The Ninth Orphan (19 page)

27

A
s he sashayed toward Cho-Wu, Nine was aware of the looks he was attracting in his red dress and matching heels. So far, the disguise was working a treat.

Nine was surprised at how easily he had slipped into the femme fatale role he’d adopted. He smiled inwardly as he thought back to the comprehensive drama lessons Kentbridge had given him at the Pedemont Orphanage.

The fugitive Omegan saw he now had Cho-Wu’s attention. The MSS agent was obviously looking for someone else, but became distracted by the blonde bombshell that had appeared in his line of vision.

Cho-Wu was surprised to see the stunning blonde glide over to him. She looked too classy to be a prostitute, but, he decided, that was the only plausible explanation. If she was, she was obviously a high class one. As he watched her approach, the old feelings of lust returned.
Not now
, he admonished himself. He turned away.

Nine coughed as he stopped behind Cho-Wu. The Chinese agent turned to see the blonde smiling seductively at him. “Sorry, not today,” Cho-Wu said dismissively in English. “Look for customers elsewhere.” He turned away again and continued his wait.

“
You are my customer,” Nine responded in English. He used his adopted feminine voice.

Cho-Wu looked his opposite up and down. He suddenly twigged: the American had arranged for a woman to stand in for him. This was completely understandable. If Cho-Wu had been in his shoes, he’d probably have done the same thing.
But who is she
? he wondered. Cho-Wu was under the impression the rogue agent had no allies.

Realizing he’d totally fooled his mark, Nine lowered his voice and spoke in faultless Mandarin. “Do you want to do business or don’t you?”

Astonished, Cho-Wu looked at Nine with undisguised admiration. “Changing-Face Dragon, you have lived up to your reputation.”

Nine produced a cigarette from his handbag and rested it on his lips. “Have you got a lighter?”

Cho-Wu fumbled inside his pockets and produced a lighter. Although a non-smoker, he always carried one. He found they came in handy as instruments of torture. Nine was still smiling at him as he lit the cigarette.

The MSS agent’s eyes were drawn to Nine’s lips which were painted dark red with lipstick. Cho-Wu still couldn’t believe how easily Changing-Face Dragon had fooled him. Nor could he believe the physical effect his opposite was having on him. He felt familiar stirrings and just hoped the American noticed nothing untoward. “Do you have the maps?” he asked huskily in Mandarin.

Nine nodded, then promptly opened his handbag and produced the flash drive he had brought all the way from the Philippines. He handed it to his opposite. “This contains the Yamashita maps and plans your superiors requested.”

Cho-Wu eagerly took the flash drive from Nine. “Let’s walk so we don’t attract any attention,” he suggested.

They both knew that was wishful thinking. By now, Nine was being eyed by every male in the vicinity. The pair casually joined tourists strolling around the base of the tower. The click-clack of Nine’s high-heels could be heard above the tourists’ voices and above the noise of the city’s traffic. Neither operative spoke.

Cho-Wu produced a palm-sized computer. He placed the flash drive into a USB port and downloaded its contents. He then emailed the files to his MSS superiors in Beijing.

While the pair waited for a response, Cho-Wu could imagine the various officials at MSS headquarters scurrying about, checking the validity of the information they’d just received. He knew even if the information appeared valid to them, they’d also need the expert opinions of their historians, geographers and gold industry specialists.

Ten minutes later, Cho-Wu received a reply message confirming the flash drive’s contents had been verified as authentic and advising that twenty million US dollars had been transferred to Nine’s bank account in Geneva, Switzerland. Cho-Wu turned to Nine. “Your word appears to be true, Changing-Face Dragon. My superiors in Beijing have deposited the twenty million dollar down-payment into your account.”

Not willing to take Cho-Wu’s word for it, Nine pulled a pink cellphone from his handbag and called the Geneva branch of the Credit Suisse Group bank to ensure the twenty million had indeed been wired. It only took a minute to verify the down-payment had been deposited into his nameless, number-only account. Ending the call, Nine nodded to Cho-Wu to indicate everything was in order.

“
As agreed, the balance of the funds will be wired to your account as soon as our people in the Philippines have secured the treasure,” Cho-Wu added quickly.

Twenty million dollars represented twenty percent of Nine’s total fee. The other eighty million was to be transferred once the Chinese had unearthed the quarter-of-a-trillion-dollar
Yamashita treasure-trove
using the information Nine had just handed over.

Without another word, the two operatives walked off in opposite directions. Each thought they’d seen the last of each other.

As he returned to the waiting taxi, Nine felt satisfied the exchange had gone without a hitch. His future was now looking distinctly brighter. He reminded himself to keep his feet on the ground for he still had one more thing to sort before he was free: that was the Isabelle situation. As he thought of her, he felt a painful twinge in his jaw – a reminder of how hard she’d slapped him the night before.

Less than half a mile from the Eiffel Tower, Kentbridge and Naylor left the Hilton Paris hotel and climbed into a waiting car. They had to catch a flight for Brussels to attend a meeting with CIA Deputy Director and fellow Omegan, Marcia Wilson.

As the official-looking vehicle drove off toward the airport, neither Naylor nor Kentbridge noticed the blonde femme in the rear of a taxi traveling past in the opposite direction; even if they had, they wouldn’t have recognized Nine.

#

Acting on the information supplied by Nine, the Chinese immediately set the wheels in motion to locate and secure the long lost war booty in the Philippines.

Coordinating the operation from the MSS headquarters in Beijing, they dispatched a team of secret agents to Benguet Province on the Philippine island of Luzon. A support team, which included geographers, engineers and mathematicians, was sent to Manila. The latter group was told to wait until the operatives secured and cordoned off the discovery.

Like so many other Third World countries around the globe, the Philippines’ mineral resources were mostly consumed by larger, more powerful countries. However, even with China’s vast intelligence resources, it was expected to take the MSS at least thirty six hours to transport all of the treasure out of the country. It wasn’t just a case of finding the booty and flying it out. There were a number of steps to the process.

First, a Chinese-Filipino mining company owned by the MSS would buy the land where Nine’s maps indicated the Yamashita treasure hoard was located. Then, using exclusively Chinese labor, they would secretly dig up the gold, load it onto helicopters and fly it to an aircraft carrier waiting in international waters.

Due to the fragmented state of the Philippines, getting the treasure out was not expected to be a problem. There was never any shortage of corrupt local officials ready to sell out the country in favor of lining their own pockets.

#

In Paris, Cho-Wu and his superior Lhozang were told to simply wait until Beijing confirmed the treasure was where Nine’s information indicated it would be. Lhozang could hardly wait for the good news and he expected a promotion as a result.

Cho-Wu, on the other hand, was just glad he’d now have time to finally satisfy the randy urges that had been dominating his thoughts ever since he’d arrived in Paris. The agent felt like he would explode unless he did something immediately.

After Lhozang granted him his leave, Cho-Wu returned to the same underground S&M dungeon in Paris’ red light district of Pigalle Place, in Montmartre. Once again, he paid through the nose for the services of the beautiful young French submissive, Virginie.

After tying up the innocent-looking seductress, Cho-Wu kept her in the private dungeon all day as he indulged his every fantasy and thoroughly satisfied his lust. Virginie was truly earning her money on this occasion. And Cho-Wu hadn’t finished with her yet. He’d keep her busy until well into the night.

28

I
t was dusk before Nine returned to his hotel. Not wanting to push his luck, he’d long since discarded his femme fatale guise and now resembled a caretaker complete with overalls, cap and boots which he’d uplifted from an unattended locker room at some inner city building site. Carrying the spoils of another shopping spree in half a dozen bags, he entered the hotel via the same side door he’d used that morning.

In his room, he found Isabelle asleep on the bed he’d left her tied to. He noted the trails of tears that streaked her cheeks. The fugitive agent emptied the contents of his shopping bags onto a bench, waking his hostage in the process. Isabelle emerged from a fitful sleep. Half awake, she still had the presence of mind to observe the items Nine had brought back. They included food, more clothes, a newspaper, weapons and ammunition.

Nine walked over to Isabelle, ripped the masking tape from her mouth then untied her hands and legs. His feisty hostage immediately spat in his face.

The operative looked at her impassively as he wiped the spittle off his cheek. “I can't blame you for that,” he said softly. He nearly gagged as a pungent sulphurous smell filled his nostrils. Sniffing the air, he realized it was urine. Nine pulled back the bedcovers to see Isabelle had been unable to hold on. Her pajamas and the bedding were soaked. Nine had known when he left her that morning this was likely to happen. Even so, he felt sorry.

Isabelle sat up slowly. Stiff and sore after being tied up all day, she grabbed a change of clothes and shuffled through to the bathroom where she showered.

Five minutes later, she emerged fully dressed. She stared straight at Nine who was sitting on the couch reading a newspaper. He studiously ignored her, mainly to hide the continued embarrassment he felt at having further humiliated her.

“
You’re not used to being around women are you?” she said coldly in English. Nine didn’t respond. His aloofness infuriated her. “No woman would ever want to stay with you,” she shouted in French this time. “You're a sadistic American bastard!” She threw her urine-soaked pajamas at him.

Ignoring her anger, Nine held up the newspaper in front of her. Isabelle became subdued when she saw her own face on the front page. A headline above the photo read:
Former Member of Parliament's Daughter Abducted
.

Isabelle took the newspaper from him and began reading the article.
“My poor family.” She began reading the article.

Nine studied Isabelle curiously. He thought it unusual her first thought was for others despite her own dire circumstances. Personally, he’d never cared for anyone enough to worry about them like that. Isabelle’s thoughtfulness spoke volumes about her character. Even in a crisis, she worried about others ahead of herself. As always, Nine kept his thoughts to himself.

When Isabelle finished reading, she dropped the newspaper and fell to her knees before Nine. “Please. Let me contact my father,” she pleaded. “He will help me. And you.”

“
If you contact your father, they'll be able to trace me.”

“
This is my life! Do I get any say in this at all?”

“
No.”

Depressed, Isabelle looked down at her image in the newspaper. “There is no end to this,” she said reverting to English as she slumped down on the other couch.

“
Yes, there is,” Nine said softly.

“
How? You can't keep changing your identity forever!”

Nine stood before Isabelle. “I was about to get out of this whole existence before our lives became entwined.”

“
Our
lives?” Isabelle asked, not without a trace of condescension. “You’re crazier than I thought!”

“
I own an island. I'm going to live there like a normal man.” He knew he shouldn’t have reminded her of his intended destination, but for some reason he hated Isabelle thinking he was psychologically disturbed. Every time she alluded to his mental stability, he found himself becoming defensive.

“
An island? Great. Send me a postcard!”

Nine smiled at her sarcasm then walked away from her. His reference to an island got Isabelle thinking. She suddenly remembered the airline ticket that had fallen from Nine’s pocket when he’d accosted her in her apartment.

“
You said an island,” Isabelle paused as she thought on it further. “That explains why you had an airline ticket to Les Iles Marquises, right? And that is why you are keeping me hostage? You are afraid I will tell people where your island is?”

Ignoring her accusing glare, Nine grabbed a spare blanket and pillow from the linen cupboard then wandered over to the door and lay down in front of it. Isabelle probed further for the truth, in French this time. “You're going to kill me to protect your island hideaway aren't you?”

Surprised she had figured the truth out for herself, Nine remained silent. Although he hadn’t decided for sure, he knew Isabelle was probably right. Her time was almost up. Tomorrow, he’d be leaving for the Marquesas Islands and she had to be out of the picture by then – especially now that she’d figured everything out for herself.
Otherwise, he knew, Kentbridge would follow him to the ends of the earth if he had even the faintest of scents.