The Janson Directive - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,74

are a lot fancier. Dissociative disorder. Post-traumatic abreaction ... "

"Do I seem crazy to you, Agger?"

"Of course not," Agger said quickly. "Of course not." An awkward pause followed. "But look, we all know what you've been through. All those months of VC torture. I mean, Jesus. Beaten, starved - that's got to mess with your head. Sooner or later, it's got to mess with you. Christ, the things they did to you ... " In a quieter voice he added, "Not to mention the things that you did."

A chill ran down Janson's spine. "Nelson, what are you telling me?"

"Just that there are a lot of worried people, and they're way up the intelligence food chain."

Did they think he was insane? If so, they couldn't afford to let him wander free, not with everything the former Cons Op agent had in his head - the extensive knowledge of procedures, informants, networks that remained in operation. A security breach could destroy years of work and would simply not be countenanced. Janson knew the chain of official reasoning in a case like that.

Despite the bright hilltop sun, Janson suddenly felt cold.

Agger shifted uneasily. "I'm not an expert in that kind of thing. They said you'd seem to be plausible, cogent, in command. And no matter where your head's at, sixteen million is going to be pretty hard to resist. Maybe I'm just speaking for myself there."

"I have absolutely no explanation for the money," Janson said. "Maybe the Liberty Foundation has an eccentric way of rendering payment. Compensation was referred to. Not negotiated, not specified. Look, that wasn't a principal motivation on my part. It was a debt of honor. You know why."

"Paul, my friend, I want to get all this straightened out, and I'll do whatever I can - you know that. But you've got to help me out here, give me some facts. When did Novak's people make their first approach to you?"

"Monday. Forty-eight hours after Novak's abduction."

"And when was the first eight million deposited?"

"Where are you going with this?"

"It was deposited before you say these people approached you. Before they knew you'd say yes. Before they knew an extraction might be necessary. It doesn't make sense."

"Did anybody ask them about it?"

"Paul, they don't know who you are. They don't know about the abduction. They don't even know the boss is dead."

"How did they react when you told them?"

"We didn't."

"Why not?"

"Orders from the top. We're in the information-collecting business, not the information-dissemination business. Everyone's been given strict orders as to that. And speaking of collection, that's why people are so determined that you come in. It's the only way. If you don't, assumptions are going to be made. And acted upon. OK? Do I have to say more?"

"Jesus," Janson said.

"Paul, you need to trust me on this one. We can put all this shit behind you. But you've got to come in. You've got to."

Janson looked at the analyst oddly. He couldn't fail to notice the way he had grown less deferential and anxious in the course of the conversation. "I'll think about it."

"That means no," Agger said blandly. "And that's not good enough." He reached over to his lapel, and fingered the buttonhole, in an overly casual gesture.

Summoning others.

Janson reached over and turned up Agger's lapel. On the reverse side was the familiar blue-black disk. All at once, he felt numb.

The Greeks weren't tails. They were his backup. Forcible abduction was the next course of action.

"Now I've got a timing question for you," Janson said. "When did the order go out?"

"The retrieval directive? I don't recall."

"When?" Standing so as to hide his actions from any bystanders, he pulled out the Walther and aimed it at the analyst.

"Oh Jesus, oh Jesus!" Agger shouted. "Paul - what are you doing? I'm just here to help you. I only want to help."

"When?" Janson shoved the silenced Walther into Agger's bony chest.

The words came out in a rush. "Ten hours ago. The cable was time-stamped 10:23 p.m. EST." Agger looked around him, unable to disguise his growing sense of consternation.

"And what were the orders if I refused to report in? Did termination orders go out?" He pressed the revolver harder against Agger's sternum.

"Stop!" Agger called out. "You're hurting me." He spoke loudly, as if panicked; but Agger, though scarcely a field agent, was no amateur, and however anxious, he was not given to hysterics. The shout was not meant for him; it was meant to notify others, others within earshot.

"Are you expecting company?"

"I have no