The Janson Directive - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,241

Janson as they rode together in the back of the commandeered yellow cab. "He thinks it's a training exercise. But if she goes out, decides to head for one of their private planes in Teeterboro, we might lose her forever." She wore a cotton-knit shirt adorned with the logo of the phone company Verizon.

"Did you do the tenant search?"

"Did the whole enchilada," she said.

In fact, with a number of discreet telephone calls, she confirmed what observation had suggested, learning more than she needed to know. The inhabitants of the building included masters of finance capitalism, foundation directors, and old New York types who were better known for their philanthropy than for the origins of the wealth that made it possible. Flashier souls, eager to flaunt their newfound money, might opt for a penthouse in one of Donald Trump's palaces, where every surface gleamed or glittered. At 1060 Fifth Avenue, the elevators still retained the brass accordion doors originally installed in the 1910s, as well as the darkened fir-wood paneling. The building's co-op board rivaled the Myanmar junta in its inflexibility and authoritarianism; it could be counted upon to reject the applications of prospective residents who might turn out to be "flamboyant" - its favorite term of derogation. Ten sixty Fifth Avenue welcomed benefactors of the arts, but not artists. It welcomed patrons of the opera, but would never countenance an opera singer. Those who, in a civic-minded spirit, supported culture were honored; those who created culture were shunned.

"We've got one Agnes Cameron on the floor above her," Kincaid said. "Serves on the board of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, socially impeccable. I called the office of the director, pretending to be a journalist writing a profile of her. Said I was told she was in a meeting there, and I needed to double-check some of the quotes. A very snotty woman said, 'Well, that's impossible, Mrs. Cameron is in Paris at the moment.' "

"That the best candidate?"

"Seems to be, yeah. According to the phone company records, she had a high-speed DSL Internet connection installed last year."

She handed Janson a cotton-knit shirt emblazoned with the black and red Verizon logo, matching hers. "Turns out your friend Cornelius has a brother at Verizon," she explained. "Gets 'em wholesale. His-and-hers." Next came a leather instrument belt to cinch around his waist. A bright orange test phone was the bulkiest item. Rounding out the costume was a gray metal toolbox.

As they approached the doorman at the awning, Jessie Kincaid did the talking. "We've got a customer, I guess she's out of the country now, but her DSL line is on the fritz and she asked us to service it while she's gone." She flipped a laminated ID at him. "Customer name is Cameron."

"Agnes Cameron, on the eighth floor," the doorman told them, in what Janson recognized as an Albanian accent. His cheeks were lightly flecked with acne, and his visored hat sat high on his wavy brown hair. He went inside and consulted with the guard. "Repair guys from the phone company. Mrs. Cameron's apartment."

They followed him into the elegant lobby, which was trimmed with egg-and-dart molding and tiled with black and white marble in a harlequinade pattern.

"How can I help you?" The second doorman, a heavyset man also of Albanian origin, had been sitting on a round cushioned stool and talking to the guard. Now he sprang to his feet. He was evidently senior to the other doorman and wanted it to be clear that he would be making the decisions.

For a few moments, he silently scrutinized the two, frowning. Then he lifted an antique Bakelite internal phone and pressed a few digits.

Janson looked at Kincaid: Mrs. Cameron was supposed to be out of the country. She shrugged, in a tiny motion.

"Repairmen from Verizon," he said. "Verizon. To fix a phone line. Why? I don't know why."

He put his hand over the mouth of the phone and turned to the two visitors. "Mrs. Cameron's housekeeper says why don't you come back when Mrs. Cameron's in town. Be another week."

Jessie rolled her eyes theatrically.

"We're out of here," Paul Janson said, tight-lipped. "A favor: when you see Mrs. Cameron, tell her it'll be a few months before we'll be able to schedule another appointment to fix the DSL."

"A few months?"

"Four months is about what we're looking at," Janson replied with implacable professional calm. "Could be less, could be more. The backlog is incredible. We're trying to get to everybody as fast as we can. But