The Fifth Profession

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.