The Janson Directive - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,28

take risks. And I think you worry too much, Paul. You haven't gotten me killed yet. Look, I understand the risks."

"I don't understand the risks, dammit. That's the point. They're poorly controlled."

"You don't want to orphan my kid. Well, guess what - neither do I. I'm going to be a father, and that makes me very, very happy. But it isn't going to change the way I lead my life. That's not who 1 am. Marina knows that. You know it, too - that's why you picked me in the first place."

"I don't know that I would have picked you had I realized - "

"I'm not talking about now. I'm talking about then. I'm talking about Epidaurus."

It was only eight years ago when a twenty-man contingent from the Greek army was detailed to a Cons Op-run interception exercise. The objective was to train the Greeks to detect and deter a growing small-arms trade that made use of Greek freighters. A ship a few miles off the coast of Epidaurus was chosen at random for the exercise. As luck would have it, however, the ship happened to be loaded with contraband. Even worse, a Turkish drug merchant was on board, accompanied by his heavily armed private guard. Things went wrong, terribly wrong, in a cataract of misfortune and misunderstanding. Inexperienced men on both sides panicked: the supervisors from Consular Operations could observe - by means of a digital telescope and the remote listening devices on the frogmen's suits - but, agonizingly, they were too far away to intervene without jeopardizing the trainees' safety.

From a small frigate anchored half a nautical mile away, Janson had been horrified by the disastrous unfolding of events; in particular, he recalled the twenty tension-filled seconds in which matters could have gone either way. There had been two bands of armed men, evenly matched. Each individual maximized his own chance of survival by opening fire first. But once the automatic weapons were engaged, the surviving members of the adversary would have no choice but to return fire. It was the sort of suicidal "fair fight" that could easily have resulted in 100 percent fatalities for both sides. At the same time, there was no chance that the Turk's guards would stand down - it would be seen as a treasonous abdication, ultimately repaid by their own compatriots with a swift death.

"Don't shoot!" a young Greek shouted. He lay down his weapon, yet the gesture conveyed not fear but disgust. Janson heard his voice tinnily but clearly through the transmitter unit. "Cretins! Dolts! Ingrates! We work for you."

The jeers of the Turks were boisterous, but the claim was sufficiently bizarre that they demanded further explanation.

An explanation arrived, mixing fact and fiction, brilliantly improvised and fluently delivered. The young Greek invoked the name of a powerful Turkish drug magnate, Orham Murat, to whose cartel the merchant on board belonged. He explained that their commanding officers had assigned him and the other soldiers to search suspect freighters but that Murat had paid them generously to ensure that his own vessels were protected from seizure. "A generous, generous man," the young officer had said, in a tone of solemnity and greed. "My children have him to thank for their three meals a day. With what the government gives us? Bah!" The other Greeks were silent at first, their reticence interpreted as simple fear and awkwardness. Then they began to nod, as they understood that their colleague was telling this tale for their own sakes. They lowered their weapons and kept their gaze downcast, unchallenging.

"If you are lying ... " the seniormost member of the Turkish guard began in a growl.

"All we ask is that you not radio about this - our superiors monitor all maritime communications, and they have your codes."

"Lies!" barked a gray-haired Turk. It was the merchant himself who had finally appeared on deck.

"It is the truth! The American government has helped our commanders with this. If you radio about us, you might as well shoot us now, because the army will have us executed when we return. In fact, I would beg you to shoot us now. Then the Greek army will think we died as heroes and provide pensions to our families. As to whether Orham Murat will be as generous to your widows and children when he learns that you destroyed an operation he spent so much time and money on - this you will have to decide for yourselves."

A long, uncomfortable silence ensued. Finally, the