The Fifth Profession

“Ah, yes, now I understand.” She sounded amused. “Since I enjoy the sunlight, I'll sit where you suggest. Tell me, are you always this protective of people you haven't decided to work for?”

“A force of habit.”

“An intriguing habit, Mr… I'm afraid I've forgotten your name.”

Savage doubted that. She seemed the type who remembered everything. “It doesn't matter. The name I provided isn't mine. I normally use a pseudonym.”

“Then how should I introduce you?”

“You don't. If we reach an agreement, never draw attention to me.”

“In public. But what if I have to summon you in private?”

“Savage.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“A nickname. The way I'm identified in my business.”

“And did you acquire it when you were in the SEALs?” Savage hid his surprise.

“Your former unit's name is an acronym, correct? Sea, air, and land. The U.S. Navy commandos.”

Savage subdued an impulse to frown.

“I told you I found your credentials impressive,” she said. “Your use of pseudonyms makes clear you cherish your privacy. But with persistence, I did learn several details about your background. In case I alarm you, let me emphasize that nothing I was told in any way jeopardized your anonymity. Still, rumors travel. The help you gave a certain member of the British Parliament-against IRA terrorists, I believe-is widely respected. He asked me to thank you again for saving his life. An Italian financier is similarly grateful for your skillful return of his kidnapped son. A West German industrialist feels that his corporation would have gone bankrupt if you hadn't discovered the rival who was stealing his formulas.”

Savage kept silent.

“No need to be modest,” she said.

“Nor should you. Your sources are excellent.”

“One of the many advantages to marrying royalty. The gratitude of the Italian financier was especially compelling. So I asked him how I might get in touch with you. He gave me the telephone number of-I suppose, in my former life, I'd have used the term-your agent.”

“You didn't learn his name, I hope.”

“I never spoke to him directly, only through intermediaries.”

“Good.”

“Which brings me to my problem.”

“Miss Stone, another force of habit. Don't be specific in this room.”

“No one can overhear us. There aren't any hidden microphones.”

“What makes you sure?”

“My bodyguards checked it this morning.”

“In that case, I repeat…”

“Don't be specific in this room? My bodyguards didn't impress you?”

“They impressed me, all right.”

“But not the proper way?”

“I try not to criticize.”

“Another commendable habit. Very well, then, Savage.” Her smile matched the glint of her diamond earrings. She leaned from her chair and touched his hand. “Would you like to see some ruins?”

4

The black Rolls-Royce veered from traffic to stop in an oval parking lot. Savage and two of the bodyguards got out-the third had remained at the hotel to watch the suite. After the guards assessed the passing crowd, they nodded toward the car's interior.

Joyce Stone stepped smoothly out, flanked by her guards. “Circle the area. We'll be back in an hour,” she told her driver, who eased the Rolls back into traffic.

She turned, amused, toward Savage. “You keep surprising me.”

“Oh?”

“Back at the hotel, you objected to my sitting near a window, but you haven't said a word about my going out in public.”

“Being famous doesn't mean you have to be a hermit. As long as you don't advertise your schedule, an accomplished driver can make it difficult for someone to follow you.” Savage gestured toward the swarm of traffic. “Especially in Athens. Besides, you know how to dress to match your surroundings. To echo a compliment you gave me, you're adaptable.”

“It's a trick I learned when I was an actress. One of the hardest roles… to look average.”

She'd changed before they left the hotel. Now in place of her designer slacks and blouse, she wore faded jeans and a loose gray turtleneck sweater. Her diamonds were gone. Her watch was a Timex. Her shoes were dusty Reeboks. Her distinctive sun-bleached hair had been tucked beneath a floppy straw hat. Sunglasses hid her intense blue eyes.

Though pedestrians had paused to study the Rolls, they'd shown little interest in the woman who got out.

“You're playing the part successfully,” Savage said. “At the moment, a producer wouldn't hire you, even for a walk-on.”

She curtsied mockingly.

“I do have one suggestion,” he said.

“Somehow I knew you would have.”

“Stop using the Rolls.”

“But it gives me pleasure.”

“You can't always have what you want. Save the Rolls for special occasions. Buy a high-performance but neutral-looking car. Of course, it would have to be modified.”

“Of course.”

“Reinforced windows. Clouded glass in the rear. Bullet-proof paneling.”

“Of course.”

“Don't humor me, Miss Stone.”

“I'm not. It's just that I enjoy a man who enjoys his work.”

“Enjoy? I don't do this for fun. My work saves lives.”

“And you've never failed?”

Savage hesitated. Caught by surprise, he felt a rush of torturous memories. The flash of a sword. The gush of blood. “Yes,” he said. “Once.”

“Your honesty amazes me.”

“And only once. That's why I'm so meticulous, why I'll never fail again. But if my truthfulness gives you doubts about me…”

“On the contrary. My third movie was a failure. I could have ignored it, but I admitted it. And learned from it. I won the Oscar because I tried harder, although it took me seven more films.”

“A movie isn't life.”

“Or death? You should have seen the reviews of that third movie. I was buried.” “So will we all.”

“Be buried? Don't be depressing, Savage.”

“Did no one tell you the facts of life?”

“Sex? I learned that early. Death? That's why a man like you exists. To postpone it as long as possible.”

“Yes, death,” Savage said. “The enemy.”