The Janson Directive - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,97

your passenger with your life. Their passengers were men who carried the nation's secrets in their heads, men upon whom profound matters of state depended.

The black stretch limousines in which these passengers were driven were armored; the side flanks reinforced with steel plates, the darkened glass capable of withstanding a .45-caliber bullet at point-blank range. The tires were designed to be reinflating and resealing, with a cellular design that prevented rapid leakage. But the capabilities of the driver, not the car, were paramount in ensuring the passenger's safety.

Callahan was one of three men who were usually assigned to the deputy director of the National Security Agency, but Sanford "Sandy" Hildreth made no secret of the fact that he preferred Danny Callahan.

Danny knew shortcuts; Danny knew when it was safe to push the speed limit a little; Danny could get him home from Fort Meade ten or fifteen minutes faster than the others. And the fact that he had won combat honors in the Gulf War was probably a recommendation to Hildreth as well. Hildreth had never seen fighting, but he liked men who had. They didn't talk much, he and Hildreth: usually the motorized partition - an opaque and soundproofed barrier - remained up. But once, a year ago, Hildreth was bored, or in search of distraction, and drew Danny out a little bit. Danny told him about playing football in high school, his team reaching the state championship in Indiana, and he could tell that Hildreth liked that, too. "A running back, huh? You still look like one," Hildreth had said. "Sometime you'll have to tell me what you do to stay in shape."

Hildreth was a small man, but he preferred being surrounded by large men. Maybe he enjoyed the feeling that he, the small man, commanded the large men; that they were his myrmidons. Or maybe they just made him comfortable.

Danny Callahan glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Hildreth had said he'd be ready to leave by six-thirty. It was quarter past seven. What else was new? Hildreth often ran forty-five minutes behind. An hour wasn't uncommon.

In his earpiece, Callahan heard the voice of the dispatcher. "Capricorn descending." Hildreth was on his way.

Callahan drove the car directly in front of the exit on the left side of the immense glass shoe box that was the National Security Agency. A rain began to fall, just a few small drops at first. Callahan waited until Hildreth came into view, then got out and stood beside the car.

"Danny." Hildreth nodded, the outdoor halogen lights reflecting off his high forehead. His small, pinched features gathered into a perfunctory smile.

"Dr. Hildreth," Callahan said. He once read an article in the Washington Post about Hildreth that mentioned he had a doctorate in international relations. Thereafter, he started calling him "doctor," and he somehow got the sense that Hildreth was pleased by the honorific. Now Callahan held the rear door open for him and then shut it with an efficient thunk.

Before long, the rain started to come down harder, in sheets that twisted with the wind and made the headlights of other cars look oddly distorted.

Mason Falls was thirty miles away, but Callahan could practically do the trip blindfolded: off Savage Road, down 295, a quick jaunt on 395, across the Potomac, and up Arlington Boulevard.

Fifteen minutes later, he saw the flashing red lights of a police squad car in his rearview mirror. For a moment, Callahan expected the cop to pass him, but it seemed that the cruiser was trying to pull him over.

It couldn't be. And yet - as best as he could see in the rainstorm - he was the only car around. What the hell?

Sure, he was ten miles over the speed limit, but you'd expect the traffic cops to notice the government license plates and fall back. Some newbie with an attitude? Callahan would take pleasure in putting him in his place. But Hildreth was unpredictable: he might get angry with him, blame him for speeding, even though Hildreth had always made it clear that he was grateful that Danny got him home so quickly - appreciated his "celerity." That was the word Hildreth once used; Callahan looked it up when he got home. Nobody liked to be stopped by the police, though. Maybe Hildreth would make sure the blame was clearly the driver's, and have a black mark put on his fitness report.

Callahan pulled over to the paved shoulder. The squad car pulled over immediately behind him.

As the