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The Janson Directive

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"One of the world's greatest men has been kidnapped." "Nobel laureate, international financier, and philanthropist Peter Novak - a billionaire who has committed his life and fortune to fostering democracy around the world through his Liberty Foundation - has been captured by the forces led by the near-mythical terrorist known as the Caliph. Holding Novak in a near-impenetrable fortress, the Caliph has refused to negotiate for his release, planning instead to brutally execute him in a matter of days." "Running out of time and hope, Novak's people
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2002 Hard cover First edition. New in new dust jacket. Sewn binding. Cloth over boards. With dust jacket. 542 p. Audience: General/trade. FIRST EDITION OCTOBER 2002 ... 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 THE BOOK IS IN BRAND NEW U NUSED CONDITION Read more Show Less

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2002 Hard cover First edition. New in new dust jacket. Sewn binding. Cloth over boards. With dust jacket. 542 p. Audience: General/trade. FIRST EDITION OCTOBER 2002 ... 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 THE BOOK AND DUST COVER ARE IN BRAND NEW UNUSED CONDITION Read more Show Less

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2002 Hard cover First edition. New in new dust jacket. Sewn binding. Cloth over boards. With dust jacket. 542 p. Audience: General/trade. FIRST EDITION OCTOBER 2002 ... 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 THE BOOK AND DUST C0VER ARE IN NEW UNUSED CONDITION Read more Show Less

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The Janson Directive

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Overview

"One of the world's greatest men has been kidnapped." "Nobel laureate, international financier, and philanthropist Peter Novak - a billionaire who has committed his life and fortune to fostering democracy around the world through his Liberty Foundation - has been captured by the forces led by the near-mythical terrorist known as the Caliph. Holding Novak in a near-impenetrable fortress, the Caliph has refused to negotiate for his release, planning instead to brutally execute him in a matter of days." "Running out of time and hope, Novak's people turn to a man with a long history of defeating impossible odds: Paul Janson. For decades, Janson was an operative and assassin whose skills and exploits made him a legend in the notorious U.S. covert agency Consular Operations. No longer able to live with the brutality, bloodshed, and personal loss that marked his career, Janson has retired from the field and nothing could lure him back. Nothing except Peter Novak, a man who once saved Janson's life when everyone else was powerless to help." "With the considerable resources of the Liberty Foundation at his disposal, Janson hastily assembles a crack extraction team, setting in motion an ingenious rescue operation. But the operation goes horribly wrong and Janson is marked for death, the target of a "beyond salvage" order issued from the highest level of the government." "Now he is running for his life, pursued by Jessica Kincaid, a young agent of astonishing ability who - as a student of Janson's own lethal arsenal of tactics and techniques - can anticipate and counter his every move. To survive, Janson must outrace a conspiracy that has gone beyond the control of its originators. To win, he must counter it with a conspiracy of his own." With mere days, perhaps only hours, remaining, and shadowed by a secret that links Janson's violent life with that of the visionary peacemaker Peter Novak, Janson's only hope is to uncover the nearly unimaginable truth behind these events - a truth that has the power to foment wars, topple governments, and change the very course of history.
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Editorial Reviews

From Barnes & Noble
To save the life of a man who once saved his, Peter Janson must smuggle himself and three other agents into the seemingly impregnable fortress of his friend's terrorist kidnappers. After his plans run dreadfully awry, our hero vows revenge, clearly unaware that he has become the next target. Kirkus Reviews called this posthumous work "Ludlum's best since his masterpiece of paranoia, The Bourne Identity."
Publishers Weekly
Ludlum died in March 2001, but here he is again, back with yet another posthumous thriller. Such books rarely live up to the author's standards, but this one is different: it's vintage Ludlum-big, brawny and loaded with surprises. The hero is Paul Janson, a private security consultant who retired a few years ago after a notorious career as the U.S. government's go-to guy for nasty jobs no one else was willing to take. Against his better judgment, Janson accepts an assignment to rescue Peter Novak, a Nobel Peace Prize-winning philanthropist and international troubleshooter held captive by Islamic extremists on an island in the Indian Ocean. Janson pulls off the stunning rescue, but as they make their escape, Novak dies in a fiery explosion-or does he? Janson has his doubts; within hours, he finds himself targeted by separate groups of assassins for reasons that baffle him. As he zigzags his way across Europe, leaving piles of bodies at each stop, he begins to wonder who Novak really is. The answer he eventually discovers provides readers with one of Ludlum's most outrageous plot twists in years. Extremely engaging and agonizingly suspenseful, Ludlum's plot bolts from scene to scene and locale to locale-Hungary, Amsterdam, London, New York City-never settling for one bombshell when it can drop four or five. If this wild, unpredictable and colorfully cast novel is Ludlum's swan song (he supposedly left behind notes for several thrillers), it's a memorable one indeed. (Oct. 15) Forecast: Readers in the know will note that this is unadulterated Ludlum-a step up from Robert Ludlum's The Paris Option and Robert Ludlum's The Cassandra Complex. Major print and television advertising campaigns are planned, and sales should be above par for recent Ludlum releases. Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.
Library Journal
It's bad enough when a man who once saved Peter Janson's life is about to be executed by terrorists. But things get worse when Janson's rescue efforts go off course. Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Third postmortal novel from the archives of the amazing Ludlum (1927-2001), who clearly took his Toshiba laptop along to that Orient Express in the sky. This latest shows a far more sober Ludlum than 2001's madhouse The Sigma Protocol, while even The Paris Option (2002), with coauthor Gayle Lynds, points to a cooling paranoia and twilight lust for description. Here, we get a marvel of stunning physical detail, its sentences geared with lightly oiled precision parts that speed the action forward microincrementally, click by click. A full chapter is given to the midnight air currents a parachutist faces in cloud and fog after he free-falls for four miles into the villain's den. Legendary Hungarian financier and philanthropist Peter Novak, Nobel Peace Prize winner and founder and director of the Liberty Foundation, which has resolved ten international conflicts around the globe, has been kidnapped by the Kagama Liberation Front on the island of Anura in the Indian Ocean. The KLF plans to behead him on the Sunni holy day commemorating the sacrifice of Abraham. And no ransom will be accepted, since the Caliph masterminding the KLF's corps of suicide bombers wants greater notoriety. Ludlum died before 9/11, but his plot is hugely prescient, combining Osama bin Laden, al-Qaeda, and Palestinian martyrs. Liberty Foundation calls in Paul Janson, former Navy SEAL and master nightfighter for Consular Operations (the State Department's covert branch), who has retired to run his own business. But Liberty Foundation once saved Janson's life, while a suicide bomber of Caliph's killed Janson's pregnant wife. So Janson gathers a trio of supremely capable covert-ops like himself to infiltrate Caliph'simpregnable Stone Palace and rescue Novak. When the mission goes down in horror, sabotaged, Janson vows vengeance, not knowing that he himself is the one who must be destroyed-and by his home team, among others. Ludlum's best since his masterpiece of paranoia, The Bourne Identity.
From the Publisher
"Ludlum's best since his masterpiece The Bourne Identity." -Kirkus Reviews

"Finely crafted...The novel's action scenes are as thrilingly staged on the page as they'll inevitably be on the big screen." -Entertainment Weekly

"One heck of a thriller...loaded with all the intrigue, paranoia, and real-life parallels that made Ludlum famous." -People

"Ludlum stuffs more surprises into his novels than any other six-pack of thriller writers combined."-The New York Times

"Ludlum pulls out all the stops, and dazzles his readers."-Chicago Tribune

"Packed with all the classic Ludlum elements...the intricately engineered plot thunders forward at breakneck pace. Bottom Line: Perfectly executed."-People

"Robert Ludlum continues to jolt his readers with fresh juice...a page-turner of non-stop action that should leave his fans begging for more."-New York Post

"Welcome to Robert Ludlum's world...fast pacing, tight plotting, international intrigue."

-Cleveland Plain Dealer

"Dazzling...a clean launch of the 80's spy novel into a thrilling action/adventure web of intrigue mean for the twenty-first century."-Publishers Weekly

"Reading a Ludlum novel is like watching a James Bond film...slickly paced...all consuming."

-Entertainment Weekly

"Ludlum in light years-beyond his literary competition in piling plot twist upon plot twist, until the mesmerized reader is held captive...He dominates the field in strong, tightly plotted, action-drenched thrillers."-Chicago Tribune

"Readers will remain in the dark right up until the explosive climax."-The San Francisco Chronicle

0"Gripping...Robust writing and a breakneck pace."-Boston Herald

"Don't ever begin a Ludlum novel if you have to go to work the next day."—Chicago Sun-Times

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780312253486
  • Publisher: St. Martin's Press
  • Publication date: 10/15/2002
  • Series: Paul Janson Series , #1
  • Edition description: First Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 542
  • Product dimensions: 5.64 (w) x 11.06 (h) x 1.62 (d)

Meet the Author

Robert Ludlum was the author of 25 thriller novels, including The Bourne Identity, The Bourne Supremacy and The Bourne Ultimatum—the books on which the international hit movies were based—and The Sigma Protocol. He was also the creator of the Covert-One series. Born in New York City, Ludlum received a B.A. from Wesleyan University, and before becoming an author, he was a United States Marine, a theater actor and producer.

Biography

Robert Ludlum was the author of 21 novels, each a New York Times bestseller. There are more than 210 million of his books in print, and they have been translated into 32 languages. In addition to the Jason Bourne series—The Bourne Identity, The Bourne Supremacy, and The Bourne Ultimatum—he was the author of The Scarlatti Inheritance, The Chancellor Manuscript, and The Apocalypse Watch, among many others. Mr. Ludlum passed away in March, 2001.

Author biography courtesy of Random House, Inc.

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    1. Also Known As:
      Jonathan Ryder and Michael Shepherd
    1. Date of Birth:
      May 25, 1927
    1. Date of Death:
      March 12, 2001
    2. Place of Death:
      Naples, Florida

Read an Excerpt

N. Indian Ocean, 250 miles east of Sri Lanka

Northwestern Anura

The night was oppressive, the air at body temperature and almost motionless. Earlier in the evening there had been light, cooling rains, but now everything seemed to radiate heat, even the silvery half-moon, its countenance brushed with the occasional wisps of cloud. The jungle itself seemed to exhale the hot, moist breath of a predator lying in wait.

Shyam shifted restlessly in his canvas chair. It was, he knew, a fairly ordinary night on the island of Anura for this time of year: early in the monsoon season, the air was always heavy with a sense of foreboding. Yet only the ever attentive mosquitoes disturbed the quiet. At half past one in the morning, Shyam reckoned he had been on checkpoint duty for four and a half hours. In that time, precisely seven motorists had come their way. The checkpoint consisted of two parallel lines of barbed-wire frames—"knife rests"—set up eighty feet apart on the road, to either side of the search and administration area. Shyam and Arjun were the two sentries on forward duty, and they sat in front of the wooden roadside booth. A pair of backups was supposedly on duty on the other side of the hill, but the hours of silence from them suggested that they were dozing, along with the men in the makeshift barracks a few hundred feet down the road. For all the dire warnings of their superiors, these had been days and nights of unrelieved boredom. The northwestern province of Kenna was sparsely populated in the best of times, and these were not the best of times.

Now, drifting in with the breeze, as faint as a distant insect drone, came the sound of a gunned motor.

Shyam slowly got to his feet. The sound was growing closer.

"Arjun," he called out in a singsong tone. "Ar-jun. Car coming."

Arjun lolled his head in a circle, working out a crick in his neck. "At this hour?" He rubbed his eyes. The humidity made the sweat lie heavily on his skin, like mineral oil.

In the dark of the semi-forested terrain, Shyam could finally see the headlights. Over a revved-up motor, loud whoops of delight could be heard.

"Dirty farm kids," Arjun grumbled.

Shyam, for his part, was grateful for anything that interrupted the tedium. He had spent the past seven days on the night shift at the Kandar vehicle checkpoint, and it felt like a hardship post. Naturally, their stone-faced superior had been at pains to emphasize how important, how crucial, how vital in every way, the assignment was. The Kandar checkpoint was just up the road from the Stone Palace, where the government was holding some sort of hush-hush gathering. So security was tight, and this was the only real road that connected the palace to the rebel-held region just to the north. The guerrillas of the Kagama Liberation Front knew about the checkpoints, however, and kept away. As did most everyone else: between the rebels and the anti-rebel campaigns, more than half the villagers to the north had fled the province. And the farmers who stayed in Kenna had little money, which meant that the guards could not expect much by way of "tips." Nothing ever happened, and his wallet stayed thin. Was it something he had done in a previous life?

The truck came into view; two shirtless young men were in the cab. The roof was down. One of boys was now standing up, pouring a sudsy can of beer over his chest and cheering. The truck—probably loaded with some poor farmer's kurakkan, or root crops—was rounding the bend at upward of eighty miles per hour, as fast as the groaning engine would go. American rock music, from one of the island's powerful AM stations, blared.

The yelps and howls of merriment echoed through the night. They sounded like a pack of drunken hyenas, Shyam thought miserably. Penniless joyriders: they were young, wasted, didn't give a damn about anything. In the morning they would, though. The last time this happened, several days earlier, the truck's owner got a visit later that morning from the youths' shamefaced parents. The truck was returned, along with many, many bushels of kurakkan to make amends for whatever damage had been done. As for the kids, well, they couldn't sit without wincing, not even on a cushioned car seat.

Now Shyam stepped into the road with his rifle. The truck kept barreling forward, and he stepped back. No use being stupid about it. Those kids were blind drunk. A beer can was lobbed into the air, hitting the ground with a thunk. From the sound, it was a full one.

The truck veered around the first knife rest, and then the second knife rest, and kept going.

"Let Shiva tear them limb from limb," Arjun said. He scrubbed at his bushy black hair with his stubby fingertips. "No need to radio the backstop. You can hear these kids for miles."

pard

"What are we supposed to do?" Shyam said. They were not traffic cops, and the rules did not permit them to open fire on just any vehicle that failed to stop.

"Peasant boys. Bunch of peasant boys."

"Hey," Shyam said. "I'm a peasant boy myself." He touched the patch sewn on his khaki shirt: ARA, it read. Army of the Republic of Anura. "This isn't tattooed on my skin, all right? When my two years are up, I'm going back to the farm."

"That's what you say now. I got an uncle who has a college degree; he's been a civil servant for ten years. Makes half what we do."

"And you're worth every ruvee," Shyam said with heavy sarcasm.

"All I'm saying is, you got to seize what chances life gives you." Arjun flicked a thumb at the can on the road. "Sounds like that one's still got beer in it. Now, that's what I'm talking about. Pukka refreshment, my friend."

"Arjun," Shyam protested. "We're supposed to be on duty together, you know this? The two of us, yes?"

"Don't worry, my friend." Arjun grinned. "I'll share."

When the truck was half a mile past the roadblock, the driver eased up on the accelerator, and the young man riding shotgun sat down, wiping himself off with a towel before putting on a black T-shirt and strapping himself in. The beer was foul, noisome, and sticky in the heavy air. Both guerrillas looked grave.

An older man was seated on the flat bench behind them. Sweat made his black curls cling to his forehead, and his mustache gleam in the moonlight. The KLF officer had been prone and invisible when the truck crashed the checkpoint. Now he flicked the communicate button on his walkie-

talkie, an old model but a sturdy one, and grunted some instructions.

With a metallic groan, the rear door of the trailer was cracked open so that the armed men inside could get some air.

The coastal hill had many names and many meanings. The Hindus knew it as Sivanolipatha Malai, Shiva's footprint, to acknowledge its true origins. The Buddhists knew it as Sri Pada, Buddha's footprint, for they believed that it was made by Buddha's left foot when he journeyed to the island. The Muslims knew it as Adam Malai, or Adam's Hill: tenth-century Arab traders held that Adam, after he was expelled from Paradise, stopped here and remained standing on one foot until God recognized his penitence. The colonial overlords—first the Portuguese and then the Dutch—viewed it with an eye to practical rather than spiritual considerations: the coastal promontory was the ideal place for a fortress, where mounted artillery could be directed toward the threat posed by hostile warships. It was in the seventeenth century that a fortress was first erected on the hill; as the structure was rebuilt over the following centuries, little attention was ever paid to the small houses of worship nearby. Now they would serve as way stations for the Prophet's army during the final assault.

Ordinarily, its leader, the man they called the Caliph, would never be exposed to the confusion and unpredictability of an armed engagement. But this was no ordinary night. History was being written this night. How could the Caliph not be present? Besides, he knew that his decision to join his men on the terrain of battle had increased their morale immeasurably. He was surrounded by stouthearted Kagama who wanted him to be a witness to their heroism or, if it should turn out to be the case, their martyrdom. They looked at the planes of his face, his fine ebony features, and his strong, sculpted jaw, and they saw not merely a man anointed by the Prophet to lead them to freedom but a man who would inscribe their deeds in the book of life, for all posterity.

And so the Caliph kept vigil with his special detail, on a carefully chosen mountainous perch. The ground was hard and wet beneath his thin-soled boots, but the Stone Palace—or, more precisely, its main entrance—glowed before him. The east wall was a vast expanse of limestone, its weathered stones and wide, freshly painted gate bathed in lights that were sunk into the ground every few feet. It shimmered. It beckoned.

"You or your followers may die tonight," the Caliph had told the members of his command hours before. "If so, your martyrdom will be remembered— always! Your children and your parents will be sanctified by their connection to you. Shrines will be built to your memory! Pilgrims will travel to the site of your birth! You will be remembered and venerated, always, as among the fathers of our nation."

They were individuals of faith, fervor, and courage, whom the West was pleased to scorn as terrorists. Terrorists! For the West, the ultimate source of terror in the world, this term was a cynical convenience. The Caliph despised the Anuran tyrants, but he hated with a pure hate the Westerners who made their rule possible. The Anurans at least understood that there was a price to be paid for their usurpation of power; the rebels had repeatedly brought that lesson home, written it with blood. But the Westerners were accustomed to acting with impunity. Perhaps that would change.

Now the Caliph looked at the hillside around him and felt hope—not merely for himself and his followers but for the island itself. Anura. Once it had taken back its own destiny, what would it not be capable of? The very rocks and trees and vine-draped hillocks seemed to urge him on.

Mother Anura would vindicate her protectors.

Centuries ago, visitors had to resort to the cadence of poetry in order to evoke the beauty of its flora and fauna. Soon colonialism, fueled by envy and avarice, would impose its grim logic: what was ravishing would be ravished, the captivating made captive. Anura became a prize for which the great maritime empires of the West would contend. Battlements rose above the spice-tree groves; cannonballs nestled on the beaches among the conch shells. The West brought bloodshed to the island and it took root there, spreading across the landscape like a toxic weed, nourished on injustice.

What did they do to you, Mother Anura?

Over tea and canapes, Western diplomats drew lines that would bring tumult to the lives of millions, treating the atlas of the world like a child's Etch-A-Sketch.

Independence, they had called it! It was one of the great lies of the twentieth century. The regime itself amounted to an act of violence against the Kagama people, for which the only remedy was more violence. Every time a suicide bomber took out a Hindu government minister, the Western media pontificated about &'grave;senseless killings,'' but the Caliph and his soldiers knew that nothing made more sense. The most widely publicized wave of bombings—taking out ostensibly civilian targets in the capital city, Caligo—had been masterminded by the Caliph himself. The vans were rendered invisible, for all intents, by the forged decals of a ubiquitous international courier and freight service. Such a simple deception! Packed with diesel-soaked nitrate fertilizer, the vans delivered only a cargo of death. In the past decade, this wave of bombings was what aroused the greatest condemnation around the world—which was an odd hypocrisy, for it merely brought the war home to the warmongers.

Now the chief radio operator whispered in the Caliph's ear. The Kaffra base had been destroyed, its communications infrastructure dismantled. Even if they managed to get the word out, the guards at the Stone Palace had no hope for backup. Thirty seconds later, the radio operator had yet another message to convey: confirmation that a second army base had been reclaimed by the people. A second thoroughfare was now theirs. The Caliph felt his spine begin to tingle. Within hours, the entire province of Kenna would be wrested from a despotic death grip. The shift of power would begin. National liberation would glimmer over the horizon with the sun.

0

Nothing, however, was more important than taking the Steenpaleis, the Stone Palace. Nothing. The Go-Between had been emphatic about it, and so far the Go-Between had been right about everything, starting with the value of his own contributions. He had been as good as his word—no, better. He had been generous to the point of profligacy with his armaments and, equally important, his intelligence. He had not disappointed the Caliph, and the Caliph would not disappoint him. The Caliph's opponents had their resources, their backers and benefactors; why should he not have his?

"It's still cold!'' Arjun cried out with delight as he picked up the beer can. The outside of the can was actually frosty. Arjun pressed it to the side of his face, moaning with pleasure. His fingers melted oval impressions in the icy coating, which glinted cheerily in the checkpoint's yellow mercury light.

"And it's really full?'' Shyam said doubtfully.

"Unopened,'' Arjun said. &'grave;Heavy with the health drink!'' And it was heavy, unexpectedly so. "We'll pour off a swig for the ancestors. A few long swallows for me, and whatever drops are left for you, since I know you don't like the stuff.'' Arjun's thick fingers scrabbled for the pull tab, then gave it a firm yank.

The muffled pop of the detonator, like the sound of a party favor that spews confetti, came milliseconds before the actual explosion. It was almost enough time for Arjun to register the thought that he had been the victim of a small prank and for Shyam to register the thought that his suspicions—although they had remained at the not-quite-conscious level of vague disquiet—had been justified. When the twelve ounces of plastique exploded, both men's trains of thought came to an end.

The blast was a shattering moment of light and sound that instantly expanded into an immense, fiery oval of destruction. The shock waves destroyed the two knife rests and the wooden roadside booth, as well as the barracks and those who slept there. The pair of guards who were supposed to have been on duty as backstop at the other end of the roadblock died before they awoke. The intense, momentary heat caused an area of the red laterite soil to crust into an obsidian-like glass. And then, as quickly as it arrived, the explosion—the deafening noise, the blinding light—vanished, like a man's fist when he opens his hand. The force of destruction was fleeting, the destruction itself permanent.

Fifteen minutes later, when a convoy of canvas-topped personnel carriers made its way through what remained of the checkpoint, no subterfuge would be necessary.

There was an irony, the Caliph realized, in the fact that only his adversaries would fully understand the ingenuity of the predawn onslaught. On the ground, the fog of war would obscure what would be obvious from far away: the pattern of precisely coordinated attacks. The Caliph knew that within a day or so, analysts at the American spy agencies would be peering at satellite imagery that would make the pattern of activity as clear as a textbook diagram. The Caliph's victory would become the stuff of legend;

his debt to the Go-Between—not least at the insistence of the Go-Between himself—would remain a matter between him and Allah.

A pair of binoculars was brought to the Caliph, who surveyed the honor guards arrayed before the main gate.

They were human ornaments, an accordion of paper dolls. Another instance of the government's elitist stupidity. The compound's nighttime illumination rendered them sitting ducks while simultaneously impeding their ability to see anything in the surrounding darkness.

The honor guards represented the ARA's elite—typically, those with relatives in high places, mannerly careerists with excellent hygiene and a knack for maintaining the crease in their neatly pressed uniforms. The cr;ageme de la cr;ageme br;aful;aaee, the Caliph reflected to himself with a mixture of irony and contempt. They were showmen, not warriors. Through the binoculars, he gazed at the seven men, each holding a rifle braced upright on his shoulder, where it would look impressive and be perfectly useless. Not even showmen. Playthings.

The chief radio operator nodded at the Caliph: the section commander was in position, ensuring that the barracked soldiers would be undeployable. A member of the Caliph's retinue presented him with a rifle: it was a purely ceremonial act that he had devised, but ceremony was the handmaiden of power. Accordingly, the Caliph would fire the first shot, using the very same rifle that a great independence fighter had used, fifty years ago, to assassinate the Dutch governor general. The rifle, a bolt-action Mauser M24, had been perfectly reconditioned and carefully zeroed. Unwrapped from the silk that had enfolded it, it gleamed like the sword of Saladin.

The Caliph found the number one guard in the weapon's scope and exhaled halfway so that the crosshairs settled on the center of the man's beribboned chest. He squeezed the trigger and intently watched the man's expressions—successively startled, anguished, dazed. On the man's upper right torso, a small oval of red bloomed, like a boutonniere.

Now the other members of the Caliph's detail followed suit, loosing a brief fusillade of well-aimed bullets. Marionettes released from their strings, the seven officers collapsed, tumbled, sprawled.

Despite himself, the Caliph laughed. These deaths had no dignity; they were as absurd as the tyranny they served. A tyranny that would now find itself on the defensive.

By sunrise, any free-floating representatives of the Anuran government that remained in the province would be well advised to shred their uniforms or else face dismemberment by hostile mobs.

Kenna would no longer be part of the illegitimate Republic of Anura. Kenna would belong to him.

It had begun.

The Caliph felt a surge of righteousness, and the clear piercing truth filled him like a light. The only solution to violence was more violence.

Many would die in the next several minutes, and they would be the fortunate ones. But there was one person in the Stone Palace who would not be killed—not yet. He was a special man, a man who had come to the island in an attempt to broker a peace. He was a powerful man, revered by millions, but an agent of neocolonialism nevertheless. So he had to be treated with care. This one—the great man, the "peacemaker,'' the man of all peoples, as the Western media insisted—would not be a casualty of a military skirmish. He would not be shot.

For him, the proper niceties would be observed.

And then he would be beheaded as the criminal he was.

The revolution would be nourished on his blood!

Copyright 2002 by Robert Ludlum

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 53 )
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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 53 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 26, 2006

    My First Ludlum

    I had been concerned that Ludlum's action- packed thrillers would be difficult for me to grasp, but I was happily surprised, that the novel is structured so even a novice like me can pick up on everything. And enjoy it too. This book is not a heartless thriller, it has plenty of emotion, as well as good plot, twists, and held my interest the whole 680 pages. The politics and intrigue were explained on a need-to-know basis to understand every phase of the story. Now a new genre for me to read!

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 16, 2007

    Love Ludlum!

    I'm only half way through this one. One point I'll make right away keep a dictionary handy. I don't remember any other Ludlum novel where he flexed his extensive vocabulary in such quantity. I thought I had a good grasp of the English language, being a 51-year old American. I find I'm looking up one or two words PER PAGE! I also find I'm thinking of Jason Bourne a great deal, feeling that he could fit this novel as Paul Janson does. Mr. Ludlum, though, is not predictable, ever. Every time I'm getting comfortable in the story, here comes a bullet or bad guy. And who do you trust? Practically no one.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 31, 2004

    WOW!!! A Literary Classic!

    When I hear that a book is not finished by its author, I am always skeptical. Many books that I have read that have not been finished by or completely written by a great author seem a bit contrived and artificial. I have read books by Hemingway and Agatha Christie that don't seem quite vintage, and it was my fear that this was going to be the same type of deal. Boy, was I wrong! This is hands down one of Ludlum's very best, right up next to The Bourne Identity. I was blown away by the complex story and the never-ending action and suspense. The book was long, but I was ever-so thankful for that, as I didn't want one of the best books that I have ever read to end. I am telling you, read this book, you won't regret it.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 15, 2005

    heart-pounding and highly thrilling

    Robert Ludlum is very talented in the way he weaves his story. 'The Janson Directive' reflects his marksmanship at weaving stories so that the reader is caught up in the story and is re-living the whole plot. The book is about a very skilled, covert-operation agent known as Paul Janson who resign from his covert job after he has served in the Vietnam War. Janson then took up a job as a security consultant and wanted nothing to do with covert operations again or anything that will resonate memories of his years in Vietnam. Little did he know that he will going back to his detested-job sooner than he expected when the deputy director of a private company known as Liberty Foundation consults him to rescue their founder, Peter Novak from the clutches of a deadly terrorist cell that is based in Anura and is headed by a man that calls himself 'The Caliph.' Janson unaware that the intended rescue is a plot to put his life in danger and pit him against the US government, takes up the offer [which obviously did not go as planned] and he became the most wanted man by US government and intelligence. Janson now has to save his own life and try to find the whole truth behind this conspiracy that he's a victim of by devising his own conspiracy.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    Outstanding Finale!

    To some readers, this Ludlum novel may have distracting passages that almost read like essays, and since we don't know where Ludlum left off before he died and someone else took over for him, I would like to suggest another possibility to this departure from his usual treatment. Authors who want to lend authenticity to their stories do far more research than they can actually use in a story. Often, in the first draft, they include everything -- its called overwriting -- until they are ready to revise. And then they edit back unwieldy descriptions in favor of keeping the story and pace moving forward. Ludlum may have died before he could do this, but in leaving his research in, the editor has left us with another Ludlum legacy. If we were to separate these passages from the main story line, we would have an extraordinary thesis on today's terrorists--he described their warped mindset--what motivates them, their history, their homelands, their grievances, their hopes and dreams. Ludlum provides needed insight into today's enemy, and that's always been his greatest power--his books have not only thrilled us, they have educated us about so many things--government structures we never experience, about people we never meet in our daily lives, and now at the end, he helps us see America the way terrorists see us--from the oppressed to those deluded with power, whether on the side of the enemy or within our own ranks of government and commerce. He has created characters we want to meet again, and for his last work, what a memory to leave with us if that is not the case. Paul Janson and Jessica Kincaid--today's hero and heroine--the kind our world needs in a time when trust is threatened. Ludlum does not disappoint his fans. This is an amazing book that reveals nothing until the last chapter and even then the suspense does not let up until the last page.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 8, 2013

    Joshh

    Hi imma josh i forgot to tell ya imma14.....nook sex????? I WANT YOU..ddo you want me?????i have abs ....

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 28, 2012

    Hanna

    Sure sophl

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 23, 2012

    Sofia 2 every1

    Wut up people i'm 12 wanna chat?

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 1, 2012

    Lex

    Interesting facts we HAD to know about you Maddie,thank you :(

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 23, 2012

    Hey elena

    Des

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 5, 2012

    Hey im maddie

    Hi im maddie i like to fart at nights i pee in the sinks i make art out of poop( my own poop) i like sex and everything elese! Wanna chat?

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 29, 2012

    Ludlum lives

    Great read don't know how I missed this.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 20, 2012

    Ludlum has lost it!

    This might have been ok but it is 3 times too long, full of faux literary prose that contributes nothing to the story line. I forced myself to read the whole thing to see if there was some method to the madness, but there wasn't!!

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  • Posted April 12, 2012

    Highly recommend

    Enjoyed it very much am now ready his second Janson book

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  • Posted April 1, 2012

    The Usual

    If you're a fan of Ludlum, you'll like this - lots of action and international intrigue, tactical situations described in great detail. The hero is virtually invulnerable and piles up the bodies of the expert assassins sent to get him. On the other hand, he's clueless as to the big picture. I figured out the plot key about 150 pages before Janson did. This raises the question of why the various conspirators are so eager to kill him when he's so much easier to dupe. I can't give this one more than a marginally favorable rating.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 20, 2012

    Best One Ever

    So i am a huge Ludlum fan, started with Bourne Supremacy, and found Janson Directive at the library. I began to read it and couldn't put it down. Though he didn't solely write it, I believe it's his best.

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  • Posted January 6, 2012

    highly recommed

    increably supenceful; action around every turn; up there with the bourne identity.

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  • Posted December 28, 2011

    N/A

    I have placed the books on my notbook as I have left the Ebook reader at home. Have tryed to transfer the books to my E-book reader and am having a problem with the instructions. A friend that is a computer viz will do that for me, I hope he can?

    Once done I will read the books and will submitt the review again.

    Thank you for asking.

    Jack Zimmermann

    0 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted May 4, 2011

    Excellent read

    Talk about suspense and intrigue! So many twists and turns it'llmake your head spin

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  • Posted January 26, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    Plenty of action and Surprises!

    As I was reading "The Janson Directive" I found that the plot was extremely interesting and soon got so involved with Mr. Ludlum's world of espionage and intrigue that I could hardly put the book down. Like many other fans of Mr. Ludlum his death marked a dark day for me. I considered him one of the premier writers of this century. While this book is far from being the author's best it is still an entertaining and action packed book with plenty of spins and surprises. Like all of his books the book is ten times better than the movie. Highly recommend.

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 53 Customer Reviews

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