The Janson Directive - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,70

few more seconds. Then Agger's voice came on the line. "It's been a long time since I've heard that name," he said. His voice was neutral, unreadable. "I'm glad to hear it now."

"Fancy a glass of retsina?" Deliberately casual. "Can you get away now? There's the tavernos on Lakhitos ... "

"I have a better idea," Agger said. "The cafe on Papadhima. Kaladza. You remember it. A little farther, but the food's excellent."

Janson felt a small stab of adrenaline: the counteroffer had come too quickly. And they both knew the food at Kaladza was terrible; it had been a subject of their conversation when they last spoke, four years ago. "The worst in town," Agger had said, taking a mouthful of doubtful calamari and looking green.

Agger was telling him that they would both have to take precautions.

"Sounds great," Janson said heartily, for the sake of anyone else who was or would be listening. "Got a cell phone?"

"In Athens, who doesn't?"

"Take it. If I get held up, I'll let you know."

"Good idea," Agger said. "Good idea."

From the cafe on Vassilissis Sofias, Janson observed Agger leaving from a side door and making his way down the street, toward the naval hospital and the street that would lead toward Kaladza.

Then he saw what he feared he might see. In Agger's wake, a woman and a man emerged from the bland, gray-brick office building adjoining the embassy and set off in his direction. He was being tailed.

And the desk man did not have the rudimentary field skills to know it.

Whoever had been listening in on their phone conversation had recognized the legend name and responded immediately. Janson's relationship with Agger had doubtless been taken account of, the possibility of his making contact with the analyst anticipated.

Now Agger joined a crowd of pedestrians heading toward the Parko Euftherias, and the man and woman merged into the sidewalk traffic.

Kaladza was too dangerous; the rendezvous would be on a terrain he chose. Janson slipped a wad of drachmas beneath his coffee mug and left for the Lykavittos. The Lykavittos was the tallest hill in Athens, and its forested crest swelled from the city like a green dome. The Lykavittos was as good a candidate for an off-the-books briefing as any. What made it attractive to visitors was that it afforded a breathtaking view of the city. What made it attractive to him was that the high ground would make it hard for a surveillance team to take up position undetected - especially if he staked it out first. At the moment, he was armed with only a small pair of binoculars. Was he being paranoid to worry that this would not suffice?

The funicular departed every twenty minutes from the top of Ploutarkhou Avenue, in the upscale Kolonaki district. Alert to any sign of professional interest, Janson rode the railway up the hill past the tiers of well-tended terracing; there was the gratifying sense of leaving the smog behind as they climbed up nearly a thousand feet. The summit was ringed with observation decks and cafes. At the very top was a small white chapel, Agios Georgios, St. George's, a nineteenth-century edifice.

Now Janson telephoned Agger on his cell phone. "Change of plans, old bean," he said.

"They say change is good," Agger said.

Janson paused. Should he tell him about the tail? The slight tremor in Agger's voice told him that it would be best not to. Agger would not know how to shake his followers, and an uninformed attempt would only make him an easier mark. Besides, being aware of them might overstrain the man's nerves - might spook him, send him scurrying back to the office. Better to give him an itinerary that gave him a shot at shaking his pursuers willy-nilly.

"Got a pen?" asked Janson.

"I am a pen," the analyst sighed.

"Listen carefully, my friend. I want you to take this series of street trams." Janson proceeded to detail a complex sequence of transfers.

"A pretty roundabout route," Agger said.

"Trust me on this," Janson said. What would hold back a professional watcher wasn't the physical task of keeping up with him; it was the diminishing odds of doing so without being noticed. In a situation like this, covert operatives would desist surveillance rather than risk exposure.

"Right," Agger said with the voice of someone who knew he was in over his head. "Of course."

"Now, when you finally get off the cable car to Lykavittos, you'll take the path toward the Theatre of Lykavittos. We'll meet in front of the fountain of