BooksBarbecue
Back The Janson Directive Save as PDF
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

Through the windows, the sun was a golden orb, cushioned by white, fluffy-looking clouds. Though they were flying toward the setting sun, the passage of time was keeping pace. When Lang’s eyes lowered to her watch, he knew she was looking at more than simply the time of day. She was looking at the number of hours Peter Novak had left. She met his gaze and paused for a moment before speaking. “Whatever happens,” she said, “I want to thank you for what you’ve given us.”

“I’ve given you nothing,” Janson protested.

“You’ve given us something of quite substantial value,” she said. “You’ve given us hope.”

Janson started to say something about the realities, the long odds, the abundant downside scenarios, but he stopped himself. There was a higher pragmatism to be respected. At this stage of a mission, false hope was better than none at all.

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The memories were thirty years old, but they could have been yesterday’s. They unspooled in his dreams at night—always the night before an operation, fueled by repressed anxiety—and though they started and ended at different points, it was as though they were from the same continuous loop of tape.

In the jungle was a base. In the base was an office. In the office was a desk. On the desk was a sheet of paper.

It was, in fact, the list for that date’s Harassment & Interdiction fire.

Possible VC rocket attack, launch site grid coordinates AT384341, between 0200 and 0300 this morning.

A VC political cadre meeting, Loc Ninh village, BT415341, at 2200 this evening.

VC infiltration attempt, below Go Noi River, AT404052, between 2300 and 0100.

That pile of well-thumbed slips on Lieutenant Commander Alan Demarest’s desk was filled with similar reports. They were supplied by informants to ARVN officials, who then passed them along to the Military Assistance Command-Vietnam, MACV. Both the informants and the reports were assigned a letter and a number assessing their reliability. Nearly all the reports were classified as F/6: reliability of agent indeterminate, reliability of report indeterminate.

Indeterminate was a euphemism. Reports came from double agents, from VC sympathizers, from paid informants, and sometimes just from villagers who had scores to settle and had figured out an easy way to get someone else to destroy a rival’s paddy dike.

“These are supposed to be the basis for our Harassment and Interdiction fire,” Demarest had said to Janson and Maguire. “But they’re bullshit. Some four-eyed Charlie in Hanoi wrote these for our sake, and piped them through the pencil dicks at MACV. These, gentlemen, are a waste of artillery. Know how I know?” He held up a filmy slip, fluttered it in the air like a flag. “There’s no blood on this paper.” A twelfth-century choral work played through the tiny speakers of an eight-track tape system, one of Demarest’s small enthusiasms.