The Ninth Orphan (11 page)

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.”

Isabelle opened the door and forced a smile in the gendarme’s direction. “Hello. As you can see, I’m fine.”

“
That will be a relief to your father,” the gendarme smiled. “He was very concerned for your welfare.” As he talked, he looked past Isabelle and into the apartment.

The gendarme was, in fact, Kentbridge. He, too, was a master of disguise. In his current guise, he’d have fooled his own mother were she still alive. Kentbridge observed Isabelle’s demeanor and body language. Behind the smile, she seemed tense, afraid even.

Kentbridge also noted two coffee mugs in the dining room. The senior operative sensed his protégé was here. Putting himself in Nine’s place, he asked himself where he would hide in the same situation. He instinctively knew he’d be behind the half-open door.

What happened next – to Isabelle’s eyes at least – seemed to happen in slow motion. In fact, it took less than two seconds. The gendarme reached into his jacket and drew out a Beretta 92 semi-automatic pistol. At the same time he pushed Isabelle backwards and put his full bodyweight into the door. Isabelle screamed as the door slammed into Nine’s face, momentarily stunning him.

Kentbridge kicked the Glock pistol from Nine’s hand and pushed the stunned operative through to the adjoining dining room. Isabelle followed them in a daze. She felt like she was in some never-ending nightmare.

The senior Omegan looked at the exotic Frenchwoman for a second, before turning his attention back to Nine who, apart from a bruised forehead, seemed none the worse for wear. Kentbridge studied his protégé’s Russian guise with undisguised amusement. “What's this?” Kentbridge now spoke in English. “The bearded artisan look?”

Nine’s eyes widened in disbelief. Only by the voice did he finally recognize his heavily-disguised mentor. He couldn’t believe Kentbridge had tracked him down so fast. Feeling like a wild animal caught in a trap, his mind worked overtime as he processed his dilemma. Behind Kentbridge, he could see a tearful Isabelle appeared to be in shock. She hadn’t a clue what was going on.

Nine tried to explain his recent actions. “Tommy, I --”

Kentbridge held up one hand, indicating he didn't want to hear excuses. The senior agent pointed his Beretta at Nine. “You've gone too far this time.”

“
Just let me go and I promise --”

“
Let’s cut the crap! Naylor and I know you've had dealings with the Chinese.”

“
I'm no double-agent. You know me better than that.”

Isabelle’s confusion increased as Nine forsook his Russian accent. By now, he, too, was speaking English in his normal American accent.

Kentbridge was fast losing patience. “
Whatever the hell happened to you in the Philippines, we can work it out back in America.
”

“
America? But I thought you were Russian?” Isabelle asked Nine accusingly.

“
Please keep quiet, madam,” Kentbridge snapped. “He’s no more Russian than I am French.” With that, he reached out and tore Nine’s fake beard from his face. Isabelle watched in disbelief. “He's the African who assaulted you the other night.” Kentbridge kept his weapon aimed at Nine as he enlightened Isabelle. “This man is a wanted man.”

Isabelle looked at Nine incredulously. The operative couldn’t look her in the eye.

Kentbridge wondered what the relationship was between the pair. He waved his pistol at Nine. “You broke the golden rule.”

“
What rule?”

“
Never get so attached to a woman you can't leave.”

Nine looked away.
He began to picture a future in the same chains that had enslaved him all his life.

Kentbridge sensed the inner turmoil in his protégé. “I promise I’ll do all I can for you. But you’ve got to start working with me, not against me.”

A despondent Nine looked on as Kentbridge pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket and threw them to him. Nine caught them.

“
Put those on,” Kentbridge ordered. Almost as an afterthought, he casually asked, “
Do you have the Yamashita
info
on you?
” Nine nodded. Kentbridge was relieved. Ever alert, he kept his pistol trained on Nine.

16

A
s the rogue operative prepared to cuff himself, a memory of Kentbridge as a younger man flashed across his mind. “
Always remember,
”
Kentbridge had lectured Nine and the other orphans,
“in the way of the Ninja,
any object can be used a weapon.
”

Recalling that particular lesson, Nine suddenly noticed he and Kentbridge were standing on Isabelle’s large Persian rug. He dropped the handcuffs, seemingly by accident. Bending down to retrieve them, Nine pulled the rug from under Kentbridge’s feet, catching the senior Omegan by surprise and upending him.
Kentbridge fired a hurried shot as he fell heavily. Isabelle screamed when the wayward bullet smashed a mirror behind her.

Nine was onto his mentor in a flash, grabbing his right wrist to prevent him from loosing off another shot. Isabelle screamed again as the pair wrestled furiously on the carpet for possession of the Beretta. Nine smashed Kentbridge's hand against a coffee table. The older man lost his grip on the pistol which slid across the carpet toward Isabelle. She grabbed it and aimed it at both men.

“
Get out of my apartment you American bastards!” she screamed hysterically.

The men stopped fighting and looked up at her. Nine stood up. Isabelle pointed the pistol directly at him. “Isabelle, I can't explain now, but it’s in your best interests to give me that gun,” Nine said calmly in fluent French.

“
Don't give it to him,” Kentbridge warned. He’d also reverted to French.

Isabelle wavered. Shaking, she pointed the weapon at Kentbridge then back at Nine. The rogue operative glanced back at Kentbridge who was still on the floor. He steeled himself and stepped toward Isabelle. Her eyes widened in fear.

“
Go ahead then, shoot me,” Nine dared her.

Shaking violently, Isabelle pointed the pistol at Nine’s head. He walked closer still, all the while looking into her eyes. As he reached out and touched her hand, Isabelle's face softened. Sensing his reverse psychology was having the desired effect, Nine slowly moved his hand onto the Beretta and carefully took it from her. He turned around and aimed the weapon at his former mentor's head.

Kentbridge flinched as Nine's finger tightened around the trigger. “Come to your senses, Sebastian!” he cried, this time in English.

Nine tried to pull the trigger, but for the second time in as many hours he found he couldn't. Too many memories flooded through his mind – most dating back to his childhood. He released his finger from the trigger and bent down beside Kentbridge.

“
Tell Naylor he’ll never find this chameleon again,” Nine whispered before knocking Kentbridge out with a blow to the head using the pistol’s butt. He grabbed the handcuffs he’d discarded earlier and cuffed his mentor’s hand to a steel gas pipe on the wall.

Nine looked out the window. He silently cursed when he saw an official-looking vehicle parked in the street below. It hadn’t been there five minutes earlier. The brief glow of a cigarette-tip alerted him to the fact there was at least one occupant in the vehicle. Further along the street were half a dozen more cars that hadn’t been there earlier either.

The orphan took a shocked Isabelle by the arm and pulled her toward the door. She was too afraid to resist. Before leaving the apartment, he binned Kentbridge’s Beretta and picked up his own Glock pistol which was still lying where he’d dropped it.

Outside the apartment complex, Seventeen and a dozen armed gendarmes hid in the dark waiting for Kentbridge to reappear with his prisoner. They were caught by surprise when Nine and Isabelle emerged from the building alone. Nine held his pistol to the Frenchwoman's head, effectively using her as a hostage. “If anybody shoots, Isabelle Alleget dies!” he shouted.

The gendarmes held their fire. Nine froze when he spotted Seventeen among them. He looked directly at his fellow orphan. It was too dark to see her features, but he imagined he could see the hatred in Seventeen’s icy blue eyes.

The determined female operative wasn’t about to negotiate or engage in hostage games. Crouched low, gun in hand, she began running toward him, zigzagging as she ran, just as Nine had been trained to do in similar circumstances.

Nine pulled a distraught Isabelle back inside the apartment complex. She struggled violently. He held her tight and looked around, considering his options.

Knowing he had to act fast, Nine dragged his unwilling hostage down a stairwell to the basement car park where he surveyed the stationary vehicles. Isabelle still tried to resist the iron grip he had on her arm. Nine tightened his grip further. “Stop struggling. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

Isabelle ceased struggling. Nine loosened his grip. “Which is your car?”

“
I don’t drive,” Isabelle gasped.

Nine sensed she was lying, but didn’t have time to prize the truth from her. He noticed a late model, black Porsche nearby. Dragging Isabelle over to it, he picked the lock on the driver's door, pushed her over to the passenger's side then climbed in. He hot-wired the engine and revved the accelerator before taking off, tires squealing.

Isabelle tried to open her door, but Nine hit the central locking button on his side, preventing her. Frightened, she sat back in her seat and tried to make sense of what she’d been caught up in. She had no way of knowing her sighting of the destination on Nine’s airline ticket was the reason he’d re-entered her life. Nor could she know that was why he was keeping her as a hostage.

Seventeen arrived in the basement just as the Porsche roared off. She aimed her gun in its direction, but the car disappeared around the corner a split-second before she could fire. She sprinted after it.

The gendarmes had by now encircled the building waiting for the wanted man to reappear. They tensed as the sound of a car's revving engine reached them.

Tires screaming and headlights blazing, the Porsche emerged from the apartment complex with Nine behind the wheel and Isabelle next to him. It smashed through a police blockade as it sped out of the apartment car park. The gendarmes turned to their senior officer for the order to open fire.

“
Hold your fire!” the senior officer shouted. He was mindful who the target’s hostage was. “That's Isabelle Alleget with him!”

Gendarmes scattered in all directions as the Porsche hurtled straight at them. As it sped past, a petrified Isabelle looked back at them through the rear window. The gendarmes jumped into their cars and prepared to pursue the fast-disappearing Porsche.

Seventeen came running out of the complex. She sprinted over to a junior officer she saw climbing into a Fiat and jumped in next to him. The fresh-faced young man looked at Seventeen warily. She flashed a police ID then pointed ahead. “Go!” she ordered.

The junior officer started the engine and took off. His was one of half a dozen police cars already in pursuit, their sirens howling.

Up ahead, the Porsche sped along narrow streets. It weaved around several slower cars, forcing oncoming vehicles to take evasive action. More police cars joined in the pursuit, their lights flashing and sirens howling.

Isabelle held on tight as Nine accelerated along the narrow streets. The operative glanced in his side mirror and frowned when he saw the growing convoy of police cars in hot pursuit. He chastised himself for having let his situation deteriorate to this extent.

Nine still couldn’t believe Kentbridge had tracked him down so quickly. Of all people, the fugitive agent knew how good Omega’s intelligence was and how fast its operatives could swing into action, but this turn of events almost defied belief. He knew Omega must have called in every favor to find him this quick.
Naylor wants me real bad
.

Isabelle tried to brake as the Porsche turned against the traffic into an alley. It was a reflexive action. Screaming, she attempted to force open the passenger door again, breaking a nail in the process. “Please!” she implored. “Let me out!”

So narrow was the alley, the Porsche scraped against the sides of parked vehicles. Its progress was marked by a shower of sparks as paintwork was stripped from its side panels. Close behind, the Fiat and other police cars suffered the same fate. The screech of metal against metal could be heard above the howl of the sirens.