The Orphan Factory (The Orphan Trilogy, #2) (23 page)

Nine glanced over his shoulder – something he’d been doing a lot since fleeing the orphanage – and spotted Helen’s father following them. Mister Katsarakis was heading home with briefcase in hand. And judging by the grim expression on his face, he wasn’t too happy to find his daughter keeping company with a boy he’d never seen before let alone met.

“Isn’t that--” Nine stopped himself before he put his foot in it.

Helen looked around and immediately saw her father approaching. She was so flustered she didn’t give Nine’s near-faux pas a second thought. “My father is coming. He doesn’t like me talking to boys, so you’d better go.”

“Wait, when can I see you again?”

“My next dance class is the day after tomorrow.”

“Okay, see you then.” Nine hurried off in the opposite direction to Mister Katsarakis.

The day after tomorrow? How on earth can I wait that long.

When he reached the end of the street, he looked back to see Helen and her father in deep discussion. He could only imagine what they were talking about.

41

Chess players of all ages and backgrounds squared off against each other in an area known as Chess Park, on Santa Monica Beach. Some were semi-professional – or liked to think they were – and advertised challenges where all monies wagered went to the winner.

The
pros
, as they called themselves, had set up their chess boards on park benches and card tables. Makeshift signs invited challenges from anyone keen to test their chess-playing abilities and make some cash if they were good enough to win.

Spectators gathered around the contestants who were playing for amounts ranging from one dollar to several hundred dollars. Nine and Ace were among them.

Watching the pros at work, it quickly became obvious some were making good money. That got Nine thinking. He was tired of having to resort to fraud and pickpocketing to survive, and was looking for a way to make a living legally.
This could be the answer
.

Nine and Ace came across an elderly, bearded, Rasputin-like figure who sat alone at his table, awaiting his first challenge of the day. Alongside him, a sign read:
Former US junior chess master. Beat me to win ten dollars for every dollar of yours
.

Ace noted Nine’s interest in the man. “He’s known as Maestro,” the Native American said. “Ain’t never been beat since he’s been comin’ here.”

A noticeboard behind Maestro displayed faded press clippings proving he was who he claimed to be – a former junior chess champion.

Nine could feel his competitive juices starting to flow. Without waiting to be invited, he sat down opposite the old man.

Maestro immediately came to life. “You think you can take the Maestro, do you kid?” His tone was arrogant and he spoke in a nasally, high-pitched voice.

Nine nodded and placed a hundred dollar bill on Maestro’s side of the board. “That’s worth a grand if I beat you, right?”

Surprised, the old man asked, “You sure you can afford this?”

Nine ignored him. He was confident the chess tuition he’d received at the orphanage, and the countless hours he’d spent playing the game with his tutors and fellow orphans, would stand him in good stead. Kentbridge had even brought in a genuine chess master to teach the orphans the finer points of the game, and Nine was instinctively aware his superior genes and the years spent activating his brain glands would all come into play. Right now, his full focus was on the chess board in front of him. He always liked to visualize series of moves, even entire games, before he started playing.

Warming to the task ahead, Maestro launched into a Muhammad Ali-like diatribe, describing in detail how he was going to humiliate his young opponent. The old man considered himself the Ali of chess, and maintained a constant patter as the game began. Soon, a small crowd had gathered around the dueling pair.

#

Twenty minutes later, the small crowd around Nine and Maestro had more than quadrupled in size. If Maestro had wondered whether the boy was a worthy opponent, he was in no doubt now. Gone was the constant patter. Nine had him under pressure. Sweating profusely, Maestro defensively moved a pawn forward one space.

The orphan now had that singularity of mind which expert martial artists achieve, and was completely in
the Zone
. It was the ultimate mental state. In his mind he was able to access all possible scenarios and permutations existing on the chess board.

Nine employed the rarely used
en passant
manoeuver, moving his pawn diagonally forward so that it captured a pawn and rested alongside his opponent’s rook.

Maestro now had the option to take Nine’s pawn with his rook, but couldn’t because it would leave his king exposed to his opposite’s queen. Worse, he could see whatever move he made, the boy could checkmate him on his very next move. Looking into Nine’s eyes, he saw he’d realized that, too. Maestro did the only thing he could: he knocked his king over, conceding defeat.

The crowd erupted with Ace leading the celebrations. He picked up Nine in a bear hug and swung him round. “You did it, Luke!” he shouted. “You out-hustled the hustler!”

Nine was pleased with himself. Not only because he’d made a quick grand, but because he’d proven to his own satisfaction how he could make money legitimately.

As the spectators dispersed, Maestro reluctantly settled with Nine, handing over one thousand dollars in cash.

#

After returning to their Venice apartment, Ace turned in for a snooze while Nine prepared to go for a run. He put on a new pair of running shoes he’d purchased with some of his chess winnings on the way home. The orphan was determined to keep himself in prime physical condition. And he wanted to look good for Helen.

Now, as he jogged toward Venice Beach, he could only think of her. He couldn’t wait to meet up with the young beauty again at the dance class the following afternoon. She invaded his thoughts every waking minute, and every minute away from her seemed like an hour.

Nine covered the mile or so to the beach effortlessly. Running along the boardwalk that ran parallel to the beach, he was able to experience the coastal town’s bustling, circus-like atmosphere. He passed hippies, buskers, jugglers and acrobats. Even a zany grandmother burned nut brown by the sun and wearing only a skimpy bikini. She resembled a one-woman band, simultaneously playing a variety of instruments with her hands and feet.

How he loved this place. Already, Riverdale was becoming a distant memory.

Nine wasn’t the only one out exercising that sunny afternoon. Other joggers ran along the boardwalk and the beach, youths whizzed past him on rollerblades and skateboards, suntanned bodybuilders flaunted their physiques on Muscle Beach and young ethnic males played basketball on the courts.

As the crowds thinned, the orphan ran back down onto the beach and headed south in the direction of Marina Del Ray. His mind strayed to the Omega Agency. He wondered what Kentbridge and Naylor were doing about his disappearance. Whatever they were doing, he expected they’d never give up until their rogue orphan was back in their control.

The thought of Omega using their considerable resources to hunt him down made him increase his pace from a leisurely jog to a fast run. He was soon breathing hard.

Nine suddenly noticed a distinctive vehicle following him – a silver Cherokee Jeep. Tinted windows hid its occupants from view. He wouldn’t have given it a second glance except he’d spotted it earlier and thought it coincidental he’d seen the same vehicle twice.

The orphan ran into a side street and was alarmed to see the Jeep follow him. He immediately slowed and the Jeep slowed.

Nine increased his speed, striding out as he sought a stairway he could run down or a narrow alley perhaps – anywhere the Jeep couldn’t follow.

Glancing behind him, he relaxed when he saw the vehicle pull over to the curb. The driver’s door opened and a bald man disembarked. He hurried around to the front passenger door and helped an elderly lady climb out. The bald man escorted the old lady into a house.

Nine slowed his pace. He told himself he needed to stop being paranoiac. Looking at the sweatband that kept the White Gold secure on his forearm reminded him Omega didn’t have a clue where in the world he was.
Literally
. He could be in Timbuktu for all they knew.

42

“I need more resources, sir,” Kentbridge said. “Now that we’ve solved the Nexus issue I was hoping that would free up a couple of our operatives.”

His suggestion was directed at Omega boss Andrew Naylor, but it was Senior Agent Marcia Wilson who answered.

“Searching for him is costing us a great deal of time and money,” Marcia said. “These orphans are supposed to give us returns on our investment, not cost us additional expenses over and above what we’ve budgeted for.”

“But--”

“I agree with Marcia,” Naylor interjected. “Your wayward orphan has already cost us a bundle.”

The three Omegans were in Naylor’s office in the agency’s subterranean headquarters in south-west Illinois. In the week that had passed since the ninth-born orphan had bolted, Kentbridge had by necessity been spending more time at HQ than at the orphanage. Here, he could access the agency’s IT and surveillance teams more readily than he could from Chicago. However, even with Omega’s vast resources at his disposal he and his colleagues still had no idea where Nine was.

Naylor continued, “She’s right, Tommy. For all we know, the brat could be in Argentina or Mongolia by now.”

“No. He’s still in the States. I can feel it.”

“You expect us to act on a feeling?” Marcia asked.

Naylor glared at Marcia as if to keep her in line. The sharp look directed at his colleague didn’t fool Kentbridge. The orphans’ mentor knew that Marcia was the agency’s new shining light and because of that was very much in Naylor’s good books.

Marcia had just received a promotion in the CIA’s ranks, thereby expanding Omega’s influence within that organization. Her new status as Supervisory Special Agent basically matched the Senior Agent rank she held at Omega. The promotion represented another rung up the ladder toward the directorship of the CIA, which was Omega’s end goal for her. To have one of their own in control of the CIA would help propel Omega to the very top of the Western world’s foremost financial, political and military influencers.

Naturally, everyone at Omega was delighted by Marcia’s promotion. Everyone that is except Kentbridge. He’d always looked on his female colleague as the main obstacle to his rising up the ladder within Omega. Until her latest promotion, they’d been equals. Now, she’d nudged ahead of him in seniority and was fast becoming one of the agency’s most valuable assets, and that irked him.

Naylor sensed the rivalry between the pair, but did nothing to discourage it. He believed healthy rivalries were necessary, desirable even, in an organization like Omega.

Despite the disappearance of Nine, and the resulting disruptions it had caused the agency and Kentbridge in particular, Naylor was feeling upbeat. Omega had had two significant successes of late: Marcia’s promotion at the CIA and the resolution of the Nexus problem.

The Nexus mole had been a huge headache for Naylor who was mindful that Kentbridge had played a major part in resolving the problem through neatly disposing of Doctor Pedemont. Finding and terminating the mole meant Omega was once again on target to secure multi-billion dollar mining contracts with the handful of newly formed European and Asian countries that had recently gained independence from post-Communist Russia.

Even so, having a rogue orphan on the loose was a blight on Kentbridge’s copybook, and Naylor had no intention of making things any easier for the special agent.

The director looked squarely at Kentbridge. “Tommy, we were always going to have to cut our losses sooner or later.” He spoke with an air of finality. “We can’t let one damn orphan jeopardize our whole program.”

“This one is special, sir.”

“They are all special, for Christ’s sake!” Marcia said.

Kentbridge ignored her. “Sir, the skills Nine is displaying right now – adapting, surviving, lying, shape-shifting – are precisely the skills he’ll need once he’s a working operative. He’s already displaying advanced skills for his age. Lord knows how good he’ll end up. I predict he’ll do amazing things for us.”

Marcia opened her mouth to comment, but Naylor hushed her with one raised finger.

“The little bastard may be advanced,” the director said, “but his loyalty to the agency that nurtured him will forever be questioned.” He hurried on so Kentbridge could not object. “And Nurse Hilda has informed me you guys are starting to have problems with a few of the other orphans too. The last thing we want is a full scale revolt. You’re allegiance must to be to the remaining twenty two, not to the one rogue orphan.”

A frustrated Kentbridge shook his head. “But sir, it’s the fact Nine is still free to roam that’s giving the other orphans ideas. They’re starting to lust for what Nine has. I can see it in their eyes. We need to find him and bring him back where he belongs. That’ll set an example to the others and ram home that they are all in this for life.”

Naylor considered this carefully. “Okay, you can continue the search, but I won’t be extending the two-week deadline. It’s already been a week. So this time next week, if you still haven’t found the brat, we’ll have to cut our losses and move on.”

Kentbridge felt relieved. Even though the first week had brought no luck, he was confident another week would be all he needed to rein Nine in. “And the additional operatives I asked for, sir?”

“Don’t push your luck, Tommy,” Naylor bristled. “You’re on your own.”

Kentbridge was about to try to negotiate further for additional manpower when there was a knock on the door. Naylor’s secretary looked in and announced the arrival of the director’s next appointment, effectively ending the meeting.

Naylor motioned to his secretary to show the visitor in then he turned back to Kentbridge. “Thanks Tommy, keep me posted will you?”