The Fifth Profession

  The pursuing van sped closer.

  “There might be another explanation,” Akira said.

  “For their spotting us?” Savage urged the Rolls from the curve.

  “Your phone call. Before we left Corfu. The incompetent man beside you admitted that your employer talked openly about the rescue.”

  “Hey, what do you mean ‘incompetent’?”

  “If you persist in speaking,” Akira told the man, “perhaps I will indeed strangle you.”

  Savage frowned at another curve.

  “I suspect your employer's phones have been tapped,” Akira said. “And I also suspect there are spies in the household.”

  “I warned her,” Savage said. “Before I went in, I told her Rachel's safety depended on absolute secrecy.”

  “Before you went. Afterward, she felt free to reveal her concerns.”

  Savage scowled toward the rearview mirror. The van was closer. “I think you're right. Someone on Joyce Stone's staff is a spy for Papadropolis. That's why his team was ready.”

  “So what are we going to do?” the burly man asked.

  “What I'd like to do,” Savage said, “is throw you out.”

  “Ahead,” Akira barked.

  Savage's chest constricted as a van appeared.

  The interceptor skidded, turning, blocking the narrow road.

  “Rachel, make sure your seat belt's tight.”

  The pursuing van loomed closer.

  Savage eased his left foot onto the brake, kept his other foot on the accelerator, and spun the steering wheel. The maneuver was difficult. If he pressed too hard on the brake, he'd lock the rear wheels. He had to balance the pressure between braking and accelerating so the car's rear wheels spun while skidding. The consequent tension of forces gave the car torque. As Savage twisted the steering wheel, the car snapped around. The 180-degree pivot made the tires squeal, rubber smoking. Savage's seat belt gripped him.

  The van that blocked the road was now behind him, the pursuing van ahead. Savage jerked his foot off the brake and stomped the accelerator. The Rolls surged toward the approaching van. Its driver veered. Savage rocketed past. In his rearview mirror, he saw the van skid to a stop. Farther back, the van that had blocked the road was in motion again, passing the van that had stopped, resuming the chase.

  “At least they're both behind us,” Savage said. “If we can get back to—into—Antibes, we might be able to lose them.”

  His stomach turned cold when a third van emerged from a curve ahead.

  “Jesus,” the burly man said. “The team had backup.”

  The van turned sideways, blocking the road. In his rearview mirror, Savage saw one of the other vans block the road behind him while the remaining van sped toward him.

  “We're boxed,” Savage said.

  The road was too narrow for Savage to veer around the obstructing vehicle. Now the steep upward slope was on his left, the steeper downward slope on his right.

  He tensely reached toward the buttons on the console. “These weapons better work.”

  The system had been invented by drug lords in South America. He pressed a button. A section of metal rose from above each headlight. He pressed another button and felt the Roils tremble from the concussion of shotguns firing. Mounted beneath each fender, the guns sprayed double-ought buckshot through a vent above each headlight.

  Ahead, the van that blocked the road jolted from the fusillade's repeated impacts. As the shotguns kept firing, the van's windows imploded. Pellets punched metal, causing clusters of holes, three-foot circular patterns that narrowed as the Rolls sped nearer. The continuous shotgun blasts chewed the van to pieces.

  Savage released the button and stomped on the brake. The Rolls fishtailed, skidding, barely stopping in time to avoid smashing against the wrecked vehicle.

  He swung to stare behind him. While one of the remaining vans continued to block the road, the other rushed nearer and braked. Men scrambled out, weapons drawn.

  “Rachel, close your eyes. Cover your ears.”

  Savage pressed two more buttons on the console and instantly obeyed his own directive, scrunching his eyes shut, squeezing his palms against his ears. Despite these precautions, he winced. Chaos assaulted him.

  The buttons he'd pressed had caused flash-bang devices to catapult from each side of the Rolls and detonate when they hit the ground. The devices were deceptively named. “Flash-bang” suggested a firecracker. But the blaze and the blast produced by these matchbox-shaped metal objects were extreme enough to temporarily blind and deafen. Even one could be powerfully disorienting. Several dozen had awesome results.

  In the Rolls, Savage saw sudden fierce glares through his tightly closed eyes. Peristent staccato roars forced their way past the hands he pressed to his ears. He heard muffled screams, the hunters collapsing outside the car. Or perhaps the screams were inside the car. Possibly from himself. The Rolls shook. His ears rang.

  And suddenly the chaos ended.

  “Out of the car!” Savage shouted.

  He scrambled from the driver's side and found himself enveloped by dense swirling smoke. Not from the flash-bangs, instead from pressurized canisters beneath the car's rear bumper. One of the buttons he'd pressed had triggered the release of their contents.

  Both the flash-bangs and the smoke were designed to confuse assailants and allow potential victims to escape amid the confusion, though the flash-bangs could be lethal if they detonated directly beside an enemy. In the smoke, Savage had no way to tell if any of Papadropolis's men had accidentally been killed. But he was sure that for the next half-minute they'd be lying on the road, squirming in pain.

  His sight impaired, he felt his way hurriedly around the Rolls, bumped into the burly man, pushed him aside, and found Akira guarding Rachel. No conversation was necessary. Both he and Akira knew the only practical escape was down the slope toward the hotels that rimmed the sea.

  Concealed by the smoke, they scurried from the road, each holding Rachel between them. Over rocks and grass, they felt their way down the slope. At once they emerged into eye-stabbing sunlight.

  “Run,” Savage said.

  Rachel didn't need encouragement. She darted ahead of them, jumped from a ledge, and landed on the continuation of the slope four feet below. The impact threw her off balance. She rolled, slid on her back, and pushed herself upright, continuing to run.

  Savage and Akira lunged after her. Any moment, their hunters would recover from the stunning barrage to their senses. They'd struggle to orient themselves, emerge from the smoke, see their quarry, and continue pursuing.

  Rachel's pace faltered. Savage and Akira caught up to her. Charging lower, they passed tennis courts perched on the slope. Players had stopped their games, staring toward the smoke on the road above them. Several noticed Savage, Akira, and Rachel race past, then redirected their attention toward the smoke.

  As the slope leveled off, the hotels seemed larger, taller. Savage paused with Akira and Rachel behind a maintenance building near palm trees and a swimming pool. No hunters scurried down the slope.

  But Savage was dismayed to see the burly man, breathing heavily, stumble toward them.

  “Jesus, I almost lost you. Thanks for waiting till I caught up.”

  “We didn't wait so you could join us,” Akira said. “We're trying to decide what to do. But one choice is very clear.”

  The man wiped his sweaty face. “Yeah? Quick, tell me. What is it?”

  “We don't want you with us. Whichever way we go, you take the opposite direction.”

  “Come on, quit joking. We're in this together.”

  “No,” Akira said.

  “The top of the slope,” Savage said.

  Akira followed Savage's gaze toward the hunters scurrying downward.

  “No, we're not in this together.” Akira grabbed the man's neck and pressed a finger behind his left ear.

  In pain, the man sagged. He groaned and squirmed, struggling to release Akira's grip.
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  Akira pressed harder. “You will not follow us.”

  The man's face turned pale from the power of Akira's grip. “Okay, I'm out of here.”

  “Go.” Akira pushed him.

  The man took a last frightened look at Akira and stumbled toward the opposite hotel.

  In the distance, sirens wailed.

  “And we'd better go,” Savage said. He pointed toward the hunters a quarter way down the slope, then grabbed Rachel's arm and ran with her.

  “Where?” Rachel gasped.

  They passed between two hotels and reached a noisy street that flanked the sea. Savage waved his arms toward a taxi. It pulled to a stop. They hurried inside.

  Savage echoed Rachel's question. “Where? I worked in this area a year and a half ago. A man I met owes me a favor.”

  He turned to the driver and gave him directions in French. “We're late for a party. I'll double your fare if you get us there in five minutes.”

  “Bien entendu, monsieur.” As the driver sped toward Antibes, he pointed toward the smoke on the upper road. ‘ ‘Qu'est ce que c'est?”

  “Un accident d’ automobile.”

  “Sérieux?”

  “Je pense.”

  “Quel dommage.”

  “Trop de gens ne regardent pas la route.”

  “C'est vrai, monsieur. C'est vrai.” The driver turned from Savage, flinched, and jerked the steering wheel, avoiding a truck.

  In the backseat, Savage stared behind him. The hunters had not yet rushed from between the hotels onto the palmlined street. When they finally did, they wouldn't be able to read the license plate on this taxi.

  Antibes had a population of more than sixty thousand. Though October was past the height of the tourist season, there were still sufficient visitors to congest the narrow streets. When the taxi began to move with frustrating slowness, Savage told the driver to stop, paid him the promised bonus, and left with Rachel and Akira.

  They disappeared into an alley above which laundry dangled from ropes. To his right, Savage heard waves crashing onto the beach. To his left, above the alley, he caught a glimpse of a centuries-old, towering château.

  Rachel hurried past the alley's narrow walls made even more narrow by garbage. She frowned toward Savage. “But you gave the driver an address. If my husband's men question the driver, they'll know where we're going.”

  “The address was fake,” Savage said.

  “Standard practice,” Akira said.

  They reached the end of the alley.

  Rachel stopped and caught her breath. “So everything's a lie?”

  “No,” Savage said. “Our promise to protect you isn't.”

  “As long as I'm worth money.”

  “I told you before, the money isn't important. You are.” Savage tugged her toward an opposite alley.

  “Your husband has spies on your sister's island,” Akira said. “If we try to take you there, we'll face another trap, and then another. Eventually you'll be captured.”

  “Which means it's hopeless,” Rachel said.

  “No,” Savage said. “You've got to keep trusting me.”

  They crossed a street, blended with the crowd, and entered another alley.

  “A year and a half ago,” Savage said, “when I worked in this district, I needed special additions to a car. I found a man in Antibes who could do the job. But he didn't care how much I paid him. Money, he said, meant nothing if he couldn't buy what he wanted. He needed extra benefits. What kind? I asked. Guess what he wanted? He saw some movie posters my client had left in the car and took for granted I had something to do with the festival at Cannes. So he wanted to meet his greatest idol, Arnold Schwarzenegger. Yes, I said, that might be possible. But if it happens, you won't get to talk to him, except to shake his hand. Then one day I'll come back to you and ask a favor. Of course, he said. One favor deserves another. And it'll be worth it, he said.”

  “So now you'll demand the favor,” Akira said.

  “A car.”

  “And then what?” Rachel asked.

  “Force of circumstance,” Savage said. “We've got our ‘ nightmare, but you're our obligation. So it looks like you get your wish, what you tried to get me to agree to on the plane.”

  “You're taking me with you?” Rachel breathed. “To New York?”

  “And Graham,” Akira said. “But I have to qualify my approval.”

  “Why?” Savage asked.

  “Because we're no longer protecting only this woman,” Akira said. “We're also protecting ourselves. Solving our common nightmare. Your death and mine. If this woman gets in the way …”

  “You'll defend her,” Savage said.

  “But of course,” Akira said, his eyes tinged with sadness. “Arigato for reminding me. The three of us are bound. But our paths conflict.”

  “We don't have a choice,” Savage said.

  VANISHING ACT

  1

  Thirty-six hours later, they arrived at New York's Kennedy Airport. During the intervening time, they'd driven to Marseilles and flown to Paris, where Savage decided that Rachel's bruises had faded enough that, with the use of cosmetics, she could pose for an acceptable passport photograph. She no longer dared risk attracting attention by pretending to be her sister. Using a trusted contact in Paris, Savage arranged for her to obtain a complete set of first-rate counterfeit documents, all in the name of Susan Porter. If anyone—especially an immigration official—commented on her likeness to Joyce Stone, Rachel merely had to say, “Thanks for the compliment.” As it happened, she and Savage passed through the checkpoints at Kennedy without incident.

  Akira, who stood farther back in line so he wouldn't seem to be traveling with them, joined them shortly afterward. “I studied the crowd. No one showed interest in us.”

  “Just as we hoped. Papadropolis has no way to guess where Rachel went. He probably figures we're still in southern France, trying to get onto her sister's island.”

  They walked through the noisy, crowded concourse.

  “Then I'm free?” Rachel asked.

  “Let's call it ‘reprieved,’ “ Savage said. “I have to be honest. Your problem's been postponed, not canceled.”

  “I'll settle for what I can get. For now, it's a relief not to have to keep watching behind me.”

  “Ahead, though,” Akira said. “We have to deal with Graham.”

  “I understand. I'm holding you back. I'm sorry. But if it weren't for the two of you … I don't know how to … It sounds so inadequate. Thanks.”

  She hugged them.

  2

  They took a taxi to Grand Central Station, entered on Forty-second Street, came out on Lexington Avenue, and took another taxi to Central Park, from where they walked two blocks to a hotel on a side street off Fifth Avenue.

  The suite that Savage had phoned ahead to reserve was spacious.

  “Rachel, the bedroom's yours,” Savage said. “Akira and I will take turns using the sofa.”

  They unpacked the travel bags they'd bought before leaving Paris.

  “Anybody hungry?” Savage took their requests and ordered smoked-salmon sandwiches, salads, fruit, and bottled water from room service.

  For the next few hours, they rested, bathed, and ate. Though they'd slept on the plane, they still felt jet lag. A further call to room service brought coffee and tea. The stimulants helped, as did a change of clothes. Just before five, Savage went to a nearby store to buy coats and gloves, a TV news announcer having warned that the night would be chilly and damp.

  They waited till nine.

  “Ready?” Savage asked.

  “Not yet,” Akira said. “There are still some things we need to discuss. I know the answer already, but the question can't be ignored. Would it not be better to leave Rachel here?”

  “We think we weren't followed, but we can't be totally sure,” Savage said. “If we leave her unprotected, she might be in danger.”

  “Might be.”

  “An unacceptable risk.
”

  “I agree,” Akira said.

  “So what's the trouble?”

  “Something I should have realized. Something I suddenly thought of. Your assignment to rescue Rachel,” Akira said. “What about it?”

  “My assignment was to protect her husband. I arrived on Mykonos a day before you did. Graham negotiated my fee. And Graham sent you to get Rachel. Doesn't it strike you as curious that the man who arranged for both of us to protect Kamichi also arranged for both of us to go to Mykonos, our first assignment after we recovered from our injuries?”

  “We were meant to meet?” Savage's spine froze.

  “There was no guarantee we'd see each other. But I'd have chased you.”

  “Just as I'd have chased you if our roles had been reversed, “ Savage said. ‘ ‘Graham knew he could count on our sense of obligation.”

  “And on my skill. No matter how long it took, eventually I'd have found you.”

  “There are few men I'd admit this to, but yes, you're good enough, eventually you'd have found me. We were meant to come face-to-face,” Savage said.

  “And confront each other's nightmare.”

  “A nightmare that didn't happen. But why do we think it did? Why did Graham arrange for us to meet six months ago and then meet again?”

  “That's why I have to ask. Since we don't know what we're facing, should Rachel be part of it? We might be putting her in worse danger than she already is.”

  “Then what do we do? Stay here?”

  “I have to know why I see a dead man before me.”

  “So do I,” Savage said.

  “Then you're going,” Rachel said.

  They turned, surprised.

  “And I'm going with you.”

  3

  The weather forecast had been accurate. A cold, damp wind gusted along Fifth Avenue, bringing tears to Savage's eyes. He rubbed them, closed the top button of his overcoat, and watched the taillights of the taxi he'd left recede toward Greenwich Village.

  Rachel stood next to him, flanked by Akira.

  “One more time,” Savage said. “If there's any trouble, run. Don't worry about Akira and me. Go back to the hotel. If we're not in touch by noon, check out. Leave town. I gave you ten thousand dollars. That'll help you get started. I've told you how to contact your parents and your sister and get money without your husband being able to trace it. Pick a city at random. Begin a new life.”