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
It 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.
Apart from terminating Isabelle, no other feasible options had come to mind. He’d momentarily considered releasing her, but on his terms, meaning he would render her certifiably insane or a permanent amnesiac in the same manner intelligence
agencies sometimes tampered with the minds of their obsolete operatives. That way, Isabelle would never be able to spill the beans regarding his intended destination.
Nine wasn’t exactly sure how to erase a person’s memory, but with some research and maybe a trip to a drug lab, he felt reasonably sure he could do it. The problem with this option was Isabelle’s father. He doubted Monsieur Alleget would commit Isabelle to a mental hospital and, while the chances of her ever recovering fragments of her memory were remote, the odds would be infinitely higher if she was surrounded by her family.
The other off-the-wall option he’d toyed with was to simply go after Kentbridge and Seventeen, but he doubted he could terminate them both. Maybe one, but together they would be more than a handful, and once Isabelle was thrown into the mix, that amounted to mission impossible. Even if he did somehow pull off a miracle and terminate them, he’d have to kill Naylor also, and there were another twenty one other highly trained orphans Omega could call on to hunt Nine down.
Attacking Omega operatives was an absolute last resort, and then only if all other options failed. Terminating Isabelle would be a hundredfold easier.
Nine looked back at her. “No, you’re wrong. You don’t understand a thing. I’m not going to harm you. I will release you when the time is right.”
Isabelle looked at him with hope in her eyes. Although part of her didn’t believe him, she prayed he was telling the truth for once.
Nine hated having to lie to her like this, but he knew she’d experience less anguish if she died in her sleep without knowing a thing. Deciding he would terminate her in the early hours of the morning, Nine pulled out his ever-present Glock pistol and closed his eyes. Despite the hardness of the floor, he soon fell asleep holding the pistol on his chest.
Still just as fearful as ever, Isabelle picked up the newspaper and began studying the report on her abduction in greater detail. Her rumbling stomach reminded her she was hungry. She retrieved some of the food Nine had brought back for her.
As she ate a croissant, she looked at her abductor and wondered how someone in so precarious a situation could fall asleep so readily. She looked longingly at the door Nine was lying in front of. Escape was constantly on her mind. Glancing at her captor again, she dismissed the idea of trying to sneak past him. Even in sleep, he looked dangerous.
Feeling defeated, for the moment at least, Isabelle retrieved spare blankets from the same linen cupboard Nine had visited earlier then turned the light off and lay down on the couch. Try as she may, she couldn’t sleep.
She still suspected Nine intended to kill her now she knew his secret. She went over a dozen different scenarios as she tried to figure a way out of her current predicament. Each scenario ended the same way, with Nine killing her to ensure his secret remained with him. Finally, sleep came to her. As before, it was a fitful sleep. She tossed and turned.
The fugitive agent was restless also. He, too, tossed and turned.
29
Nine stirred in his sleep. He was experiencing a dream in which he was reliving childhood events. His dream deteriorated into a nightmare as his subconscious skipped forward to when, as a teenager on his first Omega assignment abroad, he’d been captured by rebel soldiers. Seventeen had double-crossed him and left him for dead, and the soldiers were torturing him. The memory was so vivid he could feel the agony. Nine began twitching violently in his sleep as he relived the trauma of that brutal episode.
Isabelle woke to the sound of Nine groaning. Turning on a lamp, she saw he'd rolled across the floor of their hotel room and was now only an arm's length away. He was clearly having a nightmare.
Before she knew it, Nine reached up and grabbed her by the throat. His iron grip cut off her air supply. He pulled her off the couch. She landed on top of Nine, waking him. Wild-eyed, he looked around. Isabelle gasped as she stared into his tormented eyes. Suddenly remembering where he was, Nine released his grip.
Coughing, Isabelle rubbed her tender throat. “You are not well,” she murmured in English. “You need help.”
Nine pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked at her with a haunted stare. “I'm beyond help.”
Isabelle could tell by his eyes that he was close to tears. She wasn’t sure why he was suddenly talking to her in such a direct manner, but decided to engage to see if it opened up an escape possibility. “Everyone can be helped.”
“Not me. I mean, I don’t even exist. I’m a ghost.” Nine looked at her forlornly. “It’s like you said the other day – I’m already dead.”
Isabelle tried to make sense of what exactly her abductor was sharing, or trying to share. She knew he was not normally one to admit to any weakness. As she studied Nine’s wretched face, she could feel his immense suffering. This was the first time he’d shown any vulnerability since she’d seen him in her apartment in his Russian guise. She wondered what sort of life he’d lived. What could possibly have caused such a man to be so damaged inside? She doubted she’d ever know.
Nine just sat there looking deeply into her eyes. It was as if he was imploring her to say or do something. Isabelle wasn’t sure what, though. She thought back to when he’d first entered her life and wondered why he’d kept her alive so long when she was obviously a liability to him.
“After you followed me in your African disguise and I saw your airline ticket, why did you come back as a Russian? Why didn’t you just kill me?” Unable to express herself as clearly as she wished, she reverted to her native tongue. “Aren’t you secret agents taught to kill anyone who jeopardizes your mission?”
Nine reflected for a moment as he studied her exotic features. “All my training told me I should terminate you, but every time I looked into your eyes I felt like you saw the real me,” he murmured in French. “Even in disguise.” He grimaced as he considered the irony of his situation. The look wasn’t lost on Isabelle.
“What?”
“You’re the only one who has ever seen the real me. And even you despise me.”
Nine hung his head in shame. He became even more downcast seconds later, as the sorrows from his childhood resurfaced all at once. Out of desperation, he touched the ruby that hung from his necklace. Not even that brought him comfort. The pain was so great, Nine felt like he just wanted to die.
Studying his tormented face, Isabelle shook her head adamantly. “I don’t despise you.” She immediately regretted uttering that. It was just that he’d voiced the word despise in such a defeated, childlike manner. She’d momentarily forgotten he was her abductor. “I fear you,” she tried to clarify. “But I don’t despise you.”
A surprised Nine looked up at her as if she was a solitary ray of light in a lifetime of darkness. It felt so strange to have someone see his true self. Especially a woman.
The last few hectic days he’d spent with Isabelle represented the longest relationship – if it could be called that – he’d ever had with a woman. All his previous experiences with the opposite sex had been one-night stands. That was the nature of his work. In fact, that was the nature of his life. He couldn’t afford to get too close to a woman.
The disadvantages of never knowing his mother and being brought up by the most ruthless of father-figures, had combined to turn him into a chauvinist. He’d never respected women. From an early age, he’d been taught and encouraged to use them.
Nine felt tears welling up as the weight of his past – not to mention his treatment of Isabelle – threatened to overwhelm him again. Ashamed, he avoided Isabelle’s gaze as a tear ran down his face. The more he fought against it, the more the tears began to flow.
All his repressed emotions came to the surface: the rage, the guilt, the void, the unshakable misery and worthlessness that came with being a manufactured orphan. Finally giving in to his feelings, he began sobbing aloud.
Against her will, Isabelle found herself feeling sympathy for him.
“Help me,” Nine whispered through his tears. “Please. Help me.”
Isabell
e was taken aback. This was not the cold-hearted operative she’d come to know. She studied his handsome face. It was a mixture of intense expressions. Fragility. Despair. Shame. Desire. Fear. She could hardly believe how vulnerable he was.
Nine now sobbed uncontrollably. He was in such a distraught state, his head fell onto his captive’s shoulder. Compassion got the better of Isabelle. The entrenched feelings of indifference that often bordered on hatred were slowly dissolving as she sensed this man was still a boy in many ways. Almost without realizing it, she stroked his hair – as a mother would comfort a child.
He appeared to have never been touched like this. Her nurturing hands seemed to have a soothing effect on him. His crying subsided. Nine suddenly embraced Isabelle and held her tightly.
As much as she wanted to push him away, she didn’t. What am I doing? If she was honest, it felt undeniably good to have a man’s arms around her. This was the first time a man had embraced her since her ex-boyfriend Jacques had left her a year earlier.
After a few moments, she finally extricated herself from his arms. Nine sat up and looked deeply into her eyes. Before she could even pause to analyze what was happening between them, Nine kissed her softly. Shocked, she pulled away from him.
“Sorry,” Nine blurted out apologetically. A part of him regretted kissing her for he knew things were already complicated enough. Maybe he’d kissed her because he wanted to distract himself from the pain he was feeling. Then again, he'd felt an intense physical attraction for her from the outset.
Nine took a deep breath, expecting to be slapped.
To his surprise, Isabelle stared at him affectionately. Not entirely sure what he was doing, he kissed her again. Isabelle responded briefly then pulled away from him once more, her dark eyes flashing. “Wait,” she whispered. “Tell me your real name.”
Not trusting himself to say any more, Nine took her hand in his. With his other hand, he reached out and explored the curves of her sensuous figure, stopping at her breasts. Isabelle’s mind was screaming for her to resist, but her body was now under his spell. In spite of herself, she allowed Nine to begin undressing her.
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