The Janson Directive - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,33

its full 250 square feet and maximize its vertical drag. He was adept at maneuvering around wind cones, but the very unpredictability of the air currents made ordinary calculations irrelevant. All he knew was that he was off the wind line; crabbing across it was the only way to return to it. As he had done hundreds of times before, he fidgeted with the toggles to establish the direction of the prevalent winds; finally, he found that he was able to make gentle S-turns astride the wind line, holding and running every time he drifted off it. The process required complete concentration, especially because the sea was sending up thermals at random, or so it seemed. The Anuran sky was like a horse that did not want to be broken.

His pulse quickened. Like the mast of a ghost ship, battlements and embrasures were becoming visible through the fog, the ancient white limestone reflecting the faintest light seeping through the cloud cover. The vista came as something of a shock; it was the first thing he had seen since the jump. Quickly, he cast off his gloves and flight cap. Now he mentally rehearsed the landing maneuver. Crosswind leg. Downwind leg. Base leg. Final approach.

To minimize landing velocity, it was crucial to approach the destination from upwind. The crosswind jaunt took him a thousand feet to the right. Then he drifted downwind for another five hundred feet, deliberately overshooting the target. He would be traveling 250 feet into the wind for the final approach. It was an elaborate but necessary maneuver. He could slow his forward movement by pulling in the corners of the canopy with both toggles, but the effect would be to increase his rate of descent to an unacceptable speed. He would therefore have to rely upon the wind itself to reduce his horizontal velocity.

He prayed that no sudden turn would be necessary to position himself over the central region of the courtyard, for a fast turn, too, would dangerously hasten his descent. The last fifteen seconds had to be perfect. There was no margin for error; the compound's high walls' made a low, shallow approach impossible.

He was suddenly aware how hot and moist the air was - it was as if he had moved from a meat locker into a steam bath. Water was actually condensing on his chilly extremities. His fingers were wet as he reached for the toggles, and he felt a pang of adrenaline; he could not afford for them to slip.

With the toggles fully up and the canopy therefore fully extended, he glided toward the center of the courtyard, which was visible to him only as a play of black hues. As soon as his hands were free, he deactivated his wrist instruments, lest their glow give his presence away.

His heart started to beat hard: he was almost there - if he could only manage, with his wet, slick fingers, the final landing fall.

Choosing the right second was crucial. Now? His boots were fifteen feet above the ground; he could tell because the ground and the canopy seemed just about the same distance from him. No. Even within the walls of the compound, the gusts were too unpredictable. He would wait until he was half that distance from the ground.

Now.

He brought both toggles down to shoulder level, and then, in one fluid motion, he turned down his wrists and pulled the toggles down between his thighs, bringing his forward motion to a complete stop. As he sank down the remaining few feet, he tensed his leg muscles and rotated his body in the direction of the fall, bending his knees slightly. Two seconds before he hit the ground, he had to decide whether to make a soft-roll landing - knees and feet together - or try for an upright landing, which meant keeping them apart. In for a penny, in for a pound: he'd go for a standing touchdown.

Keeping his leg muscles flexed, he sank to the ground on the soles of his boots. The soft rubber was designed for silence, and it performed as it was meant to. Soundlessly, he bounced on the balls of his feet, preparing to fall. But he did not.

He was standing. On the ground of the courtyard.

He had made it.

He looked around him, and, in the starless night, he could just make out the contours of a vast deserted courtyard, three times as long as it was wide. A large white structure - the old fountain, as