“On a whim? No, that’s not how it works. Most people lie to save themselves, or better themselves, anyway. Maybe they claim credit for an idea that wasn’t really theirs. Or they shift blame from themselves to another. Or they luck out, somehow, and let on that the outcome was the result of skill. That’s not the kind of lie that worries me. The kind of lie that worries me is the ‘noble lie.’ The lie spread for higher purposes. The sacrifice of small men for larger ends.” He spoke bitterly. “The liars who lie in the interest of the greater good, or what they decree to be that greater good.”

“Whoa,” she said. She made a whizzing noise, passed a hand over her head like a discus. “You’re losing me. If somebody’s scapegoating you, they’ve got to have a good reason.”

“What they believe to be a good reason. A good reason that might strike others of us as an administrative convenience.”

“Lookit,” she said. “Earlier, you said something about your profile. That happens to be something I know a lot about. Well, you’re right, now that you say it. Something about the story doesn’t make sense. Either you weren’t as good as you were supposed to have been or you’re not as bad as they’re saying you are.” She took a step closer to him.

“Let me ask you something. Does Lambda have operational authorization from Whitehall?”

“Wasn’t time to cross the diplomatic t’s. It’s all extraterritorial.”

“I see,” Janson said. “Then you’ve got a decision to make.”

“But our directive …”

“It’s my life, of course. I have an interest. But it’s yours, too. A lesson I learned the hard way.”

She looked confused. “OK, take a peek through the range finder again. Marksman C you’ll find in the really tall tree near Primrose Hill Gate.”

As he lifted the Swarovski dual scope to his eyes, parsing the foliage, Angus Fielding’s words echoed in his head. Are you so confident about your own government? Indeed, there was a certain logic there. What if Cons Ops, perhaps working with an agent-in-place on Novak’s staff, had been responsible for the assassination? Wouldn’t that help explain America’s official refusal to have any direct involvement in the operation? But then who had set him up with the sixteen million dollars? And if Cons Ops, or some other U.S. government agency, had arranged Novak’s death—why? Why was Novak seen as such a threat? This, Janson knew, was the crucial piece of the puzzle—a puzzle he had to solve not only for his own sense of justice but for his own physical survival.

His thoughts came to a halt as a crushing blow landed on the side of his head. He reeled backward, stunned, bewildered.