The Fifth Profession by David Morrell Page B

family name first, their given name last. The formal term of respect—
san
instead of “mister” —applied not to the family name but to the given name and came after the given name. Thus the principal would be addressed as Kamichi-san.
    “He arrives in New York tomorrow,” Graham had added, “after going through Immigration and Customs in Dallas.”
    “The purpose of his visit?” Graham had shrugged.
    “Come on. Is he a businessman? A politician? What?” Graham shook his head.
“Ura.
Those private thoughts you so rightly noted the Japanese cherish. The principal prefers to keep his intentions to himself.”
    Savage breathed out sharply. “That's exactly why I'm reluctant to take the job. If I don't know at least the general reason for his visit, how am I supposed to assess the risks he might face? A politician has to fear assassination, but a businessman's biggest worry is being kidnapped. Each risk requires a different defense.”
    “Of course. But I've been assured that the threat potential is extremely low,” Graham said. “The principal is bringing his own security.
One
escort. Clearly if he were worried, he'd bring others. What he wants you to do is be his driver and stand in for his escort when the escort's sleeping. A simple assignment. Five days’ work. Ten thousand dollars in addition to my agent's fee.”
    “For a driver? He's overpaying.”
    “He insists on the best.”
    “The escort?”
    “His name is Akira.”
    “Only one word?”
    “He follows the practice I recommended to you and uses a pseudonym, so an enemy can't trace his public name to his private identity.”
    “That's fine. But is he effective?”
    “From all reports, extremely. Equivalent to you. Language won't be a problem, by the way. Both of them speak English fluently.”
    Savage was only partially reassured. “Is it too much to hope that the principal's willing to confide in me enough to tell me beforehand
where
I'll be driving?”
    “He's not unreasonable. And indeed you will be driving some distance.” Graham looked amused. “He's authorized me to give you this sealed envelope of instructions.”
    5
    The DC-10 reached the concourse. Its engines stopped shrieking. Friends and relatives hurried toward the arrival door, eager to meet their loved ones.
    Savage assessed and dismissed them, studying observers on the sidelines.
    Still no sign of a threat.
    He moved toward the fringe of the waiting crowd. As usual, it took a frustrating minute for the docking to be completed. At once the empty ramp was filled with surging passengers.
    Exuberant hugs of reunion. Kisses of affection.
    Savage once again studied his surroundings. Everything seemed normal. He directed his attention toward the exit ramp.
    Now came the test. His principal and his escort had flown first class. The extra fare meant not only bigger seats, anxious-to-please attendants, better meals, and unlimited free cocktails (which the escort should decline), but the privilege of entering and leaving the jet before the standard-fare customers.
    Early boarding was a plus. Getting quickly through a possible danger in the crowd. But exiting early,
facing
a crowd and its unstudied risks, was a liability. A professional escort would insist that his principal wait until most passengers left the plane.
    Avoid commotion. Maintain maximum order.
    So Savage felt encouraged when he saw no Orientals among the Rolex-and-gold-bracelet, dressed-to-impress, first-class travelers, who marched past the crowd, their power briefcases clutched severely, their chins thrust high. Many wore expensive cowboy boots and Stetsons, to be expected since this DC-10 came from Dallas where an earlier 747 from Japan had landed. Evidently the Japanese passengers on the trans-Pacific 747 had either stayed in Dallas or taken connecting flights to cities other than New York.
    Savage waited.
    More Caucasians. More exuberant reunions.
    The surge of passengers became a trickle.
    An American Airlines