BooksBarbecue
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

What fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? And what communion hath light with darkness ?

Yet Janson saw the imperative for such a fellowship more clearly than anyone. Defeating this master of subterfuge would require something more than the bloodless, calculated moves and countermoves of the rational planners: it called for the unbridled, unslakable, irrational, and, yes, unbounded wrath of a true fanatic. About that there could be no dispute: their best chance to defeat Demarest was to resort to the one thing that could not be controlled.

To be sure, the planners imagined they could control it. But they never had, never could. They were all of them playing with fire.

They had to prepare to get burned.

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty

The motorcades started arriving at the U.N. Plaza at seven o’clock the next morning, escorting humanity of every cultural and political coloration. Military heads of state in their full-dress uniforms strode up the ramp as if reviewing their troops, feeling protected and empowered by their self-bestowed ribbons and bars. They regarded the narrow-shouldered leaders of the so-called democracies as nothing more than puffed-up central bankers: did not their dark suits and tightknotted ties signal allegiance to the mercantile classes rather than to the authentic glories of national power? The elected leaders of the liberal democracies, in turn, viewed such gaudy regalia as the generals sported with scorn and disapproval: what miserable social backwardness enabled these caudillos to grab power? Thin leaders looked at fat leaders and entertained fleeting thoughts about their lack of self-control: no wonder their countries had incurred staggering foreign debts. The stout leaders, for their part, regarded their attenuated Western counterparts as colorless and chilly Gradgrinds, sapless administrators rather than true leaders of men. Such were the thoughts that flickered beyond each toothy smile.

Like molecules, the clusters mingled and collided, formed and re-formed. Vacuous pleasantries stood in for long-winded complaints. A rotund president of a central African state embraced the lanky German foreign minister, and both knew precisely what the embrace signified: Can we move forward with debt restructuring? Why should I be stuck servicing loans taken by my predecessor—after all, I had him shot! A gaudily bedizened potentate from Central Asia greeted the prime minister of Great Britain with a dazzling smile and the tacit protest: The border dispute we have with our belligerent neighbor is not a matter of international concern. The president of a troubled NATO member state that was the rump of a once great empire sought out his opposite number from stable, prosperous Sweden and made small talk about his last visit to Stockholm. The unspoken message: Our actions against the Kurdish villages within our borders may disturb your pampered human-rights activists, but we have no choice but to defend ourselves from forces of sedition. Behind every handclasp, hug, and back clap was a grievance, for grievances were the cement of the international community.