The Janson Directive - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,259

handed an envelope to the man who could have been his mirror image.

A subtle nod: "Thank you, Laszlo," said the man who had been waiting for them. "You may go now."

The impostor by Zinsou's side turned and left without so much as a word.

"Mon cher Mathieu," said the man who stayed behind. He held out a hand. "Mon tr猫s cher fr猫re."
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Janson heard Zinsou's voice distinctly in his earpiece: "My God." At the same time, he saw the Peter Novak who was not Peter Novak press the down elevator button.

He was leaving.

In Janson's earpiece, another man's voice: "I must apologize for the confusion."

Janson raced to the elevator and stepped in. The man who was not Peter Novak wore an expression that was startled - but devoid of recognition.

"Who are you really?" Janson demanded.

The suited Iran's response was glacial and dignified: "Have we met?"

"I simply don't understand," said the secretary-general.

The other man was magnetic, utterly confident, utterly relaxed. "You'll have to forgive me for taking very special precautions. That was my double, as you've no doubt figured out by now."

"You sent a double in your place?"

"You're familiar with the role played by the 'morning Stalin,' are you not? The Soviet dictator would send a look-alike to make certain public appearances - it kept his enemies on their toes. I'm afraid that there had been rumors of an assassination attempt in the General Assembly. Credible reports from my security staff. I couldn't risk it."

"I see," Zinsou said. "But you know, of course, that the Russian prime minister, the premier of China, many others, also have enemies. And they've addressed the General Assembly. The U.S. president himself has honored us with his presence today. This institution has an unbroken record of security, at least on this small plot of land here on the East River."

"I appreciate that, mon cher. But my enemies are of a different order. The heads of state you mention could, at least, assume that the secretary-general was not himself conspiring against them. It hasn't escaped me that the first person who occupied your office and position was a man named Lie."

Zinsou's veins were chilled. After an excruciating moment of silence, he said simply, "I'm sorry you think that."

Peter Novak patted Zinsou's shoulder and smiled ingratiatingly. "You mistake my meaning. I don't think it anymore. It's just that I had to be sure."

Beads of sweat had broken out on the secretary-general's forehead. None of this was anticipated. None of this was according to plan. "Can I get us some coffee?" he said.

"No, thank you."

"Well, I think I'll have some," Zinsou said, reaching over to the phone console on his desk.

"I wish you wouldn't."

"Very well." Zinsou maintained eye contact. "Tea, perhaps? Why don't I just call Helga and tell her to - "

"You know, I'd rather you not make any phone calls, either. No need to clear your schedule or consult with anyone. You may think me paranoid, but we don't have much time. In just a few minutes, I shall be leaving from the rooftop helipad: all arrangements have been made."

"I see," said Zinsou, who didn't.

"So let's get our business done," said the elegant man with the glossy black hair. "Here are instructions for getting in touch with me." He handed the secretary-general a white card. "It's a number you can call to get a return phone call within the hour. As our plans develop, we'll need to be in regular touch. Your Swiss bank account has, you'll find, already been enhanced - simply an advance on a package of benefits that we can finalize at a later point. And there will be regular monthly payments, which will continue as long as our partnership remains on a solid footing."

Zinsou swallowed. "Very thoughtful."

"Simply to put your mind at rest, because it will be very important that you're able to focus on what truly matters, and not make any errors of judgment."

"I understand,"

"It's important that you do. In your speeches as secretary-general, you've often maintained that there's a thin line between civilization'and savagery. Let's not put that proposition to the test."

Janson kept a foot in the elevator door, triggering the electric eye and preventing the elevator from moving. "Give me the envelope," he said.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man said; his Hungarian accent did not slip. If the words were defiant, however, the tone was apprehensive.

Janson formed his right hand into a spear and delivered a crushing punch to the man's throat. As the man fell to the floor