“Although Lt. Janson’s own standards of professionalism remain impressive, difficulties have begun to emerge in his concept of leadership: in both training exercises and duty, he has failed to demand from his subordinates a similar level of competence, while overlooking obvious shortcomings. He appears to be more concerned with the welfare of his subordinates than with their ability to help execute mission objectives. His loyalty to his men overrides his commitment to broader military goals, as specified and set out by his commanding officers.”

“There’s more going on there than meets the eye,” said Collins. “The chill was inevitable.”

“Why?”

“Because, it seems, he’d threatened to report him to the high command. Crimes of war.”

“Forgive me, I should know this. But what was going on here? The warrior wunderkind had a psychotic break?”

“No. Janson’s suspicions were correct. And once he’d returned stateside, and got out of medical, he made a stink about it—within channels, of course. He wanted to see his commanding officer court-martialed.”

“And was he?”

The undersecretary turned and stared: “You mean you really don’t know?”

“Let’s cut the drumroll,” the round-faced woman replied. “You got something to say, say it.”

“You don’t know who Janson’s commanding officer was?”

She shook her head, her eyes intent, penetrating. “A man named Alan Demarest,” the undersecretary replied. “Or maybe I should say Lieutenant Commander Demarest.”

“‘I see,’ said the blind man.” Her largely suppressed Southern accent broke through, as it did at times of great stress. “The source of the Nile.”

“When next we see our man Janson, it’s graduate studies at Cambridge University on a government fellowship. Winds up back on board, in Consular Operations.” The undersecretary’s voice became summary and brisk.

“Under you,” Charlotte Ainsley said.

“Yes. In a manner of speaking.” Collins’s tone said more than his words, but everyone understood his import: that Janson was not the most subordinate of subordinates.

“Rewind a sec,” Ainsley said. “His time as a POW in Vietnam had to have been incredibly traumatic. Maybe he never really recovered from it.”

“Physically, he got to be stronger than ever … .”

“I’m not talking about physical prowess or mental acuity. But psychologically, that sort of experience leaves scars. Fault lines, cracks, weaknesses—like in a ceramic bowl. The flaw you don’t see until something else happens, a second trauma. And then you split, or break, or snap. A good man becomes a bad one.”

The undersecretary raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“And I’ll accept that this is all on the level of conjecture,” she continued smoothly. “But can we afford to make a mistake? Granted, there’s a great deal we don’t know. But I’m with Doug on this one. Comes down to this: Is he working for us or against us? Well, here’s one thing we do know. He’s not working for us.”

“True,” said Collins. “And yet—”