The Ninth Orphan (26 page)

Shivering in the cold night air, the frightened professor was trying to comprehend what was going on as he watched Nine turn himself into a mirror image of himself, while on an adjoining bunk, a badly wounded Isabelle lay groaning on her side.

After the shooting on the roof, Nine had carried Isabelle into the nearest carriage and forced his way into the first sleeper compartment he came to. Fortunately, they hadn’t been seen as most passengers had either retired for the evening or were eating in the dining car. Unfortunately for the professor, the compartment Nine had picked on was his.

As soon as Nine had bound and gagged the professor, he’d inspected Isabelle’s wound. Blood still oozed from the bullet’s entry wound in the middle of her back. Nine had established there was no sign of an exit wound, which meant the bullet was still lodged inside her. He was under no illusions as to the gravity of the situation.

After bathing Isabelle’s wound with soap and warm water then bandaging it as best he could using a torn sheet, he had walked through to the dining car. There, he’d purchased a packet of non-prescription painkillers. At the same time, he’d arranged for a wheelchair to be delivered to
the professor's
compartment.

Nine propped Isabelle up on the edge of the bunk and force-fed her three tablets. “Get these down you,” he ordered. “They’ll dull the pain.” He then filled a glass with water and held it to her lips. Isabelle gulped it down. She was incredibly thirsty.

Knowing time was against them, Nine worked frantically on a new guise for Isabelle. He morphed her into an elderly cripple – a role she was now tailor-made for.

The fugitive agent looked up with apprehension as the train pulled in to Perigueux station. He knew Kenbridge would have arranged for back-up. And that back-up was likely to be Seventeen. He just hoped the female operative wouldn’t be waiting for him at this particular station. Nine knew if she was, the odds of eluding her with Isabelle in this state were slim. He felt sure someone was going to die before the night was over and just hoped it wasn’t Isabelle. Nine also wondered whether Kentbridge had survived his fall into the river and, if so, if he’d been able to get word to Seventeen.

He wasn’t to know that his former mentor’s cell phone had been rendered inoperative and Kentbridge still hadn’t been able to alert Seventeen.

Nine suddenly had a split-second flashback to Seventeen as a kid. He saw her cold, blue, eyes boring into him as they sparred with each other during martial arts training. Seventeen
had just stood there scowling at him as always
.

The operative dismissed the memory and focused all his attention on Isabelle.

Outside the train, on a dimly lit station platform, Seventeen was indeed waiting for Nine. She merged in with a handful of others who were waiting either to board the train or to welcome arriving passengers.

Although she hadn’t heard from Kentbridge since he’d advised her he was on board the train, Seventeen felt something had gone wrong. As with all the Omega orphans, she’d been trained to listen to her intuition and go with her instincts. Part of her hoped something had gone wrong. Having wanted to terminate her fellow orphan for many years, she sensed she may get her chance tonight.

As the train slowed to a halt, Seventeen removed the safety on her pistol. The carriage doors opened and passengers began disembarking. She carefully studied the faces of each. Every so often the platform was bathed in light as fireworks lit up the sky, making the task of identification that much easier.

Nine was among the first passengers to disembark. In his impeccable university professor guise, he pushed Isabelle along the platform in the borrowed wheelchair. In the gloomy lighting, he didn’t notice the spots of blood Isabelle was leaving behind the chair. He saw his fellow Omegan just as more skyrockets lit up the platform. Seventeen looked directly at him as he drew level with her.

Nine spontaneously placed a hand on Isabelle's shoulder and addressed her in Italian.
“
Are you alright, mother?
”
He remembered seeing an Italian language book in Isabelle
’
s apartment and hoped she could actually speak the language.

“
Yes, dear,
”
Isabelle responded faintly. Fortunately, she had the presence of mind to address him in Italian, which she was fluent in.

Fooled by the pair’s immaculate Italian, Seventeen turned her attention to the other disembarking passengers as Nine pushed the wheelchair up a ramp toward the nearest exit. Outside the station, he began jogging as he pushed his wheelchair-bound passenger down the street. The occasional fireworks continued to light their way. Isabelle was slumped in the chair. “Hang on,” Nine urged her. He knew she needed urgent medical attention.

Behind them, at Perigueux Station, Seventeen was growing concerned as the last of the passengers disembarked. She knew if Nine and Isabelle had opted to remain on board, that would require a carriage-by-carriage search of the train and that would be dangerous.

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

A
lthough 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.

As 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.