Consent To Kill_ A Thriller Part 11

He shrugged. "It's just another job."

"For seven million dollars...I doubt it. Who does he want you to kill?"

Louie took a gulp of wine and then said, "An American."

She crossed her legs. "Please tell me we do not have to travel there. You know I do not like working in America."

" 'Don't,' " he corrected her. "Remember, Americans don't say 'do not'; they say 'don't.' "

Her nostrils flared ever so slightly. "This is not a time for you to lecture me about syntax or idioms or whatever it is you call these things. Answer my question."

"We will more than likely have to work in America."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Who is the target? And don't say the president."

"No, it is not the president." He laughed.

She was running out of patience. "Name! I want a name!"

"Shhhhh..." He tried to place a hand on her knee but she slapped it away.

"Tell me right now!"

"Mitch Rapp."

She blinked once and then twice and then slowly set down her gla.s.s. She stood and walked to the window. She checked the street, and then came back and in a voice barely above a whisper asked, "Why?"

"I didn't ask him why. It is not my place."

She folded her arms across her chest and said, "I thought you admired this man Rapp."

"I do."

"Then why do you want the job?"

"You don't think seven million dollars is a good enough reason?"

"You have to be alive to enjoy seven million dollars."

"I am not going to get killed."

"You do not know that. This isn't some banker, like the other day in London. This is Mitch Rapp. He bites back."

"He will never see me coming."

She walked from one end of the tiny apartment and back. "Who wants him dead?"

"Abel was not about to tell me."

"I bet it's the Saudis."

"He didn't say."

"I'm not asking," she snapped. "Abel has been doing dirty work for them for some time." She blew a loose strand of hair from her face and said, "I'm not crazy about the idea of working for them. Mitch Rapp happens to be on the side I believe in. As you like to say, he's one of the 'good guys.' "

"I've told you I don't know how many times...leave politics out of this, but as long as you're on the subject, I find it interesting that you would label Rapp 'one of the good guys.' I can think of about a billion Muslims who would disagree with you."

Her face flushed and she pointed her finger at him. "Don't start this with me. You hate the Catholic Church because of your father. 'It's a religious war,' she mocked him, 'that goes back thousands of years and the Catholic Church has been wrong more than it has been right.' "

"And I still stand by that."

"You are naive, Louie, just like I was when I grew to hate my own father. We are in the here and now. Not a thousand years ago. The Catholic Church has nothing to do with this. This is about a bunch of racist, bigoted, s.e.xist, small-minded men trying to hold on to their arcane way of living as the world pa.s.ses them by." She pointed to herself. "And I for one have no desire to help them."

He almost told her to relax, but then thought better of it. That would only upset her further. "I wouldn't argue with a thing you just said."

"Good. Then we are going to tell the German no."

"I did not say that."

"I thought you agreed with me."

"I do, but there is a lot more to it than what you just said."

"Like what?" She began tapping her foot.

"Like settling down and having a baby." He could see the mere mention of offspring stopped her in her tracks.

He was right but for the wrong reasons. Claudia desperately wanted to talk about this, but now was not the time. Not while they were angry. "How do I have your baby if you are dead?"

He stepped around the table and grabbed her hands. "I know this isn't easy for you, but I promise I will be careful. If it takes six months, I will wait. He does not know I'm coming. The German has no idea who we are. Rapp will never see me. I will kill him, and we will be done."

She was tempted, but something told her they should run from this job as fast as possible. "I don't know."

"That's fine. Sleep on it. Think about finally being done with looking over our shoulders, moving every month...finally settling down. Think about a house on the beach filled with little kids." He took her in his arms and held her tight. "I promise you, nothing bad will happen. I will be extra careful."

She looked up at him. "You really think you can walk away from this lifestyle?" It was a subject they had visited on more than one occasion.

He smiled and said, "Yes," even though he wasn't sure he meant it.

She looked into his eyes. They were intelligent, caring eyes, but she knew what lurked just beneath. She had seen him kill, and it had shocked her how little it affected her. It was even beautiful to watch. He was so skilled and effortless in his actions. She rationalized her feelings by hanging her conscience on the fact that the men he killed were guilty of some crime or transgression against humanity. But Mitch Rapp was a different matter. He was someone she admired. This one would be hard to rationalize. In the end, though, it was the promise of walking away from it all, once and for all, that tempted her forward. Things were coming to a head whether Louie wanted them to or not. Their life was moving ahead and it was time for them to put all of this behind them.

18.

WASHINGTON, DC.

T raffic was light, but Rapp nonetheless drove aggressively. It was a little after six in the morning and they were making good time. There was no reason to rush, but Anna wasn't about to tell him to slow down. They'd been down that road before, and he had been characteristically inflexible. Whenever possible Mitch liked to drive her to work. The thirty-minute commute without traffic was a nice way for them to spend time together and since they were both headed in the same direction, it made sense. They had settled into a routine. Mitch drove fast, his head on a swivel, checking his mirrors constantly, noting the faces of drivers as he pa.s.sed them, and trying as much as possible to vary the route they took. It was all second nature to him, ingrained from years of living in hostile environments. raffic was light, but Rapp nonetheless drove aggressively. It was a little after six in the morning and they were making good time. There was no reason to rush, but Anna wasn't about to tell him to slow down. They'd been down that road before, and he had been characteristically inflexible. Whenever possible Mitch liked to drive her to work. The thirty-minute commute without traffic was a nice way for them to spend time together and since they were both headed in the same direction, it made sense. They had settled into a routine. Mitch drove fast, his head on a swivel, checking his mirrors constantly, noting the faces of drivers as he pa.s.sed them, and trying as much as possible to vary the route they took. It was all second nature to him, ingrained from years of living in hostile environments.

Anna, for her part, kept her face buried in the NewYork Times NewYork Times and the and the Washington Post. Washington Post. Her job required a heavy dose of reading. As a White House correspondent she had to not just follow the goings-on at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, but keep an eye on all things Executive Branch. In addition to that she had to at a bare minimum be aware of what the president's opposition was up to. There was a lot to keep up with and the dirty secret of most TV journalists in DC was that they relied heavily on print reporters to do their work for them. The Her job required a heavy dose of reading. As a White House correspondent she had to not just follow the goings-on at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, but keep an eye on all things Executive Branch. In addition to that she had to at a bare minimum be aware of what the president's opposition was up to. There was a lot to keep up with and the dirty secret of most TV journalists in DC was that they relied heavily on print reporters to do their work for them. The Post Post and the and the Times Times were a must. Read both, encapsulate, and take to the air with a thirty-second blurb about whatever scandal was brewing at the White House. In theory, if there was time, and if you could get anyone at the White House to talk to you, you would ask a few questions. In reality, however, the "stay on message" att.i.tude of the White House and time constraints meant that more often than not you encapsulated and regurgitated. So while her husband drove like a bank robber fleeing the feds, she tried her best to ignore everything that was going on outside the armored vehicle that was their family sedan. were a must. Read both, encapsulate, and take to the air with a thirty-second blurb about whatever scandal was brewing at the White House. In theory, if there was time, and if you could get anyone at the White House to talk to you, you would ask a few questions. In reality, however, the "stay on message" att.i.tude of the White House and time constraints meant that more often than not you encapsulated and regurgitated. So while her husband drove like a bank robber fleeing the feds, she tried her best to ignore everything that was going on outside the armored vehicle that was their family sedan.

The customized silver Audi A8 weighed approximately thirty percent more than the factory model. Almost all of the increase in weight came from the bulletproof Kevlar fabric that lined the doors, floor, and ceiling of the vehicle. The bulletproof windows added a bit as did the run-flat tires, but it was the bullet-stopping density of the double layer of Kevlar that added an additional fourteen hundred pounds to the vehicle's gross weight. The sedan had more than enough horsepower to handle the extra weight. The only noticeable difference was in the gas mileage.

"There's a good article in the Post Post about your new boss," she said without looking up. "You should check it out." about your new boss," she said without looking up. "You should check it out."

With a frown on his face Rapp accelerated and changed lanes. "What are you talking about?"

"Ross...the new director of National Intelligence."

"I wouldn't call him my boss."

Anna glanced over at the speedometer and resisted the impulse to look beyond the dashboard. They were on Highway 50 and to be honest she didn't know if the speed limit was fifty, fifty-five, or sixty-five, but she knew it wasn't eighty, which was what the speedometer read. Such was life with Mitch.e.l.l Rapp. It had taken some time, but she was finally learning to sit back, trust, and relax.

"According to the article he's your boss," she said.

Rapp hadn't thought of it that way, but he supposed if he ever bothered to pay attention to those worthless organizational charts that came across his desk from time to time they would indicate that Ross probably was his boss. "He's a paper pusher, honey. Just another layer of bureaucracy to add to the top of the inverted pyramid."

This time she looked up at him with her stunning green eyes, smiled, and said, "And you're Atlas, right, honey?" She reached out to put her hand on the back of his neck. He blinked, but didn't flinch, which was good. It had taken many months to get him to trust her. Like a dog that was beaten as a puppy, Mitch did not like people touching him.

"Why are you trying to be hurtful?" This was his new ploy with her. Throw the PC mantra back in her face and act like a victim. "I thought we were on the same team."

She rubbed his neck. "We are, honey. I just like teasing you. So have you met him yet?"

"Who?"

"Ross."

Rapp was paranoid for a variety of reasons, but he tried to limit it to his professional life. There were times, though, when his very nosy wife liked to blur the line between their personal life and their jobs. He glanced over at his Anna to see if she knew more than she was letting on. "I've met him a few times."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What's your impression of the guy?"

"I don't know." Rapp shrugged unconvincingly.

"Do I sense dissension in the ranks?" Her index finger had found a curl and she began wrapping it around her finger.

"Easy, Lois Lane."

"Do tell," she pressed. "The article makes it sound like everybody likes the guy. Republicans and Democrats alike."

"And you believe everything you read in the paper?"

"Until I have proof otherwise...yes." She turned a little more in her seat so she could face him. "Are you mad because Irene didn't get the new top job?"

"No." He frowned. "I like Irene right where she is. She keeps people off my back and makes sure I get what I need. Besides...it remains to be seen how much of the new job is just window dressing."

Anna raised one of her thin eyebrows. "Is Irene going to be able to keep Ross off your back?"

Rapp glanced over at his wife and smiled. "Not bad for a talking head. I'm very proud of you."

They pa.s.sed the National Arboretum on their left and entered a rundown part of the city. Anna gave his hair a quick yank. "Why did I ever marry you?"

Rapp kept his eyes fixed on the road. "Because you have serious control issues and you like a challenge. I'm your Mount Everest and you want to summit me." He smiled to himself and looked mischievously at his wife. "I like the sound of that. How would you like to summit me tonight?"

"Not with that line."

"Honey, I think our love is a beautiful thing, and when I express that love I'd appreciate a little reciprocation. You know...I have feelings too."

"You're unbelievable." She laughed. "I have no doubt that I have a few issues, but you saying that I have control issues is like Donald Trump telling someone they have a big ego."

"Darling," Rapp's voice took on a softer, decidedly NPR-esque tone, "remember, any comment that isn't a positive comment is a cry for help." He reached over and patted her knee. "When you're ready to talk, I'm here for you."

Anna had three brothers and she was no wilting flower. She wound up and punched him on the shoulder.

Rapp began laughing uncontrollably. "Spousal abuse...help!"

She hit him twice more in the arm and was about to hit him for a fourth time when she had a flashback to playing slug bug with her brothers when they were kids. She was in her early thirties, for Christ's sake. "Oh...Mitch.e.l.l, why do I let you get to me?"

Rapp was still laughing. "Because you love me."

"I swear sometimes I think I'm married to a child." She sat back in her seat and folded her arms stubbornly across her chest.

He was still laughing, and reached over to place his right hand on her thigh. "I'm sorry, honey." Even as he said this, though, he was planning to torment her further. He slid his hand down to her knee, where she was deathly ticklish, and clamped down hard enough to send her through the roof.

She slapped his hand twice and then began clawing at his fingers, while alternating between cries of laughter and pain. Her husband finally relented and she sat there in her seat giggling, her shoulder length, auburn hair covering her face. After a good ten seconds she sat up and flung her hair over her shoulder. "I'm going to get you. You know that...don't you?"

Rapp nodded. "I'm sure you will."

Just when he was congratulating himself for getting her off a subject that he didn't want to talk about, she said, "And don't think I don't know what you were doing back there."

"Back where?"

"When you decided you didn't want to talk about your new boss, so you turned everything back onto me. Would you like to tell me why you don't like him, or should I spend the day on the phone asking other people why they think you don't like him?"

"See...there you go again."

They were nearing the White House. "Slow down, and don't change the subject. You know I'll spend the whole day working the phones if you don't answer me honestly."

He knew she was dead serious. "Fine, you big bully. I'm not sure how I feel about the guy. I don't know a lot about him, but I have some reservations."

"Like what?"