Lhozang, the MSS official in charge of French operations, had immediately given this information to Cho-Wu and ordered him to hunt down and interrogate the elusive American to determine what he'd done with the last of Yamashita's Gold.
Cho-Wu was skeptical the man was in fact the Changing-Face Dragon. However, personal inspection of the surveillance camera footage convinced him it was. He’d seen for himself the Peugeot’s PXR4512TQ registration matched the number plate he’d observed on the surveillance tapes at Perigueux Hospital.
Studying the footage of the old man had thrown up no new clues, but Cho-Wu asked himself why an old man would walk several blocks to a hotel when he could have driven there – especially when he relied on a walking stick to get around.
From the shadows, Cho-Wu continued his watching brief of the hotel. His attention was focused on a well-lit guest room on the third floor.
Inside the hotel, within the confines of a sparsely furnished third floor room, Nine sat before a laptop he’d stolen earlier that day. The orphan was getting himself into war mode. He knew the mission he’d set himself – to destroy his Omega creators and protect Isabelle – would be the hardest of his life. Some would even say it was a suicide mission.
Despite the dangers, he was keen to get on with it. However, he couldn’t strike until he’d tracked them down.
He had managed to hack into the CIA’s intelligence records and was sifting through numerous files that might relate to his fellow Omegans.
Nine suddenly felt weary. The events of the past week had finally caught up with him. His eyelids grew heavy. He knew he should go to bed, but didn't have time for that. Instead, he sauntered over to an armchair for a quick power nap. Such was his training, he had the ability to awaken at a predetermined time. He fell asleep for the first time in days.
#
Nine thought he was dreaming. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs felt like they would explode.
Gasping, he woke to find a cord drawn tight around his neck. In one nightmarish moment, he realized this was no dream: it was really happening. Reflected in a wall mirror before him, he saw his attacker was Cho-Wu. He immediately recognized him as the MSS agent he’d met beneath the Eiffel Tower.
The cord Cho-Wu held was drawn so tight Nine was being strangled. In the mirror, Nine could see his face quickly turn red and then blue. His bulging eyes swiveled from side to side as he desperately looked around for a weapon. Apart from a mahogany coffee table currently out of reach, the room was so sparsely furnished there were literally no options. He tried to punch Cho-Wu over his shoulder, to no avail.
Standing behind the chair his victim was seated in, Cho-Wu increased the pressure, slowly suffocating Nine. His power came from those unusually broad, muscular shoulders. The American didn’t stand a chance.
Inexplicably, Cho-Wu released the cord, allowing his victim to suck some air into his oxygen-starved lungs. Before Nine could recover, Cho-Wu pushed him face down onto the floor and, using the cord, proceeded to tie his hands behind his back. That done, he stood up.
“Sit up,” Cho-Wu ordered.
Still gasping for air, Nine rolled painfully over onto his back and sat up facing his attacker. A red mark encircled his neck where the cord had been drawn tight moments earlier. Nine looked up at Cho-Wu. The Chinese agent now held a prototype Zhuzh-Xiang pistol in his hand.
Cho-Wu sat down on the chair Nine had occupied, drew out a silencer and screwed it on to the end of the pistol. His eyes never left Nine for an instant. Pointing the pistol casually at his prisoner, Cho-Wu asked, “What did you do with the gold?”
Nine's mind was racing. He had been trying to establish why Cho-Wu had hunted him down. Now it was evident someone else had found the Yamashita treasure first and the Chinese thought Nine had double-crossed them. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he responded. “I gave you the co-ordinates.”
“The site you indicated was empty,” Cho-Wu snapped. Struggling to keep his composure, he holstered his pistol then flexed his fingers as if preparing for a piano recital. Nine wondered what his attacker was doing. Cho Wu leaned toward Nine. “Where is the gold.”
“I told you --”
Nine never got a chance to finish the sentence. Cho-Wu jabbed the stiffened fingers of his right hand into his captive's back and expertly probed for the nerve-endings he knew were nestled between the tissues on either side of the spine. Nine screamed in agony. His entire body convulsed. It felt as though ten thousand volts of electricity were coursing through him.
Even in this state, Nine knew what was happening. Using his knowledge of traditional Chinese medicine, Cho-Wu was employing acupressure to assault his nerve-endings, causing Nine excruciating pain.
After what seemed an eternity, but was only a couple of seconds, Cho-Wu removed his fingers. By now, Nine's mind was in hyper-drive. He knew he could be paralyzed, or worse, if his attacker persisted with this unique torture method.
“Again, where is the gold?” Cho-Wu asked.
Desperate, Nine began talking for his life. “I gave you the correct co-ordinates.”
Cho-Wu flexed his fingers and prepared to probe Nine again.
“Wait!” Nine screamed. The American could tell by the look in Cho-Wu’s eyes that once he got the information he wanted, he was going to kill him anyway. Nine knew his only chance was to keep talking. “There's only one possible explanation. My informers double-crossed me and took the gold themselves.” He was lying – he had no informers and always worked alone.
As he continued to talk, Nine frantically scanned the room for a way out. The only object close by was the coffee table. Nine's thoughts went to the replacement Glock pistol he'd purchased on the black market earlier that day. He could picture it where he'd left it: not more than a dozen steps away, on top of a dresser in a nearby hallway. Might as well be a million miles away.
“If that's the case, I know where they'll be holding the gold.” Now he saw he had Cho-Wu's interest. “They have a safe house in Manila.”
“Where in Manila?”
“I will need to look at my diary. I --”
Again, Nine wasn't allowed to finish his sentence. Cho-Wu jammed his stiffened fingers into his captive's back. This time, he held them there a good ten seconds before removing them.
Nine had never experienced pain like this. Every muscle in his body seemed to be on fire and he was drenched in sweat. He doubted he could survive this treatment much longer.
“Alright! I'll tell you.” Nine proceeded to give his tormenter the address of a no-longer-used safe house on the outskirts of Manila. Cho-Wu insisted he repeat the address, which Nine promptly did.
Satisfied he now had what he'd come for, the MSS agent reached for his holstered pistol and prepared to finish off the American.
42
“The first rule of survival,” Kentbridge’s advice sprung forth from the farthest reaches of Nine’s memory bank, “is to make use of your surroundings.”
With this in mind, Nine had been inching closer to the coffee table ever since Cho-Wu had overpowered him. Now, as Cho-Wu's hand closed around his pistol, Nine stretched out his leg, hooked his foot around the table's near leg and swung it with all his strength.
The mahogany table smashed into the side of the Chinese agent's right knee, felling him.
In a flash, Nine rolled to his feet and dived around the corner of the room into the hallway. There, his hands still tied behind his back, he backed up to the dresser and fumbled frantically for the Glock pistol he'd left atop it.
He moved with the desperation of a condemned man for he could hear Cho-Wu coming for him.
Just as Nine’s hands closed around the pistol, Cho-Wu appeared in the hallway, his Zhuzh-Xiang pistol raised.
With the Glock in his tied hands, Nine performed a standing backward somersault, firing the weapon mid-air behind his back. Cho-Wu fired his weapon at exactly the same time.
Silencers on both pistols muffled the sound of the shots.
Nine landed heavily on the floor. He was momentarily winded. After a few moments, he rolled painfully to his feet and staggered over to inspect Cho-Wu.
Breathing hard, the orphan used his foot to roll his unfortunate victim over onto his back. The expression frozen on the would-be assassin's face registered Cho-Wu's total disbelief that his enemy had escaped certain death.
Drenched in sweat, Nine stumbled into the bathroom and threw up into a basin. Then, using the sharp edge of the shower door, he set about cutting the cord that still bound his hands. While doing so, his muscles began to spasm. His throat also hurt like hell and he could feel there was some damage to his larynx, but he was still alive. That's all that counts.
As soon as his hands were free, Nine walked back into the hallway and searched Cho-Wu’s pockets. He found a photo of a voluptuous naked woman who wouldn't disgrace the centerfold of a Playboy magazine.
Nine also found intelligence photos that included one of himself in the elderly Hasidic guise he’d employed in London. However, it was another photo that caught his eye – a shot of Kentbridge and Naylor entering a building. A sign hanging above the building's entrance read: Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire. A date printed on the bottom left hand corner of the photo revealed it had been taken only the previous day.
Nine pocketed the photo. As he wrapped Cho-Wu’s corpse in a blanket and bundled it into a cupboard, he decided he would pay another visit to the DST building first thing in the morning.
After locking the cupboard door and flushing the key down the toilet, he thought about how he was going to launch the attack on his fellow Omegans.
Now that he knew where Naylor and Kentbridge were operating from, the stage was set. The mouse is ready to chase the cat. What Nine didn’t know was that’s exactly what the cat expected. Senior Agent Tommy Kentbridge knew his protégé was coming for him.
#
Nearly seven hours after her abduction from Perigueux Hospital, Isabelle regained consciousness to find herself strapped to a portable hospital bed inside the rear of the same black van Seventeen had transferred her to earlier that night.
The young Frenchwoman had a splitting headache and was in considerable pain following the recent surgery to remove the bullet from her back.
Isabelle suddenly remembered the fate of her parents. The sound of the two muffled gunshots that had ended their lives still reverberated in her ears. Recalling everything in graphic detail, she started shaking, then, as the ghastly images replayed over and over in her mind, she began screaming.
Finally, Isabelle fainted. She came round after a few minutes and cried inconsolably. The grief and guilt hit her in equal doses. She felt guilty because she knew her parents had died because of her. Equally, she felt anger toward Nine – and toward the young woman who had killed her parents and whom she assumed was at that very moment driving her through the night.
Isabelle tried to work out where she was. She strained to look out through the van’s dark tinted windows. There were no visible lights or sounds of other vehicles. She sensed maybe they were in the Pyrénées, but couldn’t be sure.
Up front, in the driver’s seat, Seventeen was completely focused on the task at hand. Having driven non-stop since leaving Perigueux, she was keen to deliver Isabelle to Mountain Retreat, her destination.
Mountain Retreat was the code-name for the secret CIA prison Naylor had instructed Seventeen to transfer Isabelle to. It was situated in the isolated and mountainous Canillo region, in the country of Andorra.
Seventeen was aware the tiny principality nation of Andorra, sandwiched as it was between France and Spain, was almost completely owned by foreign interests and therefore easily manipulated by those same interests.
The highly secretive Andorran facility was part of the global internment network that had been established after 9/11 to deal with suspected terrorists. Even after the bad press received in 2005, when it was leaked to the world’s media that the CIA had secret prisons all over Europe, new prisons, or black sites, had been set up.
Seventeen knew why Naylor wanted Isabelle at this particular black site. Hidden amongst snow-covered mountains, the modern, nondescript Mountain Retreat facility was regarded as the most secure and secretive CIA prison on earth. As the van arrived at the detention center, Seventeen went through a strict security check to confirm she was a CIA employee. Once screened, she was cleared to drive Isabelle inside.
#
Shortly after midnight, Isabelle was attended to by CIA medical personnel who inspected and treated her wound, changed her dressing and, to their patient's great relief, administered painkillers to ease her pain. Then, strapped to a wheelchair, she was wheeled to the prison’s underground interrogation cells where she was processed by Seventeen and other CIA officials.
Although feeling woozy and still in a fragile state, Isabelle understood what was happening. She remembered the warnings Nine had given her about the ruthless people who had enslaved him.
Formalities over, Seventeen wheeled the prisoner along a corridor which took them past still more cells. Isabelle saw Muslim detainees dressed in orange overalls. Some were praying, others were being interrogated by CIA personnel. She caught a glimpse of a bearded Arab man with fresh wounds on his bare chest.
Isabelle sensed this prison was one big torture chamber. She shuddered as the thought of what her abductor and the guards had in store for her.
Seventeen didn’t even glance at any of the detainees as she pushed Isabelle along. Having worked as an interrogator and torturer at several CIA prisons around the world, she knew all about the secret internment program.
She understood some of the detainees were major terrorist suspects while others were considered less important, having limited intelligence value and little direct involvement in terrorism. Isabelle had been classified as among the latter group, the cover story being that she was the former lover of a low-level Al Qaeda figure. This allowed the CIA and Omega to detain the Frenchwoman legally.
#
After being forced to change into the orange overalls warn by all the detainees, Isabelle was placed in a private cell which, like the other cells, was devoid of natural light. Being underground, it was completely sealed off from the outside world.
Isabelle was left alone for the time being. Lying on a single bed, she closed her eyes and tried not to think about the murder of her parents for fear she'd go mad. As it was, the grief, anguish and fear were threatening to overwhelm her. She also tried to ignore the throbbing in her back and hoped the wound hadn't become infected.
The screech of the door to her cell opening announced she had company. Isabelle opened her eyes to see her parents’ assassin, Seventeen. The operative walked into the cell as if she owned it. Isabelle noted she moved like a man.
“Miss Alleget, I’m not going to kid you.” Seventeen pulled up a chair and sat only a meter from Isabelle. “This place makes Guantanamo Bay seem like paradise. But if you co-operate and answer all my questions, I won’t have to torture you.”
Isabelle looked at Seventeen with fear and loathing. She guessed Seventeen was connected to Nine, but didn’t know whether the ruthless woman was an orphan or not. There was something about her that indicated she’d gone through similar training.
Seventeen leaned close to Isabelle. “Tell me every single thing you know about the man who abducted you, or else…”
“Or else?” Isabelle responded fearfully.
“Or else you’ll be reminiscing with your parents.”
Isabelle let fly. “You bitch! I have rights! I’m an EU citizen! You're the foreigner!”
Not listening to the Frenchwoman, Seventeen suddenly pulled out her cell phone as she felt it vibrate in her pocket. It contained a text message from Naylor. He wanted her to return to Paris by helicopter immediately.
&nb
sp; The Omegan took one last look at Isabelle, then stepped out into the corridor where a beefy guard stood at attention. “Make sure she gets no sleep,” she instructed him.
The guard nodded as he watched her walk briskly toward the nearest exit.
43
Across the Atlantic, CIA Deputy Director and Omega mole Marcia Wilson received intelligence relating to MSS operations in France. As night fell in Langley, Virginia, Wilson studied photos at her desk inside CIA headquarters. Using a magnifying glass, she scrutinized a photo of Cho-Wu entering The Red Dragon Chinese Restaurant in Paris.
Aware the Chinese were also coordinating a search for Yamashita's Gold, Naylor had ordered Wilson to use CIA resources to uncover MSS cells operating in France. Wilson prepared to call Naylor and alert him. She knew her superior hoped the MSS might have intel relating to the Japanese consortium that had beaten them to the treasure in the Philippines.
#
It was the middle of the night in Paris. Seventeen had arrived back at the Hilton hotel an hour earlier by helicopter. She’d reported to Kentbridge and Naylor, telling them she’d learned nothing from Isabelle during her brief time with her at the prison in Andorra.
Kentbridge had retired for the night, leaving Seventeen alone with Naylor in his room. Before going their separate ways, Naylor had detained Seventeen, saying he wished to discuss some strategies concerning Nine.
Now alone with Seventeen, Naylor stared intently at the young blonde operative. She was as motionless as a statue, staring right through him. She’d been like this for the past couple of minutes, but she didn’t know that. Her eyes had glazed over and she was in some kind of trance. She held a copy of the novel, The Catcher in the Rye.
Smiling, the Omega director stood up and walked over to the door to check it was locked. He walked back to Seventeen and studied her features. Feeling aroused, he stroked the orphan’s hair then kissed her on the lips. She remained unresponsive.
Minutes earlier, Naylor had hypnotized Seventeen using the MK-Ultra voice commands he’d recently received from Langley. For years, he’d wanted to have his way with Seventeen. Receiving the orphans’ MK-Ultra codes had presented him with the perfect opportunity. It was perfect because she would never remember a thing. The copy of The Catcher in the Rye he’d given her was all part of the mind control program. The book acted as an additional control mechanism to activate hypnotism triggers in the brain.
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