The Ninth Orphan (34 page)

Using a succession of stairways, he passed a couple of security men, but was unchallenged. He soon reached the castle's main kitchen where he found a large team of caterers preparing finger food. They were all dressed in matching uniforms identical to Nine's. He silently thanked the local informant he’d paid earlier to advise him which company had secured the catering contract. Procuring a spare uniform from the company after hours had been relatively simple.

When no-one was looking, Nine reached through the open door, grabbed a tray of finger food and hurried off along a corridor. Carrying the tray, he passed several security guards along the way. None spared him a second glance.

Still unchallenged, he entered a luxurious guest lounge where a large group of VIPs were conversing over drinks. Nine placed the tray on a table then picked up an empty tray and busied himself placing empty plates on it. Again, no-one gave him a second glance.

Mainly men, the VIPs included heads of state and noted business leaders of different nationalities. Nine recognized many of them, although not all by name.

He was relieved to see Andrew Naylor was present. His former boss was talking to fellow Omegan and CIA Deputy Director Marcia Wilson.

Nine remembered Naylor was using his Bilderberg connections to try to become CIA Director. Securing the last of Yamashita’s Gold had no doubt increased his stakes and he figured Wilson would be putting in a good word to her superiors as well. If Naylor was successful in his bid, Nine knew Omega would achieve its long-held goal of completely controlling the CIA.

The operative glanced at the political and corporate figures in attendance. He sensed most, if not all, had no idea the Omega Agency even existed. That fact put Naylor in an exposed position. Nine was here to exploit that vulnerability.

Moving slightly closer to Naylor and Wilson, Nine collected more empty plates. They ceased talking when they sensed his presence close by. Nine took this as his cue to move away. As he did, he glanced at the name tag on Naylor’s suit jacket. Below Naylor's name was the number
44
.

Before leaving the guest lounge, Nine placed the tray of empty plates on a table and picked up another tray which had a solitary, as-yet-unclaimed glass of wine on it. He placed a chicken leg on a plate beside it then stepped back out into the corridor and walked briskly to a staircase that would take him to the next floor where he knew, from having memorized the castle plans, he’d find Room 44.

At the foot of the stairway, he was
confronted
by a uniformed security guard. “Who’s that for?” the guard asked, glancing enviously at the glass of wine and chicken leg on the tray Nine carried. His rural Cornish accent gave away his origins.

“
The guest in Room 44.” Nine deliberately didn’t specify which guest. The guard stepped aside and allowed Nine to continue up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, the rogue agent walked along a dimly-lit, sumptuously-carpeted passageway, checking the numbers on each door he passed. He stopped outside Room 44. Glancing around to ensure he wasn’t being observed, he tried the handle to confirm it was locked then used a credit card to trip the latch. The door opened and he entered the room, closing the door behind him. A quick reconnoiter of the room confirmed it was Naylor’s.

Nine turned the light out then made himself comfortable in a bedside chair to await Naylor. While he waited, he allowed himself the luxury of a chicken entrée washed down by a glass of wine. Not one to celebrate prematurely, he was feeling confident.

Once he’d finished his late night treat, he pulled out a Derringer pistol and placed it on the bed next to him. The pistol wasn’t his normal choice of weapon. He’d had to dispense with the Glock he’d used to shoot Kentbridge in the leg before flying to England.

On arrival in England, the fashionable, double-shot Derringer ladies’ pocket pistol was the only weapon he’d been able to source at short notice without attracting undue attention. Nine wasn’t worried what the pistol looked like. He knew its anti-terrorist exploding bullets would leave an exit wound the size of a tennis ball – and he knew Naylor would be aware of that also.

#

Half an hour later, Naylor entered his room and shut the door behind him. Switching the light on, he was shocked to see the intruder sitting only a few feet away in the bedside chair. Nine, still in his caterer's guise,
was pointing the Derringer
at Naylor’s chest.

“
Who are you?” Naylor stammered.

Keeping his pistol trained on his former superior, Nine stood up and professionally patted Naylor down, checking for a weapon. Finding none, he shoved him onto the king-size bed then removed his cap and spectacles to reveal his true identity.

Naylor looked at him in disbelief. “You!” Struggling to keep his composure, the shaken Omega boss sat up and faced Nine. “What the hell do you want?” Naylor scanned the room. He noted the empty wine glass and remains of a chicken leg on the tray beside the bed. “I see you made yourself at home, Nine.”

“
I’m not a number. My name is Sebastian. And what I want is to be left alone. Forever.”

“
It doesn't work like that.”

“
Yes it does. I'm making the rules now.”

“
You tried to kill Kentbridge and nearly destroyed our agency. You expect me to just let you walk?”

“
That's exactly what you're going to do.”

Naylor’s gaze rested on the fashionable Derringer that Nine was pointing at him. “And what the hell is that?”

Nine lowered the pistol fractionally so it was aimed at Naylor’s groin. “This little doozey is something that’s capable of blowing your balls off.”

The threat wasn’t lost on Naylor. Nine noted with satisfaction that the Omega director’s lazy eye was working overtime.

50

N
aylor looked directly into Nine’s eyes and began reciting, “Sebastian George Hannar. Activate MK-Ultra Program. Mercury, Venus --” Anticipating this, Nine quickly jammed the Derringer’s barrel in Naylor’s mouth before the other could exert any mind-control over him. He released the safety with an audible click. “Don’t tempt me, Naylor.”

Wide-eyed, Naylor sat motionless. Nine withdrew the pistol from Naylor's mouth and continued as if nothing had happened. “I know about your orphanage in the Black Forest.” He unbuttoned his shirt to reveal an airtight plastic bag fastened to his chest. Ripping it open, he pulled several documents out and threw them onto the bed. “How would you explain these to the world's media?”

Naylor inspected the documents. They included files and photos Nine had uplifted from the Berlin journalist Naylor had ordered him to execute a year earlier. Among them were graphic photos of orphans who had been subjected to horrific scientific experiments.

Nine continued, “I've left copies of these and other incriminating evidence in sealed envelopes with attorneys in London and Berlin. If anything untoward should happen to me, or Isabelle Alleget, they've been authorized to release these to the media.” With increasing horror, Naylor studied the photos. Nine noted the other’s reaction with satisfaction. “The documents include hard evidence that the agency runs these orphanages. And that it does so with the full blessing of the Bilderberg Group.”

Naylor couldn't tear his eyes away from a photo of a scientist inspecting the body of a naked boy frozen in a large block of ice. Nine pointed to the scientist. “That's Doctor Arnold Schmelling. You'll recognize him, I'm sure. After all, you hired him.”

Pale-faced, Naylor looked up at Nine.

“
The media would have a field-day if they learned what you Bilderbergers have been up to,” Nine said, deliberately stating the obvious. “And the Omega Agency will be exposed when Congress and the American public learn you’re using orphans to create future assassins.”

Naylor's face dropped. His lazy eye continued to twitch.

Nine stared hard into the older man’s eyes. “If you want to avoid this scenario, take me out of the system. I no longer exist. And Isabelle Alleget will be released too. Deal?” Defeated, Naylor nodded. “I didn’t hear you,” Nine said.

“
Yes, we have a deal.”

“
Good. Now order Isabelle's release.”

Nine kept his gun pointed at Naylor who fumbled in his pockets. The Omega head eventually pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed a number.

#

At the same time, in the CIA detention center in Andorra, Isabelle watched in terror as Seventeen attached electrodes to her skin in readiness for shock treatment. No amount of pleading could convince Seventeen she did not know Nine's whereabouts or future plans. Before the blonde operative could complete her preparations, her cell phone rang.
It was Naylor. Seventeen left the room to take the call.

As she listened to her superior, the operative studied Isabelle through a one-way glass window. She almost cursed aloud when she heard what Naylor had to say. “Are you sure, sir?”

“
She's no longer any use to us,” was Naylor’s response. “Release her – unharmed.”

The line went dead. Furious, Seventeen took one last look at Isabelle then left the room.

#

Inside Saint Michael's Mount off the coast of England, Naylor pocketed his cell phone and looked back up at Nine.

“
It's done. She’s being freed now.”

Nine reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a mini tape recorder which was recording. He switched it off under Naylor’s nose and returned it to his pocket. Nine then scooped up all the documents and handed them to his former superior. “Keep these copies as a memento.” Naylor absentmindedly took them from Nine and stared at them numbly.

Nine wasn
’
t done yet.
There was also his financial situation. Since his deal with the MSS had turned sour, he
didn't have the funds he was counting on to retire
. There was an eighty million dollar shortfall. Nine ordered the Omega head to cover the shortfall.

Naylor reluctantly phoned a Chicago accountant on the Omega payroll. He arranged to have eighty million of Omega funds instantly transferred into Nine’s nameless, number-only Swiss bank account in Geneva.

Once he’d confirmed his account was over the hundred million dollar mark, the figure he’d set out to receive from the Chinese, Nine prepared to leave.
He hesitated as he suddenly remembered his mother.

Nine held his pistol under Naylor's chin and forcibly tilted the Omega director
’
s head so that he was looking up at him. The operative stared into Naylor
’
s eyes.
“
You know, I should really blow you straight to hell for having ordered my mother
’
s death.
”

Naylor
couldn
’
t maintain eye contact with Nine as he thought of Annette Hannar, the orphan's mother.

Nine could tell by his expression that the rumors were true
–
Naylor really was responsible for his mother's death. He pocketed his pistol.
“
But in time your own guilt will crucify you
–
for eternity.
”

Wasting no more time, the fugitive agent grabbed Naylor in a Sleeper Hold and rendered him unconscious. He then placed him under the bed covers, making it look like he was fast asleep which, of course, he was. Nine debated whether to bind and gag Naylor, but calculated he’d be half way to Heathrow by the time the older man awoke.

Checking he had everything, he walked to the door. Before turning off the light, he glanced back at the sleeping Naylor. Only his head was visible above the covers. Nine couldn’t help thinking how serene he looked. He switched the light off and left the room.

Minutes later, he'd recovered his dive gear, suited up and begun the underwater journey to shore via the same pipe he'd used to access the castle earlier.

51

I
n his own room within a private hospital in Paris, Kentbridge lay in bed watching a pretty nurse who dressed the bullet wound in his thigh. Nine had made a good job of it. The bullet hadn’t shattered any bones or gone near any major arteries.

Kentbridge conversed with the nurse in French as she secured his wounded leg in a splint which she then elevated above the bed. He soon had her giggling.

The sudden appearance of Naylor caught Kentbridge off guard.
“Andrew. I wasn't expecting you.”

The nurse smiled at Kentbridge then left the two men alone.

“
I wanted to check in on you before I head back to the States,” Naylor said.

This was the first time they’d seen each other since the Black Forest incident earlier in the week. Naylor sat on the side of the bed. He studied Kentbridge’s bandaged leg. “How is it, Tommy?”

“
The doc says I'll live.”

Naylor grinned. His half-smile quickly faded. “Sebastian tracked me down at the Bilderberg Conference,” he said at length. Kentbridge did his best to look surprised. Naylor continued, “It's time for us to cut our losses, so I managed to strike up a deal with him.” Intrigued, Kentbridge listened. “I've granted him an early retirement, provided he stays out of trouble.”