Read Online The Fifth Profession by David Morrell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Morrell
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objective.
But he had to assume that his pursuers understood where he was going.
They'll try to get in front of us.
He prayed that the guards were as baffled by the maze as
he
was. Amid the curses behind him and the blaze of flashlights on his flanks, he heard a single set of pursuing footsteps.
The Japanese.
As if a nightmare had been dispelled, Savage broke from the village, from its confines and confusion. His way now was clear, across the beach, along the dock. No enemy awaited him. Beside him, Rachel breathed hoarsely, stumbling, on the verge of exhaustion.
“Keep trying,” Savage urged. “It's almost over.”
“God, I hope,” she gasped.
“For what this is worth”—Savage breathed—“I'm proud of you. You did fine.”
His compliment wasn't cynical. She'd obeyed him with Style and strength. But his encouragement—no doubt the only positive words she'd been told in quite a while—did the trick. She mustered her deepest resources and ran so hard she almost passed him.
“I meant what I said,” she gasped. “I'll go with you to hell.”
16
The yacht, one of several, was moored near the end of the dock. Savage's final option. If the boats in various coves had been discovered, if the fishing trawler had been forced to retreat due to hazardous, weather, if the helicopter couldn't take off from nearby Delos and pick them up at the rendezvous site, the last possibility was a yacht that a member of his team had left in the Mykonos harbor.
Savage sprang aboard, released the ropes that secured it to posts, raised the hatch above the engine, and grabbed the ignition key taped beneath the deck. He slid the key into the switch on the vessel's controls, swelled with triumph when the engine rumbled, pushed the accelerator, and felt a satisfying surge as the yacht sped away from the dock.
“Thank you!” Rachel hugged him.
“Get down on the deck!”
She instantly complied.
As the yacht churned away from the dock, raising waves dwarfed by the greater waves of the storm, Savage scowled behind him. The force of the sea made the yacht thrust up and down, but despite his confused perspective, Savage saw a man rush along the dock.
The Japanese. Beneath a light at the end of the dock, his features remained as melancholy as Akira's.
He showed other emotions as well. Confusion. Desperation.
Anger.
Most of all, fear.
That didn't make sense. But there wasn't any doubt. The Oriental's strongest emotion was fear.
“Savage?”
The voice was strained, obscured by the gusting storm.
“Akira?”
Savage's yell broke, strangled by waves that splashed his face, filling his mouth, making him cough.
On the dock, other guards rushed beside the Japanese. They aimed pistols toward the yacht but didn't dare fire, aware of the risk of hitting their client's wife. Their faces were rainswept portraits of desperation.
The Japanese shouted, “But I saw you … !”
The storm erased his next frantic words.
“Saw me?” Savage yelled. “I saw
you!”
Savage couldn't allow himself to be distracted. He had to complete his mission and urged the yacht from the harbor.
“… die!” the Japanese screamed.
Rachel peered up from the deck. “You know that man?”
Savage's hands cramped around the yacht's controls. His pounding heart made him sick.
He felt dizzy. In the village, he'd predicted that the Japanese would leap down from the wall like a cat.
Yes. Like a cat,
Savage thought. With less than nine lives.
“Know him?” he told Rachel as the yacht fought stormy waves to escape the harbor. “God help me, yes.”
“The wind! I can't hear you!”
“I saw him die six months ago!”
EXECUTIVE PROTECTION
1
Six months ago, Savage had been working in the Bahamas, an uneventful babysitting job that involved making sure the nine-year-old son of a U.S. cosmetics manufacturer didn't get kidnapped while the family was on vacation. Savage's research had made him conclude that, since the family had never been threatened,
But he had to assume that his pursuers understood where he was going.
They'll try to get in front of us.
He prayed that the guards were as baffled by the maze as
he
was. Amid the curses behind him and the blaze of flashlights on his flanks, he heard a single set of pursuing footsteps.
The Japanese.
As if a nightmare had been dispelled, Savage broke from the village, from its confines and confusion. His way now was clear, across the beach, along the dock. No enemy awaited him. Beside him, Rachel breathed hoarsely, stumbling, on the verge of exhaustion.
“Keep trying,” Savage urged. “It's almost over.”
“God, I hope,” she gasped.
“For what this is worth”—Savage breathed—“I'm proud of you. You did fine.”
His compliment wasn't cynical. She'd obeyed him with Style and strength. But his encouragement—no doubt the only positive words she'd been told in quite a while—did the trick. She mustered her deepest resources and ran so hard she almost passed him.
“I meant what I said,” she gasped. “I'll go with you to hell.”
16
The yacht, one of several, was moored near the end of the dock. Savage's final option. If the boats in various coves had been discovered, if the fishing trawler had been forced to retreat due to hazardous, weather, if the helicopter couldn't take off from nearby Delos and pick them up at the rendezvous site, the last possibility was a yacht that a member of his team had left in the Mykonos harbor.
Savage sprang aboard, released the ropes that secured it to posts, raised the hatch above the engine, and grabbed the ignition key taped beneath the deck. He slid the key into the switch on the vessel's controls, swelled with triumph when the engine rumbled, pushed the accelerator, and felt a satisfying surge as the yacht sped away from the dock.
“Thank you!” Rachel hugged him.
“Get down on the deck!”
She instantly complied.
As the yacht churned away from the dock, raising waves dwarfed by the greater waves of the storm, Savage scowled behind him. The force of the sea made the yacht thrust up and down, but despite his confused perspective, Savage saw a man rush along the dock.
The Japanese. Beneath a light at the end of the dock, his features remained as melancholy as Akira's.
He showed other emotions as well. Confusion. Desperation.
Anger.
Most of all, fear.
That didn't make sense. But there wasn't any doubt. The Oriental's strongest emotion was fear.
“Savage?”
The voice was strained, obscured by the gusting storm.
“Akira?”
Savage's yell broke, strangled by waves that splashed his face, filling his mouth, making him cough.
On the dock, other guards rushed beside the Japanese. They aimed pistols toward the yacht but didn't dare fire, aware of the risk of hitting their client's wife. Their faces were rainswept portraits of desperation.
The Japanese shouted, “But I saw you … !”
The storm erased his next frantic words.
“Saw me?” Savage yelled. “I saw
you!”
Savage couldn't allow himself to be distracted. He had to complete his mission and urged the yacht from the harbor.
“… die!” the Japanese screamed.
Rachel peered up from the deck. “You know that man?”
Savage's hands cramped around the yacht's controls. His pounding heart made him sick.
He felt dizzy. In the village, he'd predicted that the Japanese would leap down from the wall like a cat.
Yes. Like a cat,
Savage thought. With less than nine lives.
“Know him?” he told Rachel as the yacht fought stormy waves to escape the harbor. “God help me, yes.”
“The wind! I can't hear you!”
“I saw him die six months ago!”
EXECUTIVE PROTECTION
1
Six months ago, Savage had been working in the Bahamas, an uneventful babysitting job that involved making sure the nine-year-old son of a U.S. cosmetics manufacturer didn't get kidnapped while the family was on vacation. Savage's research had made him conclude that, since the family had never been threatened,
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