Isabelle felt her misgivings completely evaporate as his hands roamed tantalizingly over her stomach and between her thighs. “Please!” Her breathing became labored. “If you tell me your name you’ll no longer be a ghost.”
By the soft light of the lamp, Nine finished disrobing her then lowered her down onto her back. Isabelle moaned. Her movements became more urgent as Nine took his own clothes off to expose his lean, muscular frame. Unable to stand it any more, Isabelle pulled him into her. “Your name!” she gasped in French as he penetrated her.
“Sebastian.”
It was the first time he’d used his own name aloud. He thought back to his childhood when Kentbridge had revealed his birth name to him. His mentor had told him his mother had given him the name shortly before he was taken from her as a baby.
There, on the carpeted floor of their hotel room, the two frightened souls made love. Any hesitancy quickly gave way to uninhibited passion as they surrendered to the underlying chemistry that existed between them.
30
After a night of lovemaking, Nine and Isabelle breakfasted together in a café just a couple of blocks from Notre Dame.
In one night, everything had changed.
Neither spoke. They both just stared at each other. He was disguised as a blind man with a cane and dark glasses while she sported a new haircut with her hair dyed platinum blonde. Nine had also painted Isabelle’s skin a lighter shade to further her disguise.
Though he’d treated her with tenderness throughout the night, Isabelle worried their lovemaking may have just been a brief, physical interlude for him. Nine quickly quelled her concerns when he tenderly stroked her hand.
After the intimacy he’d experienced with Isabelle, Nine knew once and for all he could never bring himself to terminate her. Knowing he’d even considered it mortified him. He realized he’d turned a corner in his life. Although he’d had sex with dozens of other women, he’d never truly made love to a woman like he had to Isabelle. Neither had he ever had a woman he hadn’t paid for or lied to about his identity, or usually both.
A feeling was stirring inside him. He couldn’t quite describe it. In a way it felt like a loss of his own self, or of his ego. The boundary that separated him from Isabelle was slowly dissolving. So much so that for the moment at least he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. Were he to ever harm her now, it would feel like he was harming himself.
Nine memorized Isabelle’s face as if taking a mental photograph. From behind his dark glasses, he studied her sultry, dark, brown eyes and her perfect, smooth skin. The fugitive agent loved the way her long hair cascaded over her shoulders and how the fringe curled just above her eyebrows. He filed away this mental photograph into the recesses of his mind in case he was hunted down by his Omega colleagues and separated from her. The odds of that occurring had increased exponentially overnight.
Whatever happened from now on, Nine had decided he didn’t want to hurt her any more. The pain he knew he’d already caused her gnawed away at him.
During the night he’d been formulating a contingency plan involving his remote island in French Polynesia. His mind raced as he considered the option again. Slowly, as they ate their breakfasts, the answer he’d been seeking all along came to him: he would take Isabelle to his island. He pondered it further as he devoured a plate of pancakes. Taking her to his end destination would mean none of his fellow Omegans would ever be able to interrogate her.
Even though he suspected she’d refuse to go with him, he would take her anyway. Now that terminating her is no longer an option, what else can I do? he asked himself.
Nine calculated the various ways he could secret Isabelle all the way to the Marquesas Islands. Flying was out as she could make a scene on the plane. Cruise ship was out, too. The risk of fellow passengers identifying Isabelle on a long voyage would be too great. Being an accomplished sailor, he figured it would be safest if he sailed all the way to French Polynesia himself. He could purchase a yacht somewhere in the South of France – probably in Marseille, a city he knew well from previous assignments.
From Marseille, they could sail through the Strait of Gibraltar then south along Africa’s west coast. Once in the Southern Hemisphere, they could use the Roaring Forties, the prevailing westerly winds, to push them around the bottom of Australia and New Zealand. From there it would literally be plain sailing to his island in French Polynesia.
The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became it was the ultimate solution to the problem. In fact, it was the only solution.
Now that he had a plan, the next challenge was how to get himself and Isabelle to Marseille. That would certainly be manageable, but he knew their disguises would need to be watertight at all times. The hunt for them was intensifying and there would be no room for error.
Isabelle, who had been silently studying Nine's face the whole time, stopped eating and smiled. “You’re looking well this morning.”
“Must be my stress-free lifestyle,” Nine responded with a faint grin.
“Sebastian.” It was the first time she’d used his name. She looked around to ensure nobody was within earshot. Switching to English, she asked, “Who are you, really?”
Nine shrugged, indicating even he didn’t know. Shaking her head, Isabelle turned and looked out the window. Sensing her frustration, Nine decided he would break the ultimate Omega rule and reveal his true identity. If he was to die now, he wanted her to be aware of the incredible hardships he’d faced. That way, he’d be remembered by at least one person for who he truly was – a human being and not just a number.
He paused as he considered how to explain it all to her. It was true Isabelle was the daughter of a politician and therefore must have had an inkling of how Western alpha male-style governments functioned, but the world he operated in was beyond governments. Nine was one of the few who knew the truth. He understood world leaders were simply opportunists placed in so-called positions of power to carry out the agendas of the real power-players who always remained behind the scenes.
Finally he gave up worrying if she’d understand the bigger picture and just started with himself. “I have no life of my own. No family. No roots. As far as the world knows, I don't exist.” He hesitated as he struggled to find the right words. “The guy who’s chasing me, that’s Tommy Kentbridge. He’s what’s called a keeper. I grew up in orphanages and Tommy was the closest thing I had to a father. Except he wasn't like a normal father.”
Intrigued, Isabelle listened intently. “From childhood, he taught me how to assume false identities. He gave me so many names I've forgotten most of them.”
Isabelle concentrated hard as she tried to make sense of his tale.
“Tommy moved me around from one state and one country to the next to keep me unsettled,” Nine said. The fugitive agent looked like the loneliest person on earth as he tried to explain his strange upbringing. “He never allowed me to develop a fixed personality because he wanted me to become a chameleon.”
Isabelle shrugged. “I do not understand any of this.”
“I'm a product of a clandestine orphanage. A radical experiment called the Pedemont Project.”
“Like a conspiracy theory, you mean?” Isabelle asked.
“No, this is real.” Nine switched to French so she missed nothing. “I’m one of twenty three orphan prodigies. We were created using genetic engineering technologies that have been suppressed from the mainstream. I’m at least half a century ahead of our times in terms of official science. The embryologists who created me selected the strongest genes from about a thousand sperm donors then used in-vitro fertilization to impregnate my mother and other women.”
Judging by the confusion in Isabelle’s eyes, the confession was way above her head.
Nine paused for a moment then continued, “The woman who was chasing us in the car the other night. That’s Seventeen.”
“Seventeen?” Isabelle thought she had misheard.
“Yes. We wer
e allocated numbers according to the order of our lab-controlled births. She was the seventeenth-born orphan in the program. I was the ninth.” Nine suddenly leaned forward and spoke urgently. “These people are like robots. They’re the only family I have, but they won’t stop until I'm dead. And they’ll use you to get to me.”
Isabelle struggled to take in all he was telling her.
“You must stay close until I can find a way to get you clean out of this,” Nine warned her. He didn’t tell her about his plan to take her all the way to his island.
“But Sebastian, I’m not involved with any of this,” she responded, switching in and out of English as she tended to do in Nine’s company.
“Right now you are.” Nine paused for a second, thinking how best to explain the situation in layman's terms. “Tommy knows you and I have grown close.”
“How does he know that?”
“He’ll have figured out the reason I haven’t killed you is because I care for you.”
Clearly touched by this admission, Isabelle looked down and stirred her coffee.
Nine could see she was getting caught up in sentimentality instead of the rational concerns he was trying to instill in her. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. “Listen, Isabelle. You are at risk here almost as much as I am. If Tommy ever catches you he will use you as bait to draw me in. He won't hesitate to interrogate you until you tell him everything. And believe me, you’ll tell him everything.”
“But I am just an ordinary citizen.”
“Ordinary citizens are expendable,” Nine said emphatically. He leaned forward and looked at her through his dark glasses. “I promise your life will return to normal as soon as I’ve sorted out a few things. Until then, you’ve got to work with me, okay?”
Isabelle nodded. Since their lovemaking, her mind had become disorientated.
She’d also begun to feel deep empathy for Nine. His surreal life was almost too bizarre to be true, yet somehow she knew it wasn’t fiction. Isabelle had heard rumors of scientific experimentation on children, but had always written them off as far-fetched conspiracies.
Her attention was drawn to framed photos on the nearby wall. The photos depicted scenes of rural France. She studied each one. Nine noted her interest and felt guilty as he realized she was missing her craft. He stood abruptly. “I better pay for this meal.”
“Shall I come?”
“No, you stay here and finish your breakfast. Tell me where the cashier is.” Isabelle started to raise her right hand. “Don’t point.” Nine whispered. “I'm blind, so tell me.”
“Behind you. Follow the wall for about ten meters then turn right.”
Nine turned and tentatively made his way toward the cashier’s counter using his cane to feel his way. Finding a queue around the corner, he deliberately bumped up against the last customer in line. “Sorry,” he mumbled in French.
The customer, a fat lady, smiled when she saw he was blind. The woman belatedly realized the man wouldn’t know if she were smiling or not. “That’s quite alright,” she said.
Although Nine had his back turned to Isabelle, he didn’t worry about her doing a runner. To exit the café, she’d have to pass him as he was between her and the door. Besides, he didn’t think she’d try to flee now – not since last night.
A young waitress approached Isabelle to top up her coffee. Isabelle casually looked at a television set on the wall just as an image of her and her father appeared on screen. A newsreader reported, “And now for an update on the high-profile kidnapping of Isabelle Alleget, the daughter of former politician Fabrice Alleget. Paris Police say Miss Alleget was seen with her captor in the Lumiere Shopping Mall on Monday.”
Isabelle took a deep breath when a photo of her face suddenly filled the entire screen. She looked away from the waitress who by now was refilling her coffee.
The newsreader continued, “Experts say this hostage case has all the hallmarks of the Stockholm Syndrome, a psychological theory that explains why some captives in hostage situations develop feelings of sympathy, even love, for their captors.”
Making no connection between Isabelle and the woman whose face appeared on TV, the waitress smiled at her pretty customer and walked off. Isabelle glanced around at other patrons to see if any had made the connection and was relieved to see they were all preoccupied. She reminded herself even her own father wouldn’t recognize her in the latest disguise Nine had given her. Isabelle looked at her reflection in the café’s window. She didn’t recognize the blonde-haired, apparently Caucasian woman who stared back.
Not for the first time that morning, she asked herself why she’d stopped trying to escape. She knew there was nothing stopping her jumping up and telling everyone who she really was, but now that Nine was putting her life ahead of concerns for his own freedom, Isabelle couldn’t bring herself to betray him.
At the back of her mind though, she did wonder if the experts were right about her suffering the psychological effects of the Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe she was becoming a modern-day version of Patty Hearst.
Isabelle glanced at an ATM against the café’s near wall. Remembering she’d grabbed her credit card just before she’d been abducted from her apartment earlier in the week, Isabelle reached into a pocket of her jeans and fished out the card. She thought it may be useful to have some of her own cash – just in case. Out of Nine’s line of sight, she walked over to the machine. As she completed her cash withdrawal and returned to her table, she failed to notice a security camera directly above the ATM.
Finally, Nine rejoined her. “You ready?”
“Oui.” Isabelle dutifully led her supposedly blind friend toward the exit.
Outside, as Isabelle waved down a taxi, Nine’s mind was elsewhere. He thought about the logistics of sailing to French Polynesia.
Realizing he was getting ahead of himself, Nine brought himself back to the present. First, he had to work out how he was going to get to Marseille, his planned port of departure.
By the time Isabelle had caught the attention of a taxi driver and the taxi had pulled over to the curb, Nine had it all worked out: they’d return to their hotel for their things then catch the first available train to Marseille.
31
Back in their hotel near Gare de Nord, Isabelle showered while Nine waited in the bedroom. The rogue agent, who had dispensed with his blind guise and was totally undisguised for a change, was pacing the floor. He was both impatient and excited. Impatient because they had a train to catch, excited because, if all went according to plan, he would soon be free. Next stop Marseille. Then on to the South Pacific.
Although he was still on edge, he felt the most assured he’d been in a long time. Of course, once Isabelle was safely installed on his island he’d have to break the news to her that she could never leave, but he was confident he could eventually win her heart.
Nine unbuttoned his shirt and unzipped the black kit that was, as always, fastened to his chest. He looked at the empty spot inside the kit where he’d formerly kept the flash drive relating to the Yamashita discovery. He wondered how the Chinese were getting on locating the treasure in the Philippine site he’d directed them to. He expected to receive their additional eighty million dollars within the next day or two.
As his mind returned to the present, he suddenly noticed a handful of Euro notes protruding from a pocket in Isabelle's discarded clothes. His heart instantly sank. He grabbed the cash and hurried to the bathroom where Isabelle was washing the blonde dye out of her hair in the shower. She jumped when Nine burst in and snatched a towel to partially cover herself.
Nine waved the notes in front of her face. “Where did you get this money?”
“Why does it matter?”
Nine reached past her and turned the shower off. “Answer me.”
“Out of an ATM machine. I used my credit card.”
“Where?”
“At the cafe. Earlier this morning.”
Nine cursed to himself. Just whe
n I thought we were in the home straight! He’d been visualizing a straightforward journey to Marseille, but now he knew nothing would be straightforward. Kentbridge, Seventeen, the Chinese and the French authorities would soon be all over them. Nine shook his head angrily. At times it felt like the whole universe was conspiring against him. Frustrated, he punched the wall behind Isabelle, driving his fist right through it. Isabelle was frightened by the sudden violence.
Nine calmed himself. He pulled Isabelle gently but firmly by the arm into the main room and scooped up her clothes for her. “Get dressed,” he ordered. “We're leaving.”
“I don't see what the problem is. I just used my credit card.”
“The streets are lined with surveillance cameras, Isabelle. They can easily trace your movements from the cash machine back to this hotel.”
Nine tensed when they heard voices coming from the hallway outside their room. He put his forefinger to his lips, indicating Isabelle should remain quiet. Nine opened the door a fraction and peered out into the hallway. Behind him, Isabelle quickly dressed.
Ten yards down the hall, a bearded man spoke to the hotel's young duty manager in halting English. From Nine’s vantage point, the conversation was faint but audible. “My name Mikael Podlaski,” the bearded man said. “I here to check plumbing in the rooms.” He spoke halting English with a thick Polish accent.
Nine froze when he realized the man was Kentbridge in disguise.
In the hallway, the hotel’s duty manager handed the senior Omega agent a master key and walked off. As soon as he was out of sight, Kentbridge drew his pistol and unlocked the door to the nearest room. Holding his pistol behind his back, he entered the room where he discovered an old man noisily making love to a young hooker. Kentbridge backed out into the hallway and entered the next room.
Having already locked the door to their room, Nine hastily gathered their possessions then led Isabelle to the nearest window. He opened it and looked down. Guessing his intentions, Isabelle pulled back and shook her head adamantly.
The Ninth Orphan Page 15