analyze, to act.
Were there others? None that he’d detected, but he could not be certain. The
Japanese tourist? Possible. Unlikely.
He would have to take the risk.
Now Janson strode over to Agger, who was still on the marble bench, perspiring
heavily.
“Paul,” Agger said. “Thank God! I was starting to worry that something had
happened to you.”
“Traffic on the Vas Sofias. I forgot what a bitch it is this time of day.”
Janson decided it was important not to alarm him just yet. Agger’s was a world
of cables and keyboards; such a rendezvous was beyond his customary bailiwick,
and, in fact, in violation of procedures. The approach even of a member or
former member of the U.S. intelligence community, according to the rule book,
required a memorandum of conversation to be filed promptly. Agger was already
stretching the rules—and probably his nerves—simply in agreeing to the meeting.
“God, with all those crosstown transfers, I was thinking, What am I, a spy?” A
wan smile. “Don’t answer that. Look, I’m so glad you called, Paul. I’m been
worried about you—really worried. You cannot believe the garbage they’re talking
about you.”
“Take it slow, old friend,” Janson said.
Agger seemed reassured by Janson’s steadiness and composure. “But I know we can
get the whole thing straightened out. Whatever it is, I know we can make it go
away. Leave those Washington bureaucrats to me. Trust me, nobody knows a pencil
pusher like another pencil pusher.”
Janson laughed, mostly for Agger’s sake. “I guess I first got wind something was
up this morning. I walk down Stadiou, and it’s like a class reunion of the
embassy security detail. I didn’t used to be so popular.”
“It’s crazy,” Agger said. “But they’re saying that you took a job, Paul. A job
you shouldn’t have taken.”
“And?”
“Everybody wants to know who you did the job for. A lot of people want to know
why you took it. Some people think there are sixteen million answers to that
one.”
“Christ almighty! How could anybody think that? I’m a known quantity.”
Agger’s gaze was searching. “You don’t have to tell me that. Look, they’re all
wound up about it. But I know we can get this whole thing straightened out.”
Almost bashfully, he added, “So … it’s true you took the job?”
“Yes, I took the job—for Peter Novak. His people contacted me. I owed him one,
big-time. Anyway, I was a referral. From State.”
“See, the thing is, State denies it.”
“What?”
An apologetic shrug. “The State Department denies it. The Agency, too. It
doesn’t even know what went on in Anura, exactly. Reports are conflicting,
sketchy at best. But the word is that you were paid to make sure Peter Novak
never left the island.”
“That’s insane.”
Another helpless shrug. “Interesting you should use that word. We’ve been told
that you may have gone insane, though the actual words are a lot fancier.
Dissociative disorder. Post-traumatic abreaction … ”
“Do I seem crazy to you, Agger?”
“Of course not,” Agger said quickly. “Of course not.” An awkward pause followed.
“But look, we all know what you’ve been through. All those months of VC torture.
I mean, Jesus. Beaten, starved—that’s got to mess with your head. Sooner or
later, it’s got to mess with you. Christ, the things they did to you … ” In a
quieter voice he added, “Not to mention the things that you did.”
A chill ran down Janson’s spine. “Nelson, what are you telling me?”
“Just that there are a lot of worried people, and they’re way up the
intelligence food chain.”
Did they think he was insane? If so, they couldn’t afford to let him wander
free, not with everything the former Cons Op agent had in his head—the extensive
knowledge of procedures, informants, networks that remained in operation. A
security breach could destroy years of work and would simply not be
countenanced. Janson knew the chain of official reasoning in a case like that.
Despite the bright hilltop sun, Janson suddenly felt cold.
Agger shifted uneasily. “I’m not an expert in that kind of thing. They said
you’d seem to be plausible, cogent, in command. And no matter where your head’s
at, sixteen million is going to be pretty hard to resist. Maybe I’m just
speaking for myself there.”
“I have absolutely no explanation for the money,” Janson said. “Maybe the
Liberty Foundation has an eccentric way of rendering payment. Compensation was
referred to. Not negotiated, not specified. Look, that wasn’t a principal
motivation on my part. It was a debt of honor. You know why.”
“Paul, my friend, I want to get all this straightened out, and I’ll do whatever
I can—you know that. But you’ve got to help me out here, give me some facts.
When did Novak’s people make their first approach to you?”
“Monday. Forty-eight hours after Novak’s abduction.”
“And when was the first eight million deposited?”
“Where are you going with this?”
“It was deposited before you say these people approached you. Before they knew
you’d say yes. Before they knew an extraction might be necessary. It doesn’t
make sense.”
“Did anybody ask them about it?”
“Paul, they don’t know who you are. They don’t know about the abduction. They
don’t even know the boss is dead.”
“How did they react when you told them?”
“We didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Orders from the top. We’re in the information-collecting business, not the
information-dissemination business. Everyone’s been given strict orders as to
that. And speaking of collection, that’s why people are so determined that you
come in. It’s the only way. If you don’t, assumptions are going to be made. And
acted upon. OK? Do I have to say more?”
“Jesus,” Janson said.
“Paul, you need to trust me on this one. We can put all this shit behind you.
But you’ve got to come in. You’ve got to.”
Janson looked at the analyst oddly. He couldn’t fail to notice the way he had
grown less deferential and anxious in the course of the conversation. “I’ll
think about it.”
“That means no,” Agger said blandly. “And that’s not good enough.” He reached
over to his lapel, and fingered the buttonhole, in an overly casual gesture.
Summoning others.
Janson reached over and turned up Agger’s lapel. On the reverse side was the
familiar blue-black disk. All at once, he felt numb.
The Greeks weren’t tails. They were his backup. Forcible abduction was the next
course of action.
“Now I’ve got a timing question for you,” Janson said. “When did the order go
out?”
“The retrieval directive? I don’t recall.”
“When?” Standing so as to hide his actions from any bystanders, he pulled out
the Walther and aimed it at the analyst.
“Oh Jesus, oh Jesus!” Agger shouted. “Paul—what are you doing? I’m just here to
help you. I only want to help.”
“When?” Janson shoved the silenced Walther into Agger’s bony chest.
The words came out in a rush. “Ten hours ago. The cable was time-stamped 10:23
p.m. EST.” Agger looked around him, unable to disguise his growing sense of
consternation.
“And what were the orders if I refused to report in? Did termination orders go
out?” He pressed the revolver harder against Agger’s sternum.
“Stop!” Agger called out. “You’re hurting me.” He spoke loudly, as if panicked;
but Agger, though scarcely a field agent, was no amateur, and however anxious,
he was not given to hysterics. The shout was not meant for him; it was meant to
notify others, others within earshot.
“Are you expecting company?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Agger lied in a level tone.
“Sorry. I should have mentioned earlier that your Greek friends were unavoidably
detained.”
“You goddamn bastard!” The words burst from him. Agger was white-faced—not with
fear but with outrage.
“They’ll send their regrets. As soon as they regain consciousness.”
Agger’s eyes narrowed. “Christ, it’s true what they say. You’re out of control!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The harborfront tavern was seedy and dark, the planks of the floor warped from
years of spilled beverages, the simple wooden chairs and stools nicked and
dented from careless use and the occasional brawl. Janson moved slowly toward
the long zinc bar, allowing his vision to adjust to the dimness. A sailor sat to
the far left, drinking alone, sullenly. He wasn’t the only sailor in the place,
but he would be the easiest to approach. And Janson could not wait any longer.
He had to get out of Greece now.
A short while ago, he had again performed what had become a maddening ritual: he
called Marta Lang’s personal number. Nothing.
They don’t even know the boss is dead, Agger had said.
Yet there was one person Janson could think of who would know what there was to
be known and would speak to him freely. Of course, first precautions had to be
taken—to protect both himself and the man he was going to visit.
Piraeus’s Great Harbor was a vast, circular inlet, cupping the ocean, so it