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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

“Don’t you people ever learn?” Janson said, flaring. “The law of unintended consequences—you know it? It sure knows you.” His eyes moved from face to face. “The history of American intelligence is littered with ingenious plans that leave the world worse off. Now we’re talking about the ‘human factor’ as if there just hadn’t been room for it on your goddamn spreadsheets.” Janson turned to Collins. “I asked you, when we spoke earlier, who would agree to play such a role—to have his entire identity erased. What kind of man would do such a thing?”

“Yes,” Collins said, “and I answered, ‘Someone who had no choice.’ The fact is, you know that someone. A man named Alan Demarest.”

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-five

A chill ran through Janson’s veins, and for a moment all he could see was the face of his former commanding officer. Alan Demarest. Nausea flooded him, and his head began to throb.

It was a lie!

Alan Demarest was dead. Executed by the state. Janson’s knowledge of that ultimate requital was the only thing that made his memories endurable.

When Janson returned stateside, he filed the lengthy reports that, he had been assured, resulted in Demarest’s arraignment. A secret military tribunal had been convened; a decision had been made at the highest levels: the national morale was deemed too vulnerable to permit the public airing of Demarest’s activities, but justice would be served all the same. Janson’s extensive sworn depositions had made the case open-and-shut. Demarest had been found guilty after just a few hours of deliberation, and was sentenced to death. The man whom one counterintelligence operative dubbed the “Mr. Kurtz of Khe Sanh” had been executed by a military firing squad. And Janson had watched.

Mesa Grande. In the foothills of the San Bernardino Mountains. The cloth circle in front of his heart—white, and then bright red.

As Janson stared wordlessly at Collins, he could feel a vein pulsing in his forehead.

“A man who had no choice,” Collins said, implacably. “He was a brilliant, brilliant man—his mind an extraordinary instrument. He also, as you discovered, had decided flaws. So be it. We needed somebody with his capabilities, and his absolute loyalty to this country had never been questioned, even if his methods were.”

“No,” Janson said, and it came out as a whisper. He shook his head slowly. “No, it’s impossible.”

Collins shrugged. “Blanks, squibs. Basic stagecraft. We showed you what you thought you needed to see.”

Janson tried to speak, but nothing came out.