Chapters (54)
- Title Page
- Table of Contents
- Prologue
- PART ONE
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- PART TWO
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- PART THREE
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-one
- Chapter Twenty-two
- Chapter Twenty-three
- Chapter Twenty-four
- Chapter Twenty-five
- Chapter Twenty-six
- Chapter Twenty-seven
- Chapter Twenty-eight
- Chapter Twenty-nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-one
- PART FOUR
- Chapter Thirty-two
- Chapter Thirty-three
- Chapter Thirty-four
- Chapter Thirty-five
- Chapter Thirty-six
- Chapter Thirty-seven
- Chapter Thirty-eight
- Chapter Thirty-nine
- Chapter Forty
- Chapter Forty-one
- Chapter Forty-two
- Chapter Forty-three
- Epilogue
- ALSO BY ROBERT LUDLUM
- Critical Praise for Robert Ludlum
- Copyright Page
Now he unhooked his rig, removed his flight suit, and quickly gathered the canopy from the cobblestoned courtyard. It would have to be hidden before further action could be taken. Even a starless night was not wholly devoid of illumination. The black nylon, visually protective against the night sky, contrasted with the light gray cobblestone. It couldn’t be allowed to lie on the ground.
But where was Katsaris?
Janson looked around. Had Katsaris overshot the courtyard? Landed on the beach, far below? Or on the hard-packed gravel road that led to the compound? Either mistake could be lethal—to him and to the others involved in the mission.
Dammit! Once again, a small fist of fury and fear gathered strength within him. It was the hubris of the planner that he—he, of all people—had succumbed to: the desk jockey’s error of thinking that what worked on paper would mesh with tactical reality. The tolerances were too small. Every member of the team knew it; the men were simply too much in awe of his record to drive the point home. The jump required something close to perfection, and perfection wasn’t possible in this fallen world. Janson felt a surge of frustration: who knew that better than he did? It was sheer luck that he himself had made it this far.
His thoughts were interrupted by a faint rustle—the sound of the cells of a nylon canopy gently collapsing overhead. Janson looked up into the black sky. It was Katsaris, floating down slowly, as he flared his chute and landed with a gentle, noiseless roll. He scrambled to his feet and came toward Janson.
Now there were two of them.
Two of them. Two highly experienced, highly skilled operatives.
And now they were in place—in the middle of the Stone Palace courtyard. The last place, he had to believe, where anyone would expect visitors.
There were two of them—against an entire battalion of armed guerrillas.
Still, it was a start.
Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Now Janson activated the communication system and tsked into the filament microphone near his mouth, a click and sibilant. Military protocol.
Katsaris followed his lead: he silently removed his flight suit, then gathered the canopy into a tight bundle.
The two of them packed the nylon fabric of canopy and suit into the dank basin of the grand stone fountain that stood in the center of the courtyard. Once an impressive feat of sculpture—its marble was finely incised—it now gathered rainwater and algae. A lightabsorbing scum adhered to the sides of the wide, circular pool like a black liner. It would do. Black on black: the protective coloration of the night.