The Ninth Orphan by Lance Morcan, James Morcan Page A

loosened his grip. “Which is your car?”
    “ I don’t drive,” Isabelle gasped.
    Nine sensed she was lying, but didn’t have time to prize the truth from her. He noticed a late model, black Porsche nearby. Dragging Isabelle over to it, he picked the lock on the driver's door, pushed her over to the passenger's side then climbed in. He hot-wired the engine and revved the accelerator before taking off, tires squealing.
    Isabelle tried to open her door, but Nine hit the central locking button on his side, preventing her. Frightened, she sat back in her seat and tried to make sense of what she’d been caught up in. She had no way of knowing her sighting of the destination on Nine’s airline ticket was the reason he’d re-entered her life. Nor could she know that was why he was keeping her as a hostage.
    Seventeen arrived in the basement just as the Porsche roared off. She aimed her gun in its direction, but the car disappeared around the corner a split-second before she could fire. She sprinted after it.
    The gendarmes had by now encircled the building waiting for the wanted man to reappear. They tensed as the sound of a car's revving engine reached them.
    Tires screaming and headlights blazing, the Porsche emerged from the apartment complex with Nine behind the wheel and Isabelle next to him. It smashed through a police blockade as it sped out of the apartment car park. The gendarmes turned to their senior officer for the order to open fire.
    “ Hold your fire!” the senior officer shouted. He was mindful who the target’s hostage was. “That's Isabelle Alleget with him!”
    Gendarmes scattered in all directions as the Porsche hurtled straight at them. As it sped past, a petrified Isabelle looked back at them through the rear window. The gendarmes jumped into their cars and prepared to pursue the fast-disappearing Porsche.
    Seventeen came running out of the complex. She sprinted over to a junior officer she saw climbing into a Fiat and jumped in next to him. The fresh-faced young man looked at Seventeen warily. She flashed a police ID then pointed ahead. “Go!” she ordered.
    The junior officer started the engine and took off. His was one of half a dozen police cars already in pursuit, their sirens howling.
    Up ahead, the Porsche sped along narrow streets. It weaved around several slower cars, forcing oncoming vehicles to take evasive action. More police cars joined in the pursuit, their lights flashing and sirens howling.
    Isabelle held on tight as Nine accelerated along the narrow streets. The operative glanced in his side mirror and frowned when he saw the growing convoy of police cars in hot pursuit. He chastised himself for having let his situation deteriorate to this extent.
    Nine still couldn’t believe Kentbridge had tracked him down so quickly. Of all people, the fugitive agent knew how good Omega’s intelligence was and how fast its operatives could swing into action, but this turn of events almost defied belief. He knew Omega must have called in every favor to find him this quick. Naylor wants me real bad .
    Isabelle tried to brake as the Porsche turned against the traffic into an alley. It was a reflexive action. Screaming, she attempted to force open the passenger door again, breaking a nail in the process. “Please!” she implored. “Let me out!”
    So narrow was the alley, the Porsche scraped against the sides of parked vehicles. Its progress was marked by a shower of sparks as paintwork was stripped from its side panels. Close behind, the Fiat and other police cars suffered the same fate. The screech of metal against metal could be heard above the howl of the sirens.
    As he drove, Nine calculated his options. Downtown or out of town? With a speedy Porsche at his disposal, he favored his chances in the open countryside rather than in confined city streets. The fugitive agent glanced at the fuel gauge and was pleased to see the tank was near full. The countryside it is then .
    In the Fiat,