The Fifth Profession

memory, avoiding her question. “You told your driver ‘an hour.’ It's just about time. Let's go,” he said. “And when we get back to the car, tell him to take an indirect route to your hotel.”

6

Adhering to his own advice, Savage used an indirect route to return to the Acropolis, or rather to an area immediately north of it-to the Plaka, the principal tourist shopping district in Athens. He entered narrow, crowded streets lined with myriad markets and shops. Despite the renewed bitter smog, he detected the aroma of smoking shish kebob, which soon gave way to the fragrance of freshly cut flowers. Loud vendors gesticulated toward handcrafted carpets, leather goods, pottery, copper urns, and silver bracelets. He reached a labyrinth of alleys, paused in an alcove, satisfied himself that he wasn't under surveillance, and proceeded past a tavern to a neighboring shop that sold wineskins.

Inside, the wineskins hung in bunches from hooks on rafters, their leather smell strong but pleasant. Savage bowed to pass beneath them, approaching an overweight woman behind a counter.

His knowledge of Greek was limited. He spoke in memorized phrases. “I need a special product. A wineskin of a different type. If your esteemed employer could spare a few moments to see me…”

“Your name?” the woman asked.

“Please tell him it's the opposite of gentle.”

She nodded respectfully and turned to proceed up a stairway. Seconds later, she came back, gesturing for him to ascend.

Passing an alcove from which a beard-stubbled man with a shotgun studied him, Savage climbed the stairs. At the top, a door was open. Through it, Savage saw a room-bare except for a desk, behind which a muscular man in a black suit poured a clear liqueur into a glass.

When Savage entered, the man peered up in surprise, as if he hadn't been notified he had a visitor. “Can it be a ghost?” Though Greek, the man spoke English.

Savage grinned. “I admit I've been a stranger.”

“An ungrateful wretch, who hasn't seen fit to keep in touch and maintain our friendship.”

“Business kept me away.”

“This so-called business must have been truly mythic.”

“It had importance. But now I make up for my absence.” Savage set the Greek equivalent of ten thousand U.S. dollars onto the desk. Spreading the bills, he covered the pattern of circular stains made by the glass refilled compulsively each day with ouzo. A licorice scent-the aniseed in the ouzo- filled the room.

The middle-aged Greek noticed Savage's glance toward the liqueur. “May I tempt you?”

“As you know, I seldom drink.”

“A character flaw for which I forgive you.”

The Greek swelled his chest and chuckled deeply. He showed no sign of his alcoholism. Indeed the ouzo, like formaldehyde, seemed to have preserved his body. Clean-shaven, with glinting, superbly cut black hair, he sipped from his glass, set it down, and studied the money. His swarthy skin exuded health.

Nonetheless he looked troubled as he counted the money. “Too generous, Excessive, You worry me.”

“I've also arranged for a gift. Within an hour, if you agree to supply the information I need, a messenger will deliver a case of the finest ouzo.”

“Truly the finest? You know my preference.”

“I do indeed. But I've taken the liberty of choosing a rarer variety.”

“How rare?”

Savage gave a name.

“Extremely generous.”

“A tribute to your talent,” Savage said.

“As you say in your country”-the man sipped from his glass-”you're an officer and a gentleman.”

“Ex-officer,” Savage corrected him. He wouldn't have volunteered this personal detail if the Greek hadn't known it already. “And you are a trusted informant. How long has it been since I first negotiated for your services?”

The Greek concentrated. “Six years of delight. My former wives and many children thank you for your frequent patronage.”

“And they'll thank me even more when I triple the money I placed on your desk.”

“I knew it. I sensed. When I woke up this morning, I announced to myself that today would be a special occasion.”

“But not without risks.”

The Greek set down his glass. “Every day brings a risk.”

“Are you ready for the challenge?”

“As soon as I fortify myself.” The Greek downed the rest of his glass.

“A name,” Savage said.

“As the greatest English bard said, what's in-“

“A name? I don't think you'll like it.” Savage pulled a bottle of the best-of-the-best, hard-to-find ouzo from beneath the back of his jacket.

The Greek grinned. “That name I like. And the other?”

“Stavros Papadropolis.”

The Greek slammed down his glass. “Holy mother of fuck.” He swiftly poured more ouzo and gulped it. “What lunacy prompts you to risk investigating him?”

Savage glanced around the almost bare room. “I assume you've been cautious as usual. Your vice hasn't made you neglect your daily cleaning chores, I hope.”

The Greek looked hurt. “The day you see furniture in this room, apart from my chair and desk, you'll know I'm unworthy of trust.”

Savage nodded. Not only did the Greek keep his furniture to a minimum. As well, the floor had no rug. There weren't any pictures on the walls. There wasn't even a telephone. The room's austerity made it difficult for someone to conceal a microphone. Nonetheless, each morning, the Greek used two different types of sophisticated electronic scanning devices. With one, he checked every inch of the room for radio signals and microwaves to determine if a “bug” was transmitting sounds from the room. However, that type of scanning device could detect only an active, permanently broadcasting microphone.

To discover a passive microphone-which stayed dormant if there weren't any sounds in the room, or which could be turned off by remote control if an eavesdropper suspected a sweep was occurring-the second scanner had to be used. It was called a nonlinear junction detector. Through an attachment that resembled the head of a portable vacuum cleaner, it beamed microwaves that located the diodes in the circuits of hidden tape recorders and transmitters. Though this second device required more time to be employed effectively, the Greek always activated it, even on those rare occasions when the first device revealed a microphone-because a skillful eavesdropper always left both active and passive monitors, in case a less skillful searcher would feel that his efforts had been successful and stop if he found only an active microphone.

With his customary humor, the Greek referred to this daily thorough search for bugs as “fumigating.”

“Forgive my inquiry,” Savage said. “I meant to be careful, not rude.”

“If you hadn't asked, I'd have wondered if you were worthy of trust.”

“You're understanding as always.”

The Greek sipped his drink and gestured agreeably. “An obligation of friendship.” He pressed his palms on his desk.

“But you still haven't answered my question. Papadropolis?’

“I'm interested in his domestic arrangements.”

“Not his business affairs? Thank Zeus, you had me worried. The wretch has two hundred ships. They earn a modest profit from transporting grain, machinery, and oil. But he accumulated his fortune from smuggling weapons and drugs. Anyone who inquires about his lucrative contraband becomes fish food in the Aegean.”