d remind you, you’ll only have a very small window during the funeral to terminate him.”
“Who takes the shot, sir?” Nine asked.
“Seventeen,” Kentbridge said without hesitation.
Nine had no argument with that. Seventeen was a fine shot, even better than him. Even so, it irked him that she would get the glory when they successfully completed the mission. He was in no doubt about the outcome. The mission would be successful.