The Fifth Profession (24 page)

“It's been following us since we left the airport.”

“Maybe it's headed toward one of the resorts along this road.”

“But it keeps passing cars to stay behind us. If it's in a hurry, it ought to pass
us
as well.”

“Let's find out.”

Savage slowed. The van reduced speed.

A Porsche veered around both of them.

Savage sped up. So did the van.

Savage glared toward the burly man beside him. “Is it too much to hope you brought handguns?”

“It didn't seem necessary.”

“If we survive this, I'm going to beat the shit out of you.”

Rachel looked terrified.
“How did they find us?”

“Your husband must have guessed your sister arranged for the rescue.”

“But he thinks we drove into Yugoslavia.”

“Right. Most of his men are searching there,” Savage said, increasing speed. “But he must have kept a team in southern France in case we managed to get this far. The airport was being watched.”

“I didn't notice surveillance,” Akira said.

“Not
in
the airport. Outside. And when this idiot showed up in the Rolls—”

“Hey, watch who you're calling an idiot,” the burly man said.

“—they activated the trap. They won't be alone. Somewhere ahead, there'll be another vehicle in radio contact with them. And” — Savage glared at the burly man — “if you don't shut your mouth, I'll tell Akira to strangle you.”

Savage swerved past a slowly moving truck filled with chickens. The van did the same.

To the left, down a slope, Savage saw Antibes stretched along the sea. The resort had extensive flower gardens, an impressive Romanesque cathedral, and ancient narrow streets. To the right, picturesque villas dotted a hillside.

Savage reached a curve and halfway around it pressed the accelerator. The transmission changed gears sluggishly, finally responding.

“An automatic,” Savage said. “I can't believe this.” Again he glared at the burly man. “Don't you know a standard's more efficient if you're being chased?”

“Yeah, but an automatic's smoother in stop-and-go traffic, and the streets in these towns are an obstacle course. With a standard, it's a pain to keep using the gearshift.”

Savage cursed and rounded another curve. Now opposite the rising slope of villas, a descending slope was cluttered with hotels that almost obscured the sea.

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.

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.”