“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 Stadíou, 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 are a lot fancier. Dissociative disorder. Post-traumatic abreaction …”

“Do I seem crazy to you, Agger?”