The Fifth Profession (20 page)

“No,
I
was nervous, but you said not to concern myself, that precautions had been taken.”

Akira shook his head. “I was merely repeating my master's reassurances. I knew nothing about the arrangements.”

“There were guards on the bluffs. And the three other principals at the conference each had two escorts, the same as Kamichi.”

“What nationality were the other principals?” Akira asked.

“American, Spanish, and Italian.”

Rachel set down her spoon. “I don't know anything about your business.”

Savage and Akira looked at her.

“I'm just a civilian, and maybe I ought to keep quiet, but while I listened, one thing occurred to me.”

“Oh?” Savage waited.

“It's probably not important, but …”

“Tell us,” Akira said.

“Well, how did Kamichi get in touch with you?”

Akira looked puzzled.

“The two of you seem obsessed about being anonymous. I doubt very much that you advertise.”

Savage laughed. “Certainly not.”

“Then how did you and Akira get chosen for the job?”

Akira shrugged. “Standard procedure. My agent found the job.”

“Same with me,” Savage said. “That detail's not important. “

“Five minutes ago, you insisted
everything's
important.”

“She's right,” Akira said. “We have to consider everything.”

“But my agent knows nothing about Kamichi,” Savage said. “He couldn't even tell me if I'd be protecting a businessman or a politician. Kamichi simply contacted him with an offer to pay an escort well for five days’ work.”

“My agent knew nothing about him either,” Akira said, then turned to Rachel, explaining, “A businessman requires different security techniques than a politician because they usually face different threats—abduction versus assassination. I remember feeling frustrated by the lack of information.”

“Well, since you keep asking each other to repeat what happened,” Rachel said, “why not ask your agents, too? Maybe they'll remember something that didn't seem relevant before.”

Savage raised his eyebrows.

“I suppose,” Akira said.

“Why not? It's worth a try. We're not solving anything on our own.”

Savage suddenly looked discouraged. “But your agent's in Japan and mine's in America, and we can't talk about this on a long-distance line.”

“So we travel,” Akira said. “But only half the distance you think. I don't need to go to Japan. When I work in America, I use an American agent.”

“What's his name?”

Akira hesitated, frowning at Rachel, as if debating how much to reveal before an outsider. He stiffened, apparently compelled by his urgent need for answers. “Graham Barker-Smythe.”

“Jesus.”

13

Savage stood so abruptly his chair fell, clattering. “That's the name of mine. The son of a bitch.”

“Graham's your agent?”
The shock on Savage's face made Akira surge to his feet as well. “There's some mistake. I said ‘an American.’ He's actually—”

“English. Close to sixty. Overweight. Bald. Smokes cigars. Always wears three-piece suits.”

“And only the best,” Akira said. “Loves champagne and caviar.”

“Beluga and Dom Pérignon. That's Graham. The bastard.”

Rachel jerked her hands up. “Would somebody please … ?
Both
of you used the same agent, and neither of you realized?”

“We
couldn't
have,” Savage said. “The profession is secretive by definition. The work we do makes us a target.”

“We guarantee loyalty to our masters,” Akira said. “Never to betray a confidence. Never to reveal indiscretions. But we can't always depend on our masters being loyal to us, so we hide our identities, in case our masters decide to come after us to insure our silence. Or in case our masters’ enemies decide to punish us.”

“You talk like you live in another century,” Rachel said.

“If you understand that, then you understand everything,” Akira said. “How I wish. If I could be alive three hundred years ago.”

Savage stared toward Akira in puzzlement and abruptly swung his gaze toward Rachel. “The point is, we have to be paranoid. Not just for our clients. But for ourselves. A protector trusts his agent completely. Because the agent's the common link among the enemy, the client, the assignment, and—”

“You, the protector,” Rachel said, then turned to Akira. “And you. So Graham, as the agent,
also
has to be paranoid.”

“And totally reliable. He must never betray his client's confidence,” Savage said.

“Or betray the anonymity of the protectors he represents?” Rachel asked.

“Exactly. That's why Savage and I would never have known we had the same agent. If Graham had told me the name of another protector he represented, I'd have instantly distrusted him and looked for another agent.”

Savage rounded the table. “So was Graham being ethical by refusing to tell us we had common nightmares?”

“You spent six months recovering.
So did I.
Did he visit you?”

“Every Saturday,” Savage said. “On Chesapeake Bay.”

“He came to me every Thursday. At Martha's Vineyard.”

“And all the time, he knew I thought you'd been killed.”

“As I thought
you'd
been killed.”

“This isn't an agent being justifiably paranoid. He should have told us!”

“You think he was
part
of it?”

“It sure as hell seems that way,” Savage said.

Akira's face hardened.

Rachel gripped their hands. “Not to seem nervous, friends, but …”

“We won't catch the next plane to the States and leave you, if that's what you're afraid of,” Savage said. “You're still our priority.”

“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.