As more fireworks lit up the platform, Seventeen noticed the spots of blood Isabelle had left behind on the concrete. She produced a pen-torch and followed the spots up the same ramp Nine had used earlier. Seventeen remembered the Italian woman in the wheelchair as she bent down and dipped her finger into the still-moist blood. She studied her bloodied finger for a second then sprinted toward the exit.
Several blocks away, outside Perigueux’s stately Cathédrale Saint-Front, Nine stopped pushing Isabelle and took stock of his surroundings. The imposing Romanesque cathedral towered over them, casting a temporary shadow as yet another skyrocket display lit up the sky. Nine was relieved to find the immediate vicinity was deserted. He looked around the corner of the cathedral and was alarmed to see Seventeen sprinting toward his hiding place. She still followed the trail of blood by the light of her torch.
Nine suddenly noticed the spots left behind the wheelchair. He felt annoyed at himself for the oversight. Right now though, he was more concerned at the amount of blood Isabelle was losing. Thinking quickly, he lifted her out of the wheelchair, smothered his hands in fresh blood then greased both wheels of the chair with it. He pushed the empty chair down a hill beyond the cathedral. It rolled some distance before stopping.
A few seconds later, Seventeen ran right past as she continued to follow the wheelchair’s bloody trail. Nine held Isabelle in the shadows until Seventeen disappeared then carried the Frenchwoman behind the cathedral where he found a solitary red Peugeot in the car park. After picking the lock, he placed his precious cargo in the passenger seat then set about hot-wiring the vehicle.
Down the hill, Seventeen pulled up when she found the unoccupied wheelchair. Above the crackle of the distant fireworks, the sound of a vehicle roaring to life caught her attention. The vehicle’s tires squealed as it sped off. Sensing it was Nine, Seventeen sprinted up the hill and around the back of the cathedral. She was too late to identify the vehicle as it disappeared into the darkness.
As the distance between her and the car increased, the sound of its revving engine faded and with it, to Seventeen’s disappointment, the chance of a showdown with Nine.
#
Several blocks from the cathedral, Nine slowed as he drove through an industrial suburb of Perigueux. He’d dispensed with his fake beard and the professor’s graduation cape he’d worn was now draped over Isabelle to keep her warm. Still disguised as an elderly woman, she was semi-conscious and groaning.
Nine pulled up outside a disused warehouse. With the Peugeot’s engine still running, he hurriedly inspected the makeshift dressing that covered Isabelle’s wound. It was soaked in blood. Removing his shirt, he wrapped it as tight as he could around the existing dressing to try to stem the blood flow.
As he worked, he processed his options. He knew he had to get Isabelle to a hospital immediately or she could die. He also knew that would seriously compromise his position, and possibly spell capture or even death. But his well-being was of little concern now. Nine was amazed by this revelation. For the first time in his life, he realized he cared about someone more than he cared for himself: Isabelle. She was his heart. She was his mind. She was everything. All his endgame goals were secondary to her welfare.
As he finished dressing her wound, Nine wiped the make-up from Isabelle’s face, peeling away the years in the process. Still not her usual beautiful self, she at least looked her age now.
Isabelle's eyelids suddenly fluttered open. She reached up and touched Nine’s face. “Look after yourself, Sebastian. You will die if they catch --”
“I've been dead for years, just like you told me in Paris. It's you I'm worried about.”
“What I said in Paris wasn’t true. You are not dead. You live.” Isabelle placed her hand over her heart. “Right here.” Her voice trailed off. She was growing weaker.
Touched by her words, Nine paused for a second to collect his thoughts before speeding off toward Perigueux Hospital. He knew exactly where it was, having spent five seconds speed reading a street directory of the city before disembarking from the train.
Isabelle was delirious now. Her head rested on his bare shoulder and she jabbered away to herself in French.
“Hold on,” Nine exclaimed as he floored the accelerator. Concerned, he kept an eye on her as he drove.
37
Although Nine didn’t have far to drive, the journey to Perigueux Hospital seemed to take forever. Finally, the Peugeot pulled up outside the hospital’s Emergency Department. Nine jumped out, ran around to the passenger side, opened the door and lifted Isabelle out. She was unconscious now and her skin felt hot to touch.
Still bare-chested and no longer in disguise, Nine carried her into the Emergency Department. He looked around frantically. There were people in the waiting room, but no sign of any staff. Ignoring two wall-mounted security cameras, he cried out, “Help!”
A young female doctor and a male orderly suddenly appeared. They raced over to assist Nine. The doctor looked the bare-chested stranger up and down then turned her attention to Isabelle. “What happened?” she asked.
“Gunshot wound to the back,” Nine said in French. “A Point Forty Five automatic handgun. Very high-powered. Bullet’s still in her. It missed the spine, I think. She’s delirious. All vital functions have slowed.”
The orderly grabbed a spare portable bed. He helped Nine lift Isabelle onto the bed then began wheeling her down a corridor. The doctor checked Isabelle’s pulse as she strode alongside her. Nine accompanied them. With his chest smeared with Isabelle's blood, he attracted strange looks.
“Are you a relative?” the doctor asked.
Nine shook his head. “A friend.”
The orderly stopped outside the surgery. He turned to Nine. “You must wait here.”
Nine was about to argue when Isabelle momentarily woke. She was shocked to see Nine's bloodied chest then remembered the blood was hers. Nine reached out and held her hand. Isabelle managed a smile.
On a sudden impulse, Nine removed his treasured ruby necklace and placed it in Isabelle's hand. He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “This was my mother's. She died while I was an infant. It's all I have of hers.”
Isabelle held the ruby tight as she looked into Nine's eyes. He leaned forward to kiss her cheek. She turned her head so her lips met his. Their kiss was brief but tender. Finally, Nine broke free and raced back down the corridor. Isabelle watched Nine's retreating form as she slipped back into unconsciousness.
The doctor and orderly wheeled their patient into the operating theatre. Medical staff swung into action and immediately began prepping Isabelle for surgery.
#
Despite Isabelle’s serious condition, the operation was fairly straightforward. It simply involved removing the bullet and stabilizing the patient. Finding the bullet wasn’t a problem: its entry wound was there for all to see in the middle of her back, just to the right of her spine. A nurse held the wound open while the surgeon probed inside it with a pair of large tweezers. After several attempts, he pulled out the bullet and placed it on a tray.
After the surgeon stitched up the wound, he studied Isabelle’s unconscious face then turned to a male intern. “She's the politician's daughter, isn't she? The one in the news.”
The intern inspected Isabelle’s face for a good five seconds then nodded. “Oui.”
#
Dawn was breaking as Nine parked the red Peugeot outside a farmhouse. Somewhere, a rooster crowed and a dog barked. Otherwise, all was quiet.
Nine climbed out of the car. Now wearing the professor’s cape for warmth, he looked furtively around. He hoped no-one would see him – if only because he was aware he looked like some B-grade comic book hero with his cape and bare arms.
When he was sure no-one was around, he ran to the rear of the house and removed a man’s shirt he’d spotted hanging from a clothesline. He quickly donned the shirt and hurried back to the car, stuffing the cape into a rubbish bin as he went.
A
s he climbed back into the car, his thoughts were firmly fixated on Isabelle. He just hoped she pulled through. Aside from her life-threatening wound, he had another worry: he knew it wouldn’t take long for his fellow Omegans to find out where Isabelle was – if they didn’t already know.
As Kentbridge had shot her, they’d be monitoring every hospital and doctor’s surgery in France. And when they did find her, they’d interrogate her. Nine knew if Isabelle didn’t tell them what they wanted to know, they’d find a way to spirit her away to an Omega safe house where they’d use force if necessary to extract every last bit of information from her. That information would undoubtedly include Nine’s secret hideaway in the Marquesas Islands. And then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, Nine anticipated Kentbridge would probably threaten to kill Isabelle unless he turned himself in.
Nine shuddered at the thought of Isabelle in Omega’s hands. He wished he could have stayed to protect her, but that would have been tantamount to suicide. He’d have been a sitting duck. Tommy and Seventeen could have used me for target practice.
As he drove, the beginnings of a contingency plan began to form in his mind. Whichever way he looked at it, it was likely to end with more blood being spilt – either his or his fellow Omegans’.
#
Later that morning, only three hours after Isabelle had undergone her operation, Monsieur Alleget was being ferried to Perigueux by helicopter.
No sooner than the chopper had touched down, Monsieur Alleget hurried through the hospital’s main doors yelling, “I am Fabrice Alleget! Where is my daughter? Take me to Isabelle Alleget!”
When a hospital receptionist asked him for ID, he turned a crimson shade of red. “Show me to my daughter now!” he demanded.
The receptionist did nothing to endear herself to the former politician when she summoned security. A security guard appeared and confronted Monsieur Alleget. Further embarrassment was saved when a nurse fetched the surgeon who had operated on Isabelle. Recognizing Monsieur Alleget, the surgeon took him by the arm and, after introducing himself, escorted him to a private recovery room on the first floor.
As they walked, Monsieur Alleget asked, “How is she?”
“Isabelle was very lucky,” the surgeon answered frankly. “The bullet missed any vital organs. It only missed her spine by an inch. One inch to the left and she’d be dead or paralyzed for life.” Monsieur Alleget hung on the surgeon’s every word. The surgeon continued, “Your daughter is young and in good shape. She will make a full recovery. However, she’ll need plenty of rest.” He smiled at Monsieur Alleget who couldn’t hide his relief.
An armed guard stationed in front of the door leading to the recovery room stepped aside when the surgeon told him the visitor was Isabelle’s father. Monsieur Alleget entered the room just as Isabelle was coming around. Behind them, the surgeon shut the door to give father and daughter some privacy.
Monsieur Alleget kissed Isabelle on her forehead then sat down next to her. He breathed a deep sigh as he let out all the stress and worry he’d experienced since learning first, of his daughter’s abduction and, second, her admission to the hospital.
Isabelle slowly opened her eyes. The image she saw before her was blurred. Gradually, the image became clearer. She smiled when she finally recognized her father’s chubby face. “Papa,” she said weakly.
“Don’t talk,” Monsieur Alleget warned. He kissed her again, on her cheek this time.
Isabelle’s smile faded when she remembered Nine and the danger he’d warned her about. The realization that American operatives may come looking for her chilled her to the bone. Isabelle looked at her father urgently. “You must get me out of here, papa.”
“Don’t be silly, child. You are in the best place.”
Isabelle half-sat up in bed and grabbed her father’s arm with as much strength as she could muster. “Papa, listen. It is not safe here. They will come for me. Please.”
Thinking his daughter was delirious, Monsieur Alleget paid no attention to her plea. “No, you are staying put, young lady. This is one of the finest hospitals in France.” He gently pushed her back down on the bed.
A few seconds later, Isabelle drifted back into unconsciousness.
#
By mid-afternoon, Nine had reached the outskirts of Paris. Still driving the red Peugeot, he traveled at speed in the fast lane. He was grim-faced as he fiddled with the car radio tuner searching for a news station. Finally, he found one.
Within minutes, a French newsreader announced on air, “Isabelle Alleget, daughter of former politician Fabrice Alleget, turned up at Perigueux Hospital early this morning. She was wounded, having been shot, but doctors say she will make a full recovery.”
On hearing this, Nine allowed himself a brief moment of happiness. The newsreader continued, “Monsieur Alleget was reunited with his daughter only a few minutes ago.”
Switching off the radio, Nine took stock of his situation. Now that he’d heard Isabelle was going to survive, he had to focus on what lay ahead.
The rogue agent was heading back to Paris as he knew that was Omega’s central point of command for the operation. Certain his fellow Omegans would try to use Isabelle to get to him, he knew there was only one thing left to do: wage war against them.
He thought it unlikely he would survive what he was about to do, but gave little thought to his own mortality. As long as Isabelle survived, he would be happy. If he died, he would die with a certain amount of satisfaction knowing he’d loved and been loved. For he now understood it wasn’t just about freeing his physical self, but also his heart and mind. Isabelle had done that. She’d shown him places inside himself he never knew existed. Thanks to her, he no longer felt separate from the rest of humanity.
Speeding along the motorway toward Paris, Nine gripped the steering wheel as he thought about wreaking vengeance on his creators. The more he thought about killing them, the more he warmed to the idea. It’s time for the mouse to chase the cat.
38
In the meeting room of the DST headquarters, in central Paris, Kentbridge and Seventeen studied a map of Western Europe as a French secretary stuck colored pins into it. The pins represented how far Nine could have gone since dropping Isabelle off at Perigueux Hospital. They basically amounted to guesswork. Kentbridge and Seventeen had no definite ideas as to where Nine could be.
Lost in thought, the senior agent turned and looked out the window at vehicles traveling along a distant motorway. Whether by coincidence or some deeper force, it was the same motorway Nine was currently negotiating.
Kentbridge noticed his reflection in the window. His bruised face served as a reminder of his running battle with Nine on the train carriage roof the previous evening.
Fortunately, there were no professional ramifications resulting from the shooting of Isabelle. Naylor couldn't have cared less about her welfare when Kentbridge told him what happened. He knew there was nothing to connect his senior agent or Omega with the near-tragedy. Naylor's only concern was that Kentbridge had allowed Nine to escape. “You must be losing your touch,” he'd told him.
Kentbridge turned back as Naylor entered the room. The Omega director looked at Seventeen and at the secretary. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”
The two women departed. Seventeen was inwardly fuming. She hated being dismissed like that.
As soon as they were alone, Naylor pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to Kentbridge. “Here's the codes for MK-Ultra. Simply recite these voice-commands to activate any program you desire.”
“Finally,” Kentbridge replied. He’d requested the codes a week earlier. The delay had caused him much frustration. If he’d had them when face-to-face with Nine on the train, he could have turned the tables on the rogue agent. He asked, “What took so long?”
“MK-Ultra has had a restricted C12 access since the CIA’s mind control program officially shut down a few decades back. I had to twist a few arms at Langley to get this.”
While the Omega
director was speaking, Kenbridge studied the card. Its top surface was simply inscribed MK-Ultra Pedemont Operatives; the underside featured a series of codes and the names of all the planets in the Solar System.
Naylor explained, “You only need to name the planets, in order, to activate MK-Ultra in Nine or in any of our orphans for that matter.”
As Kentbridge memorized the wording on the card, he felt a stab of guilt. The very thought of this highly-classified project always made him feel uneasy. MK-Ultra, the CIA's far-reaching mind-control program, was an umbrella project spawned from the US Government's super-secret Project Paperclip, a sinister venture that involved bringing dozens of Nazi scientists to America immediately after World War Two.
Kentbridge was aware that some believed MK-Ultra’s beginnings actually went back to the horrendous psychiatric experiments the Nazis conducted during the Holocaust.
He was also aware of the often-disastrous impact MK-Ultra had had on the lives of CIA operatives and unwitting citizens over the years. Some of America's highest profile assassins – including the likes of John Lennon’s killer Mark David Chapman and Robert Kennedy’s assassin Sirhan Sirhan – claimed they were CIA-programmed killers hypnotized by MK-Ultra.
The media portrayed them as crazed lone gunmen, so naturally the public paid little attention to their claims. Kentbridge, however, knew it was possible some of these men were mind controlled soldiers, or Manchurian Candidates, carrying out assassination orders their conscious minds were not even aware of.
Kentbridge’s guilt stemmed from the fact he’d reluctantly agreed to enter his orphans into the MK-Ultra program – and while they were still very young. Naylor had convinced him at the time Omega needed a way to control its orphans if any of them ever rebelled. That had been twenty five years ago and neither man had thought much about MK-Ultra again until Nine went AWOL in the Philippines. That was the first time they’d experienced a major problem with any of their orphans.
The Ninth Orphan Page 19