The Ninth Orphan Read Online Free Page B

cheerful-looking Cockney laborer. Wearing dusty overalls and a hard hat, the laborer smiled as he walked down the stairs toward them. “Sorry Guv'ner, the church is closed.”
    “ We're not here to pray!” the senior officer snapped. Neither he, nor the other policemen with him realized this was the man they were looking for.
    Now in the convincing guise of a laborer, Nine’s appearance and persona were the polar opposite of the Hasid he’d been posing as a minute earlier. In similar fashion to how trained dancers project using body language, his posture and demeanor were in keeping with macho workers often found on building sites. He now walked with a swagger and wore a cheeky grin on his dust-covered face.
    “ We're after a Jewish man,” the senior officer continued. “Have you seen --”
    “ Too right I 'ave, mate,” Nine interjected in a strong Cockney accent that would have fooled the patrons of any East End pub. “Passed 'im on the way down. The geezer said he's a lawyer or somethin'.”
    Nine grinned at the policemen as they pushed past him in pursuit of their quarry.
    Upstairs, in the church’s dusty attic, they discovered a semi-naked maintenance worker lying bound and gagged. Next to him was a discarded black coat. It was the same Hasidic clothing Nine had worn earlier. A young policeman picked up the black long-coat. Beneath it, he found a wig, a fake beard, contact lenses, and a shtreimel.
    Realizing they'd been outfoxed, the senior officer ran back down the stairs. His subordinates followed, leaving the unfortunate maintenance worker where he was.
    Outside, Nine strode out of the church’s main entrance just as another black taxi pulled up across the road to drop off its fare. Dodging traffic, he crossed the road and jumped into the taxi before its driver had time to take off.
    The driver, a West Indian, turned around and smiled at his customer. “Where would you like to go?” he asked in a melodious Caribbean accent.
    “ Thought I'd meet the missus at the Blind Beggar in the East End,” Nine said, maintaining his Cockney accent. “Ya know the one?”
    The driver nodded. “Yeah, I know it.” He accelerated away.
    In the back seat, Nine removed his hard hat and looked over his shoulder in time to see the policemen emerge from the church. They spread out in all directions as they continued the hunt for their elusive, chameleon-like quarry.
    Nine looked straight ahead as the taxi turned into Old Brompton Road and headed east. He fiddled with the ruby on his necklace while trying to make sense of the last few frenetic minutes. He knew the Chinese hadn’t ambushed him. There was too much at stake for that. Somehow, another outfit had gotten wind of the trade. He didn’t know whether it was the CIA, MI6, Mossad or the Omega Agency, but just hoped it wasn’t the latter.

 
5

    T he emerald green eyes that stared back were full of strength and determination. They were also tinged with sadness – for a life their owner had never experienced.
    Studying his reflection in the safety of his hotel room, Nine noticed the mirror had flecks of mold on it as well as fingerprints from other guests.
    Lamenting his foiled transaction with the Chinese in Kensington Gardens earlier that morning, he still didn’t know which agency had interfered. It had been a serious setback for his plans. He knew there’d be another opportunity to trade with the Chinese, however.
    After he’d given the police the slip at Saint Yeghiche Church, he’d gone to the East End. Then, once satisfied he’d shaken his pursuers, he had checked into this inconspicuous hotel and immediately set about establishing a new identity for himself.
    Nine knew, without a shadow of a doubt, the Omega Agency would already know he was in London. He was only too aware Omega had people planted on the inside of all Western intelligence agencies. It was a no-brainer his fellow Omega operatives would be coming for him. The contents on his flash drive