The Janson Directive - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,73

to the shale wall. The man's cranium absorbed most of the impact; he would be unconscious for an hour, probably two.

Through his binoculars, Janson saw the businessman in the light gray suit stand abruptly and stride toward the arbor. Something about the way he carried the folded newspaper made it clear that it was serving to conceal something else. The bespectacled businessman looked warily around as he made his way into the arbor, his hand still enveloped by the folded copy of Eleftherotypia, the Athens daily.

Janson glanced at his wristwatch. Too much time was passing; Agger could easily be overtaken by anxiety and decide to return to the office. That was standard procedure anyway with a no-show: one was not to wait beyond a limited amount of time.

Quickly, Janson positioned himself at the end of the arborway. As the man emerged, Janson lunged, swinging the Walther P99 into his face, shattering teeth and bone. Blood spewed from his mouth and spattered on his white shirt and jacket; the paper dropped and the silenced weapon it concealed clattered to the stone underfoot. Swiftly Janson turned over the man's lapel, exposing a small blue-black disk, identical to the one worn by the other Greek.

Janson returned the Walther to his waistband and rubbed a small spot of blood from his hand. An inner bleakness was creeping upon him. In the past few days, he had fallen back into everything he had once prayed he'd left behind him - the violence, the gambits, the lethal subterfuge, a career's worth of ingrained habits. Still, this was no time to gaze into the abyss. He had to focus, to analyze, to act.

Were there others? None that he'd detected, but he could not be certain. The Japanese tourist? Possible. Unlikely.

He would have to take the risk.

Now Janson strode over to Agger, who was still on the marble bench, perspiring heavily.

"Paul," Agger said. "Thank God! I was starting to worry that something had happened to you."

"Traffic on the Vas Sofias. I forgot what a bitch it is this time of day." Janson decided it was important not to alarm him just yet. Agger's was a world of cables and keyboards; such a rendezvous was beyond his customary bailiwick, and, in fact, in violation of procedures. The approach even of a member or former member of the U.S. intelligence community, according to the rule book, required a memorandum of conversation to be filed promptly. Agger was already stretching the rules - and probably his nerves - simply in agreeing to the meeting.

"God, with all those crosstown transfers, I was thinking, What am I, a spy?" A wan smile. "Don't answer that. Look, I'm so glad you called, Paul. I'm been worried about you - really worried. You cannot believe the garbage they're talking about you."

"Take it slow, old friend," Janson said.

Agger seemed reassured by Janson's steadiness and composure. "But I know we can get the whole thing straightened out. Whatever it is, I know we can make it go away. Leave those Washington bureaucrats to me. Trust me, nobody knows a pencil pusher like another pencil pusher."

Janson laughed, mostly for Agger's sake. "I guess I first got wind something was up this morning. I walk down Stadiou, and it's like a class reunion of the embassy security detail. I didn't used to be so popular."

"It's crazy," Agger said. "But they're saying that you took a job, Paul. A job you shouldn't have taken."

"And?"

"Everybody wants to know who you did the job for. A lot of people want to know why you took it. Some people think there are sixteen million answers to that one."

"Christ almighty! How could anybody think that? I'm a known quantity."

Agger's gaze was searching. "You don't have to tell me that. Look, they're all wound up about it. But I know we can get this whole thing straightened out." Almost bashfully, he added, "So ... it's true you took the job?"

"Yes, I took the job - for Peter Novak. His people contacted me. I owed him one, big-time. Anyway, I was a referral. From State."

"See, the thing is, State denies it."

"What?"

An apologetic shrug. "The State Department denies it. The Agency, too. It doesn't even know what went on in Anura, exactly. Reports are conflicting, sketchy at best. But the word is that you were paid to make sure Peter Novak never left the island."

"That's insane."

Another helpless shrug. "Interesting you should use that word. We've been told that you may have gone insane, though the actual words