The Fifth Profession (60 page)

“But that's … Those guys are as nuts as Shirai was. What in hell made them think it would help America if Japan turned against us?”

“Don't you see? If Japan rejected us, if relations between our countries were severed, Japanese imports would stop. We'd have won the economic war,” Hailey said.

“Yeah, and suppose Japan then sided with the Chinese or the Soviets.”

“No. It wouldn't happen that way. Because Japan doesn't get along with the Chinese and the Soviets. The Japanese-Chinese feud goes back hundreds of years. And the Japanese are angry that the Soviets won't give up a string of northern islands that used to belong to Japan until after the Second World War. Shirai would turn anti-American sentiment into universal anti-foreign sentiment, and we'd be back in business.”

Savage shook his head. “Absolute madness.”

“The splinter group in the agency arranged for Shirai's lieutenant to promote the idea, and Shirai loved it. Mind you, Shirai still didn't know that Americans were suggesting it or that the nutso group in the agency believed that America would gain a lot more than Shirai would. Now,” Hailey said, “this is where you come in. Illegal or not, it's one thing to tell an operative to assassinate someone. It's quite another to order him to go on a suicide mission. No one would do it. What the splinter group needed was an operative who wouldn't know what he faced and, better yet, wouldn't even know he worked for the agency so he wouldn't have second thoughts, contact his control, and back out.”

“And you were—are—my control.”

Hailey sweated more profusely. “We recruited you when you were in the SEALs. In nineteen eighty-three, you pretended to be outraged by America's invasion of Grenada. Politically motivated, pointless and needless, you said. Fellow SEALs died so a movie-star president could bolster his image, you said. You got drunk. You made speeches in bars. You fought with your best friend.”

“Mac.”

“Yes,” Hailey said. “He was part of the plan. Sworn to secrecy. The two of you trashed a bar. Mac swore in public if he ever saw you again he'd kill you. You left the SEALs and became an executive protector.”

“Trained by Graham.”

“He was also part of the plan. With your cover established, an American who hated his government's policies, no one would suspect that you actually worked for the agency and that every powerful client you protected was actually a target, a means of obtaining information. A protector, pledged to be loyal, has access to a lot of dirty secrets. The information you gave us helped us put pressure on a lot of important people.”

Sickened, Savage turned to Rachel. “You suggested that as a possibility. Remember? After Mac was killed? But I didn't want to believe it.” He glanced back at Hailey. “So for all these years I've been”—bile stung his throat—”a blackmailer.”

“Hey, it's not that bad, Savage. Don't be hard on yourself. You saved a lot of lives. You're a talented protector.”

“That doesn't change the fact that I pledged allegiance to my clients and then betrayed them,” Savage growled.

“Not all of them. Most were legitimate assignments, to maintain your cover. … But
some
clients … Yes, you betrayed them. You've got to believe me, Savage. They
deserved
to be betrayed.”

Savage stared at the glinting knife in his hand. He almost slammed its point through the table. “And you were my contact. That's how the splinter group learned about me.”

“Your background was perfect. A man with superior military skills and with protection abilities that enabled you to understand and bypass security systems. An operative in deep cover who wouldn't be missed by the agency if you dropped out of sight for a while. And one other item, a crucial detail about your past.”

“
What
detail?”

“Now here's where we pause for a moment, Savage.”

“Tell me!
What detail?
”

“No, first it's deal time,” Hailey said. “I'm not telling you all this for fun. The guys who brought me here would just as soon kill me as let me go. I'm walking a narrow line. My price for telling you that crucial detail about your past is my freedom. You're so concerned about honor. Okay, I want your
word,
I want you to
swear
that if I tell you, I walk out of here. And this is your incentive—the information's about your father.”

Savage clutched the knife so hard his knuckles whitened.

“What
about
my father?”

“You won't like it, Savage.”

“He shot himself! If that's your filthy secret, I already know it!”

“Yes, he shot himself,” Hailey said. “The question is why.”

“My father helped organize the Bay of Pigs invasion. When it failed, the government needed a fall-guy. My father, God bless him … Incredibly loyal, he agreed. So he took the heat and resigned. But humiliation ate his soul. The agency meant
everything
to him. Away from it, he had no purpose. He started drinking. The booze intensified his emptiness. He blew his brains out.”

“Yes and no.”

“What are you talking about?”

“A deal,” Hailey said. “I want to walk out of here. And what I'm selling is the truth about your father's suicide.”

“The truth? My father's dead! What other truth can there be?”

“Plenty. Let me walk out of here, and you'll find out.”

“Maybe I don't want to know. Maybe if I killed you right now …”

Hailey shook his head. “You'd regret it forever. You'd always want to know the secret. And I'll be honest with you. The truth will tear you apart. But that's why you'll want to know.”

Savage glared. “You …” In horror, he remembered the night he'd found his father's body, a towel placed beneath his father's head to minimize the spatter of blood and brains. “You have my word.”

“Not just yours. I want
this
man's word.” Hailey pointed toward Taro. “
He
has no obligation to me. And after all, I'm a
gaijin.
I doubt he'd feel remorse or bound by your word if he killed me.”

Savage slowly turned, directing his gaze toward the bald, wrinkled, stern-eyed Japanese. “
Taro-sensei
…” Struggling to choose the proper words, Savage bowed. “Taro-
sensei,
I ask a formal favor of you. Akira explained the significance of such a request. I'm willing to put myself in eternal debt to you. I accept the obligation of
giri.
I ask you … with respect, I beg you … to spare this man's life if he tells me what I need to know.”

Taro squinted, assessing.

“I ask you this,” Savage said, “in devotion to Akira's memory.”

Taro squinted harder, staring from Savage to Hailey, then back again.

“For Akira?” the old man asked.
“Hai.”
He bowed in grief.

“All right, Hailey, it's a deal. You have our word,” Savage said.

Hailey debated. “I've worked for the agency too long. I'm not used to acts of faith.”

“Tell me!”

“Okay, I'll trust you. Your father committed suicide. Yes. But not for the reasons you think. It had nothing to do with the Bay of Pigs.”

“What?”

“Your father, Savage, was in charge of the agency's attempts to assassinate Castro. He kept trying and trying. And every plan failed. But Castro found out what the agency was doing. He warned the United States to leave him alone. But your father, under orders, kept trying. So Castro decided enough was enough and arranged for President Kennedy to be shot in Dallas. Your father killed himself because of grief, because he was responsible for Kennedy's death.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Savage's strength failed. He slumped, falling backward. Rachel supported him.

“I told you you wouldn't like it,” Hailey said. “But that's the truth, and I expect you to fulfill your bargain.”

“I promised.” Savage could barely speak. “You'll walk out of here.”

“And that's the piece of your background that made you an ideal candidate for the assassin who'd fail to kill Shirai. Like father, like son. Shirai could not only implicate the United States in an attempt against him, but he could link that attempt all the way back to the Kennedy assassination and the U.S. attempts against Castro. Shirai would dredge up garbage from the past and convince his nation to call us a pack of killers. Oh, you were perfect, Savage, and all that needed to be done was erase crucial portions of your memory, so you didn't know you were CIA, and then implant a hideous nightmare that compelled you to track down Shirai.”

“What about Akira?” Savage exhaled with grief. “How did he fit in?”

“Shirai needed to compromise the Japanese establishment as much as he did America. So why not use a Japanese Intelligence operative who also had executive protection as a cover? If the two of you thought each other had died, and if you both discovered you were still alive, you'd each want to know what caused your nightmare. Certain choices were predictable—that you'd go to the Medford Gap Retreat and discover it didn't exist, that you'd go to the Harrisburg hospital and discover you'd never been there. Et cetera. Et cetera. But as soon as Shirai made his move and it was publicized, on television, in the newspapers, you'd recognize the principal you saw cut in half, and you'd run to him to find out what he knew about your nightmare.”

“But some things
weren't
predictable,” Savage said. “My decision to go to Virginia, to talk to Mac.”

“Exactly. After you were conditioned … it happened in Japan, by the way, at Shirai's estate … before the casts were put on your arms and legs, a location transmitter was inserted in a cap that was put on one of your teeth. That site was chosen because you and Akira, like many people, already had a dental cap. On an X ray, the replaced caps wouldn't attract attention. And because of those location transmitters, Shirai's men knew about—could follow you—everywhere. In case they had to nudge you in the right direction.

“But seeing Mac in Virginia was
not
the right direction.”

“Yes,” Hailey said. “Shirai's men feared Mac would tell you too much and erase your conditioning. They had to kill him.”

“And try to grab Rachel because she was the reason Akira and I came together but after that she didn't belong in the plan.”

“Unfortunately that's true.”

“What about the man and woman I thought were my parents?”

“The ones in Baltimore?” Hailey asked. “Window dressing. Further confusion. Shirai's intention, with prodding from the splinter group in the agency who used Shirai's lieutenant, was to so confuse you that when you saw Shirai on television or in the newspaper, you'd race to get in touch with him. Of course, the alternate plan would have been to abduct Akira and you, drug you, take you to Shirai's estate, and kill you while Shirai's men sacrificed their lives for their leader's ambitions. Mind you, that plan has the merit of simplicity.” Hailey shrugged. “But it wouldn't have been convincing— because you and Akira had to leave a trail. In Greece. In southern France. In America. Most of all, in Japan. You
had
to leave evidence—the stamps on fake passports you carried, not to mention the conversations you had with taxi drivers, hotel clerks, and immigration officials—that showed your determination to get to Shirai.”

“And Graham's death?” Savage trembled.

“The agency had nothing to do with that. After Graham arranged for both you and Akira to be on Papadropolis's estate, Shirai's men decided he was a liability. They killed him, attempting to make it appear a suicide.”

“But Graham
knew
what he was doing when he sent Akira and me to Mykonos. His ultimate loyalty was to the agency. Not to us.”

“Savage, you ask too many questions. Don't dig too deep. He was your friend. Yes. But he was also a professional. He obeyed his masters. Why else would he have traveled back and forth from Maryland to Massachusetts to nurse you and Akira back to health? He loved you, Savage. And he loved Akira. But he loved his profession—not protection, but espionage—more.”

Nauseous, Savage leaned back against Rachel, welcoming her warmth. “You're right. I ask too many questions.” Despite his multiple painful injuries, he managed to straighten. “But I do have one more question.”

“Ask it. You're entitled. We made a bargain. But after that, I'm out of here.”

“Okay,” Savage said. He struggled to stand. Rachel—ever dependable Rachel—helped him. Wavering upright, with Rachel's arms around him. Savage glowered down at Hailey. “Okay, here's my question. At the Meiji Shrine, did you try to stop me or urge me forward?”

“Hell, man, I wanted to stop you. The plan was out of control.”

“And the van, was it yours?”

“You said just one question.”

“Damn it, answer me!”

“Yes, it was ours.”

“Who shot the driver?”

“Shirai's men. The transmitter in the cap on your tooth. They were able to follow you. And they didn't want us stopping you!”

“And what about … ?”

“That's
two
more questions,” Hailey said. “
Don't tell me you're breaking your bargain.
”

“I'm almost finished.” Savage's knees sank. Rachel held him up. “What about… ? Who invaded Akira's home and tried to kill us? Who
ordered
… ?”

“Man, your guess is as good as mine.”

“No,” Savage said. “My guess is better.
You
did. You ordered the assassins to take us out! Because the plan was
out of control!
Because you'd discovered what the assholes in that splinter group were up to! And you felt it had to be stopped! So you made the choice to have us terminated! And when that didn't work, you followed us to the Meiji Shrine to try to kill us there!
You're
my enemy, the same as those jerks! The difference is, apparently I once trusted you! Apparently you were my friend!”

“Hey, Savage, business and friendship … as much as I'd like it … sometimes …”

Fury canceled weakness. Anger canceled pain. With every force he could muster, Savage used his good arm—and it felt so wonderful!—to punch Hailey squarely in the face.

Teeth snapped. Hailey's nose crunched. Blood flew.

Hailey lurched backward, groaning, sprawling.

“I ought to …” Savage grabbed him, jerking him upward. “Kill you.”