David Morrell - The Fifth Profession

“Almost perfect,” Savage said. “The bastards. I'll…”

“Make them pay?” Akira's sad eyes blazed. “That goes without saying.”

Savage raised Graham's arms while Akira lifted his legs. Rachel opened the living room door, turning from the cloud of exhaust spewing in while the two men carried the corpse to the garage.

They positioned the body behind the Cadillac's steering wheel. The poisonous fumes were still so dense that Savage held his breath while making sure that Graham slumped on the seat exactly as before. After all, as soon as Graham's blood had stopped circulating, gravity would have made the blood settle toward various pockets in his abdomen, hips, and legs, causing purplish-red discolorations in those areas. If the corpse had discolorations in higher areas, a coroner would know that the corpse had been moved.

The corpse had been moved, but Graham's body had not lain in the living room long enough for the blood to be redistributed and thus discolor the back. The coroner would not become suspicious.

Savage twisted the ignition key, hearing the Cadillac's engine rumble. He slammed the driver's door and ran with Akira into the living room.

The room was filled with haze. Savage coughed, hearing Rachel shut the door.

“The windows,” Akira said.

They hurried toward opposite ends of the room, pressed buttons that shut off intruder-detection alarms, raised panes, and gulped fresh air.

A cold wind billowed drapes, attacking the fumes. Gray wisps swirled toward the ceiling, dispersed, and flowed out the tops of the open windows.

In the wind's subtle hiss, Savage listened to the muffled drone of the Cadillac's engine. He turned toward the living room door, the garage beyond it. “I'm sorry, friend.”

“But was he a friend?” Akira asked. “A friend wouldn't have deceived us. Why did he do it? ”

Anger conflicted with grief and made Savage hoarse. “Let's find out.” He crossed the room and tugged at the bookshelves.

The wall swung outward, revealing further shelves. Metal containers. Graham's documents.

Savage and Akira sorted urgently through them.

Rachel stood in the background. “You said you didn't think the coroner was supposed to know about you. What did you mean?”

“Too coincidental. Graham's murder. Our coming here to question him. They're related.” Savage scanned pages.

“You can't prove that.”

“Yes,” Akira said, “we can.” He sorted through another box of files. “Graham keeps these documents for one reason only-to explain his income to the IRS. If it weren't for taxes, his passion for secrecy would never have allowed him to keep business records. Of course, he took the precaution of using pseudonyms for his operatives and his clients, so an enemy wouldn't learn anything vital if he found these files. The code for the pseudonyms is in a safe-deposit box. The arrangement with the bank is that both Graham and his lawyer have to be present to open it, so we know the code is secure. But Savage and I don't need the code to tell us which pseudonyms Graham used for us. We chose our pseudonyms ourselves. In fact, the names by which you know us are our pseudonyms.”

They searched through other boxes.

“What are you looking for?” Rachel asked.

“Graham kept two sets of documents, cross-referenced, one for his operatives and the jobs they did, the other for the clients who commissioned the jobs. Did you find them?”

Akira checked the final box. “No.”

“I didn't either.”

“Find what? ” Rachel asked.

“Our files,” Savage said. “They're gone.”

“We don't know the pseudonym Graham gave Kamichi, or the ones he gave your sister and your husband,” Akira said. “But since our files aren't here, I assume the others are gone as well. That's the proof I referred to. Whoever killed Graham must have taken the files. The coroner isn't supposed to be aware of us, not even of our pseudonyms. Graham was killed to keep him from telling us why we saw each other die.”

“And here's the suicide note Akira predicted we'd find. Typed, of course. Because Graham didn't compose it.”

“Left by his killers. All right,” Rachel said. “I'm convinced. But how could they be sure the police would look behind these bookshelves?”

“The shelves weren't closed completely.”

“We'd better get out,” Akira said. “The neighbor on the other side of Graham's garage might wonder about the faint rumble he hears through the wall and call the police.”

They replaced the files and arranged the metal containers in their original positions.

Savage shut the bookshelves, leaving a slight gap just as Graham's killers had done.

Akira turned on the radio. Guitars throbbed and wailed.

“The room's aired out. I don't smell exhaust fumes.” Rachel closed the windows.

Savage glanced around. “Is everything the way we found it? We all wore gloves. There'll be no fingerprints. Okay.”

Akira went outside, checked the lane, and motioned for Rachel to follow.

Savage activated the intrusion alarm in the closet, shut the closet's door, stepped outside, shut the front door, and waited for Akira to use his lockpicks to secure the two dead-bolt locks on the entrance.

Savage held Rachel's arm as they walked along the lane.

She trembled. “Don't forget to lock the gate behind us.”

“Don't worry. We wouldn't have. But thanks for reminding us,” Akira said. “I'm impressed. You're learning, Rachel.”

“The way this is going, when it's finally over-assuming it ever is-I've got a terrible feeling I'll be an expert.”

In the night, they walked down Fifth Avenue, passing streetlights, approaching the shadows of Washington Square. The cold, damp wind continued gusting and again brought tears to Savage's eyes. “Would the killers have left the area?”

“I assume so. Their work was completed,” Akira said.

“But was it completed? If the point was to silence Graham, they must have guessed we'd be coming here.”

“How would they know about us?”

“The only explanation I can think of…”

“Say it.”

“… is that Graham worked with and possibly for the men who killed him,” Savage said.

“ But why would he have helped them in the first place? He didn't need money. He valued loyalty. Why did he turn against us?”

“Hey,” Rachel said. “Let me understand this. You're saying we're being watched by Graham's killers?” She stared behind her. “And they'll try to kill us as well?”

“They'll follow us,” Akira said. “But try to kill us? I don't think so. Someone went to a lot of trouble to convince Savage and me that we saw each other die. Why, I don't know. But we're very important to somebody. Whoever it is will want to protect his investment.”

Savage hailed an approaching taxi. They scrambled inside.

“ Times Square,” Savage said.

For the next hour, they shifted from taxi to taxi, switched to a subway, went back to a taxi, and ended with a stroll through Central Park.

Rachel was surprised to see so many joggers. “I thought the park wasn't safe at night.”

“They run in groups. The junkies don't bother them.”

She looked doubly surprised when she noticed that Akira wasn't next to her. “Where…?”

“Among the trees, above the rocks, going back the way we came. If we're being followed, he'll deal with them.”

“But he didn't explain what he was doing.”

“He didn't have to,” Savage said.

“The two of you read each other's mind?”

“We know what needs to be done.”