The Fifth Profession

  WARNER BOOKS EDITION

  Copyright © 1990 by David Morrell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  The following publishers have given permission to use quotations from copyrighted works: I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry. Written by Hank Williams © 1949, renewed 1977. Acuff-Rose Music, Inc., and Hiriam Music. Used by permission. International copyright secured. All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Jesse Sanchez

  Cover photo by Herman Estevez

  Warner Books, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group

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  New York, NY 10017

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  The Warner Books Inc name and logo is a trademark of Hachette book Group

  An AOL Time Warner Company

  Originally published in hardcover by Warner Books

  First eBook Edition: April 1991

  ISBN: 978-0-446-55329-2

  Contents

  PROLOGUE:: PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE

  ONE: RETURN OF THE DEAD

  THE LABYRINTH

  EXECUTIVE PROTECTION

  THE STALKER

  TWO: TIME OUT OF MIND

  OBSTACLE RACE, SCAVENGER HUNT

  VANISHING ACT

  JAMAIS VU

  THREE: THE LAND OF THE GODS

  ARTS OF PEACE AND WAR

  AMATERASU

  BLACK SHIPS

  EPILOGUE:: THE KEY TO THE MAZE

  CRITICAL ACCLAIM for The Fifth Profession

  “Hard to put down. Morrell is a master of the hunter-hunted suspense subgenre.”

  —Houston Chronicle

  “Fast-paced … powerful narrative flow … bound to pull in many readers.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Morrell's writing is, as usual, intelligent, dynamic and lucid, and the fascinating story comes through clearly.”

  —Boston Herald

  “Twists, combined with well-placed action and a very lean style, make this one a real page-turner … The Fifth Profession is a book certain to have readers promising themselves ‘just one more chapter’ well into the night.”

  —The Baltimore Sun

  “A taut tale … titillates the imagination of the most seasoned reader.”

  —Dallas Times Herald

  “On every level, this one's a winner … filled with the kind of action and suspense readers might expect from the author of First Blood, but even those who generally prefer their fiction in a more sedate form will find themselves drawn into its complicated story and memorable characterizations.”

  —West Coast Review of Books

  “An excellent blend of espionage and horror, and the tangled web of intrigue gradually unravels to reveal the mix of modern Japanese political ideology with the samurai tradition.”

  —Rocky Mountain News

  “Action-packed…. If you liked Rambo, you'll love Savage.”

  —Kansas City Star

  ALSO BY DAVID MORRELL

  FICTION

  First Blood (1972)

  Testament (1975)

  Last Reveille (1977)

  The Totem (1979)

  Blood Oath (1982)

  The Hundred-Year Christmas (1983)*

  The Brotherhood of the Rose (1984)

  The Fraternity of the Stone (1985)

  The League of Night and Fog (1987)

  The Covenant of the Flame (1991)

  Assumed Identity (1993)

  Desperate Measures (1994)

  The Totem (Complete and Unaltered) (1994)*

  Extreme Denial (1996)

  Double Image (1998)

  Black Evening (1999)

  Burnt Sienna (2000)

  NONFICTION

  John Barth: An Introduction (1976)

  Fireflies (1988)

  * Limited edition. With illustrations. Donald M. Grant, Publisher, Hamption Falls, New Hampshire.

  To Sarie: daughter,friend

  “I don't understand you,” said Alice. “It's dreadfully confusing.”

  “That's the effect of living backwards,” the Queen said kindly. “It always makes one a little giddy at first.”

  “Living backwards!” Alice repeated in great astonishment. “I never heard of such a thing!”

  “But there's one great advantage in it, that one's memory works both ways.”

  “I'm sure mine only works one way,” Alice remarked. “I can't remember things before they happen.”

  “It's a poor sort of memory that only works backward,” the Queen remarked.

  —LEWISCARROLL

  Through the Looking-Glass

  The Way of the bodyguard is resolute acceptance of death.

  —MIYAMOTOMUSASHI

  a seventeenth-century samurai

  PROLOGUE

  PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE

  THE FIFTH PROFESSION

  No single historical event marks the origin of Savage's profession. The skill to which he devoted himself has its antecedents prior to fact in the haze of myth. At the start, there were hunters, then farmers, then with something to be gained by barter, prostitutes and politicians. Given some debate about precedence, those are the first four human endeavors.

  But as soon as something can be gained, it must also be protected. Hence Savage's—the fifth—profession. Although his craft's inception has not been documented, two incidents illustrate its valiant traditions.

  THE COMITATUS

  When the Anglo-Saxons invaded Britain four hundred years after Christ, they brought with them a Germanic code of absolute loyalty to a tribal chieftain. In its ultimate interpretation, this code required a chieftain's retainers or comitatus to defend him with their honor unto death. One of the most gripping instances of warriors displaying such total commitment to their lord occurred on the shore of the Blackwater River near the town of Maldon in Essex in 991.

  Scandinavian pirates, having raided ports along the eastern coast of Britain, camped on an island that during low tide was linked to the shore by a narrow causeway. The local British chieftain, Birhtnoth, led his faithful comitatus to the causeway and ordered the Vikings not to cross. The enemy defied him.

  Swords flashed. Blood soaked the causeway. As the battle intensified, one of Birhtnoth's apprentice soldiers turned cowardly and fled. Others supposed that the retreating figure was Birhtnoth himself and fled as well. Only Birhtnoth and his bodyguards remained.

  A javelin struck him. He yanked it out and stabbed his assailant. A Viking ax cut off his sword arm. Helpless, he was slashed to pieces. But although Birhtnoth no longer ruled, his faithful comitatus persisted. To protect his corpse, to avenge his death, they attacked with greater valor. Their deaths were brutal, yet joyous because the comitatus adhered to their code of loyalty.

  The original Anglo-Saxon document that describes their heroic defeat concludes in this manner:

  Godric often let his spear fly, thrusting his slaughter-shaft toward the Vikings. Bravely he advanced among his brethren, hewed and laid low till he died in the struggle. He was not that Godric who ran from the battle.

  Those two Godrics represent the principal conflict in Savage's profession. To protect was the mandate of the comitatus. But at what point, if the cause seemed hopeless, if the chieftain was dead, should a bodyguard protect himself? Whenever Savage debated this moral issue, he remembered Akira and an incident from a quite different culture that illustrated the extreme traditions of the fifth and most noble profession.

  THE FORTY-SEVEN RONIN

  In Japan, the equivalent of
the comitatus were the samurai. These protective warriors came into prominence eleven hundred years after Christ when provincial chieftains, known as daimyo, needed fiercely loyal bodyguards to control their domains. Over the centuries, a central military ruler, called a shogun, exerted power over each daimyo. Nonetheless each daimyo‘s samurai felt bonded to their local lord. In 1701, against this complex background of loyalties, an incident occurred that formed the basis for one of the most famous Japanese legends.

  Three daimyo were summoned to the shogun's court in Edo (now called Tokyo) with orders to pledge allegiance. However, these daimyo had little knowledge of court manners. Two of the three sought help from an expert in court etiquette. They bribed him with gifts and were rewarded with advice.

  But the remaining daimyo, Lord Asano, was too innocent to bribe the etiquette instructor, Lord Kira. Kira felt insulted and ridiculed Asano in the shogun's presence. Humiliated, Asano had no alternative except to defend his honor. He drew his sword and wounded Kira.

  To draw a sword in the shogun's presence was a grievous crime. The shogun commanded Asano to atone by disemboweling himself. The daimyo obeyed. Still, his death did not solve the controversy. Now Asano's samurai were bound by the rigorous code of giri, which loosely translated means “the burden of obligation,” to avenge their master's death by destroying the man who'd begun the chain of insults, Lord Kira.

  So compulsory was the code of giri that the shogun assumed there'd be more bloodshed. To end the feud, he sent his warriors to surround Asano's castle and demand the surrender of Asano's samurai. Inside the castle Oishi Yoshio, the captain of Asano's samurai, held council with his men. Some favored resisting the shogun's warriors. Others advocated committing ritual suicide as had their lord. But Oishi sensed that the majority felt their obligation had ended with their master's death. As a test, he offered them the option of dividing Asano's wealth among them. Many unworthy warriors eagerly chose this option. Oishi paid them and urged them to leave. Of more than three hundred samurai, only forty-seven remained. With these, Oishi made a pact, each cutting a finger and joining hands, sealing the pact with their blood.

  The forty-seven surrendered to the shogun's warriors and claimed to disavow any obligation they felt to giri and their dead lord. They pretended to accept their lot as ronin, masterless samurai, wanderers. Each traveled his separate way.

  But the shogun—suspicious—sent spies to follow them, to insure that the feud had ended. To deceive the spies, each ronin bitterly engaged in unworthy conduct. Some became drunkards, others whoremongers. One sold his wife into prostitution. Another killed his father-in-law. Still another arranged for his sister to become a mistress of the hated Lord Kira. Permitting their swords to rust and themselves to be spat upon, all appeared to wallow in dishonor. At last, after two years, the shogun's spies were convinced that the feud had ended. The shogun removed surveillance from the ronin.

  In 1703, the forty-seven ronin regrouped and attacked Kira's castle. With long-repressed rage, they slaughtered their enemy's unsuspecting guards, tracked down and beheaded the man they so loathed, then washed the head and made a pilgrimage to Asano's grave, placing the head on the tomb of their now-avenged master.

  The chain of obligation had not yet ended. In obeying the burden of giri, the ronin had violated the shogun's command to stop their vendetta. One code of honor conflicted with another. Only one solution was acceptable. The shogun dictated. The ronin obeyed. In triumph, they impaled their bowels with their swords, drawing each blade from left to right, then fiercely upward, in the noble ritual of suicide called seppuku. The tombs of the forty-seven ronin are revered to this day, a Japanese monument.

  The comitatus. The forty-seven ronin. Savage and Akira. Codes and obligations. Honor and loyalty. To protect and if duty compelled, to avenge—even at the risk of death. The fifth and most noble profession.

  ONE

  RETURN OF THE DEAD

  THE LABYRINTH

  1

  Obeying professional habits, Savage directed the elevator toward the floor below the one he wanted. Of course, an uninvited visitor would have had to stop the elevator at the second-highest floor, no matter what. A computer-coded card, slipped into a slot on the elevator's control panel, was required to command the elevator to rise to the topmost level. Savage had been given such a card but declined to use it. On principle, he hated elevators. Their confinement was dangerous. He never knew what he might find when the doors slid open. Not that he expected trouble on this occasion, but if he made one exception in his customary methods, he'd eventually make others, and when trouble did come along, he wouldn't be primed to respond.

  Besides, on this warm afternoon in Athens in September, he was curious about the security arrangements of the person he'd agreed to meet. Although he was used to dealing with the rich and powerful, they were mostly in politics or industry. It wasn't every day he met someone not only associated with both arenas but who'd also been a movie legend.

  Savage stepped to one side when the elevator stopped and the doors thunked open. Sensing, judging, he peered out, saw no one, relaxed, and proceeded toward a door whose Greek sign indicated FIRE EXIT. In keeping with that sign, the door's handle moved freely.

  Cautious, Savage entered and found himself in a stairwell. His crepe-soled shoes muffled his footsteps on the concrete landing. The twenty-seven lower levels were silent. He turned toward a door on his right, gripped its knob, but couldn't budge it. Good. The door was locked, as it should be. On the opposite side, a push bar would no doubt give access to this stairwell—in case of emergency. But on this side, unauthorized visitors were prevented from going higher. Savage slid two thin metal prongs into the receptacle for the key—one prong for applying leverage, the other for aligning the slots that would free the bolt. After seven seconds, he opened the door, troubled that the lock was so simple. It should have taken him twice as long to pick it.

  He crept through, eased the door shut behind him, and warily studied the steps leading upward. There weren't any closed-circuit cameras. The lights were dim, giving him protective shadow while he climbed toward a landing, then turned toward the continuation of the steps. He didn't see a guard. At the top, he frowned when he tried the door—it wasn't locked. Worse, when he opened it, he still didn't see a guard.

  On nearly soundless carpeting, he proceeded along a corridor. Glancing at numbers on doors, he followed their diminishing sequence toward the number he'd been given. Just before he reached an intersecting corridor, his nostrils felt pinched by tobacco smoke. With the elevators to his right, he turned left into the corridor and saw them.

  Three men were bunched together in front of a door at the far end of the corridor. The first had his hands in his pockets. The second inhaled from a cigarette. The third sipped a cup of coffee.

  Amateur hour, Savage thought.

  Never compromise your hands.

  When the guards noticed Savage, they came to awkward attention. They were built like football players, their suits too tight for their bullish necks and chests. They'd be intimidating to a nonprofessional, but their bulk made them too conspicuous to blend with a crowd, and they looked too muscle-bound to be able to respond instantaneously to a crisis.

  Savage slackened his strong features, making them non-threatening. Six feet tall, he slouched his wiry frame so he looked a few inches shorter. As he walked along the corridor, he pretended to be impressed by the guards, who braced their backs in arrogant triumph.

  They made a show of examining his ID, which was fake, the name he was using this month. They searched him but didn't use a hand-held metal detector and hence didn't find the small knife beneath his lapel.

  “Yeah, you're expected,” the first man said. “Why didn't you use the elevator?”

  “The computer card didn't work.” Savage handed it over. “I had to stop on the floor below and take the stairs.”

  “But the stairwell doors are locked,” the second man said.

  “Someone from
the hotel must have left them open.”

  “Whoever forgot to lock them, his ass is grass,” the third man said.

  “I know what you mean. I can't stand carelessness.”

  They nodded, squinted, flexed their shoulders, and escorted him into the suite.

  No, Savage thought. The rule is, you never abandon your post.

  2

  The suite had a sizable living room, tastefully furnished. But what Savage noticed, disapproving, was the wall directly across from him, its thick draperies parted to reveal an enormous floor-to-ceiling window and a spectacular view of the Parthenon on the Acropolis. Though Athens was usually smoggy, a breeze had cleared the air, making the pillared ruins brilliant in the afternoon sun. Savage allowed himself to admire the view but only from where he'd paused just inside the room, for he hated huge windows whose draperies were open: they gave an enemy an unnecessary advantage, inviting easy invasion with telescopes, microwave-beamed listening probes, and most crucial, sniper bullets.

  The potential client he'd been summoned to meet wasn't present, so Savage assessed a door on the wall to his left. A closet perhaps, or a washroom or a bedroom. He directed his attention toward a muffled female voice behind a door on the wall to his right, and that door he was sure led to a bedroom. Because he didn't hear a responding voice, he assumed that the woman was using a telephone. She sounded insistent, as if she wouldn't conclude for quite a while.

  With disciplined patience, Savage glanced farther right toward the wall beside the door through which he'd entered. He recognized two Monets and three Van Goghs.

  His burly escorts looked bored when they realized that their employer wasn't present. No brownie points for them, no audience with their client, no compliments for supposedly doing their job. Disappointed, two of them shuffled their feet, adjusted their ties, and went back to their stations in the hall, no doubt to drink more coffee and smoke more cigarettes. The third closed the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms, trying to look diligent, though the pressure with which he squeezed his chest made it seem that he suffered from heartburn.