Marta spoke the word with obvious distaste. "America's Saudi allies, for example, have been quiet supporters of the KLF over the years. They're not particularly enthusiastic about their approach, but if they don't support oppressed Muslims in that Muslim lake called the Indian Ocean, they lose face with the rest of the Islamic world. And then there's the matter of Donna Hedderman."
Janson nodded. "A Columbia grad student in anthropology. Doing fieldwork in northeast Anura. Which was both foolish and brave. Captured by the Kagama rebels, who accused her of being a CIA agent. Which was both foolish and evil."
"She's been held by them for two months, incommunicado. Lip service aside, the United States hasn't done a damn thing. Didn't want to 'complicate an already complicated situation.' "
"I'm getting the picture. If the United States refuses to intervene on behalf of an American national - "
" - how will it look if it turns around and sends a rescue team for the Hungarian billionaire? Yes. They didn't put it so bluntly, but that's the point they made. The phrase 'politically untenable' got a real workout."
"And then you made all the obvious counterarguments ... "
"And some not-so-obvious ones. We pulled out all the stops. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I have to say that we usually get our way. Not this time. Then the other shoe dropped."
"Let me guess. You had what they call the 'terribly quiet chat,' " Janson said. "And my name came up."
"Repeatedly. Several highly placed officials in State and Central Intelligence all strongly recommended you. You're not part of the government anymore. You're a free agent with international connections to others in your line of work, or what used to be your line of work. According to your former colleagues at Consular Operations, Paul Janson is 'the best there is at what he does.' I believe those were the exact words."
"The present tense is misleading. They told you I retired. I wonder whether they told you why."
"The point is, you're a free agent now," she said. "You parted ways with Consular Operations five years ago."
Janson tilted his head. "With the awkwardness of saying good-bye to somebody on the street and then discovering you're walking in the same direction."
Disengaging from Consular Operations had involved more than a dozen exit interviews, some decorous, some frankly uncomfortable, and some outright stormy. The one he remembered best was with Undersecretary Derek Collins. On paper, he was the director of the State Department's Bureau of Intelligence and Research; in reality, he was the director of its covert branch, Consular Operations. Even now, he could see Collins wearily removing his black-framed glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose. "I think I pity you, Janson," Collins had said. "Never thought I'd hear myself say it. You were 'the machine,' Janson. You were the guy with a slab of granite where your heart's supposed to be. Now you say you're repulsed by the thing you're best at. What goddamn sense does that make? You're like a master pastry chef announcing he's lost his sweet tooth. You're a pianist who's decided he can't stand the sound of music. Janson, violence is something you're very, very, very good at. Now you're telling me you've lost the stomach for it."
"I don't expect you to understand, Collins," he had replied. "Let's just say I've had a change of heart."
"You don't have a heart, Janson." The undersecretary's eyes were like ice. "It's why you do what you do. Goddammit, it's why you are who you are."
"Maybe. And maybe I'm not who you think I am."
A short, bark-like laugh. "I can't climb a hawser, Janson. I can't pilot a blessed PBR, and looking through an infrared scope makes me seasick. But I know people, Janson. That's what I do. You tell me you're sickened by the killing. I'm going to tell you what you'll discover one day for yourself: that's the only way you'll ever feel alive."
Janson shook his head. The implication made him shudder and reminded him why he had to leave, why he should have done so long before. "What kind of man - " he started, and then halted, overcome with revulsion. He took a deep breath. "What kind of man has to kill to feel alive?"
Collins's gaze seemed to burrow through his flesh. "I guess I'd ask you the same thing, Janson."
Now, in Novak's private jet, Janson pressed the point. "How much do you know about me?"
"Yes, Mr. Janson, as you supposed, your former employers explained