The Fifth Profession

by David Morrell

  “The truth? My father's dead! What other truth can there be?”

  “Plenty. Let me walk out of here, and you'll find out.”

  “Maybe I don't want to know. Maybe if I killed you right now …”

  Hailey shook his head. “You'd regret it forever. You'd always want to know the secret. And I'll be honest with you. The truth will tear you apart. But that's why you'll want to know.”

  Savage glared. “You …” In horror, he remembered the night he'd found his father's body, a towel placed beneath his father's head to minimize the spatter of blood and brains. “You have my word.”

  “Not just yours. I want this man's word.” Hailey pointed toward Taro. “He has no obligation to me. And after all, I'm a gaijin. I doubt he'd feel remorse or bound by your word if he killed me.”

  Savage slowly turned, directing his gaze toward the bald, wrinkled, stern-eyed Japanese. “Taro-sensei …” Struggling to choose the proper words, Savage bowed. “Taro-sensei, I ask a formal favor of you. Akira explained the significance of such a request. I'm willing to put myself in eternal debt to you. I accept the obligation of giri. I ask you … with respect, I beg you … to spare this man's life if he tells me what I need to know.”

  Taro squinted, assessing.

  “I ask you this,” Savage said, “in devotion to Akira's memory.”

  Taro squinted harder, staring from Savage to Hailey, then back again.

  “For Akira?” the old man asked. “Hai.” He bowed in grief.

  “All right, Hailey, it's a deal. You have our word,” Savage said.

  Hailey debated. “I've worked for the agency too long. I'm not used to acts of faith.”

  “Tell me!”

  “Okay, I'll trust you. Your father committed suicide. Yes. But not for the reasons you think. It had nothing to do with the Bay of Pigs.”

  “What?”

  “Your father, Savage, was in charge of the agency's attempts to assassinate Castro. He kept trying and trying. And every plan failed. But Castro found out what the agency was doing. He warned the United States to leave him alone. But your father, under orders, kept trying. So Castro decided enough was enough and arranged for President Kennedy to be shot in Dallas. Your father killed himself because of grief, because he was responsible for Kennedy's death.”

  “Oh, Jesus.” Savage's strength failed. He slumped, falling backward. Rachel supported him.

  “I told you you wouldn't like it,” Hailey said. “But that's the truth, and I expect you to fulfill your bargain.”

  “I promised.” Savage could barely speak. “You'll walk out of here.”

  “And that's the piece of your background that made you an ideal candidate for the assassin who'd fail to kill Shirai. Like father, like son. Shirai could not only implicate the United States in an attempt against him, but he could link that attempt all the way back to the Kennedy assassination and the U.S. attempts against Castro. Shirai would dredge up garbage from the past and convince his nation to call us a pack of killers. Oh, you were perfect, Savage, and all that needed to be done was erase crucial portions of your memory, so you didn't know you were CIA, and then implant a hideous nightmare that compelled you to track down Shirai.”

  “What about Akira?” Savage exhaled with grief. “How did he fit in?”

  “Shirai needed to compromise the Japanese establishment as much as he did America. So why not use a Japanese Intelligence operative who also had executive protection as a cover? If the two of you thought each other had died, and if you both discovered you were still alive, you'd each want to know what caused your nightmare. Certain choices were predictable—that you'd go to the Medford Gap Retreat and discover it didn't exist, that you'd go to the Harrisburg hospital and discover you'd never been there. Et cetera. Et cetera. But as soon as Shirai made his move and it was publicized, on television, in the newspapers, you'd recognize the principal you saw cut in half, and you'd run to him to find out what he knew about your nightmare.”

  “But some things weren't predictable,” Savage said. “My decision to go to Virginia, to talk to Mac.”

  “Exactly. After you were conditioned … it happened in Japan, by the way, at Shirai's estate … before the casts were put on your arms and legs, a location transmitter was inserted in a cap that was put on one of your teeth. That site was chosen because you and Akira, like many people, already had a dental cap. On an X ray, the replaced caps wouldn't attract attention. And because of those location transmitters, Shirai's men knew about—could follow you—everywhere. In case they had to nudge you in the right direction.

  “But seeing Mac in Virginia was not the right direction.”

  “Yes,” Hailey said. “Shirai's men feared Mac would tell you too much and erase your conditioning. They had to kill him.”

  “And try to grab Rachel because she was the reason Akira and I came together but after that she didn't belong in the plan.”

  “Unfortunately that's true.”

  “What about the man and woman I thought were my parents?”

  “The ones in Baltimore?” Hailey asked. “Window dressing. Further confusion. Shirai's intention, with prodding from the splinter group in the agency who used Shirai's lieutenant, was to so confuse you that when you saw Shirai on television or in the newspaper, you'd race to get in touch with him. Of course, the alternate plan would have been to abduct Akira and you, drug you, take you to Shirai's estate, and kill you while Shirai's men sacrificed their lives for their leader's ambitions. Mind you, that plan has the merit of simplicity.” Hailey shrugged. “But it wouldn't have been convincing— because you and Akira had to leave a trail. In Greece. In southern France. In America. Most of all, in Japan. You had to leave evidence—the stamps on fake passports you carried, not to mention the conversations you had with taxi drivers, hotel clerks, and immigration officials—that showed your determination to get to Shirai.”

  “And Graham's death?” Savage trembled.

  “The agency had nothing to do with that. After Graham arranged for both you and Akira to be on Papadropolis's estate, Shirai's men decided he was a liability. They killed him, attempting to make it appear a suicide.”

  “But Graham knew what he was doing when he sent Akira and me to Mykonos. His ultimate loyalty was to the agency. Not to us.”

  “Savage, you ask too many questions. Don't dig too deep. He was your friend. Yes. But he was also a professional. He obeyed his masters. Why else would he have traveled back and forth from Maryland to Massachusetts to nurse you and Akira back to health? He loved you, Savage. And he loved Akira. But he loved his profession—not protection, but espionage—more.”

  Nauseous, Savage leaned back against Rachel, welcoming her warmth. “You're right. I ask too many questions.” Despite his multiple painful injuries, he managed to straighten. “But I do have one more question.”

  “Ask it. You're entitled. We made a bargain. But after that, I'm out of here.”

  “Okay,” Savage said. He struggled to stand. Rachel—ever dependable Rachel—helped him. Wavering upright, with Rachel's arms around him. Savage glowered down at Hailey. “Okay, here's my question. At the Meiji Shrine, did you try to stop me or urge me forward?”

  “Hell, man, I wanted to stop you. The plan was out of control.”

  “And the van, was it yours?”

  “You said just one question.”

  “Damn it, answer me!”

  “Yes, it was ours.”

  “Who shot the driver?”

  “Shirai's men. The transmitter in the cap on your tooth. They were able to follow you. And they didn't want us stopping you!”

  “And what about … ?”

  “That's two more questions,” Hailey said. “Don't tell me you're breaking your bargain.”

  “I'm almost finished.” Savage's knees sank. Rachel held him up. “What about… ? Who invaded Akira's home and tried to kill us? Who ordered … ?”

  “Man, your guess is as good as mine.”

  “No,” Savage s
aid. “My guess is better. You did. You ordered the assassins to take us out! Because the plan was out of control! Because you'd discovered what the assholes in that splinter group were up to! And you felt it had to be stopped! So you made the choice to have us terminated! And when that didn't work, you followed us to the Meiji Shrine to try to kill us there! You're my enemy, the same as those jerks! The difference is, apparently I once trusted you! Apparently you were my friend!”

  “Hey, Savage, business and friendship … as much as I'd like it … sometimes …”

  Fury canceled weakness. Anger canceled pain. With every force he could muster, Savage used his good arm—and it felt so wonderful!—to punch Hailey squarely in the face.

  Teeth snapped. Hailey's nose crunched. Blood flew.

  Hailey lurched backward, groaning, sprawling.

  “I ought to …” Savage grabbed him, jerking him upward. “Kill you.”

  “Giri,” Hailey muttered through swollen lips and broken teeth. “You gave 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.

  “Yes.”

  “Should I be jealous?”

  “No,” Savage said. “Our love was different.”

  “Can I be a substitute?”

  “No.” Savage straightened. “You're unique. I'll always worship you.”

  “Always?”

  “I know what you want to say.”

  “Don't presume.” Rachel frowned.

  “ ‘Abraham believed by virtue of the absurd.’ ”

  Now Rachel smiled. “You did know.”

  “So what are we going to do?” Savage asked. “Hailey didn't admit it, but your husband was a part of this.”

  “What?” Rachel paled.

  “Yes,” Savage said. “Akira and I. Both sent to Mykonos. Both sent to meet each other during your rescue. Japan for Japan. That's fine. But Japan needs oil. And that means ships. And I think your hu
sband made a deal to guarantee those ships. That's why Akira and I were sent to Mykonos. Because your husband's estate was convenient, since he was involved in the conspiracy.”

  “So he beat me and raped me for political reasons?”

  “From everything I learned, I think he did it …”

  “Oh,” Rachel said. She clutched him.

  “Because he liked it. A bonus in the midst of business.”

  “So …”

  “I think …,” Savage said.

  “What?”

  “I might have to kill him. Otherwise,” Savage said, “he'll keep chasing us.”

  Rachel shook her head in fury.

  “What?” Savage asked.

  “No more killing. Too much! Too damned much!”

  “He's a very proud man.”

  “So are we proud,” Rachel said.

  “Then what's the answer?”

  “You mentioned a beach near Cancun.”

  “Where I'd like …”

  “To make love to me?”

  “In fact I'd like to do that right now.”

  “In spite of your grief?” she asked.

  “Because of it. In memory of … in celebration of … life. That's all we have. Not the past, not the future. My past, I discovered, was a lie. But I prefer the lie to the truth. And the future … ?”

  “Faith.”

  “And that's absurd.”

  “And don't I love it.”

  “And don't I love you,” Savage said.

  The lantern's flare sank, extinguished by water.

  “I'll remember you, Akira, your kami in the wind and the rain,” Savage said.

  They turned and saw Eko, who bowed.

  Savage and Rachel bowed as well.

  And turned toward the carefully raked and groomed sand of the Zen Buddhist garden, which Akira's father had spent years arranging, and which Akira had persisting in attempting to perfect after his father's death.

  Neither man had achieved his obsession.

  But as Savage scanned the meticulous design that he'd labored to recreate after the assassins had despoiled it, he grinned with melancholy, sensing that his eyes were as sad as Akira's.

  For Akira's ashes had been scattered.

  And raked among the sand.

  One with nature.

  “I know … I'm sure,” Savage said, “he's at peace.”