The Janson Command by Paul Garrison Read Free Book Online Page A

there and he was sailing closer, wondering was it something he wanted?
    But Janson only shook his head. “I don’t know that they’re lying.”
    He extinguished the gleam so thoroughly that even she could not tell what he was thinking. “But yes, I am intrigued. For the U.S. and China, and anyone else trying to corner a stable source of oil, the Gulf of Guinea looks more and more like an end run around the mess in the Middle East. The stakes are huge, potentially.”
    Kincaid knew that. It was obvious. What was not obvious to her, and it drove her crazy, was what he was really thinking. What did Janson want? He was as complicated a person as she had ever known. She had learned that his apparent straightforwardness was more a factor of acute decisiveness. Like her, he thought and acted quickly. It was necessary to survive. But in Paul’s case, she thought, decisiveness masked complication.
    “But it’s more than that,” she pressed him. “I think you are also influenced by concern for Doug Case. Isn’t that the truth?”
    “The truth?” Janson returned a bantering smile.“Our old friend.”
    “ Your old friend,” she retorted, and watched his thoughts sink inward.
    To keep healing Paul Janson knew that he had to brave the truth daily: Crimes he had committed to serve his country were still crimes; assassinating even the most deserving of termination was murder; a successful assassin was a serial killer; and unless an agent possessed the empty heart of a sociopath, murder after murder exacted a fierce toll on the murderer.
    But as he had explained years ago to Doug Case, admitting the truth could only save him if he atoned. He could not change the past, but he could work with every fiber in his being to make amends. That was his dream, one that was battered daily by reality, human failings, moral conundrums, and the paradox of atoning for violence with violence.
    “Yes,” he admitted. “Doug is one of the ‘saved.’ ”
    “I knew it!” she said triumphantly. “The Phoenix strikes again.”
    “Doug was my first. Back when I was blundering around on my own.”
    Doug Case had been right about one thing: Janson had soon discovered that it was impossible to do it alone. The man who loathed institutions had to create one. He had recruited experts to help create the Phoenix Foundation to seek out and rehabilitate former covert officers suffering the mental wounds of dehumanizing service. Astute management of the money planted in his overseas accounts, bold moves at moments of financial meltdown, and some astonishing good luck helped pay for Phoenix grants to former covert operators to set them up in academia or public service or community institutions. Jobs like this one to rescue ASC’s doctor earned the money to maintain facilitators, specialized operators, computer wizards, and hackers.
    None knew the whole story. Jessica was special and knew more than most.
    “Doug is also a major success. Head of global security for the biggest oil company in the world. In his so-called spare time he’s big brother, dad, and uncle to an entire halfway house for former gangbangers crippled in shoot-outs. At Christmas everybody gets an electric superchair.”
    “What did he do? What did you save him from?”
    “Nothing you need to know.”
    “Of course I don’t need to know. Except if I’m suddenly hanging upside down by my ankles watching you get tortured and waiting for my turn, I would like to think that we went into this job with our eyes open.”
    “Funny you should mention torture.”
    “What is funny about torture?”
    “Doug Case was against torture. Vehemently. He believed that everyone—citizen, soldier, covert agent—was in the war against terror. Therefore, he claimed, we should not destroy the best part of ourselves—our civilization, our morals—just to save ourselves. He said innocent victims who are killed because a terrorist was not tortured into giving up information die serving the greater