The Janson Directive - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,179

sun. A few fissures ran from the foundation halfway up the side of the front wall. Shutters were encrusted with peeling paint. It was hard to believe that anyone lived here. Janson recalled the old man's amused look, the laughter in his eyes, and wondered whether he had played some Magyar prank on them.

"I think that's what you call a fixer-upper," Jessie said.

They pulled the Lancia off to the side of the road - a road that was hardly deserving of the name, for its pavement was crumbled and pitted by neglect. Proceeding on foot, they made their way down what had once been a cow path, now almost impassable with overgrown brambles. The house was nearly a mile down the slope, the very picture of neglect.

As they approached the entrance, though, Janson heard a noise. An eerie, low rumble. After a moment, he recognized it as the growl of a dog. And then they heard a throaty bark.

Through narrow slot glass set into the door, he saw the white figure springing impatiently. It was a Kuvasz, an ancient Hungarian breed, used as a guard dog for more than a millennium. The breed was little known in the West, but it was all too well known to Janson, who years ago had had an encounter with one. Like other canines bred to be guard dogs - mastiffs, pit bulls, Alsatians, Dobermans - they were fiercely protective of their masters and aggressive toward strangers. A fifteenth-century Magyar king was said to trust only his Kuvasz dogs, not people. The breed had a noble build, with its protruding forechest, powerful musculature, long muzzle, and thick white coat. But Janson had seen such white fur stained with human blood. He knew what a slathering Kuvasz was capable of when roused to action. The incisors were sharp, the jaws powerful, and its light-footed stance could instantly become a pounce that seemed to turn the animal into nothing but muscle and teeth.

Gitta Bekesi's animal was not the giant creature spoken of in ancient times; it was three feet tall and 120 pounds, Janson estimated. At the moment, it seemed to be pure hostile energy. Few creatures were as deadly as an enraged Kuvasz.

"Mrs. Bekesi?" Janson called out.

"Go away!" a quavering voice replied.

"That's a Kuvasz, isn't it?" Janson said. "What a handsome animal! There's nothing like them, is there?"

"That handsome animal would like nothing so much as to clamp its jaws around your throat," the old woman said, her voice gaining resolve. It floated through the open window; she herself remained in the shadows.

"It's just that we've traveled a long, long way," Jessie said. "From America? You see, my grandfather, he came from this village called Molnar. People say you're the one person who might be able to tell us something about the place."

There was a long pause, silent save for the rasping growl of the enraged guard dog.

Jessie looked at Janson and whispered. "That dog's really got you spooked, hasn't it?"

"Ask me sometime about Ankara, 1978," Janson replied quietly.

"I know about Ankara."

"Trust me," Janson said. "You don't."

Finally, the woman broke her silence. "Your grandfather," she said. "What was his name?"

"Kis is what the family was called," she said, repeating the deliberately generic name. "But I'm more interested in getting a feel for the place, the world he grew up in. Not necessarily him in particular. Really, I just want something to remember ... "

"You lie," she said. "You lie!" Her voice was a wail. "Strangers come with lies. You should be ashamed of yourself. Now go! Go, or I will give you something to remember." They heard the distinctive sound of a shotgun cartridge being chambered.

"Oh shit," Jessie whispered. "What now?"

Janson shrugged. "When all else fails? The truth."

"Hey, lady," Jessie said. "You ever hear of a Count Janos Ferenczi-Novak?"

A long silence ensued. In a voice like sandpaper, the woman demanded, "Who are you?"

Ahmad Tabari was impressed by the rapidity with which the intelligence chief worked. It was now their third meeting, and already Al-Mustashar had started to work his magic.

"We work in phases," the Libyan told him, his eyes bright. "A shipment of small arms is even now on its way toward your men at Nepura." He referred to the port in the northwesternmost point of Kenna. "These arrangements were not easy to broker. I assume that there will be no difficulties with interception. The Anuran gunboats have created some difficulty for your people, have they not?"

The Kagama warrior was cautious in his reply. "One