The Janson Directive - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,210

see that," she replied drily.

Derek Collins approached. His gait was labored; he was winded, and his sweaty face was coated with a layer of sand and silt that gave him a mummified look.

Janson turned around slowly and faced his adversary. "Your idea of fun?"

"What?"

"Were those two your henchmen as well? Or is this another one of those I-had-nothing-to-do-with-it moments?"

"Goddammit, I had nothing to do with it! How could you think otherwise! They almost killed me, for Christ's sake! Are you too blind and full of yourself to see the truth when it's in front of your face? They wanted both us of dead."

His voice rose with the unabated terror that his whole body exuded. He was probably speaking the truth, Janson decided. But if so, who was behind this latest attempt?

Something about Collins's manner bothered Janson: for all his candor, he was holding too much back. "Maybe so. But you seem to know who the attackers were."

Collins looked away.

"Goddammit, Collins. If you've got something to say, say it now!" Revulsion once more coursed through Janson as he regarded the frightened yet stony bureaucrat, the man with a calculator for a soul. He couldn't forget what he'd learned: that Collins was the one who stood by while the sanction order was processed, unconcerned about sacrificing a pawn for his great game. He wanted nothing to do with this man.

"You lose," Janson said quietly. "Once more. If you want me dead, you're going to have to try a little harder."

"I told you, Janson. That was then. This is now. The game plan has changed. That's why I told you about the program, goddammit - the biggest, most dangerous secret in the entire U.S. of A. And there's a lot more I'm not authorized to tell you myself."

"More of your bullshit," Janson snarled.

"No, it's true. I can't tell you what, but there's a lot you need to know. For Christ's sake, you've got to come with me to Washington, to meet with the Mobius team. We need you to get with the program, OK?" He placed a hand on Janson's arm. Janson knocked it off.

"You want me to 'get with the program'? Let me ask you a question first - and you'd better give me a straight answer, because I'll know if you're lying."

"I told you, I'm not authorized to reveal - "

"This isn't a big-picture question. It's a little-picture question, a detail. You told me about an ace surgical team that performed three procedures on three agents. I'm just wondering about the members of that surgical team. Where are they now?"

Collins blinked hard. "Damn you, Janson. You're asking a question you know the answer to."

"I just want to hear you say it."

"Security on this operation was mammoth. The number of people who were in the know could be counted on the fingers of two hands. Each and every one with clearance on the very highest level, proven reliability - intelligence professionals."

"But you needed to enlist the services of a top-caliber plastic surgeon. A team of outsiders, by necessity."

"Why are we even talking about this? You understand the logic perfectly well. You said it yourself: each one of them was necessary for the program's success. Each one, inherently, posed a security risk. That simply wasn't supportable."

"Ergo, the Mobius Program followed protocol. You planners had them killed. Every last one."

Collins was silent, bowing his head slightly.

Something burned within Janson, although Collins had done nothing more than confirm his suspicions. They had probably allowed themselves a twelve-month period for the mop-up. It would not have been difficult to manage. A car crash, an accidental drowning, perhaps a deadly collision on a double-diamond ski slope - top surgeons tended to be aggressive sportsmen. No, it would not have been difficult. The agents who arranged their deaths would have regarded each as a task accomplished, another check against a to-do list. The human reality - the bereavement of spouses, siblings, sons and daughters; the shattered families, shadowed childhoods, the knock-on effects of desolation and despair beyond consolation - that was not a reality to be considered, even acknowledged, by those who issued the deadly directives.

Janson's eyes drilled into Collins's. "Small sacrifices for the larger good, right? That's what I figured. No, Collins, I'm not going to get with the program. Not your program, anyway. You know something, Collins? You're not a songbird and you're not a hawk. You're a snake, and you always will be."

Janson looked out toward the water, saw Jessie Kincaid in the idling craft,