“In that case …” Rachel's shoulders sagged. Her eyelids flickered. “I need to …” Her head drooped. “Awfully tired.”
“Go in the bedroom. Get some sleep.”
Rachel yawned. “But what about you?”
“Don't worry. Akira and I will sleep in shifts. One of us will guard you day and night.”
Her head sank toward the table.
Savage carried her into the bedroom.
14
When Savage came back to the kitchen, Akira was gone. A quick check showed him the other rooms were empty. Frowning, he opened the door in front and found Akira, his brown face raised toward the sun, sitting on rickety steps.
“Trouble?” Savage asked.
“It was time to look around.”
“And?”
Akira gestured toward the fields of grapevines. “Everything seems normal. The grapes have been harvested. I can see between the rows. No one's in the fields. You did a good job of selecting this house.”
“Thanks.” Savage sat next to him. “Given your skills, that's quite a compliment.”
“A statement of fact.”
Savage grinned. “I'll try like hell to stay humble.”
Akira grinned in return, though his eyes remained melancholy.
“Your English is perfect,” Savage said. “Where did you learn … ?”
“Sometime I'll tell you.”
“Provided you're in the mood. Omote and ura. Right?”
Akira turned to him. “Public thoughts and private thoughts? You're familiar with Japanese logic?”
“I'm doing my best.”
“Commendable. A pity, though. You'll never succeed.”
“So I've decided.”
“The woman?” Akira asked.
“She held up well. Impressive, really. She deserves to be exhausted. She didn't move when I covered her with a blanket. She'll probably sleep till dark.”
“So.” Akira made the word sound like an affirmative.
“But we need sleep, too. If you like, I'll take the first watch. You can bathe and …”
“You've exerted yourself more than I have,” Akira said. “And longer. You must be more tired. You go first.”
“We could debate this all morning.” Savage picked up two pebbles, shook them between closed palms, closed a hand around each of them, and held out his fists. “Small pebble goes first.”
“A child's game?”
“Why not? It's as good a way to decide as any.”
Akira looked amused and chose the left fist. Savage opened it, comparing the pebble with the one in his right.
“Looks like you'll soon be taking a nap,” Savage said.
Akira bowed, then laughed. “Hai.”
“Does that mean ‘yes’ in Japanese?”
“Among other things. ‘Of course.’ ‘Indeed.’ ‘By all means.’ It depends on the inflection.” Akira studied him. “You're what we call a man of sincerity. Well-intentioned. Serious.”
“And with a terrifying problem.”
“Two,” Akira said. “First, your principal has to be returned to your employer.”
“I've made arrangements.”
“So far, I admit your work has been excellent. But to expedite the process, I suggest we collaborate on returning her.”
“I'd be honored.” Savage pressed his palms together and lowered his head.
“Then we go to New York.”
Savage straightened. “And force answers out of Graham.”
“But there's something I haven't discussed with you. This isn't just about what happened to you and me.”
“I know,” Savage said. “Kamichi.”
Akira looked surprised.
“The forty-seven ronin,” Savage added.
“You're aware of them?”
“It took them two years, but they finally avenged their master's death.”
“Kamichi was the only principal I've ever lost.” Akira's voice rasped.
“And the only principal I've ever lost. If Graham had something to do with it …” Savage scowled. “More than Rachel … more than our common nightmare … what happened to Kamichi …”
“Has to be avenged.” Akira stood. “If we agree on that ultimate, we …”
“Might be friends,” Savage said.
Akira squinted. “Friends?”
I assumed too much, Savage thought.
“Temporary partners,” Akira said. “To show my respect for your respect, I'll use your Western custom.”
They shook hands. Akira's grip was as strong as a samurai clutching a sword.
That comparison reminded Savage of the sword that had sliced Kamichi's torso in half and cut off Akira's head.
He tightened his own grip.
And thought of Graham.
TWO
TIME OUT OF MIND
OBSTACLE RACE, SCAVENGER HUNT
1
They couldn't use the Athens airport. That was the obvious place for Papadropolis's men to look. The only other international airports were Salonica, several hundred kilometers to the north, and Corfu, equally far to the northwest. No doubt, those sites would be watched as well. Papadropolis—chronically impatient—would automatically consider the most rapid form of travel, even if reaching the latter two airports was time-consuming.
The subsequent option was to drive from Greece, but that would be an ordeal. To reach safety, Savage, Akira, and Rachel would first have to drive north to Yugoslavia, a country four times as large as Greece, then west through the extensive mountains of northern Italy, and finally south through France to the island principality, controlled by Rachel's sister, off the Côte d'Azur.
The best way seemed by boat. Even someone with Papadropolis's wealth couldn't arrange to put every Grecian port under surveillance, though he would have his men check those near Athens, of course, as well as the motorrail terminals in the area. So Savage, Akira, and Rachel drove toward Patrai, four hours away, on the western coast of Greece. There, they briefly considered bribing a fisherman to smuggle them across to Italy. But could the fisherman be trusted to violate international boundaries rather than report them to the authorities? Legal transportation seemed safest.
“All the same, I'm skeptical,” Akira said. It was nine o'clock at night. He stood with Savage and Rachel in a murky alley, scanning traffic and pedestrians outside a ticket office next to a ferry on a brightly lit pier. “Granted it's faster than driving, but it's not as fast as flying.”
“Which we've agreed isn't smart,” Savage said.
“That ticket office could be as risky as an airline terminal.”
“No question. I'll check it out. They know I'm Caucasian and possibly guess I'm American, but I can pass for a European. A Japanese, though. They'd spot you at once.”
Ten minutes later, Savage came back. “I didn't see any surveillance.”
“That doesn't mean there isn't any.”
Savage shrugged in agreement, handing Akira and Rachel their tickets. “My assumption is they'd watch the ferry as well as the ticket office.”
“Or watch on the ferry,” Akira said. “A limited area. A captive group.”
“That works the other way around. We'd have a better chance of spotting them.”
Akira thought about it. “Yes.”
“How long till we reach Italy?” Rachel asked.
“Nineteen hours.”
“What?”
“The ferry makes two stops up the coast before it cuts across the Adriatic,” Savage said. “The fact that it's slow appeals to me. Papadropolis won't expect us to choose a method that takes us so long to escape. We leave in fifty minutes. We'd better get back to the car.”
2
Savage and Rachel drove to the pier, joining a line of cars and small trucks waiting to pass through customs and onto the ferry. In Italy, there'd be customs officials as well, but the Greeks inspected luggage leaving the country to insure that ancient artifacts weren't being smuggled out. Though a customs station wasn'
t as stringent as immigration, passports would have to be shown.
Passports. Savage had retrieved his from a safe-deposit box in Athens. Akira never went anywhere without his own, in a water-proof pouch.
But Rachel's passport had been kept by Papadropolis, another way for him to exert control.
The usual solution to the problem would have been for Rachel to go to the U.S. embassy, explain that she'd lost her passport, and apply for a new one. But the process might take days, and Rachel didn't have other documents to prove she was a U.S. citizen. More to the point, Papadropolis would assume that she'd need a passport and order the U.S. embassy watched.
An alternative solution was for Savage to arrange to get Rachel a bogus passport. The trouble was that Rachel's face had a multitude of bruises; even cosmetics couldn't disguise them. When an official compared the photograph on the passport to the woman standing before him, her bruises would so nearly match those in the picture it would be obvious that the photograph had been taken less than a day ago, that the passport was forged.
Savage hadn't known about Rachel's bruises before he went in to rescue her. But his professional habits had prompted him to establish a contingency plan, in case she couldn't get her hands on her passport. Joyce Stone had shown him photographs of her sister. Savage had been struck by the eerie resemblance between the two women, as if they weren't just sisters but twins, though Rachel was ten years younger.
So he'd told Joyce Stone to return to her island empire and to use her authority to insist that her passport not be stamped when she arrived. A messenger had then brought Joyce Stone's passport back to Savage in Athens. As a consequence, there wasn't any evidence that Joyce Stone had ever left Greece.
Comparing the photograph in the passport to the younger sister's face, Savage had once again been struck by the eerie resemblance. With two exceptions. Joyce Stone was blond whereas Rachel's hair was auburn. And Joyce Stone continued to look like a movie star whereas Rachel looked like a battered wife.
I can take advantage of those contrasts, Savage had thought. At the farmhouse near Athens, he'd given Rachel dye to change her hair from auburn to blond. And now that he drove the car toward the customs official in the ferry depot, he glanced toward Rachel, shaking his head in wonder. The blond hair made Rachel look amazingly like her sister, and paradoxically the bruises contributed to the illusion, making her look older.
The customs official searched the car. “No suitcases?”
“Just these handbags,” Rachel said in keeping with Savage's instructions.
“Passports, please.”
Savage and Rachel handed them over. Akira would soon board the ferry separately on foot, so the three of them wouldn't be conspicuous together.
“Joyce Stone?” The official glanced up from the passport, staring at Rachel, surprised. “I apologize. I didn't recognize … I'm a fan of your movies, but …”
“My bruises, you mean?”
“They look so painful. They've ruined perfection. What terrible … ?”
“A traffic accident near Athens.”
“My deep regrets. My countrymen are clumsy drivers.”
“No, it was my fault. Thank heaven, neither he nor I was seriously hurt. I reimbursed the man for repairs to his car and paid his medical bills.”
The official straightened. “Your Majesty is extremely kind. Even with your injuries, you're as beautiful as in your movies. And as noble.”
“May I ask a favor?”
“I'm your humble fan.”
She reached for his hand. “Don't tell anyone I'm aboard. Normally I appreciate the attention of admirers. I've retired, but I haven't forgotten my responsibilities to those with memories long enough to recall my career.”
“Your magnificence will always be remembered.”
“But not when I look like this. People will say I'm ugly.”
“Beautiful.”
“You're very kind.” Rachel continued to grasp his hand. “But there might be photographers on board. If you enjoyed my films …”
“I worshiped them.”
“Then please don't destroy their memory.” Rachel gave his hand a squeeze and released it.
The official stepped back. “Obviously you're not smuggling ancient artifacts. By all means, instruct your driver to proceed aboard.”
“Thank you.” Rachel rewarded him with a gracious smile.
Savage drove toward the ferry. “You're a better actress than your sister,” he murmured. “Very very good.”
“Hey, I always envied my sister,” she said, her lips barely moving. “She always did better. But now when I'm scared, I've got the guts to prove I'm better.”
“You'll get no argument.” Savage parked the car on the ferry. “Now we wait for Akira.”
3
But twenty minutes later, Akira still hadn't joined them as the ferry left the dock.
“Stay in the car,” Savage told Rachel.
Shoulders tensing, he got out and scanned the shadowy spaces between the rows of cars. The hold stank of oil and exhaust fumes. The other vehicles were deserted, their passengers having climbed to the upper decks to sleep or to buy refreshments and admire the moonlit water and the lights along the coast. The hold's metal floor vibrated from the muted rumble of the ferry's engines.
Still no sign of Akira.
“I've changed my mind,” Savage said. “Get out. Stand next to me. If anything happens, run. There'll be security guards upstairs. Stay close to them.”
Rachel hurried toward him. “Is something wrong?”
“I'm not sure yet.” Savage kept scanning the hold. “But Akira should have joined us by now.”
“Unless he's being extra-cautious checking the passengers.”
“Maybe … Or else he found trouble.”
Despite the surrounding cars, Savage's spine tensed from feeling exposed.
He made it a rule never to try to cross an international border with a firearm. True, the checkpoints in many countries had lax procedures, and handguns made mostly from plastic didn't register on an X-ray machine, especially when disassembled. But Savage's weapon had been an all-metal .357 Magnum revolver, and it couldn't be taken apart, except for its cylinder. More, though Greece and Italy had attempted a conciliatory attitude toward terrorists, the fanatics had taken advantage of their hosts’ goodwill and committed further atrocities. Greece and Italy had strengthened security at their borders. Accordingly, Savage and Akira had dropped their handguns down a sewer before they reached the ferry depot.
But now Savage dearly wished he hadn't done so. Footsteps echoed on metal. A man emerged down a stairway. Savage hoped it would be Akira.
No! The man was Caucasian!
Savage felt as if arms crushed his chest. Abruptly he exhaled.
The man wore a uniform. A member of the ferry's crew, he studied the cars in the hold, then focused on Savage and Rachel. “I'm sorry, sir. No passengers are permitted down here.”
“Right. My wife forgot her purse. We had to come back for it.”
The crewman waited until Savage and Rachel passed him. As the man walked across the hold, Savage concentrated on the top of the stairs.
“There's supposed to be safety in numbers, isn't there?” Rachel said, trying to sound confident, not succeeding. “So let's join the crowd.”
“And find Akira. Just remember,” Savage said, “your husband's men don't know what I look like. And they're searching for a woman whose hair is auburn, not blond.”
“But I can't disguise these bruises.”
“If you lean on the railing, prop your chin in your hands, and study the water, in the dark no one will notice your face. Ready?”
She trembled for a second, then nodded. “Just hold my hand.”
4
The ferry was large, capable of transporting six hundred passengers. Above the hold, a B and an A deck contained cabins and rows of reclining seats. Savage had rented one of the cabins, but until he discovered what had happened to Akira, he
couldn't risk using it and being trapped.
Continuing to climb the stairs, approaching the main deck, he heard numerous voices, a babble of accents and languages. A sea breeze cooled his clammy forehead. He squeezed Rachel's shaky hand and stepped through a hatch. At once a swarm of passengers passed him, bumping, jostling.
Rachel flinched.
Savage put an arm around her, guiding her away from lights toward the night-shrouded railing. The moment she leaned on her elbows, resting her face in her hands, he pivoted toward the crowd.
Where was Akira?
The ferry had a promenade area that rimmed a mid-deck restaurant and a bar. Through windows, Savage saw passengers clustered at tables.
Akira.
Where the hell was Akira?
Five minutes. Ten. Savage's stomach writhed. But though desperate to search, he didn't dare abandon Rachel, not even in the cabin he'd rented.
From the mass of Caucasians, an Oriental proceeded along the deck.
Akira!
“Two of them,” he whispered, approaching.
Savage glanced toward the restaurant, then turned toward the sea, apparently oblivious to the Japanese who passed him.
“Lead them around once again,” Savage murmured.
When he turned from the railing, Akira had disappeared into the crowd.
Two men followed, their suitcoats too small for their muscular chests, their expressions grim.
Savage wondered if they were decoys intended to make their quarry realize he was being followed while other members of the surveillance team watched Akira's reaction. That was possible. But the two men weren't clumsy, and Akira wasn't the target. Rachel was, and as long as Akira ignored the men behind him, they couldn't be sure they'd found the Japanese they were looking for. So unless they captured Akira and questioned him, they'd have to wait to see if Akira rendezvoused with a Caucasian man and woman. Then, regardless of Rachel's change in hair color, they'd know they'd found their targets.
So what do we do? Savage wondered. Play hide-and-seek all over the ferry?
Pulse speeding, he scanned the crowd, alert for anyone who showed interest in Rachel and him. When Akira strolled past the second time and the same two men followed at a careful distance, Savage concluded that they were alone.