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Back The Janson Directive
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

From Dulles, however, it would be a very short drive to reach Derek Collins. Maybe Jessie was right and he would not survive the encounter. It was simply a risk he had to take.

“I wouldn’t mind catching up on some sleep,” Janson admitted.

“It’s just you, me, and a few thousand corporate memos here. No storms ahead of us. Nothing should disturb your dreams.” Milescu smiled at his old friend.

Janson returned the smile. The pilot could not know how wrong he was.

The Viet Cong guard that morning had thought the American captive might already be dead.

Janson was slumped on the ground, his head at an awkward angle. Flies clustered around his nose and mouth, without a flicker of response from the emaciated prisoner. The eyes were slightly open, in a way you often saw with cadavers. Had malnutrition and disease finally completed their slow work?

The guard unlocked the cage and prodded the prisoner with a shoe, hard. No response. He leaned over and put a hand on the prisoner’s neck.

How shocked and terrified the guard looked as the prisoner, thin as a wooden jumping jack, suddenly flung his legs around his waist like an amorous lover, then yanked his pistol from his holster and slammed the butt of it against his head. The dead had come to life. Again, with greater force, he crashed the gun into the guard’s skull, and this time the guard fell limp. Now Janson crept into the jungle; he figured he could get a fifteen-minute head start before the alarm was raised and the dogs were loosed. Perhaps the dogs would find the dense jungle impassable; he nearly found it so himself, even as he knifed through the thick underbrush with automaton-like movements. He did not know how he managed to keep moving, how he managed to stave off collapse, yet his mind simply refused to acknowledge his physical debility.

One foot in front of the other.

The VC encampment, he knew, was somewhere in the Tri-Thien region of South Vietnam. The valley to the south was dense with the guerrillas. On the other hand, it was a region where the width of the country was especially narrow. The distance from the border with Laos to the west and the sea to the east was no more than twenty-five clicks. He had to get to the coast. If he could get to the coast, to the South China Sea, he could find his way back to safety.

He could get home.

A long shot? No matter. Nobody was coming for him. He knew that now. Nobody could save his life but him.