The Ninth Orphan (10 page)

After all, if the African intruder was in fact Nine, Isabelle represented their only chance of gaining information about the rogue agent’s motivations, not to mention his intentions. Like Kentbridge, Seventeen knew it was unlikely Nine would have revealed anything of importance to Isabelle, but as this was their only lead, they had to go after it. So, instead of arguing, Seventeen simply looked at Kentbridge and said, “Yes, sir.”

Kentbridge knew she wanted to say more
, but didn’t press her.

Sensing her superior expected her to offer something else, Seventeen added, “Bella’s a photographer, so let’s hope her eye for detail picked up something we can use.”

The hostess pushing the trolley reached the two Omega operatives and stopped to serve them coffee. As she placed cups in front of them, Kentbridge noticed she wore a ruby broach. Seventeen followed her superior's gaze and studied the ruby also. Like Nine, rubies were her favorite gemstone. That was about the only thing she had in common with her fellow orphan.

“
Bon appetite,” the hostess smiled before continuing down the aisle. Seventeen glanced at Kentbridge as she sipped her coffee. He appeared to be lost in thought.

#

Nine and Isabelle were also drinking coffee in the lounge of the
Frenchwoman's apartment
. Isabelle had been ordered to make coffee moments earlier. Nine needed a caffeine boost to sharpen his mind.

Tired and unkempt, he sneaked a glance at himself in a wall mirror. Bloodshot eyes stared back at him out of a ghostly white face. He caught Isabelle looking at him. She quickly averted her eyes. He wondered what she was thinking. She appeared to be more in control than earlier on. And so was he for that matter.

As he drank his coffee, Nine sensed he was returning to his old self. Despite his weariness, he was starting to think clearly once more. The fuzziness that had clouded his judgment earlier had gone. H
e focused his mind on what to do with Isabelle and how to make a clean break from his Omega masters. The operative still had no clear answers, but figured it pretty unlikely Kentbridge would connect Isabelle’s assault complaint the night before with him for some time yet.

There are tens of thousands of crimes reported throughout Europe every day
, he reasoned.
No matter how sharp Kentbridge is, he still has to work through all the EU departments, and they’re notoriously slow.
To be on the safe side though, he knew he had to keep Isabelle close to him – until he’d decided what to do with her at least.

Nine was certain Kentbridge and his arsenal of operatives would catch up with Isabelle eventually.
If they ever get the chance to interrogate her, it will be game over
, he reminded himself.
They’ll squeeze every last drop of information out of her and she’ll reveal the destination she saw on my airline ticket.

Nine decided then and there he’d continue this charade with Isabelle for a while longer. If he could buy himself a little time, he knew a solution would come to him. But first he had to get himself together.

Isabelle looked on with a mixture of fear and curiosity as he removed his shirt to reveal a black kit strapped to his chest. The Omega-designed kit was one of the tools of his trade. It contained some of the cosmetics, facial prosthetics, contact lenses and other items he favored as disguise-aids.
These items were stored in miniature tubes and dispensers, some as small as a fingernail. Beside the cosmetics, there were also facial prosthetics including a fake nose and ears.

Impressive though this special black kit was, the downside was the miniature sizes of the cosmetics meant he had to replace them frequently. This necessitated regular, sometimes daily, visits to pharmacies and cosmetic outlets to facilitate his frequent changes of identity. Even so, it was an ingenious Omega invention as it allowed Nine and the other orphans to effectively be chameleons and change guises while on the run.

Nine ripped the kit off his chest. He placed it on the table then looked up at Isabelle. “Bring all your make-up out here.”

“
What? Why should I?”

“
Just do it,” he snapped.

Isabelle reluctantly stood up and hurried through to her bedroom. Nine followed.

In her room, under the intruder’s gaze, she nervously gathered up make-up supplies from her dressing table. Nine picked up the cell phone he’d noticed earlier on a bedside stool. He slipped it into his pocket then retreated back out into the lounge.

Isabelle followed moments later carrying an armful of cosmetics. She watched, intrigued, as he extracted some of the miniature dispensers from his black kit. He then proceeded to refill them using her supplies.

If Isabelle hadn’t been sure he was crazy before, she was now.
What kind of man carries women’s make-up on his chest?
she asked herself. Isabelle also noticed the small flash drive which was secured to the inside of the kit.

As Nine closed the kit and fastened it back onto his chest, Isabelle’s phone suddenly rang. Sensing this was her chance to alert someone to the danger she was in, Isabelle hurried toward the ringing phone, but Nine stepped between it and her, blocking her way. He looked at the caller ID on the handset as the phone continued to ring. It read:
Papa
.

“
Why is your father calling so late?
”

“
He has probably just found out I was attacked by another intruder last night.
”
She thought about the African man for a moment then looked at the mysterious Russian before her.
“
Psychos are becoming part of my daily life, you see,
”
she added sarcastically.

The phone eventually stopped ringing. A few seconds later Isabelle
’
s cell phone rang. Nine fished it from his pocket. When it stopped ringing, he brought up the caller
’
s number on the phone
’
s display panel and held it up to Isabelle
’
s face.

“
My father,
”
she confirmed.

“
Get dressed. We have to leave
–
together.
”

Isabelle wanted to ask where they were going, but decided to hold her tongue.
She could tell by his steely gaze it wouldn
’
t take much to push him over the edge.

Afraid of what was in store for her, Isabelle returned to her bedroom where she slipped into a pair of faded jeans then grabbed her winter coat. She also rummaged for some Euros, but finding her purse empty, pocketed her credit card instead.

Out in the lounge, Nine glanced at his watch. After all that had happened, it was still only 1.15 a.m. While waiting for Isabelle to dress, he switched on her television in the hope of catching a news report. A documentary on outer space was screening.

An American astronomer was reciting the names of planets in the Solar System.
“Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars,” the man said. Before Nine could change the channel, he became distracted and his mind suddenly grew hazy. The
astronomer
continued as the planets flashed across the screen, “Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto.” Glassy-eyed, Nine slowly looked over at the copy of
The Catcher in The Rye
on the bookshelf.

Isabelle emerged from her room to find Nine sitting motionless. His eyes had clouded over, as if he were in a trance. He didn’t seem to realize Isabelle was even there. She waved her hand in front of his eyes, but still he didn’t react.

The Frenchwoman didn’t know what was happening, but she sensed an opportunity. She walked as casually as she could manage to the front door. As she opened the door, she knew she risked being shot. Her heart was pounding. Still, Nine remained statue-like.

As she stepped out into the corridor, Isabelle’s nerve failed her. Instead of slowly walking away, as she knew she should have, she slammed the door shut and began running as fast as she could. The loud noise jolted Nine out of his trance. He immediately snapped back into reality. Realizing his captive had escaped, he sprinted after her.

Fast as she was, Isabelle was run down before she could reach the stairs at the end of the corridor. Nine’s strong right arm encircled her and lifted her clean off her feet; his left hand clamped over her mouth before she could scream. He pulled her back into an alcove as the door of a nearby apartment opened.

The resident, a young business executive who hadn’t been able to sleep, stuck his head out into the corridor. He’d obviously heard something. Seeing nothing untoward, he retreated back inside and closed the door.

As soon as the way was clear, Nine half-carried his hostage back to her apartment. There, he pushed her onto the couch and told her he’d shoot her if she so much as batted an eyelid. Defeated, Isabelle lay there sobbing.

A
t Paris’ Charles de Gaulle International Airport, an official-looking vehicle was waiting for Kentbridge and Seventeen as they emerged from the Arrivals Terminal. The vehicle’s driver couldn’t be seen behind its dark, tinted windows. Even in the dimly-lit car-park, Kentbridge’s hawk-like eyes managed to read the vehicle's number-plate as he led Seventeen toward it. They no sooner climbed into the vehicle than it drove off at speed.

In the vehicle’s rear seat, Seventeen speed-read another file on Isabelle. The file included a street map of the Saint Lazare district where the Frenchwoman lived.

In the front passenger seat, Kentbridge was considering what he would say to Nine if and when he finally caught up with him. Because of their shared history, he knew it would be as much an emotional showdown as a physical one. The senior agent felt betrayed Nine had turned against him while on the most important mission in Omega’s history.
He wanted some answers from his once-favorite operative almost as much as he wanted to retrieve the information Nine had obtained about Yamashita's Gold
.

Kentbridge’s line of thought was interrupted by the ringing of his cellphone. He answered it, responding several times in French before ending the call. Kentbridge looked at the driver. “Change of plans. Take us to Saint Lazare. Now.”

Sensing the urgency in Kentbridge’s voice, the driver accelerated through a red light and turned the car hard left so they were now heading almost in the opposite direction.

Kentbridge turned around to face Seventeen. “That was Henri at French Intelligence. They received a call from Bella’s father. He’d just learned his daughter had been accosted by the African and phoned her apartment. He tried several times, but there was no reply.”

“
She could be out on the town.”

“
Negative. Bella has a major photographic assignment later this morning. She would have wanted an early night.” Kentbridge turned back to face the front. The digital clock on the dashboard indicated it was 1.30 a.m.

Almost in unison, the two Omega operatives checked their hand guns.

#

Nine paced around Isabelle’s apartment as he waited for the Frenchwoman to finish whatever it was she was doing in the bathroom. He glanced at his watch. It was 1.45 a.m. The operative felt fully recovered from his frightening experience of an hour or two earlier. He still didn’t know what had happened, but that was in the past now anyway.

Isabelle emerged from the bathroom. She looked fearfully at the bearded stranger, wondering what he had in store for her next. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“
You’ll see soon enough.” Nine didn’t tell her because he was treating her on a need-to-know basis. Besides, he didn’t know himself. All he knew was, sooner or later, his fellow Omegans would come looking for her. He was anxious to put distance between himself and Isabelle’s apartment. The complication was he had to take her with him for she knew too much to leave behind.

Nine and Isabelle both tensed when the door bell rang. The operative immediately drew his pistol. He looked at Isabelle. “Who could that be?”

Isabelle shook her head. She was as mystified as him.

As the bell rang again, Nine whispered, “Come with me – and not a word.” He fixed her with a stare that left her in no doubt what would happen if she disobeyed.

Leading his hostage to the front door, Nine looked through the peephole and saw a uniformed gendarme standing outside. The gendarme looked close to retirement age. His graying hair was complemented by a white, bushy moustache and even bushier eyebrows. His cheeks were red, the result of one too many alcoholic drinks, Nine guessed. Turning back to Isabelle, he whispered, “It’s the police. Ask him what he wants. And no tricks.”

“
What is it?” Isabelle
called out
in French.

“
Miss Alleget, we had a call from your father,” the gendarme responded. “He was worried he couldn’t reach you by phone and requested we check in on you.”

Isabelle looked at Nine. He scowled at her. “I’m fine, thank you,” she called back.

“
I’m sorry Miss Alleget, I need to see for myself.”

Again, Isabelle looked at Nine. Stepping behind the door with his pistol raised, he whispered, “Open the door and talk to him, but one slip-up and you’re both dead.”