The Fifth Profession (23 page)

“So now we cross to Italy?” Rachel asked.

“Why bother?” Savage smiled. “The Corfu airport won't be under surveillance now. Let's catch the next plane to France. By tonight, you'll be with your sister.”

But Rachel looked troubled.

Why?
Savage wondered.

“Then you and I catch another plane to New York,” Akira told Savage, the sadness in his eyes intensified with anger. “To force answers from Graham. To make him tell us why we saw each other die.”

9

“Excited? Of course, I am. Why wouldn't I be?” Rachel said.

They'd left their car at Corfu's airport, then taken an Alitalia flight to Rome, where they transfered to an Air France jet bound for Nice.

Midafternoon. The weather was magnificent. Rachel had the window seat, and as she spoke, she peered toward Corsica to the west, then down toward sunlight glinting off the Mediterranean.

But Savage sensed she was motivated less by attraction to the scenery than by the need to hide her expression when she answered his question.

“Because back at the ferry you weren't overjoyed when I mentioned you'd be with your sister tonight,” Savage said.

Rachel kept her face turned toward the window. “You expected me to jump up and down? After everything that's happened, I'm drained. Shell-shocked. Numb. I still can't believe I escaped.”

Savage glanced at her hand in her lap. Its fingers were clenched, their knuckles white.

“Rachel …”

Her fist became tighter.

“I want you to look at me.”

She peered closer to the window. “Eager to see my sister? Naturally. She's
more
than my sister. She's my closest friend. If it weren't for her … and you … I'd never have gotten off Mykonos. My husband would have kept beating me.”

She trembled.

“Rachel, please, I'm asking you to look at me.”

She stiffened, then slowly turned in Savage's direction. Her bruises emphasized her somber expression.

Savage reached for her fist, unclasped its fingers, and encircled them with his own. “What's wrong?”

“I keep trying to imagine what's ahead of me. My sister. A happy reunion. A chance to rest and heal. Oh, for sure, I'll be pampered. The best of everything. But then what? A cage is a cage, gilded or not. I'll still be a prisoner.”

Savage waited for Rachel to continue, all the while conscious of Akira, who sat at the rear of the plane, assessing the other passengers.

“My husband won't be satisfied until he gets me back. When he learns where I am, he'll put my sister's estate under constant watch. I'll never be able to leave.”

“Yes and no. There are ways to sneak out.”

“‘Sneak.’ Exactly. But away from my sister's estate, I'd never feel safe. Wherever I went, I'd have to use another name, disguise my appearance, try not to be conspicuous. Sneak. For the rest of my life.”

“It's not as bad as that.”

“It is.” Rachel jerked her head toward the passengers across the aisle and behind her, embarrassed for having raised her voice. She whispered, her words intense, “I'm terrified. What happens to other people you've rescued?”

Savage was forced to lie. Anytime someone needed a protector with Savage's expertise, he knew that their problems were only temporarily solved. He didn't cancel danger; he merely postponed it. “They get on with their lives.”

“Bullshit. Predators don't give up.”

Savage didn't respond.

“I'm right?”

Savage glanced toward the aisle.

“Hey, damn it, I looked at you. Now you look at
me,
” Rachel said.

“Okay. If you want my opinion, your husband's too arrogant to admit defeat. Yes, you'll have to be careful.”

“Oh, that's just fucking swell.” She yanked her hand from his.

“You wanted the truth.”

“And I sure got it.”

“The usual option is to negotiate.”

“Don't talk to me like a lawyer.”

“So what do you want?”

“For the past couple days, as horrible as they've been, I've never felt safer—better—than being with you. You made me feel … important, comforted, respected. You treated me like I meant everything to you.”

“You did.”

“As a client,” Rachel said. “And if you deliver me to my sister, you'll be paid.”

“You don't know anything about me,” Savage said. “I don't risk my life just for the money. I do this because people need me. But I can't stay forever with …”

“Everyone
who needs you?”

“Sooner or later, I have to let go. Your sister's waiting for you.”

“And then you forget me?”

“Never,” Savage said.

“Then take me with you.”

“What? To New York?”

“I won't feel safe without you.”

“Rachel, three weeks from now, sipping champagne at the pool on your sister's estate, you won't remember me.”

“For the right kind of man, I'm stubbornly loyal.”

“I've had this conversation before,” Savage said. “Many times. The man who taught me …”

“Graham.”

“Yes. He always insisted, ‘Never involve yourself with a client.’ And he was right. Because emotion causes mistakes. And mistakes are fatal.”

“I'd do anything for you.”

“Like follow me to hell?”

“I promised that.”

“And you survived. But Akira and I have our own kind of hell, and we need to understand why it happened. Believe me, you'd interfere. Enjoy your sister's pool … And think of two men trying to solve a nightmare.”

“Hold still for a minute.”

“Why?”

Rachel leaned toward him, gripping the sides of his face.

Savage squirmed.

“No,” Rachel said, “hold still.”

“But …”

“Quiet.” Rachel kissed him. Her lips barely touched his, making them tingle. She gradually increased pressure, her mouth fully on him. Her tongue probed, sliding, darting. “

Savage didn't resist, but despite his erection, he didn't encourage her, either.

She slowly pulled away.

“Rachel, you're beautiful.”

Rachel looked proud.

Savage traced a finger along her cheek.

She shivered.

“I can't,” Savage said, “betray the rules. I'll take you to your sister. Then Akira and I will go to New York.”

She jerked away from him. “I can't wait to see my sister.”

10

They landed outside Nice shortly after four
P.M
. Savage had phoned Joyce Stone before he, Akira, and Rachel had flown from Corfu. Now, as they entered the airport's customs-immigration area, a slender man wearing an impeccably tailored gray suit stepped past other arriving passengers toward them. He had an identification pin in his lapel, though Savage didn't know what the pin's striped colors signified. A uniformed guard walked behind him.

“Monsieur Savage?” the distinguished-looking man asked.

“Yes.”

“Would the three of you come with us, please?”

Akira showed no sign of tension, except for a brief frown toward Savage, who nodded reassuringly and held Rachel's hand.

They entered a room to the side. The guard shut the door. The distinguished-looking man sat behind a desk.

“Monsieur, as you're aware, visitors to France are required to present not only a passport but an immigration visa.”

“Yes. I'm sure you'll find these in order.” Savage placed his passport and visa on the table. Before the assignment, knowing he'd have to take Rachel to France, he'd instructed Joyce Stone to obtain visas for the two of them.

The official glanced through the documents.

“And this is Miss Stone's passport,” Savage said. Because Rachel had been forced to use her sister's passport instead of her own, and because her sister had become a French citizen, it wasn't necessary to present her immigration visa.

The official examined the passport. “Excellent.” He didn't seem at all impressed that he was theoretically talking to a woman of fame and power.

Savage gestured toward Akira. “My friend has his passport, but I'm afraid he neglected to obtain a visa.”

“Yes, so an influential acquaintance of yours has explained to me. However, while you were en route, that oversight was corrected.” The official placed a visa on the table and held out his hand for Akira's passport.

After flipping through it, he stamped all the documents and returned them. “Have you anything to declare to customs?”

“Nothing.”

“Please come with me.”

They left the office, passed crowded immigration and customs checkpoints, and reached an exit from the airport.

“Enjoy your stay,” the man said.

“We appreciate your cooperation,” Savage said.

The official shrugged. “Your influential acquaintance was most insistent. Charmingly so, of course. When possible, I'm pleased to accommodate her wishes. She instructed me to tell you she's arranged for your transportation. Through that door.”

Curious, Savage stepped outside, followed by Rachel and Akira. In brilliant sunshine, on a street with a grass divider, a parking lot, and a background of palm trees, what he saw at the curb appalled him.

Joyce Stone—ignoring Savage's advice in Athens to use an inconspicuous car—had sent a Rolls-Royce. And behind the steering wheel sat one of the burly escorts that Savage had met at Joyce Stone's hotel suite near the Acropolis.

“I don't like this,” Akira said.

Rachel tensed. “Why?”

“This isn't the way it's done,” Savage said. “All that's missing is a sign on the side of the car. ‘Important people inside.’ We might as well put up a target.”

The burly driver got out of the car, squared his shoulders, and grinned at Savage. “So you actually made it. Hey, when I heard, I was sure impressed.”

Savage felt more dismayed. “You were
told?
You
knew
we'd be your passengers?”

“The boss has been biting her nails for the last three days. She couldn't wait to tell me.” The man kept grinning.

“Shit.”

“Hey, everything's cool,” the man said.

“No,” Akira said, “it isn't.”

The man stopped grinning. “Who the hell are
you?”

Akira ignored him, turning to Savage. “Should we get another car?”

“What's wrong with this one?” the burly man said.

“You wouldn't understand.”

“Come on, it's fully loaded.”

“At the moment, stereo and air-conditioning aren't our priorities,” Akira said.

“No, I mean
fully
loaded.”

The stream of passing cars and pedestrians leaving the airport made Savage uneasy. It took him a moment to register what the man had said. “Loaded?”

“A shotgun under each front fender. Automatic. Double-ought buck. Flash-bang ejectors under each side. Smoke canisters in the rear. Bulletproof. Armored fuel tank. But just in case, if the fuel tank gets hit by a rocket grenade, a steel plate flips up in the trunk and keeps the flames from spreading inside. Just what I said. Fucking loaded. With all this terrorist stuff, the boss believes in precautions.”

Akira frowned at Savage. “It's possible.”

“Except the car's so damned ostentatious,” Savage said.

“But perhaps not here in southern France. I saw five equally vulgar cars drive past while we talked.”

“You've got a point. I'm tempted,” Savage said.

“Vulgar?” the burly man said. “This car isn't vulgar. It's a dream.”

“That depends on what kind of dreams you have,” Savage said.

Rachel fidgeted. “I don't like standing out here.”

“Okay,” Savage said. “We use it.” He shielded Rachel while he opened the rear door and she quickly got in. “Akira, sit beside her.” He pivoted toward the burly escort. “I drive.”

“But …”

“Sit in the passenger seat, or walk.”

The man's feelings looked hurt. “You'll have to promise I'm not responsible.”

“That's a given.”

“What?”

“You're not responsible.
Get in the car.”
As Savage scrambled behind the steering wheel, the man scurried next to him, slamming his door.

“Controls,” Savage said. “Where are they?”

“It's just an automatic.”

“I mean the flash-bangs, the smoke, the shotguns.”

“Lift the console to the right of the gearshift.”

Savage saw clearly marked buttons. He twisted the ignition key and hurried from the airport.

Despite the airport's name, Savage's destination wasn't eastward toward Nice. Instead he drove west on N 98, a coastal road that curved along the Côte d'Azur and would lead him toward Antibes, Cap d'Antibes, and a few kilometers later, Cannes. Among the islands off that glamorous city was Joyce Stone's equally glamorous principality, which she ruled in the name of her infirm husband.

“Yeah,” the burly man said, “just stay on this road until—”

“I've been in southern France before.”

A year and a half ago, Savage had escorted an American film producer to the festival at Cannes. At that time, terrorists had threatened to attack what they called “the purveyors of imperialistic racist oppression.” Given the tense political climate, Savage had approved of his principal's choice to use a hotel in one of the nearby villages instead of Cannes. While the principal slept, he'd be safely away from the site of the threatened violence. Preparing for that assignment, Savage had arrived a few days early and scouted both Cannes and the surrounding area, learning traffic patterns, major and minor streets, in case he had to rush his principal away from an incident.

“Yes, I've been in southern France before,” Savage said. “I'm sure I can find the way to your boss.”

The farther he drove from the airport at Nice, the more traffic dwindled, most of it having turned onto a superhighway to the north. That superhighway ran parallel to this road and would have taken Savage to Cannes sooner, but he didn't intend to enter the city. His instructions to Joyce Stone had been to have a powerboat waiting at a beach along this road a half-kilometer before he reached the city. The powerboat would take them to a yacht, which in turn would take them to Joyce Stone's island—an efficient, surreptitious way to deliver Rachel to her sister.

“I hate to tell you this,” Akira said. “I think we've got company.”

Savage glanced toward his rearview mirror. “The van?”