The Ninth Orphan (14 page)

For God’s sake man, just do it!

Try as he may, he couldn’t kill her. He nearly cried out in frustration.

Lowering the pistol, he settled on the third and final option for now, which was to keep Isabelle hostage until he figured out what to do with her. Although he thought it was unlikely he’d ever be able to set her free without jeopardizing his mission, he was prepared to let her live for a while in case the perfect solution presented itself.

As long as he and Isabelle remained in disguise at all times, and they continued to lay low, he felt it unlikely Kentbridge or Seventeen would find them again. And, he thought, his earlier threat to harm her parents should be enough to keep her in line.

20

S
ixty-year-old Monsieur Alleget learned of his daughter’s abduction via a phone call from the same Paris police department he’d contacted earlier.

At his villa in the French Pyrénées, the portly
former politician, who, like Isabelle, was mixed race, grilled a senior officer about the abduction. Meanwhile, in an adjoining room, his redhead wife Catherine, Isabelle’s stepmother, was listening to news of the abduction on a radio broadcast. As Isabelle was the daughter of such a high profile, recently-retired politician, her abduction was headline news.

When the news report ended, Catherine hurried to her husband’s side as he continued his telephone interrogation of the police officer. Monsieur Alleget learned next to nothing about Isabelle’s abduction. Nobody knew who had abducted her or why.

The former politician did learn, however, that Isabelle’s abductor had an American accent, as did an unidentified blonde, blue-eyed female seen assisting the Police. Monsieur Alleget guessed correctly that an American intelligence agency was involved.

Unsure why they’d be interested in Isabelle, he guessed, incorrectly this time, that her abduction was related to something he’d done during his forty-year political career. After all, he had long been a vocal opponent of American interference in French affairs. He didn’t have all the pieces of the jigsaw, but sensed this was no ordinary abduction.
Why
, he asked himself,
would American agents be involved unless it was of great importance?

“
If any American agency is involved in my daughter’s abduction, I will expose their presence in our country,” he warned the officer before ending the call.

Catherine, who had been hanging on to every word, asked, “What can we do?”

Monsieur Alleget put his arm around his wife. He knew she cared for Isabelle as if she were her own daughter. “Don’t worry, my dear. We’ll find her.” He had no intention of sitting back and letting Paris Police, whom he viewed as incompetent, handle the investigation into Isabelle’s abduction. After a lifetime in politics, he had connections of his own which he intended to utilize.

The Allegets stared out the window of their lounge into the darkness beyond. If it had been daylight, they’d have seen the vines of their precious vineyard and, beyond them, the picturesque mountains that marked the Spanish border less than ten miles to the south.

#

Later that night in Paris, Cho-Wu lay naked and face-down on a massage table. The massage parlor was in a red light district. A French beauty massaged Cho-Wu’s athletic calves while the MSS agent watched a Polish masseuse strip before him.

Cho-Wu closed his eyes as the Polish woman sat astride him and proceeded to massage his broad, muscular shoulders with oil. He gave in to his sex addiction as the nubile women administered the body-rub he’d ordered. The Chinese agent gave a sigh of satisfaction as he felt their hands and breasts rubbing him. His conscience told him he should get up and walk out of there, but every nerve, every fiber in his toned body told him he needed this like he needed nothing else.

Cho-Wu thought he’d finally beaten the demon until the urge to penetrate some of the city’s beautiful, white femmes had become too strong. He felt he’d explode unless he could satisfy his urge. Never one to readily take responsibility for his actions, Cho-Wu blamed his superiors.
They shouldn’t have given me so much downtime on this assignment
. Whenever he grew bored, his randy desires always resurfaced.

After letting the masseuses rub his body for a few minutes, Cho-Wu felt the need to satisfy some of his kinkier fantasies. He’d paid the women enough to have every service on their menu and he planned to get his money’s worth.

Using handcuffs and a cord, he expertly tied the Polish masseuse to the waterbed that was next to the massage table. The helpless expression on her face, and the tension on the face of her companion who looked on, thrilled him to his very core.

As Cho-Wu prepared to indulge in a hardcore bondage session with the Polish woman, his cellphone suddenly rang. Agitated, he answered it. He immediately recognized the voice. It was his MSS superior, Lhozang, calling from the Chinese Embassy nearby.

A distracted Cho-Wu listened as Lhozang told him they had traced the Internet café where the rogue American agent had sent the SMS from the previous day. Lhozang gave Cho-Wu the address and ordered him to check it out immediately.

As he memorized the address, Cho-Wu silently cursed his superior. It was as if Lhozang was deliberately tormenting him. He looked longingly at the two women before him then closed his eyes to blot them from his mind. It took a huge effort, but he eventually succeeded. Speaking in Mandarin, he answered, “Yes, sir.”

Ending the call, Cho-Wu hurriedly dressed and strode from the room, leaving the French masseuse to untie her colleague. As he exited the parlor, he looked down at an erection even his trousers couldn’t disguise and once more cursed Lhozang.

#

Just a few miles from the drab hotel where Nine was keeping Isabelle hostage, Seventeen approached the entrance to a luxurious boutique hotel. A doorman held a glass door open for her. She disappeared inside.

Upstairs, at the same time, a hotel waitress entered Kentbridge's room carrying a silver-service meal on a tray. The senior agent had an ugly bruise on his forehead as a result of his fight with Nine in Isabelle’s apartment. Despite the lateness of the hour, he’d ordered a three-course meal. Things had been so hectic, he’d hardly eaten since arriving in Paris. A laptop sat on a table behind him. The rest of the table was covered in documents.

Making room for the tray, Kentbridge tipped the waitress. Seventeen entered as the waitress was leaving. The serious young operative shot the waitress a stern glance, causing her to scurry off.

Kentbridge, who had already started eating, looked up from his food. “Call Naylor then get photos of the Alleget girl to all European media,” he said, avoiding the niceties of small talk in his usual perfunctory fashion.

Seventeen nodded. “Already done, sir,” she advised matter-of-factly. Her eyes bored into his as she read him. In nanoseconds she had scanned Kentbridge’s emotional state, voice level, timbre, body posture and physiognomy – just as he’d trained her to do.

“
And what about her parents?” Kentbridge asked, fully aware she was assessing him.

“
Her father has already contacted France’s Minister of Police. He’s on his way to Paris now. Apparently he’s old friends with some of the heads of the secret service.”

Kentbridge stopped eating as he thought about the trouble Isabelle’s father could stir up. It was another potential problem in what was already a seemingly never-ending web of problems.

The senior agent inwardly cursed Nine for double-crossing him in the Philippines.
He was receiving almost hourly calls from Naylor.
On the latest call, the Omega director had reminded
him all he needed to do was capture Nine and the last of Yamashita
’
s treasure would be theirs. Naylor had made it sound like a simple task, but in reality they were searching for a man who was never the same man twice.

Kentbridge
ate another mouthful, then looked up at Seventeen.
“
Do you have any idea why Nine would jeopardize his mission, whatever that may be, over a woman?
”

“
I have no idea, sir. Maybe he's gone insane.
”

“
No. I looked into his eyes last night. He
’
s emotionally frayed, maybe, but nothing more.
”
Kentbridge reflected for a moment then carried on almost as if he was intuitively sensing the truth.
“
Maybe this Alleget woman found out something she wasn't supposed to. Something relating to his future plans. Perhaps that's why he won't let her go, but he can't bring himself to kill her either.
”
He glanced at Seventeen. She seemed lost in thought.

Kentbridge knew there was no love lost between Seventeen and Nine, but even he couldn
’
t have guessed how deep that animosity went.

Seventeen thought back to the time Nine briefly escaped from the Pedemont Orphanage as a boy. She had hoped Nine would be killed by their Omega masters and recalled her bitter disappointment when the boy had only been disciplined upon capture. The difference this time around, she realized, was she would probably have the opportunity to deliver a lethal blow herself.
I won
’
t hesitate
.

Suddenly aware Kentbridge
’
s eyes were on her, Seventeen immediately busied herself, checking some of the documents on the nearby table.

21

E
arly next morning, after driving through the night, Monsieur Alleget arrived in Paris. It was an odd sensation returning to the capital so soon, having vacated it only eleven days earlier to begin his retirement. He’d been planning to spend at least the next few months bringing his Pyrénéan vineyard up to scratch.

Monsieur Alleget was soon on the doorstep of the home of his friend and current Minister of Police, Jean-Alain Silvestre, who lived conveniently near the French Parliament – convenient not only for the Minister but also for Monsieur Alleget, for that was his next planned port of call.

Aware Alleget’s daughter had been abducted, Silvestre wasn’t at all surprised to see the retired politician. He ushered his former colleague inside.

#

In Saint Lazare, the streets were chaotic as Parisians made their way to work. Cho-Wu was among them. The Chinese operative, who was still feeling the frustration of not having satisfied his lust, was making his way by taxi to the cyber café from which Nine had sent the SMS message to Lhozang.

Cho-Wu was early for his appointment so he disembarked from the taxi a full block from the café and walked the last hundred yards. As planned, he arrived before it opened for business. He leaned against a lamppost near the café and waited for someone to arrive.

The cyber café’s owner, a bald, bespectacled, middle-aged man, arrived shortly before eight o’clock. As soon as he unlocked the front door, Cho-Wu walked up behind him, bundled him into the café and slammed the door shut behind them. The owner’s eyes widened when his assailant pulled the front of his jacket aside to reveal the pistol he carried in a shoulder holster.

“
I need information from you.” Cho-Wu whispered in English, “Do as I say and I will not hurt you.”

The owner nodded furiously, indicating he’d co-operate. Cho-Wu felt relieved the man understood English as he’d never mastered the French language. The gulf that separated the coarse, guttural tones of the Chinese language from the soft and romantic delivery of French was too huge for him to overcome. Anyway, he’d discovered on previous assignments that most French people understood conversational English at least.

Cho-Wu showed the owner a photo. “Do you recognize this man?” The MSS agent knew it was a long-shot. “Or have you seen anyone similar?”

The café owner adjusted his glasses before inspecting the photo which showed Nine in his elderly Hasidic disguise. It was the same photo Cho-Wu’s superior, Ji’an Yang, had given him at the Chinese Embassy in Beijing. The owner shook his head to indicate he’d never seen such a man. Cho-Wu looked up and saw two security cameras mounted high on the far wall. He pointed to them. “Where do you keep the footage?”

“
Arrière--” The café owner stopped himself. So nervous was he, he’d answered in French. Looking into Cho-Wu’s fathomless Oriental eyes, he tried to gather his composure then answered again, this time in English. “In the back room.”

Cho-Wu grabbed the man by the arm and led him to the rear of the café. There, he advised him of the day and approximate time Nine was believed to have visited the establishment. He ordered the proprietor to find the appropriate surveillance tape.

As soon as the man found it, Cho-Wu instructed him to fast-forward. After ten minutes of searching, the images of a bearded, Slavic-looking man entering the café caught Cho-Wu’s eye. It was, of course, Nine in his Russian disguise. Although he looked completely different to the elderly Hasid in the photo, there was something vaguely familiar about him. Something about the way he held himself.

The MSS agent instructed the owner to replay the footage. As the images of Nine reappeared, he grabbed the controls and froze the screen. Cho-Wu nodded to himself as he stared at the Slavic character on screen. “Bian se long,” he muttered to himself in his native tongue.