The Fifth Profession

“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.”

“Giri,” Hailey muttered through swollen lips and broken teeth. “You gave your…”

“Word,” Taro said and stood. “So did I. A formal favor. An eternal obligation.” Taro restrained the knife in Savage's hand. “Obey it. Or you're worthless. You have no honor.”

Trembling, seething, sobbing, Savage gradually lowered the knife. “Something has to mean something. Get out of here! Now!” he told Hailey. “Before I change my mind. Because of you my friend is dead, you…!”

Hailey ran, clutching his broken face, yanking a panel open, disappearing, his footsteps dwindling.

“You did the proper thing,” Taro said.

“Then why do I feel like hell?”

“Because he might come after you.”

“Let him,” Savage said. “I'm better.”

“For a gaijin, you're a noble man.”

“But are you?” Savage spun. “Our business isn't finished. I refuse to believe that you weren't aware…”

“That Akira belonged to Japanese Intelligence?” The old man nodded. “That's correct.”

“And you knew what Shirai was trying to do! You knew that Akira and I were supposed to die!”

“For Japan.”

“Giri,” Savage said. “Thank God for giri. For the solemn promise I made you. If you allowed that bastard to leave, I swore I'd be eternally in your debt. Otherwise…”

“You'd try to kill me?” Taro chuckled.

“Yes.” Fueled by ultimate rage, Savage overcame his weakness, pressed a paralyzing nerve in Taro's neck, and tickled the point of his knife against Taro's jugular vein. ‘ ‘Your problem is you’ re arrogant. Even a gaijin can be…

“A worthy opponent. Savage-san, you have my respect.”

“And your word that there'll be no recriminations? Giri?”

“Yes.” Taro's face became more wizened. “Giri. Friendship. Loyalty. Obligation. What else is there to believe in?”

“Love.” Savage lowered the knife. “What did you do with Akira's body?”

“It was cremated. The urn with his ashes is in my room. But Japanese Intelligence can't know about his death. The investigation would be disastrous. To us all.”

“May I have them?” Savage asked.

“Akira's ashes?”

“Yes. If his interment must be a secret, Eko and I know what to do with them.”

Taro studied him.

And bowed.

FESTIVAL FOR THE DEAD

Before Akira had brought Savage and Rachel to Japan, as he'd explained the complexities of his divinely born nation, he'd referred to a summer ritual known as the Feast of Lanterns and otherwise called the Festival for the Dead. During three days, involving incense, prayers, and funereal meals, traditional Japanese obeyed the Shinto custom of revering- one might almost say worshiping-the dead.

Savage complied, though this was autumn, not summer. But he didn't think Akira would mind. After three days of scrupulous devotion, he and Rachel embraced each other in the garden at the rear of Akira's home.

Night surrounded them.

But a glow reflected off their faces.

For Savage had placed a lantern on the garden's pool. Throughout the afternoon, he'd drained water from the pool, removing the assassin's blood that tainted it. He'd refilled the pool and drained it.

And refilled it again.

And drained it again.

And cleaned it again, determined to purify it, to exorcise its desecration.

At last he'd been satisfied that the ritual would not be corrupted. He lit a match and set fire to the lantern's paper.

“God, I miss him,” Savage said. The flames reflected off his face.

“Yes,” Rachel said. “So do I.”

“His eyes were so sad.”

“Because he belonged in another time.”

“Commodore Perry's ‘black ships,’ “Savage said. “Akira was a samurai. He belonged in a time before samurais were outlawed. Before America corrupted Akira's nation. You know”-he turned to Rachel and kissed her-”before he died, he called me…”

Savage choked on emotion. He gagged on his tears.

“He called me… oh, Jesus…”

Rachel held him. “Tell me.”

“His friend.”

“And he was your friend,” Rachel said.

“But do you understand the effort, the sacrifice, it took him to say that? All his life, he'd hated Americans. Because of Hiroshima, Nagasaki. Yokohama Bay. Perry's ‘black ships.’ Akira belonged in another century. When Japan was pure.”

“It's always been pure,” Rachel said. “And it always will be. Because if Akira… if he's typical… this nation is great. Because it understands honor.”

“But he's dead.”

“Because of honor.”

Savage kissed her, the flames of the lantern blazing higher.

“What I wonder…”

“Is?”

“ America. Our Civil War. We made a myth of the South before the war. The magnificent mansions. The dignity of the lifestyle.”

“Except for the slaves,” Rachel said.

“That's what I mean,” Savage said. “Myth. Sometimes, for some people, myth hides ugliness and becomes its own reality.”