The Fifth Profession

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.”

“Like disinformation?”

“Like memory. But memory's a lie. Above all, Jesus, that's what I've learned. Now is what matters.”

The lantern flamed brighter. “Not love? Not the future?” Rachel asked.

“Don't I hope.”

“But not the past?”

“Akira would have hated the past,” Savage said. “The Tokugawa Shogunate. From everything I've learned, it was fascist. An oppressive system of control, shogun to daimyo to samurai to… Akira would have desperately craved the present.”

“And what do you crave?” Rachel asked.

“You.”

The lantern flared to its brightest. Sadly its flames diminished.

“In Greece, after we rescued you,” Savage said, “I asked Akira if we could be friends… But he refused.”

“Because of his background. He was conditioned. And you were…”

“A gaijin.”

“But you love him,” Rachel said.