Vince Flynn - Consent To Kill

It was a few minutes before three in the afternoon and the place was nearly empty. At the far end of the bar, Rapp found his man. He was instantly recognizable by his ridiculous comb-over hairdo and oversized ears. Rapp was not surprised to see that he was sitting with his back to the door. Rapp walked the length of the old wood bar and nodded to the bartender who was watching him intently.

The senator was perched on the last stool reading a book. Rapp stopped and delivered the rickety stool a good kick.

Senator Hartsburg grabbed the bar to steady himself and turned with anger in his eyes and a french fry dangling from his mouth. "What in the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

Not a bad idea, Rapp thought to himself. "We need to talk."

Hartsburg's perpetual scowl deepened. "Call my office and set up an appointment." He turned his back to Rapp.

Rapp considered flicking one of the man's large ears, but thought better of it. "That's not going to happen. We need to talk now." Rapp was not a patient man. That was why he had come all the way across town. Kennedy did not seem too excited about locking horns with her new boss, and Rapp had a feeling if they didn't get the IRS off Coleman's back pronto they might be camped out on his doorstep for the next year. It was time to get something back from his new associate.

The bartender showed up. "Is everything all right, Carl?"

Before Hartsburg could reply, Rapp said, "I'll take a beer."

The bartender checked with the senator to see if this was okay. Hartsburg mumbled something under his breath and returned to his book.

"A Guinness, please?" Rapp said with a forced smile.

The bartender hesitated for a second and then left to pour the beer. Rapp peered over Hartsburg's shoulder and asked, "What're you reading?"

"None of your business."

Rapp glimpsed the title across the top of the page. "Nineteen Eighty-Four…George Orwell." He couldn't have been more surprised. "I'm impressed."

"Don't be," growled Hartsburg. "I'm reading it again so I can better understand how your type thinks."

Rapp laughed. "Well, when you're done be sure to pick up Animal Farm, so you can better understand how your type thinks."

The senator closed the book. "Would you mind? I'm here so I can eat, have a drink, and be alone. If you want to talk, call my office."

Rapp grabbed the next stool. "Relax, Carl." He figured if the bartender could call him by his first name, so could he. "Trust me…you don't want me calling your office." Rapp unclipped his BlackBerry, punched a series of buttons, and set it on the bar.

The device seemed to get the senator's attention. Hartsburg pushed his plate away and said, "Why did you come here? I really don't want to be seen with you in public, and how in the hell did you find me, anyway?"

Rapp lowered his chin. "You're kidding me…right?" He wasn't about to tell him it was his wife who had tracked him down. It was better to leave him thinking he'd employed the vast resources of the CIA to find him.

Hartsburg took a drink, and looked up at the TV. He was more uncomfortable with this encounter than Rapp had expected.

"Senator," Rapp leaned in, "you're the one who wanted to have our little off-the-record meeting. You're the one who proposed this new agreement. If you'd like to back out, I'll walk out of here right now, and believe me I'll be a happy man if I never have to lay eyes on you again."

An uncomfortable silence passed and then Hartsburg said, "Just please, not here. Don't bother me when I'm here. This is where I come to get away from everything."

There was something oddly melancholy in the senator's tone. He began to nod slowly and said, "All right."

The bartender showed up with the beer. "Put it on his tab," Rapp said as he reached for his wallet. "Just kidding." Rapp threw a twenty on the bar. "Take it out of that, and get the senator another one."

Hartsburg nodded his consent and the bartender left. After looking at his book for a moment he asked, "What's so important?"

Rapp took a sip of his dark beer and asked, "Have you told anyone about our new arrangement?"

"Are you out of your mind?"

"You're sure?" Rapp took another sip. He doubted that Hartsburg had, but he wanted to get the man on his heels.

The crotchety senator from New Jersey turned and faced Rapp. "I don't like repeating myself."

Rapp watched him intently. "What about Senator Walsh?"

Hartsburg's face twisted like he'd just bit into a lemon. "No. Bill's a vault. He keeps secrets better than anyone on the Hill. That's why he's chairman of the Intelligence Committee."

"Neither of you consulted anyone further up the chain of command?"

"Whose chain of command?"

"Mine," said Rapp.

"Dr. Kennedy, of course."

"No one else?" asked Rapp. The bartender came back with Hartsburg's drink. From the color of it, Rapp guessed it was probably scotch.

Hartsburg, like most senators, was a lawyer by training and he did not like to be on the receiving end of questions. "Stop pussyfooting around, and tell me what's on your damn mind."

Rapp admired the man's tenacity. "Mark Ross is on my mind."

"The new director of National Intelligence." The senator had a frown on his face. "Why?"

"He's taken a sudden interest in a colleague of mine."

"I'm not following."

"There's someone who we use from time to time to handle delicate matters. We'll call him a consultant. The other day this consultant came out to Langley to sit down with Dr. Kennedy and myself so we could discuss our new venture." Rapp pointed to Hartsburg and then himself. He wanted the senator to take ownership. "Right in the middle of the damn meeting Mark Ross comes barging in unannounced. He introduces himself to the consultant, he leaves, and the next thing you know, Ross's people are calling up the Pentagon asking for this consultant's personnel file. Then the next day the IRS shows up on this guy's doorstep, bends him over, and starts to give him an anal cavity search."

A pleased smile formed on Hartsburg's face and he got a faraway look in his eyes. After a moment he said, "That's why I put him there."

The answer surprised Rapp. "What in the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Ross is a detail guy. He's extremely controlling and curious. That's why I pushed him on the president."

Rapp was missing something. "And why is this good…"

"The whole idea behind creating the new cabinet position of director of National Intelligence is to consolidate all of these far-flung agencies. We need someone who will get into the minutiae and reform from the top down."

Rapp shook his head and set his beer down. "Listen, for the most part, I could give a rat's ass what this guy does. Just keep him away from me, and the people I deal with."

"I don't see how I can help you here."

A disbelieving expression formed on Rapp's face. "The whole reason why I agreed to sit down with you and Walsh was that you guys were willing to offer me some serious funding, and that you'd keep people off my back. I've got enough enemies out there without having to worry about people who are supposed to be on my own team. If you can't rein in a clown like Ross, we might as well end this right here and now."

Hartsburg was smiling. He waved to the bartender. "Charlie, another beer for my friend."

My friend, Rapp thought. I wouldn't go that far.

Hartsburg made Rapp retell, in detail, what had happened when Ross popped into Kennedy's office unannounced. By the time Rapp's second beer arrived he'd told the senator the entire story.

"I assume you've seen the movie Patton," said Hartsburg.

"Of course."

"Remember the scene where they're celebrating and the Russian general gives a toast and Patton refuses to drink."