The Janson Directive - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,261

Paul. Think of the world you live in. Face it, you can't stand them any more than I can - the mediocrities, the complacent bureaucrats, the shambling paper pushers who never miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity. Mediocrities whom we have permitted to run the world. Do you honestly doubt your own ability to run things better than they do, to make better decisions than they do? You love your country? So did I, Paul. You had to be made to see what I was made to see. Just think, Paul. You sacrificed most of your years on this earth to serve a government that took about five seconds to decide to have you killed. I had to show you that. I had to show you the true face of your employers, of the government you almost gave your life for, time and again. I had to show you that they wouldn't hesitate to have you killed. And I did. Once, you turned the American government against me. The only way you could see the truth was for me to do the same to you."

Janson was sickened by the man's smooth prevarications but found himself at a loss for words.

"You're filled with hate. I understand. God forsook his own son in the Garden of Gesthemane. I failed you as well. You were calling out for help, and I failed you. So much of the time we all live out our individual existences, each of us at the center of our own stories, and when you needed me, I wasn't there for you. You were upset. Your learning curve was so steep that I made a mistake: I tried to teach you things you weren't ready for. And I let you go. You must have thought I deserved what I got from you."

"And what was that?"

"Betrayal." Demarest's eyes narrowed. "You thought you could destroy me. But they needed me. They always need men like me. Just like they've always needed men like you. I did what I had to do - what had to be done. I always did what had to be done. Sometimes people like me are seen as an embarrassment, and then actions are taken. I became an embarrassment to you. I embarrassed you because you looked at me and saw yourself. So much of you was me. How could it be otherwise? I taught you everything you knew. I gave you the skills that saved your life a dozen times over. What made you think you had the right to judge me?" At last, a diamond-hard flash of anger pierced his eerie calm.

"You forfeited any rights you had by your own actions," Janson said. "I saw what you did. I saw who you were. A monster."

"Oh please. I showed you what you were, and you didn't like what you saw."

"No."

"We were the same, you and I, and that's what you couldn't accept."

"We weren't the same."

"Oh, we were. In many ways, we still are. Don't think I didn't keep tabs on what you got up to in later years. They called you 'the machine.' You know what that was short for, of course: 'the killing machine.' Because that's what you were. Oh yes. And you presumed to judge me? Oh, Paul, don't you know why you took it on yourself to destroy me? Are you that devoid of self-insight? How comforting it must be to tell yourself that I'm the monster and you're the saint. You're afraid of what I showed you."

"Yes - a profoundly disturbed individual."

"Don't delude yourself, Paul. I'm talking about what I showed you about yourself. Whatever I was, you were."

"No!" Janson flushed with rage and horror. Violence was indeed something he excelled at: he could no longer run from that truth. But for him it was never an end in itself: rather, violence was a last resort to minimize further violence.

"As I used to tell you, we know more than we know. Have you forgotten what you yourself did in Vietnam? Have you magically repressed the memories?"

"You don't fool me with your goddamn mind games," Janson growled.

"I read the depositions you filed about me," Demarest continued airily. "Somehow they neglected to mention what you'd got up to."

"So you're the one who's been spreading that bilge about me - those twisted stories."

Demarest's gaze was steady. "Your victims are still out there, some of them still crippled but still alive. Send an agent out there to interview them. They remember you. They remember with horror."

"It's