The Orphan Factory (The Orphan Trilogy, #2)

by James Morcan

  “We got him, sir.” The voice was Nine’s. He sounded breathless.

  Kentbridge felt his heart leap. He flicked the phone over to speakerphone. “Say again, Nine.”

  “Seventeen got the kill,” Nine said. His voice came through loud and clear. “It was a clean shot over one mile.”

  “Stand by,” Kentbridge ordered. He flicked off the speakerphone and turned to the others. “Hear that? They got him.”

  Naylor let out a triumphant yell. He picked up Marcia and swung her round, laughing.

  As soon as the celebrations died down, Kentbridge flicked on the speakerphone again. “Well done you two.” He assumed Seventeen was listening in on speakerphone at the other end. “Precisely when did you take out the target?”

  “Precisely three minutes ago.” It was Seventeen this time.

  “Alright, don’t waste any time. You know they’ll be coming after you.” Kentbridge was referring to Ezekiel’s supporters – his Wapishana supporters in particular. The Wapishana knew the Amazon intimately. They were expert trackers, and they would dearly love to capture the people who had killed their beloved leader.

  “Yessir. One of their choppers is overhead as we speak.”

  “A British Military helicopter will be waiting for you at midnight your time. Don’t be late.” Kentbridge ended the call and turned to the others. They were grinning.

  “We must give Lady Penelope the good news,” Naylor said. He speed-dialed a number on his cell phone.

  “It’s early hours of the morning in Britain,” Marcia cautioned.

  “She won’t mind. She’ll be delighted.” Naylor paused when the phone call he’d placed was answered. “Lady Penelope? It’s Andrew Naylor. I have some good news.”

  As a triumphant Naylor relayed the news to a receptive Lady Penelope, and a beaming Marcia hung on every word, Kentbridge became pensive. He knew his orphans still had to reach their extraction point, and that wouldn’t be easy. The special agent hoped they would successfully put everything he’d taught them over the years into practice.

  Kentbridge suddenly had a flashback to a summer’s day almost two decades earlier when seven of the orphans were just new-born babies. He recalled the trepidation he’d felt while watching Omega staff release the new-borns in a swimming pool in Chicago to see if they’d sink or swim. They survived that. He could still see them swimming underwater as if it was yesterday.

  The more Kentbridge thought about his genetically superior orphans and the amazing feats they’d achieved throughout their formative years, the more his fears for Nine and Seventeen’s wellbeing began to evaporate.

  No matter what, they will make it out of the jungle.

  77

  Beneath the canopy of trees in Guyana’s Amazon rainforest, it was already dark by five o’clock. Two hours had elapsed since Nine and Seventeen had relayed the news to Kentbridge that Quamina Ezekiel was dead.

  Initially, they’d made good time, covering the first mile of their five-mile journey in under an hour. Then the rain had started – and it rained as only it can in the tropics. It was torrential. Within minutes, the already damp forest floor had been turned into a sea of mud, and mountain streams into raging torrents. That, combined with the steep terrain in this remote corner of the Kanukus, made progress impossibly slow.

  Nine calculated they’d only covered a few hundred yards in the past hour, so treacherous was it underfoot and so densely forested the route they followed. The deluge was accompanied by lightning. It lit up the rainforest at regular intervals, which was just as well because the heavy rain had rendered the night vision goggles almost useless.

  Nightfall and rain were mixed blessings for the orphan-operatives. On the one hand, the rain washed away their tracks and the darkness all but hid whatever signs remained, making it extremely difficult for the Guyanese soldiers and their Wapishana Amerindian trackers to follow them. On the other hand, the conditions slowed their own progress. At the current rate, they knew they’d be pushing it to reach their helicopter extraction point by midnight.

  Nine and Seventeen thought it highly likely they were being followed. Although they hadn’t yet encountered anyone on the ground, the Guyanese Military helicopters had been flying overhead up until an hour earlier when the storm had forced them to return to Ezekielville. The pair guessed that trackers had found the kill site and picked up their spoor soon after Ezekiel had been killed. That information would have been relayed immediately to the soldiers who, in turn, would have conveyed it to the chopper pilots.

  Nine figured that before the rain had arrived it was likely the pilots would have sighted them beneath the treetop canopy courtesy of the infrared thermal imaging technology their choppers were undoubtedly equipped with. In which case, their location and the direction they were headed was now known to all and sundry. He also figured that before the choppers had been forced from the skies, they’d probably dropped off soldiers up ahead of them, so that he and Seventeen would now be sandwiched between at least two hunting parties.

  Although there’d been no time to discuss any of this with Seventeen, she’d already reached the same conclusions.

  Trailing Nine through the mud, Seventeen cursed as she slipped and slid down a steep embankment. Nine waited for her to climb back up to him before pressing onwards.

  It was a case of two steps forward, one step backwards. Despite their superior fitness, they were both finding the going tough. Their lungs were burning and their legs felt like they were made of concrete.

  The pair were grateful they now traveled light. After phoning Kentbridge, they’d dispensed with the satellite phone and with their packs and most of their gear. All they carried now was their firearms, water bottles, machetes, night vision goggles, and a small pouch containing survival rations, maps and co-ordinates for their destination. Nine also carried a hunting knife on his hip.

  Between lightning flashes, the pair basically ran blind through the darkness and rain. Branches and vines clawed at their flesh and clothes as they ran.

  After running blind for what seemed like a minute, Nine suddenly pulled up. Unsighted, Seventeen crashed into him.

  “What is it?” She had to shout to make herself heard above the storm.

  “I’m not sure.”

  There was another lightning flash. It lasted a few seconds and illuminated a ravine not ten yards ahead. With the next flash, they gingerly inched toward the edge and looked down.

  “Jesus!” Seventeen took an involuntary step backwards when she saw the drop. “That’s not meant to be here.” She couldn’t recall seeing the ravine on her map.

  Looking down, Nine estimated it was a drop of at least five hundred feet.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Seventeen said. “There’s no way down there.”

  “There’s no time to back-track. We have to go down.”

  Seventeen knew he was right. Retracing their steps to find a safe route around the obstacle below would only take them closer to those who were undoubtedly tracking them.

  Damn it! Why is he always so right?

  She stared out into the darkness beyond the ravine, knowing their extraction point was in that direction – only a few tantalizing miles away.

  The two looked at each other as more lightning flashes illuminated their grim features.

  For one millisecond, Nine thought he saw fear in his partner’s eyes. “Let’s go,” he said.

  #

  Less than half a mile behind the orphan-operatives, three Wapishana trackers doggedly followed their quarry’s trail. Each was consumed by the need for revenge. They were desperate to catch those responsible for the assassination of their tribe’s revered leader.

  Two of them carried shotguns – the favored hunting weapon of modern-day Wapishana. The third carried a bow and a quiver full of poison-tipped arrows, a concession to the tribe’s traditional ways. The first two also carried heavy duty flashlights while the third carried a two-way radio in a backpack. He used this every so often
to relay their location to the twenty soldiers who struggled to keep up some distance behind, and to the dozen or so others the choppers had dropped off up ahead of their quarry.

  It was slow going for the trackers. The relentless rain had washed away most of their quarry’s tracks and the darkness hid most other signs. Most but not all. Every now and then, the eagle-eyed trackers spotted something in the light of their torches: a single boot print in the mud; a freshly bent branch; a broken twig; a stone out of place.

  The going would have been even slower if the choppers hadn’t reported their quarry’s route. That information had enabled the trackers to second-guess where the pair were headed. The Wapishana knew the rainforest intimately. They also knew its shortcuts.

  #

  Nine and Seventeen were preparing for the risky climb down to the bottom of the ravine. They’d spent the last ten minutes frantically cutting down vines to use as climbing ropes. Nine had also made up a makeshift sling using his shirt and vines to put their weapons and other gear into. They planned to lower it as they descended, thereby avoiding the need to carry anything that would weigh them down as they made the risky descent.

  A now bare-chested Nine went first, holding onto a one hundred foot length of vine he’d tied to a tree. Seventeen waited anxiously as Nine abseiled down. She hadn’t let on, but she hated heights.

  As he inched his way down the cliff-face, Nine didn’t see the torchlights of the approaching Wapishana trackers, but Seventeen did. They were to her left, coming from the east. She estimated they’d reach her position within the next twenty minutes.

  Seventeen looked down and saw Nine had only managed to descend thirty feet. The slippery vine was obviously slowing his descent.

  You won’t get a better chance than this. Do it now.

  Without hesitating, Seventeen drew her hunting knife and, using its serrated bottom edge, cut through the vine, sending Nine plummeting down the cliff-face.

  78

  Glancing cautiously over the edge of the ravine, she didn’t see him at first through the driving rain. Lightning flashed and then she saw him. He lay motionless on a rock ledge, having fallen some ten or twenty feet.

  Seventeen had been planning Nine’s demise ever since she’d learned they were to be paired up for the Guyana mission. Such was the deep-seated hatred she had for her long-time rival. The opportunity hadn’t presented itself until now.

  She’d known from the outset it would have to look like an accident. After all, she and the other orphans had been trained from birth to survive incredible odds, and Nine had demonstrated time and again his ability to overcome the seemingly impossible. Seventeen knew there was always a chance he’d survive an attempt on his life, and she didn’t want to run the risk of his returning to Chicago and accusing her of trying to kill him. Their Omega masters wouldn’t be impressed.

  Looking at him now, she didn’t think Nine had survived the fall. He still wasn’t moving. Seventeen was convinced he was dead, but daren’t wait to find out. The bright torchlights signaled that their pursuers were coming fast.

  Retrieving her survival pouch from the sling Nine had rigged up, she then opened Nine’s pouch and scattered its contents in the undergrowth.

  She took one last look around her. What was left of the vine she’d cut remained tied to the tree. It would be immediately visible to the trackers when they arrived. They would undoubtedly see Nine in which case they would most certainly finish him off if he wasn’t already dead. Hopefully, they would assume she had also plummeted to her death.

  Satisfied, Seventeen left the scene, taking care to cover her tracks as she headed along the top of the ravine, away from her pursuers. As she fled, the storm abated. Within minutes, a light drizzle replaced the torrential rain. She took this as a good sign.

  Some fifty feet below the cliff-top, Nine came to. At first, he had no awareness of anything. He didn’t even know where he was. Then it struck. The pain. It came in white hot flashes, causing him to cry out in agony. As he regained his senses, he looked around, trying to recall where he was and what had happened. Slowly, it came back to him.

  The vine broke. I fell. It’s a miracle I’m alive.

  Then he remembered he wasn’t alone.

  “Seventeen!” he shouted. No answer. “Jennifer!” Still no answer. He wondered what had happened to her.

  Did they get you? Did you fall?

  Nine tried to assess his injuries. He was pretty sure he’d been concussed. Blood streamed from a gash on his head. He had many other cuts, and his shoulder hurt like hell.

  Looking down at the night vision goggles he carried around his neck, he realized they’d been smashed in the fall, so he threw them away.

  It was then he noticed the light from the torches of the trackers approaching along the cliff top. Nine estimated they were less than fifteen minutes away. He wondered if Seventeen had also seen the lights.

  Looking over the edge of the ledge that had arrested his fall, he realized it would be suicidal to attempt to descend alone in the dark. Especially in his condition. And it was too much to hope the trackers wouldn’t see him if he stayed where he was.

  There’s only one thing for it. I have to climb back up.

  As he pushed himself to his feet, he grimaced in pain. The fall had damaged his ankle. He wondered if it was broken. Testing it cautiously, he was relieved to find it wasn’t.

  Nine looked up. It was only now he realized the storm had subsided. Soft drizzle soothed his face. He drank in droplets of water, assuaging his thirst.

  The orphan-operative steeled himself for what was ahead. He knew the next ten minutes or so would be painful. Beyond that, he daren’t think. He still hoped to reach the extraction point to the north, but wasn’t sure he could stay ahead of those tracking him let alone reach it in time for the scheduled midnight rendezvous with the chopper.

  Nine took a deep breath and started climbing. Handicapped by his injuries, the predicted ten-minute climb took closer to fifteen minutes. More than once he nearly lost his tenuous connection with the cliff-face. Only grim determination prevented him from falling to his death.

  By the time he reached the cliff-top, he was exhausted and racked by pain. It took all his energy just to lie on the ground, gasping for breath.

  Bright lights from the approaching trackers roused him. He could see he’d have company within two minutes, three at most.

  Nine staggered to his feet and began searching for his survival pouch. He knew Seventeen would have left it for him to find somewhere nearby. Sure enough, he found the pouch behind the tree he’d tied the faulty vine to earlier. He opened it to find it was empty. His pistol and emergency rations had been removed and, more importantly, his map and the coordinates were missing.

  It began to dawn on him that Seventeen had left him for dead. However, he didn’t have time to dwell on that. The trackers were now so close he could hear them crashing through the undergrowth.

  Something caused him to hesitate. He looked down at the vine that had almost been the death of him, and stooped to inspect the point where it had broken.

  The moon chose that moment to peep through a break in the clouds. Its light revealed the vine hadn’t broken. The end of the vine had clearly been serrated. The bitch cut it!

  Amerindian voices alerted him to the arrival of the trackers. Still shirtless and armed only with his hunting knife, Nine limped off in the opposite direction and was swallowed up by the jungle. The sound of voices faded as he put distance between himself and his pursuers. He guessed they had stopped to inspect the vine he and Seventeen had left at the cliff-top.

  Thanks to Seventeen’s treachery, he now had to estimate where the extraction point was. Nine had a rough idea of its location, having memorized his map, but wasn’t at all confident he could find it before the scheduled midnight rendezvous. He wasn’t even sure he could travel that far in his present condition.

  Torchlight in the trees behind him forced him to move faster despite the pain
.

  #

  Half a mile ahead of Nine, Seventeen was feeling more confident by the minute. Since the rain had stopped she’d been able to use her night vision goggles, and they made all the difference. She was now moving much faster than before. At this rate, she’d reach the extraction point ahead of schedule, even though she’d had to go around the ravine.

  As she slid down a muddy decline, a rumbling sound reached her ears. Five minutes later, she found the source of the noise: an impassable waterfall. The noise was deafening and spray from the falls drenched her.

  Seventeen quickly consulted her map by the light of the moon. Noting that a ford was indicated quarter of a mile upstream, she struck off in that direction.

  79

  Injured and without the benefit of night vision goggles, Nine was struggling as he tried to stay ahead of his pursuers in the dense rainforest. He hadn’t seen them yet – only the light of their torches – but guessed they were Wapishana trackers.

  It has to be them. Only they could have tracked us through a thunderstorm.

  The orphan-operative knew his freedom could be measured in minutes now. And probably his life, too.

  A distant rumbling sound reached his ears. Realizing there was a waterfall up ahead, he began running as fast as the darkness and his injuries would allow. He prayed it would provide a possible escape route.

  The same three Wapishana trackers were closing on their prey. The fastest of them – the tracker armed with the bow and poison-tipped arrows – was now so close he could see Nine. He sprinted toward the American like a jaguar hunting its prey.

  As Nine neared the waterfall, he experienced a searing pain in his thigh. He looked down and realized he’d just been skewered by an arrow. Its sharp tip protruded out through the front of his thigh. Fortunately, it hadn’t struck bone.

  The orphan-operative managed to stagger the last few feet to the edge of the falls. They were so high, he couldn’t see the bottom. Glancing behind, he saw the tracker who had shot him was selecting another arrow from his quiver. The tracker had been joined by his two companions who were in the process of unshouldering their shotguns.