The Orphan Factory (The Orphan Trilogy, #2)

by James Morcan

  What to do? Jump and die, or stay here and die?

  Knowing that he was probably jumping to his death, he leapt as far out into the falls as he could. As he did, he felt the wind of another arrow fly past his ear.

  Then he was gone.

  The trackers were left staring into the spray and darkness. They felt cheated. They’d wanted to kill him slowly and then cut out his heart and eat it – as their forefathers would have done. At least they had the consolation of knowing that even if the young white man survived the jump, the poison arrow would ensure he’d die a slow and painful death.

  A hundred feet below them, Nine had survived the jump. He’d emerged unscathed in the boiling waters at the foot of the falls, having mercifully avoided hitting any rocks on the way down. Now he had a new problem: how to avoid drowning in the swift-flowing river.

  Struggling to keep his head above water, he felt like he was inside a washing machine. He had no idea where the nearest riverbank was.

  Then, as quickly as it had begun, his headlong dash downstream ended as the river suddenly widened and its waters became languid. Nine was fortuitously closest to the bank he needed to reach to continue his trek to the extraction site. He reached it in a few quick strokes and pulled himself up onto the rocks.

  There, he inspected the arrow that remained lodged in his thigh. He knew he had to remove it.

  Despite the high humidity, he felt cold. He missed the warmth of his shirt. And although his adrenalin was still pumping, a strange lethargy was starting to set in. He felt dizzy and was starting to loose feeling in his limbs. It slowly dawned on him what was wrong.

  I’ve been poisoned!

  Nine enlarged the tear in his trousers to inspect the wound. He winced as he touched his thigh. The flesh around it felt hot.

  In the moonlight, he could see the skin around the arrow’s exit wound was red and inflamed. It was obviously becoming infected. Then he inspected the arrowhead that protruded from his thigh. His suspicion was immediately confirmed: its tip was blackened as if it had been dyed. He cautiously touched it. It felt syrupy. If he had to guess, it was curare, a paralyzing agent extracted from the curare vine and used by Guyana’s indigenous people to kill animals, and sometimes enemies.

  As his lethargy threatened to overwhelm him, Nine tapped into his inner memory to desperately try to recall what he’d previously read and heard about curare. Gradually, through the fog that clouded his brain, it came back to him.

  The main toxin of curare is d-tubocurarine. It causes paralysis and then asphyxia, resulting in death. Was once used to treat tetanus. U2 spy-plane pilot Gary Powers carried a curare-tipped needle when he flew over the Soviet Union.

  Nine shook his head as if to dispel the fog. He marveled that he was still able to function at all. His recollection of curare was that it paralyzed its victims within a minute or two. At least ten minutes had passed since he’d been shot. He put his survival down to the fact the arrowhead hadn’t remained buried inside his thigh and had instead come out the other side of the entry point. If it weren’t for that, he was in no doubt he’d be dead by now.

  Focus man! What’s the cure? A leaf. What’s it called?

  Then it came to him.

  Purple zeb grass! A leaf used by Amerindians for cleansing the blood. Commonly found in the Amazon Basin.

  Nine recalled numerous sightings of the common plant since he’d arrived in Guyana. Fortunately for him, it was in plentiful supply in these parts. Knowing every second counted, he began searching for the distinctive purple zeb grass along the riverbank.

  In the semi-dark, it took him half an hour to find the lifesaving plant. By now, he was close to losing consciousness, his limbs felt numb and he was having trouble breathing. Using his last reserves, he gathered up a handful of the precious leaves, stuffed them into his mouth and started chewing for his life.

  Nine recalled the Amerindians boiled the leaves with tea then drank the brew, but he didn’t have the luxury of a fire or a pot for the water. He had to make the most of what he had.

  As he chewed, he stuffed his trouser pockets full of leaves. His movements slowed until, finally, he lost consciousness.

  80

  As Nine lay unconscious near the river he’d almost drowned in, two miles further north Seventeen was climbing into the British Military helicopter that had come to extract them from the rainforest.

  The pilot and his armed escort of half a dozen SAS soldiers looked at Seventeen strangely. They hadn’t been told one of their two passengers would be a woman.

  “Where’s your partner,” the pilot asked.

  Seventeen shook her head. “He didn’t make it.”

  The pilot immediately prepared to depart for Georgetown.

  “I need to call my superiors,” Seventeen said.

  “Later,” the pilot responded. “I’m under orders to maintain radio silence until we’re in friendlier air space.”

  Moments later, as the chopper climbed high above the rainforest, Seventeen looked down at the dark treetops. She felt relieved to be alive. But more than that, she was glad she would never see Nine again.

  If you were the best orphan, how come it’s you lying out there in the darkness somewhere and it’s me returning to America victorious?

  Aware some of the soldiers were staring at her, Seventeen closed her eyes. The events of the past few days had caught up with her. She fell asleep almost immediately.

  #

  Nine didn’t know what it was that had roused him from his unconscious state. He thought he’d heard a chopper, but couldn’t be sure.

  Spitting half-chewed leaves from his mouth, the orphan-operative glanced at his watch. He was dismayed to see it had just gone past midnight.

  There goes my chopper ride!

  He thought of Seventeen and assumed she was safely in the air by now. The memory of what she’d done came flooding back. He swore he’d deal with her if he could somehow survive this ordeal and make it out of Guyana.

  Pain in his thigh reminded him of the arrow that remained lodged in him. He welcomed the pain. One of Kentbridge’s oft-quoted sayings came to him.

  Embrace pain. It reminds you you’re alive.

  Nine realized he had to remove the arrow. Gritting his teeth, he set to work with his hunting knife, cutting off the arrowhead before pulling the shaft back out through its entry point in the back of his thigh. It hurt, but it wasn’t as painful as he’d expected. He could only assume the purple zeb grass leaves had dulled the pain. Thinking of the leaves, he retrieved some from his pockets and gently inserted them into the entry and exit holes left by the arrow. He hoped the leaves would help prevent infection setting in. Then he pulled out a handkerchief and tied it around his thigh as a makeshift bandage.

  Now that he’d missed the rendezvous with the chopper, his thoughts turned to finding somewhere to rest up for the rest of the night. He recalled seeing a small cave in the riverbank a short distance upstream. Struggling to his feet, he limped back along the riverbank to find it.

  Nine soon found what he was looking for. The cave was tiny, but it would do. After checking it wasn’t home to any deadly snakes or spiders, he crawled into it and made himself as comfortable as he could on its rock floor.

  Tired though he was, sleep wouldn’t come straight away. Seventeen consumed his thoughts. He knew beyond doubt she’d tried to kill him and then left him for dead.

  The knowledge that one of his fellow orphans had turned on him like that sickened him. He’d never have believed it, even of Seventeen.

  Nine knew he was on his own and there would be no rescue attempt. Like every other Omega mission, this one was above top secret and at a higher level than the White House.

  Before leaving Chicago, he’d been told by Kentbridge that the chopper pickup would be the only assistance they could expect from the British. Like all wealthy, dominant countries that interfere with weaker Third World nations, Britain wanted any controversial activities to remain undetectable and
off the record. Nine suspected that was why the Royals had contracted the independent and secretive Omega Agency to do their dirty work in Guyana.

  He suddenly thought of Helen and wondered how she was. While he no longer had feelings for her, he hoped she harbored no ill will toward him.

  Nine touched the ruby on his chest before closing his eyes. When sleep finally came, it was a restless sleep. A sleep filled with dreams of the parents he’d never had, the love he’d never known, the orphanage, the White Gold, the flotation tanks, the Teleiotes lessons, the killing techniques.

  Mostly, he dreamed about the blonde, blue-eyed orphan who now called herself Jennifer. Except it wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare.

  81

  “The vine broke,” Seventeen said coldly. “He didn’t stand a chance.”

  She was speaking into the British Military helicopter’s radio transmitter as the craft approached Georgetown. The SAS soldiers traveling with her listened in with interest as she relayed news of Nine’s demise to her masters at the Omega Agency.

  Seventeen continued, “He couldn’t possibly have survived the fall. He must have fallen thirty feet.” She paused to allow the news to sink in. “I couldn’t get down to him. I waited as long as I could. The trackers would’ve caught me if I’d waited any longer.”

  Naylor’s response came through the headphones she wore. “You did all you could, Seventeen. No-one can blame you for what happened.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Get back here as soon as you can for your debriefing. And again, well done, my girl.” Naylor ended the call.

  Seventeen removed her headphones. She felt pleased with herself. The call had gone well. Naylor was obviously happy with her and she was now clearly the agency’s golden girl. The mission had succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations. Since arriving in Guyana, she had taken out Ezekiel, saved the agency from liquidation and ensured its financial future. More importantly, she’d secured her own future.

  As for Nine, as far as she was concerned he was just collateral damage. And Seventeen was sure Naylor felt the same way.

  #

  In the boardroom at the Omega Agency’s HQ, the mood remained celebratory. It had been like that since they’d learned of Ezekiel’s assassination. And Seventeen was right: Naylor did view Nine’s demise as collateral damage, as did his fellow directors Fletcher Von Pein, Bill Sterling and Lincoln Claver.

  Although it was past midnight, the champagne was flowing. The founders were also celebrating news, received a short time before Seventeen’s latest communication, that the Royal Family would be replacing the entire funds of the bank accounts Nexus had cleared – funds totaling billions of dollars – and their financial support for the agency would continue. That bit of good news had been relayed to them by a very happy Lady Penelope.

  Also present in the boardroom were Kentbridge and Marcia. While they were sharing in the celebrations, they were more subdued than the others. Kentbridge in particular had taken the news of Nine’s reported death hard. He looked on the young man as his protégé, his son even, though he’d never acknowledged that until now.

  Kentbridge was surprised, as was Naylor, that Seventeen had made it, but Nine hadn’t. While they’d never doubted Seventeen’s abilities, they’d always expected Nine would survive whatever life threw at him. He’d demonstrated that at the age of twelve when he fled the agency and led Kentbridge and the others on a merry old dance.

  The special agent replayed in his mind the news Seventeen had just delivered.

  Damn you, Sebastian. I’ve invested eighteen years of blood, sweat and tears into you. For nothing!

  82

  After a restless night alongside the river that had almost killed him, Nine awoke thinking about Kentbridge’s favorite saying: For every problem, there’s always a solution.

  For a moment, he couldn’t remember what his problem was. Then he remembered he didn’t have one problem: he had a hundred and one problems.

  His black mood wasn’t helped by his physical aches and pains. As well as being battered and bruised, he’d been left weakened by the poison in his system and the wound left by the arrow.

  Besides the fact he was still alive, the one bit of good news was the wound seemed to be healing and the inflammation around it had died down.

  Nine re-evaluated his priorities. Now that he’d missed the helicopter pickup, he thought he should head south – to the southern Rupununi savannahs. There he could make contact with one of the region’s many cattle ranches or adventure tourism lodges, and from there he could cross the border into Brazil and get the medical aid he needed.

  He debated whether it would be better to keep heading north to where he and Seventeen had left their rental vehicle, but dismissed that when he realized it would take a good two days to reach it, and he doubted he could last that long in his condition.

  South it is.

  Nine wondered what Kentbridge would do if roles were reversed and he was the one wounded right now in the Amazon rainforest.

  Tommy would find a way to survive. That tough sucker always finds a way.

  Nine knew, first and foremost, he had to look after himself to give himself the best chance of surviving. He got to his feet and limped down to the river’s edge. There, he drank his fill of water. Immediately, it seemed to energise him.

  Something in the water caught his eye. It was an anaconda floating downstream in the current. The giant reptile fastened one beady eye on Nine as it went by just a few feet away.

  Nine instinctively retreated from the water’s edge. He had no wish to end up as the anaconda’s breakfast.

  Then, sitting down on the riverbank, he began reciting his daily affirmation:

  I am an Omegan and a polymath.

  Whatever I set my mind to, I always achieve.

  The limitations that apply to the rest of humanity,

  Do not apply to me.

  His mind remained in the alpha brainwave as he visualized possible future scenarios regarding his survival.

  The distinctive sound of a distant chopper startled him. He looked up and saw a small speck in the southern sky. For a split second he thought it was the same British Military helicopter that he’d hoped to connect with six hours earlier. Then commonsense prevailed: he realized his Omega masters would believe him dead by now.

  Seventeen would have made sure of that.

  That meant the approaching chopper was in all likelihood one of the Guyanese Army choppers, and they’d resumed their search for him. He knew the Wapishana trackers would have reported his likely demise to the soldiers, and he presumed the chopper had been sent to recover his body or at least to confirm his death.

  As the speck in the sky grew bigger, Nine retreated into the cover of the nearby rainforest. He wondered who the chopper’s passengers were.

  #

  The approaching chopper had just one passenger – Ram Snake Amos, the Afro-Guyanese Nexus agent Nine had seen among the soldiers when Quamina Ezekiel arrived for his mother’s funeral.

  Snake had received a call at dawn from the Wapishana tracker who had shot Nine. Intent on confirming his quarry was dead, the tracker had climbed down the side of the waterfall Nine had jumped over. He’d found Nine’s tracks and immediately reported his finding via his two-way radio to Snake who had instructed him to await his arrival.

  The sinewy Afro-Guyanese wanted to have the pleasure of killing Nine himself. In fact, Snake wanted the American dead as much as the Wapishana did, but for different reasons. His interest was entirely professional.

  Ezekiel’s assassination was a black mark against Snake. It had happened on his watch, and his superiors weren’t happy. That gnawed away at him.

  Snake’s superiors had since advised him they’d just learned Omega had recently released twenty three orphan-operatives into the field. The Nexus hierarchy suspected one or two of the newcomers were responsible for Ezekiel’s death, and they wanted them disposed of as they considered them a real threat to
Nexus’ future.

  Snake had been looking forward to returning to Georgetown, and to the bed of his latest mistress, straight after the funeral of Ezekiel’s mother. That had all changed with the assassination and news that Omega’s orphan-operatives may have been involved.

  Observing the riverbank below him through the chopper’s passenger window, Snake vowed he’d kill the Omegan who had made him and his efforts to protect Quamina Ezekiel appear so amateurish.

  83

  Nine’s flight through the rainforest was slowed by the dense foliage and by his physical condition, which was worsening by the minute. He felt as weak as a kitten, his injured ankle could barely support his weight and he was stiff and sore all over.

  Still he pressed on. His motivation came from the fact that he knew for sure the chopper he’d seen had landed near where he’d overnighted on the riverbank. While he hadn’t seen it land, he’d heard it and assumed it had brought people who didn’t have his best interests at heart.

  As he sought to distance himself from his pursuers, he tried to make sense of the sudden development. He quickly came to the conclusion someone had called the chopper in.

  But who?

  Nine realized it could only have been the Wapishana who had tracked him to the top of the waterfall during the night.

  They must know I’m still alive.

  The orphan-operative wasn’t sure how they’d got word out about his survival, but that was neither here nor there. He had a situation and he had to deal with it.

  Every now and then, he stopped to listen for the telltale sound of someone following him. As time passed and the sun rose higher above the treetops, he began to feel more confident.

  Nine followed an arc which he hoped would take him back to the river. He was afraid if he lost contact with it, he could become hopelessly lost.

  It was a foreign noise that alerted Nine to the fact he was being followed. A noise that didn’t belong in a rainforest.