The Fifth Profession (21 page)

Savage hadn't known about Rachel's bruises before he went in to rescue her. But his professional habits had prompted him to establish a contingency plan, in case she couldn't get her hands on her passport. Joyce Stone had shown him photographs of her sister. Savage had been struck by the eerie resemblance between the two women, as if they weren't just sisters but twins, though Rachel was ten years younger.

So he'd told Joyce Stone to return to her island empire and to use her authority to insist that her passport not be stamped when she arrived. A messenger had then brought Joyce Stone's passport back to Savage in Athens. As a consequence, there wasn't any evidence that Joyce Stone had ever left Greece.

Comparing the photograph in the passport to the younger sister's face, Savage had once again been struck by the eerie resemblance. With two exceptions. Joyce Stone was blond whereas Rachel's hair was auburn. And Joyce Stone continued to look like a movie star whereas Rachel looked like a battered wife.

I can take advantage of those contrasts, Savage had thought. At the farmhouse near Athens, he'd given Rachel dye to change her hair from auburn to blond. And now that he drove the car toward the customs official in the ferry depot, he glanced toward Rachel, shaking his head in wonder. The blond hair made Rachel look amazingly like her sister, and paradoxically the bruises contributed to the illusion, making her look older.

The customs official searched the car. “No suitcases?”

“Just these handbags,” Rachel said in keeping with Savage's instructions.

“Passports, please.”

Savage and Rachel handed them over. Akira would soon board the ferry separately on foot, so the three of them wouldn't be conspicuous together.

“Joyce Stone?”
The official glanced up from the passport, staring at Rachel, surprised. “I apologize. I didn't recognize … I'm a fan of your movies, but …”

“My bruises, you mean?”

“They look so painful. They've ruined perfection. What terrible … ?”

“A traffic accident near Athens.”

“My deep regrets. My countrymen are clumsy drivers.”

“No, it was
my
fault. Thank heaven, neither he nor I was seriously hurt. I reimbursed the man for repairs to his car and paid his medical bills.”

The official straightened. “Your Majesty is extremely kind. Even with your injuries, you're as beautiful as in your movies. And as noble.”

“May I ask a favor?”

“I'm your humble fan.”

She reached for his hand. “Don't tell anyone I'm aboard. Normally I appreciate the attention of admirers. I've retired, but I haven't forgotten my responsibilities to those with memories long enough to recall my career.”

“Your magnificence will always be remembered.”

“But not when I look like this. People will say I'm ugly.”

“Beautiful.”

“You're very kind.” Rachel continued to grasp his hand. “But there might be photographers on board. If you enjoyed my films …”

“I worshiped them.”

“Then please don't destroy their memory.” Rachel gave his hand a squeeze and released it.

The official stepped back. “Obviously you're not smuggling ancient artifacts. By all means, instruct your driver to proceed aboard.”

“Thank you.” Rachel rewarded him with a gracious smile.

Savage drove toward the ferry. “You're a better actress than your sister,” he murmured. “Very
very
good.”

“Hey, I always envied my sister,” she said, her lips barely moving. “She always did better. But now when I'm scared, I've got the guts to prove I'm better.”

“You'll get no argument.” Savage parked the car on the ferry. “Now we wait for Akira.”

3

But twenty minutes later, Akira still hadn't joined them as the ferry left the dock.

“Stay in the car,” Savage told Rachel.

Shoulders tensing, he got out and scanned the shadowy spaces between the rows of cars. The hold stank of oil and exhaust fumes. The other vehicles were deserted, their passengers having climbed to the upper decks to sleep or to buy refreshments and admire the moonlit water and the lights along the coast. The hold's metal floor vibrated from the muted rumble of the ferry's engines.

Still no sign of Akira.

“I've changed my mind,” Savage said. “Get out. Stand next to me. If anything happens, run. There'll be security guards upstairs. Stay close to them.”

Rachel hurried toward him. “Is something wrong?”

“I'm not sure yet.” Savage kept scanning the hold. “But Akira should have joined us by now.”

“Unless he's being extra-cautious checking the passengers.”

“Maybe … Or else he found trouble.”

Despite the surrounding cars, Savage's spine tensed from feeling exposed.

He made it a rule never to try to cross an international border with a firearm. True, the checkpoints in many countries had lax procedures, and handguns made mostly from plastic didn't register on an X-ray machine, especially when disassembled. But Savage's weapon had been an all-metal .357 Magnum revolver, and it couldn't be taken apart, except for its cylinder. More, though Greece and Italy had attempted a conciliatory attitude toward terrorists, the fanatics had taken advantage of their hosts’ goodwill and committed further atrocities. Greece and Italy had strengthened security at their borders. Accordingly, Savage and Akira had dropped their handguns down a sewer before they reached the ferry depot.

But now Savage dearly wished he hadn't done so. Footsteps echoed on metal. A man emerged down a stairway. Savage hoped it would be Akira.

No! The man was
Caucasian!

Savage felt as if arms crushed his chest. Abruptly he exhaled.

The man wore a uniform. A member of the ferry's crew, he studied the cars in the hold, then focused on Savage and Rachel. “I'm sorry, sir. No passengers are permitted down here.”

“Right. My wife forgot her purse. We had to come back for it.”

The crewman waited until Savage and Rachel passed him. As the man walked across the hold, Savage concentrated on the top of the stairs.

“There's supposed to be safety in numbers, isn't there?” Rachel said, trying to sound confident, not succeeding. “So let's join the crowd.”

“And find Akira. Just remember,” Savage said, “your husband's men don't know what I look like. And they're searching for a woman whose hair is auburn, not blond.”

“But I can't disguise these bruises.”

“If you lean on the railing, prop your chin in your hands, and study the water, in the dark no one will notice your face. Ready?”

She trembled for a second, then nodded. “Just hold my hand.”

4

The ferry was large, capable of transporting six hundred passengers. Above the hold, a B and an A deck contained cabins and rows of reclining seats. Savage had rented one of the cabins, but until he discovered what had happened to Akira, he couldn't risk using it and being trapped.

Continuing to climb the stairs, approaching the main deck, he heard numerous voices, a babble of accents and languages. A sea breeze cooled his clammy forehead. He squeezed Rachel's shaky hand and stepped through a hatch. At once a swarm of passengers passed him, bumping, jostling.

Rachel flinched.

Savage put an arm around her, guiding her away from lights toward the night-shrouded railing. The moment she leaned on her elbows, resting her face in her hands, he pivoted toward the crowd.

Where was Akira?

The ferry had a promenade area that rimmed a mid-deck restaurant and a bar. Through windows, Savage saw passengers clustered at tables.

Akira.

Where the hell was Akira?

Five minutes. Ten. Savage's stomach writhed. But though desperate to search, he didn't dare abandon Rachel, not even in the cabin he'd rented.

From the mass of Caucasians, an Oriental proceeded along the deck.

Akira!

“Two of them,” he whispered, approaching.

Savage glanced toward the restaurant, then turned toward the sea, apparently oblivious to the Japanese who passed him.

“Lead them around once again,” Savage murmured.

When he turned from the railing, Akira had disappeared into the crowd.

Two men followed, their suitcoats too small for their muscular chests, their expressions grim.

Savage wondered if they were decoys intended to make their quarry realize he was being followed while other members of the surveillance team watched Akira's reaction. That was possible. But the two men weren't clumsy, and Akira wasn't the target.
Rachel
was, and as long as Akira ignored the men behind him, they couldn't be sure they'd found the Japanese they were looking for. So unless they captured Akira and questioned him, they'd have to wait to see if Akira rendezvoused with a Caucasian man and woman. Then, regardless of Rachel's change in hair color, they'd know they'd found their targets.

So what do we do?
Savage wondered.
Play hide-and-seek all over the ferry?

Pulse speeding, he scanned the crowd, alert for anyone who showed interest in Rachel and him. When Akira strolled past the second time and the same two men followed at a careful distance, Savage concluded that they were alone.

But that still didn't solve the problem.

Jesus, how do we deal with them?

The simplest method would be to let Akira keep leading them around until the promenade was deserted, the passengers asleep. Then Savage could try to stalk the stalkers, incapacitate them, and throw them over the side.

But was the surveillance pair under orders to use the ferry's sea-to-shore telephones to call their superiors and make reports at regular intervals, even if they'd found nothing? In the SEALs, that was basic strategy. If a team failed to check in at its scheduled time, their commander would first conclude that the team had logistical problems and been forced to rash toward a safe location. If the team persisted in not reporting, the commander would then conclude that the team had been captured or else been killed.

Maybe preventing these men from checking in would tell Papadropolis where to focus his search.

As Savage analyzed the problem, a corollary disturbed him. Suppose they'd
already
made their report? What if they'd told their superiors that they'd spotted a Japanese who might be Akira? In that case, Papadropolis would order additional men to board the ferry tomorrow morning when it made its first stop farther up the Greek coast at Igoumenitsa.

Too many unknowns.

But the present situation couldn't be allowed to continue.

Something had to be done.

Through a window, Savage saw Akira in the restaurant, sitting at a table, dipping a tea bag into a cup. The two men watched unobtrusively from a distant table. One of the men said something. The other nodded. The first man got up, leaving the restaurant through a door on the opposite side of the ferry.

Savage straightened. “Rachel, let's go.”

“But where are … ?”

“I don't have time to explain.” He led her through the crowded smoke-filled bar beside the restaurant, peered out toward the promenade on the opposite side of the ferry, and saw the man standing at a row of phones. The man inserted a credit card into one of them and pressed a sequence of numbers.

“Rachel, lean against this railing, the same as before.”

Savage quickly walked toward the man, stopped next to him, and picked up a phone.

“We don't know yet,” the man was saying. He sensed Savage beside him, turned, and scowled.

Savage pretended not to notice, going through the motions of making a call.

“Yes,
Japanese,
” the man said. “He fits the description, but we weren't given many specifics. Age, height, and build aren't enough to be sure.”

“Hi, dear,” Savage said to the phone he held. He'd pressed numbers at random and was getting a busy signal. “I just wanted to let you know I managed to catch the ferry out of Patrai.”

“Then
make
sure?” the man asked. “How the—?”

“Yeah, we dock in Italy tomorrow afternoon at five,” Savage said.

“
Question
him?” The man scowled again at Savage, unable to speak as freely as he wanted. “But if it is him, I thought the point was to see if he contacted his associates. From what I've heard about this man, the two of us won't be enough to persuade him to cooperate.”

“I'm looking forward to seeing you, dear,” Savage said to the phone.

“Yeah, that idea's a whole lot better. Send more negotiators.”

“No, everything went fine. I saw every client on my list,” Savage said to the phone. “They gave me some very large orders.”

“Corfu?” The man sounded baffled. “But that's the
second
stop. Why can't they board at Igoumenitsa? Yeah, okay, I see that. If the team's already at Corfu's dock and the airport, they might as well stay in place. Besides, there's no way for them to get off the island at this hour. They'd never be able to cross the channel from Corfu to Igoumenitsa in time to meet the ferry.”

“I love you, too, dear,” Savage said to the phone.

“Right. I'll see you at nine tomorrow morning,” the man said. “If anything develops in the meantime, I'll let you know.”

The man hung up and returned to the restaurant.

Savage replaced his phone and walked toward Rachel in the darkness along the railing.

“Change of plans,” he said.

“I don't understand,” she said.

“I'm not sure I do either.” Savage frowned. “I'm still working out the details.”

5

At one
A.M.
, the promenade was almost deserted. Most of the passengers had gone to the sleeping areas on the lower decks, though a few still remained in the bar and the restaurant.

One of those in the restaurant was Akira. He'd ordered a meal and taken so long to savor every mouthful that his two watchdogs, still sitting at a corner table, had begun to look conspicuous—and looked as if they
knew
they looked conspicuous.

Any moment, they might decide to find a less exposed vantage point from which to study their prey.

“It's time,” Savage told Rachel. While she'd been standing out of sight from the restaurant window, he'd periodically glanced inside. For all he knew,
he
had begun to look conspicuous. Yes, he thought. Definitely time.