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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

Yet what was the alternative? Maps and models were all they had. The Dutch governor general’s compound was adapted from a preexisting fortress, laid out on a promontory three hundred feet above the ocean. Walls of limestone, five feet thick, were designed to withstand cannonballs from Portuguese men-of-war of centuries past. The sea-facing walls were topped with battlements from which hostile schooners and corvettes would be fired upon.

Everyone Janson had assembled in that Quonset hut knew precisely what was at stake. They also knew the obstacles they faced in trying to derail what the Caliph had set in motion. Nothing would be gained by compounding Novak’s death with their own.

It was time for a final briefing. Janson stood; his nervous energy made it difficult for him to sit. “OK, Andressen,” he said. “Let’s talk terrain.”

The red-bearded Norseman turned the large, calendared sheets of the elevation maps, pointing out features with a long forefinger. His finger moved along the massif, almost ten thousand feet at the Pikuru Takala peak, and then onward to the plateaus of shale and gneiss. He pointed out the monsoon winds from the southwest. Tapping a magnification of Adam’s Hill, Andressen said, “These are recently reclaimed areas. We’re not talking about sophisticated monitoring. A lot of what we’re up against is the protection offered by the natural terrain.”

“Recommended flight path?”

“Over the Nikala jungle, if the Storm Petrel’s up for it.”

The Storm Petrel was Honwana’s well-deserved nickname, honoring his ability to pilot a plane so that it nearly skimmed the ground, the way a storm petrel flies above the sea.

“The Petrel’s up for it,” Honwana said, his lips parting to reveal ivory teeth in what was not quite a smile.

“Mind you,” Andressen went on, “as long as we can hold off until around four hundred hours, we’ll be almost guaranteed a heavy cloud cover. That’s obviously advisable for the purposes of stealth.”

“You’re talking about a high-altitude jump through heavy cloud cover?” Hennessy asked. “Jumping blind?”

“A leap of faith,” said the Norseman. “Like religion. Like embracing God.”

“Begorrah, I thought this was a commando operation, not a kamikaze one,” Hennessy put in. “Tell me, Paul, what bloody fool is going to be making this jump?” The Irishman looked at his fellow crew members with genuine concern.

Janson looked at Katsaris. “You,” he told the Greek. “And me.”

Katsaris stared at him silently for a few moments. “I can live with that.”

“From your lips to God’s ear,” Hennessy said.

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Packing one’s own chute: it was practically a ritual, a military superstition. By the time one got out of jump camp, the habit was as ingrained as brushing one’s teeth or washing one’s hands.