The Janson Directive - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,222

few times before losing interest and, indeed, got into the vehicle only when Janson tossed the Raggedy Ann into his backseat. It was a tight fit for the enormous animal, but he did not complain.

"Thank you kindly," Janson said. "And, by the way, can you tell me where I can pick up a radar detector?"

"Now, you know those are illegal in the state of Virginia, don't you?" Sipperly said with mock severity.

Janson looked abashed.

"But if you're interested in a sweet deal on one of those babies, all I can say is, you asked the right guy." Sipperly had the grin of someone who knew it was his lucky day.

It was early evening before Janson returned to his motel room; and when he had finished assembling his equipment and loading it into a knapsack, the light had waned. By the time he set out, he and the dog had to walk by the moonglow. Sheer tension made the hike seem to go faster this time, despite the weight of the knapsack.

Just before Janson approached the final ridge, he removed the dog's collar, and scratched him affectionately about the head and neck. Then he scooped up a few handfuls of soil and smeared it around the dog's head and into his already muddy coat. The transformation was not subtle; the collarless dog now looked feral, a particularly large version of the mountain dogs that occasionally roamed the slopes. Next, Janson took the Raggedy Ann doll and flung it over the chain-link fence. As the dog ran after it, Janson stepped back into the dense stand of trees and watched what happened.

The huge dog lunged against the fence, fell back, and sprang forward again, crashing against the vibration sensors and the taut-wire system. They were designed to have a sensitivity threshold that would prevent them from being triggered by a gust of wind or a scampering squirrel; the banging of the enormous canine was far above that threshold. With an electronic chirp, both systems registered the presence of an intruder, and a row of blue diodes lit up, marking out the segment of the fence.

Janson heard the motorized pivot of a closed-circuit videocamera mounted on a high pole within the grounds; it was swiveling toward the disturbance. A cluster of lights mounted over the camera blinked on, directing a blindingly intense halogen blaze toward the section of the fence where Butch was launching his repeated assaults. Even sheltered by the trees, Janson found the light searingly bright, like multiple suns. Time from initial trigger to camera response: four seconds. Janson had to admire the efficiency of the intrusion-detection system.

Meanwhile, the bewildered canine leaped onto the fence, his front paws grabbing hold of the wire links: nothing mattered to him but his rag doll. As Janson's eyes adjusted, he could see the camera's lens elongate. It seemed that the camera was operated remotely from within one of the guard stations; having pinpointed the intruder, its operators could zoom in and make a determination.

That determination did not take long. The halogen light was switched off, the camera swiveled back to its center position, turned away from the fence and toward the gravel driveway, and the blue diodes of the section went black.

Janson heard the springy, clattering noise of the dog lunging once more against the chain-link fence: Butch making another go at it. Did he think he would retrieve the doll this way? Was he, in some canine fashion, trying to show the doll how much he cared? The brute's psychology was opaque; what mattered to Janson was that his behavior was predictable.

As was the behavior of those who operated the perimeter security systems. The great virtue of the multimillion-dollar system was that it obviated the need to send a guard out in a case like this. You could make a thorough inspection remotely. This time, as the dog sprang against the fence, no diodes illuminated. The segment was deactivated, the siege of false alarms forestalled. Janson knew what conclusions had been reached at the guard stations. No doubt the feral creature was chasing a squirrel or a groundhog; no doubt its enthusiasm would soon pass.

Now, as Butch crouched for another lunge at the chain-link fence, Janson threw his knapsack over it and started to run toward the barrier himself. When he was just a few yards away, he sprang up into the air, as the dog had. He caught the fence with the ball of his foot, flattening it against the vertical as far