David Morrell - The Fifth Profession

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.

Savage and Akira lunged after her. Any moment, their hunters would recover from the stunning barrage to their senses. They'd struggle to orient themselves, emerge from the smoke, see their quarry, and continue pursuing.

Rachel's pace faltered. Savage and Akira caught up to her. Charging lower, they passed tennis courts perched on the slope. Players had stopped their games, staring toward the smoke on the road above them. Several noticed Savage, Akira, and Rachel race past, then redirected their attention toward the smoke.

As the slope leveled off, the hotels seemed larger, taller. Savage paused with Akira and Rachel behind a maintenance building near palm trees and a swimming pool. No hunters scurried down the slope.

But Savage was dismayed to see the burly man, breathing heavily, stumble toward them.

“Jesus, I almost lost you. Thanks for waiting till I caught up.”

“We didn't wait so you could join us,” Akira said. “We're trying to decide what to do. But one choice is very clear.”

The man wiped his sweaty face. “Yeah? Quick, tell me. What is it?”

“We don't want you with us. Whichever way we go, you take the opposite direction.”

“Come on, quit joking. We're in this together.”

“No,” Akira said.

“The top of the slope,” Savage said.

Akira followed Savage's gaze toward the hunters scurrying downward.

“No, we're not in this together.” Akira grabbed the man's neck and pressed a finger behind his left ear.

In pain, the man sagged. He groaned and squirmed, struggling to release Akira's grip.

Akira pressed harder. “You will not follow us.”

The man's face turned pale from the power of Akira's grip. “Okay, I'm out of here.”

“Go.” Akira pushed him.

The man took a last frightened look at Akira and stumbled toward the opposite hotel.

In the distance, sirens wailed.

“And we'd better go,” Savage said. He pointed toward the hunters a quarter way down the slope, then grabbed Rachel's arm and ran with her.

“Where?” Rachel gasped.

They passed between two hotels and reached a noisy street that flanked the sea. Savage waved his arms toward a taxi. It pulled to a stop. They hurried inside.

Savage echoed Rachel's question. “Where? I worked in this area a year and a half ago. A man I met owes me a favor.”

He turned to the driver and gave him directions in French. “We're late for a party. I'll double your fare if you get us there in five minutes.”

“Bien entendu, monsieur.” As the driver sped toward Antibes, he pointed toward the smoke on the upper road. ‘ ‘Qu'est ce que c'est?”

“Un accident d’ automobile.”

“Sérieux?”

“Je pense.”

“Quel dommage.”

“Trop de gens ne regardent pas la route.”

“C'est vrai, monsieur. C'est vrai.” The driver turned from Savage, flinched, and jerked the steering wheel, avoiding a truck.

In the backseat, Savage stared behind him. The hunters had not yet rushed from between the hotels onto the palmlined street. When they finally did, they wouldn't be able to read the license plate on this taxi.

Antibes had a population of more than sixty thousand. Though October was past the height of the tourist season, there were still sufficient visitors to congest the narrow streets. When the taxi began to move with frustrating slowness, Savage told the driver to stop, paid him the promised bonus, and left with Rachel and Akira.

They disappeared into an alley above which laundry dangled from ropes. To his right, Savage heard waves crashing onto the beach. To his left, above the alley, he caught a glimpse of a centuries-old, towering château.

Rachel hurried past the alley's narrow walls made even more narrow by garbage. She frowned toward Savage. “But you gave the driver an address. If my husband's men question the driver, they'll know where we're going.”

“The address was fake,” Savage said.

“Standard practice,” Akira said.

They reached the end of the alley.

Rachel stopped and caught her breath. “So everything's a lie?”

“No,” Savage said. “Our promise to protect you isn't.”

“As long as I'm worth money.”

“I told you before, the money isn't important. You are.” Savage tugged her toward an opposite alley.

“Your husband has spies on your sister's island,” Akira said. “If we try to take you there, we'll face another trap, and then another. Eventually you'll be captured.”

“Which means it's hopeless,” Rachel said.

“No,” Savage said. “You've got to keep trusting me.”

They crossed a street, blended with the crowd, and entered another alley.

“A year and a half ago,” Savage said, “when I worked in this district, I needed special additions to a car. I found a man in Antibes who could do the job. But he didn't care how much I paid him. Money, he said, meant nothing if he couldn't buy what he wanted. He needed extra benefits. What kind? I asked. Guess what he wanted? He saw some movie posters my client had left in the car and took for granted I had something to do with the festival at Cannes. So he wanted to meet his greatest idol, Arnold Schwarzenegger. Yes, I said, that might be possible. But if it happens, you won't get to talk to him, except to shake his hand. Then one day I'll come back to you and ask a favor. Of course, he said. One favor deserves another. And it'll be worth it, he said.”

“So now you'll demand the favor,” Akira said.

“A car.”

“And then what?” Rachel asked.

“Force of circumstance,” Savage said. “We've got our ‘ nightmare, but you're our obligation. So it looks like you get your wish, what you tried to get me to agree to on the plane.”

“You're taking me with you?” Rachel breathed. “To New York?”