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Chapters (54)
  1. Title Page
  2. Table of Contents
  3. Prologue
  4. PART ONE
  5. Chapter One
  6. Chapter Two
  7. Chapter Three
  8. Chapter Four
  9. Chapter Five
  10. Chapter Six
  11. Chapter Seven
  12. Chapter Eight
  13. PART TWO
  14. Chapter Nine
  15. Chapter Ten
  16. Chapter Eleven
  17. Chapter Twelve
  18. Chapter Thirteen
  19. Chapter Fourteen
  20. Chapter Fifteen
  21. Chapter Sixteen
  22. Chapter Seventeen
  23. PART THREE
  24. Chapter Eighteen
  25. Chapter Nineteen
  26. Chapter Twenty
  27. Chapter Twenty-one
  28. Chapter Twenty-two
  29. Chapter Twenty-three
  30. Chapter Twenty-four
  31. Chapter Twenty-five
  32. Chapter Twenty-six
  33. Chapter Twenty-seven
  34. Chapter Twenty-eight
  35. Chapter Twenty-nine
  36. Chapter Thirty
  37. Chapter Thirty-one
  38. PART FOUR
  39. Chapter Thirty-two
  40. Chapter Thirty-three
  41. Chapter Thirty-four
  42. Chapter Thirty-five
  43. Chapter Thirty-six
  44. Chapter Thirty-seven
  45. Chapter Thirty-eight
  46. Chapter Thirty-nine
  47. Chapter Forty
  48. Chapter Forty-one
  49. Chapter Forty-two
  50. Chapter Forty-three
  51. Epilogue
  52. ALSO BY ROBERT LUDLUM
  53. Critical Praise for Robert Ludlum
  54. Copyright Page

Still in the rollover prone firing position, Janson pivoted thirty degrees and saw Sandor Lakatos himself, holding a gleaming, nickel-plated Glock 9mm. The preening peacock, he thought to himself. The shiny surface reflected the light of the parking lot halogens, making him an easier target. Janson aligned the gun’s small sights along the man’s round torso and he felt his gun buck as he squeezed off another two shots.

Lakatos returned fire spasmodically, the muzzle flash leaving a dark shadow in Janson’s night vision, and he heard the thunk of one of the Hungarian’s bullets hitting the hard-packed gravel a few inches from his right leg. He was proving a deadly adversary after all. Had Janson missed? Was the man protected by body armor?

Then he heard Lakatos breathing hard, heaving as he slowly sank to the ground. Janson’s bullets had struck him in the lower chest and punctured his lungs, which were slowly filling up with the resultant hemorrhage. The merchant of death was too wise not to know precisely what was happening to him: he was drowning in his own blood.

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-three

“Goddamn you, Paul Janson,” said Jessie Kincaid. He was driving the rented car at just under the speed limit while she kept an eye on the map. They were making their way to Budapest, headed for the National Archives, but doing so via a circuitous route, keeping off the main roads. “You should have let me come. I should have been there.”

Having finally elicited the details of what had happened last night, she was steamed and reproachful.

“You don’t know what sort of trip wires there might be at a rendezvous like that,” Janson said patiently, his eyes regularly scanning the rearview mirror for any signs of unwanted company. “Besides, the meeting was in an underground restaurant, out of range of any perimeter stakeout. Would you have parked your M40A1 on the bar, or checked it in the cloakroom?”

“Maybe I couldn’t have helped inside. Outside’s different. Plenty of trees around, plenty of perches. It’s a game of odds, you know that better’n anyone. Point is, it would have been a sensible precaution. You didn’t take it.”

“It represented an unnecessary risk.”

“Damn straight.”

“To you, I mean. There was no reason to put you at risk unnecessarily.”

“So instead you exposed yourself to that risk. That don’t seem exactly professional. What I’m saying is, use me. Treat me like a partner.”

“A partner? Reality check. You’re twenty-nine. You’ve been in the field for how many years, exactly? Don’t take this the wrong way, but—”

“I’m not saying we’re equals. All I’m saying is, teach me. I’ll be the best student you ever had.”

“You want to be my protégée?”

“I love it when you speak French.”