The Fifth Profession

Flashlights blazed at the end of the lane. One guard turned to another, his beam revealing the face of the second guard.

The second man was the Japanese. Even at a distance, he still reminded Savage disturbingly of Akira. The Japanese grabbed the first guard's arm and shoved the flashlight away from his face. They rushed along the lane.

In Savage's direction.

They haven't seen us yet, but they will.

Savage's boot struck an object at the side of the lane. A ladder lay against a wall, half of which had a fresh coat of white. He braced it against the wall. Rachel scurried up. As Savage followed, he saw the flashlights checking doorways and alleys, rushing closer.

On the roof, he pulled the ladder up. It scraped against the wall. The flashlights aimed toward the noise. Savage was blinded when a beam revealed him. He ducked back, yanking the ladder with him, hearing the distinctive muffled report of a pistol equipped with a silencer, a bullet zipping past his ear. An instant later, he was out of sight from the lane.

He almost set the ladder down but quickly changed his mind.

“Rachel, grab the other end.”

Awkward, they strained to hurry with the ladder across the roof, lurching to a stop when a gap before them revealed another lane.

In the distance, Savage saw murky lights in the rain-swept harbor.

“Let go of the ladder.”

He swung it over the gap, setting the far end on the other roof, propping the near end securely.

Rachel started to crawl across, but the ladder's rungs were slick with rain, and her knee slipped, a leg falling through. She dangled, gasped, raised her knee to the ladder, and crawled again.

Savage steadied the ladder. He stared toward the gap below him-no flashlights, although he did hear shouts. He glanced behind him, toward where he and Rachel had used the ladder to climb the wall. No one appeared on the rim.

Rain gusted against his eyes. He squinted toward Rachel, managing to see her on the opposite roof. Flat, he pulled himself along the ladder, its moist rungs easing his way, helping him to slide.

On the other roof, he stood and swung the ladder toward him. They struggled with it toward a farther gap between buildings, moving lower into the village, closer to the harbor.

When he crossed the next gap after Rachel did, Savage stared behind him. A flash of lightning made him flinch as a head appeared on top of a wall. The head belonged to the Japanese. Savage recalled the glint of a sword! The…! Abruptly the Japanese scrambled upright.

Another man joined him, raising a pistol, aiming at Savage.

The Japanese lost his balance on the rain-slicked roof. But the Japanese had moved so gracefully at the mansion, it didn't seem likely he could ever lose his balance. Nonetheless he fell against the man with the pistol, deflecting his aim. The shot went wild. The man with the pistol toppled backward. With a wail, he plunged off the roof.

The Japanese stared down at him, then charged after Savage and Rachel, his movements once again graceful.

He'll have to stop! Savage thought. He can't get past the two gaps we crossed!

Don't kid yourself. If this is Akira, he'll find a way.

But you know he can't be Akira!

Frantic, Savage picked up the ladder. As Rachel assisted, Savage glanced again toward the Japanese, expecting him to halt when he reached a lane between roofs. Instead the Japanese increased speed and leapt, his nimble body arcing through the rain, his arms outstretched as if gliding. He landed on the opposite roof, bent his knees, rolled to absorb the impact, and in the same smooth motion, sprang to his feet, continuing to race.

Burdened with the ladder, Savage and Rachel struggled toward another lane. But this time, instead of bracing the ladder across the gap, Savage lowered it against a wall. As Rachel scurried down, Savage turned, dismayed to see the Japanese leap across another gap.

Guards shouted nearby. Savage scrambled down the ladder and tugged it away from the wall so the Japanese couldn't use it. The lane sloped down to the right. He and Rachel sprinted along it. Behind him, Savage heard frenzied footsteps, the Japanese charging toward the side of the roof.

He'll dangle from the rim and drop, Savage thought. Maybe he'll hurt himself.

Like hell. He's a cat.

The lane ended. Savage faced another horizontal street, so level he couldn't decide which direction would take them closer to the harbor.

A light from a window reflected off water on the street. Heart pounding, Savage noticed that the water flowed toward the left.

He ran with Rachel in that direction. Shouts echoed behind him. Footsteps charged closer. Flashlights blazed ahead.

An alley on the right led steeper downward, away from the flashlights. The closer he and Rachel came to the harbor, the more the village narrowed, forming a bottleneck toward the sea, Savage knew. He'd reach fewer tangents, fewer risks of making the wrong decision and heading inadvertently upward, away from his objective.

But he had to assume that his pursuers understood where he was going. They'll try to get in front of us.

He prayed that the guards were as baffled by the maze as he was. Amid the curses behind him and the blaze of flashlights on his flanks, he heard a single set of pursuing footsteps.

The Japanese.

As if a nightmare had been dispelled, Savage broke from the village, from its confines and confusion. His way now was clear, across the beach, along the dock. No enemy awaited him. Beside him, Rachel breathed hoarsely, stumbling, on the verge of exhaustion.

“Keep trying,” Savage urged. “It's almost over.”

“God, I hope,” she gasped.

“For what this is worth”-Savage breathed-“I'm proud of you. You did fine.”

His compliment wasn't cynical. She'd obeyed him with Style and strength. But his encouragement-no doubt the only positive words she'd been told in quite a while-did the trick. She mustered her deepest resources and ran so hard she almost passed him.

“I meant what I said,” she gasped. “I'll go with you to hell.”

16

The yacht, one of several, was moored near the end of the dock. Savage's final option. If the boats in various coves had been discovered, if the fishing trawler had been forced to retreat due to hazardous, weather, if the helicopter couldn't take off from nearby Delos and pick them up at the rendezvous site, the last possibility was a yacht that a member of his team had left in the Mykonos harbor.

Savage sprang aboard, released the ropes that secured it to posts, raised the hatch above the engine, and grabbed the ignition key taped beneath the deck. He slid the key into the switch on the vessel's controls, swelled with triumph when the engine rumbled, pushed the accelerator, and felt a satisfying surge as the yacht sped away from the dock.

“Thank you!” Rachel hugged him.

“Get down on the deck!”

She instantly complied.

As the yacht churned away from the dock, raising waves dwarfed by the greater waves of the storm, Savage scowled behind him. The force of the sea made the yacht thrust up and down, but despite his confused perspective, Savage saw a man rush along the dock.