The Ninth Orphan (30 page)

Although feeling woozy and still in a fragile state, Isabelle understood what was happening. She remembered the warnings Nine had given her about the ruthless people who had enslaved him.

Formalities over, Seventeen wheeled the prisoner along a corridor which took them past still more cells. Isabelle saw Muslim detainees dressed in orange overalls. Some were praying, others were being interrogated by CIA personnel. She caught a glimpse of a bearded Arab man with fresh wounds on his bare chest.

Isabelle sensed this prison was one big torture chamber. She shuddered as the thought of what her abductor and the guards had in store for her.

Seventeen didn’t even glance at any of the detainees as she pushed Isabelle along. Having worked as an interrogator and torturer at several CIA prisons around the world, she knew all about the secret internment program.

She understood some of the detainees were major terrorist suspects while others were
considered less important, having limited intelligence value and little direct involvement in terrorism. Isabelle had been classified as among the latter group, the cover story being that she was the former lover of a low-level Al Qaeda figure. This allowed the CIA and Omega to detain the Frenchwoman
legally
.

#

After being forced to change into the orange overalls warn by all the detainees, Isabelle was placed in a private cell which, like the other cells, was devoid of natural light. Being underground, it was completely sealed off from the outside world.

Isabelle was left alone for the time being. Lying on a single bed, she closed her eyes and tried not to think about the murder of her parents for fear she'd go mad. As it was, the grief, anguish and fear were threatening to overwhelm her. She also tried to ignore the throbbing in her back and hoped the wound hadn't become infected.

The screech of the door to her cell opening announced she had company. Isabelle opened her eyes to see her parents’ assassin, Seventeen. The operative walked into the cell as if she owned it. Isabelle noted she moved like a man.

“
Miss Alleget, I’m not going to kid you.” Seventeen pulled up a chair and sat only a meter from Isabelle. “This place makes Guantanamo Bay seem like paradise. But if you co-operate and answer all my questions, I won’t have to torture you.”

Isabelle looked at Seventeen with fear and loathing. She guessed Seventeen was connected to Nine, but didn’t know whether the ruthless woman was an orphan or not. There was something about her that indicated she’d gone through similar training.

Seventeen leaned close to Isabelle. “Tell me every single thing you know about the man who abducted you, or else…”

“
Or else?” Isabelle responded fearfully.

“
Or else you’ll be reminiscing with your parents.”

Isabelle let fly. “You bitch! I have rights! I’m an EU citizen! You're the foreigner!”

Not listening to the Frenchwoman, Seventeen suddenly pulled out her cell phone as she felt it vibrate in her pocket. It contained a text message from Naylor.
He wanted her to return to Paris by helicopter immediately
.

The Omegan took one last look at Isabelle, then stepped out into the corridor where a beefy guard stood at attention. “Make sure she gets no sleep,” she instructed him.

The guard nodded as he watched her walk briskly toward the nearest exit.

A
cross the Atlantic, CIA Deputy Director and Omega mole Marcia Wilson received intelligence relating to MSS operations in France. As night fell in Langley, Virginia, Wilson studied photos at her desk inside CIA headquarters. Using a magnifying glass, she scrutinized a photo of Cho-Wu entering The Red Dragon Chinese Restaurant in Paris.

Aware the Chinese were also coordinating a search for Yamashita's Gold, Naylor had ordered Wilson to use CIA resources to uncover MSS cells operating in France.
Wilson prepared to call Naylor and alert him. She knew her superior hoped the MSS might
have intel relating to the Japanese consortium that had beaten them to the treasure in the Philippines.

#

It was the middle of the night in Paris. Seventeen had arrived back at the Hilton hotel an hour earlier by helicopter. She’d reported to Kentbridge and Naylor, telling them she’d learned nothing from Isabelle during her brief time with her at the prison in Andorra.

Kentbridge had retired for the night, leaving Seventeen alone with Naylor in his room. Before going their separate ways, Naylor had detained Seventeen, saying he wished to discuss some strategies concerning Nine.

Now alone with Seventeen, Naylor stared intently at the young blonde operative. She was as motionless as a statue, staring right through him. She’d been like this for the past couple of minutes, but she didn’t know that. Her eyes had glazed over and she was in some kind of trance. She held a copy of the novel,
The Catcher in the Rye
.

Smiling, the Omega director stood up and walked over to the door to check it was locked. He walked back to Seventeen and studied her features. Feeling aroused, he stroked the orphan’s hair then kissed her on the lips. She remained unresponsive.

Minutes earlier, Naylor had hypnotized Seventeen using the MK-Ultra voice commands he’d recently received from Langley. For years, he’d wanted to have his way with Seventeen. Receiving the orphans’ MK-Ultra codes had presented him with the perfect opportunity. It was perfect because she would never remember a thing. The copy of
The Catcher in the Rye
he’d given her was all part of the mind control program. The book acted as an additional control mechanism to activate hypnotism triggers in the brain.

Still in a trance-like state, Seventeen did not resist Naylor’s sexual advances. The Omega director started to unbutton her blouse when his cell phone suddenly rang. The shrill ringing caused Seventeen to snap out of her trance. She was surprised to see Naylor's pock-marked face only inches from hers. His lazy eye gave the impression he was staring over her left shoulder, but she knew he was staring directly at her.

Suddenly feeling guilty, Naylor quickly turned away and answered his phone. “Naylor.”
Marcia Wilson was on the other end of the line, calling from CIA headquarters. Naylor listened intently to her news.

Seventeen frowned when she noticed the top button of her blouse was undone. Her gaze strayed to the copy of
The Catcher in the Rye
on her lap. The orphan had no recollection of picking up the book at any stage. In fact, she’d never even read it. All she knew about the novel was it had been found on the men behind the assassination and attempted assassination of John Lennon and Ronald Reagan respectively, and its author, J.D. Salinger, had significant ties to the CIA.

Naylor made notes as he listened to what his CIA mole had to say
. Ending the call, he turned and handed the note to a still confused-looking Seventeen. “That’s the address of the MSS cell here in Paris. Terminate the agents, download any files linked to Yamashita, then return here immediately.”

Still concerned about why she had no conscious recollection of the last few minutes, Seventeen held up the copy of the book and looked at Naylor inquisitively.

“
Get over there now,” Naylor barked the order before Seventeen could question him. Seventeen looked down at the note. It read:
The Red Dragon Chinese Restaurant.

“
You know what to do,” Naylor added.

Seventeen nodded and hurriedly left the room. As she departed, she could feel Naylor’s eyes on her. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt violated.

#

When she arrived at The Red Dragon Chinese Restaurant, Seventeen discovered it was open twenty-four hours. Posing as a late-night diner, she waited until the restaurant staff were preoccupied then strolled down a stairwell leading to the basement below.

Seventeen knocked out the sole guard on duty then broke in to the basement that served as the undercover MSS cell. Her trained eyes quickly took in the high-tech equipment. She saw there were two Chinese personnel on duty. One was Lhozang, Cho-Wu's superior; the other was a young technician. Both men had their backs to her. They’d been trying unsuccessfully to make contact with Cho-Wu all evening.

Lhozang saw Seventeen first. He reached for his gun. Seventeen shot him dead before his hand had moved an inch. The technician met the same fate a split second later.

N
ext morning, a CIA doctor checked in on an exhausted and still grief-stricken Isabelle at the clandestine Mountain Retreat facility in Andorra. The Frenchwoman looked and felt terrible, having been kept awake all night in deference to Seventeen’s orders.

The doctor removed the bandages covering Isabelle’s back and inspected her wound. He discovered minimal inflammation. “It’s starting to heal,” he announced coldly.

Isabelle felt a sense of relief. It was the first good news she’d received for some time. The doctor expertly dressed and bandaged the wound then injected a small dose of morphine into his patient to relieve the pain. The morphine took effect immediately.

As the doctor left, a female guard arrived carrying a bowl of warm soup. “Here,” she said, “this will build your strength.” She placed the bowl on a bedside table and nodded encouragingly at Isabelle.

Sensing the guard was genuine in her concern for her, Isabelle drank greedily from the bowl. The guard departed, leaving Isabelle alone. As soon as she'd drunk her fill, the young woman lay back on the pillow and fell asleep almost immediately.

#

As Isabelle slept, a
ll was quiet outside the Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire headquarters in Paris. Nine pulled up and parked opposite the French Intelligence building in a blue Renault he’d
borrowed
since abandoning the red Peugeot.

Unrecognizable in a cap and shades, Nine listened to the radio as he waited. Twelve hours earlier he’d heard a news report on the death of Isabelle’s parents. The report had also mentioned Isabelle
was missing again
. Nine was certain Omega was responsible and also felt sure they were keeping Isabelle as bait
–
just as he’d feared all along.

The fugitive operative observed people coming and going from the DST building. After a long wait, he saw Kentbridge emerge from the entrance. It was the entrance Cho-Wu had photographed the senior Omega agent in front of two days earlier. Alone, Kentbridge was talking on his cell phone as he walked. Nine started the car's engine.

Kentbridge took little notice of the blue Renault that passed him and parked hard against the curb just up ahead of him. His conversation was
about to be rudely interrupted.

As Kentbridge drew level with the Renault, t
he driver's door suddenly flew open, catching him side on and knocking him to the pavement. His cell phone went flying. Before Kentbridge could recover, Nine was on to him. A swift kick to the head knocked the older man out. Nine bundled him onto the Renault’s rear seat, then jumped in behind the wheel and took off in a squeal of tires.

Seconds later, Seventeen emerged from the DST headquarters. Her sharp eyes locked on to Kentbridge's discarded cell phone on the pavement. There was no sign of its owner. A young couple nearby were pointing down the street. They looked agitated.

Seventeen approached them and quickly established that a man had been attacked and abducted by a younger man driving a blue Renault. They hadn’t sighted the car’s registration number. Seventeen retrieved the cell phone and ran back inside the building.

Meanwhile, Nine drove onto a motorway leading south-east out of Paris. Nobody appeared to be following him. On the back seat, Kentbridge lay face-down, his hands tied behind his back. Now conscious, his face was cut and bruised. He tested the bonds that secured his hands. They held fast. The bindings Nine had used cut into his wrists, causing his hands to go numb. Nine had employed a knot that automatically tightened if pressure was exerted.
Something else I taught you
, Kentbridge recalled. The pain was unbearable.

“
I can’t feel my hands,” the senior agent said.

The words fell on deaf ears. Nine looked straight ahead as he drove. Kentbridge wasn’t prepared to plead. He’d suffer in silence.

Now that Isabelle had been taken hostage, Nine wanted to give Naylor a taste of his own medicine. He
’
d decided to take Kentbridge to a place where Omega was hiding a dark little secret. There, he hoped he
’
d be able to negotiate Isabelle
’
s freedom
–
and his own for that matter.

The fugitive agent thought of Isabelle as he drove through Champagne, Lorraine and other provinces of eastern France. He was heading for the German border. Nine stopped only to top up the fuel tank from a large can of petrol he’d purchased earlier. By then, Kentbridge had lost all feeling in his hands.

#

With dusk falling, Nine sped along a highway in a remote area of Baden-Württemberg in south-west Germany. Kentbridge still lay face-down in the back. Apart from the odd truck, there were no other vehicles on the road. Pine forests pressed in on either side of the highway.