Vince Flynn - Consent To Kill

"You've got to be shitting me." Rapp reached down and grabbed the photograph.

It was a surveillance photo of a warehouse. Rapp had been there many times. Parked in front was a large Ford Excursion and standing next to it was a man with blond hair. The man was Scott Coleman. Rapp's face was now flushed with anger. The man sitting beneath his hand started packing up the contents that were laid out on the table. Rapp grabbed the guy between the collarbone and clavicle. His fingers dug in.

"Don't touch a thing." Rapp reached over and placed the photo on the table. He released the man's neck and put both hands on the back of his chair. He stepped to the side and wheeled the chair with the man in it away from the table. These people were anonymous. Underlings of some sort. They did not need to be involved in this. Looking at the other person who he had not met, Rapp said, "Would you two please excuse us for a minute?"

The men got up and left without a word. The solid door closed with a dull thud. Gordon stayed seated and to his credit remained calm. Director Ross on the other hand did not.

"Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked furiously.

"Saving you from stepping in it your first month on the job." Rapp didn't bother looking up. He was leafing through the files on the table. Coleman's service jacket from the Pentagon was there, his last five years of personal and corporate tax returns and a nifty little surveillance file that looked to have been compiled over the last few days. Rapp held up the surveillance file.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" He looked Ross right in the eye and resisted the urge to reach out and whack him across the head with the file.

Ross began to shake, he was so angry. "Get the hell out of my office right now!" He pointed at the door for good measure.

Rapp grabbed Ross's finger like he was snatching a fly out of mid-air. He bent the index finger back and forced the director down in his chair. Men like Ross were always shocked by physical contact. Most of them had never been in a fight, or if they had, it had been a long time ago.

"What kind of a control freak are you?" asked Rapp. "You have over a hundred thousand people spread over I don't even know how many agencies. Your job is to make these agencies work better together. That's it. It's not to run operations or investigate people, but you meet Scott Coleman for all of two minutes and you don't like the way he answers you, so you start trying to dig up dirt on him."

Ross's face was twisted with anger. "You wait until I talk to the president. You have finally gone too far. You have no right barging in here like this."

Rapp grabbed his cell phone from his hip. "Let's call him right now. I've got his private line right here on speed dial." Rapp thrust his phone in front of the director's face. "You didn't even know he had a private line, did you?"

The look on Ross's face betrayed the truth.

"We can tell him," said Rapp, "how good a job you're doing of micromanaging the various intelligence agencies. We can tell him how you called up one of your lackeys over at the IRS, and told them to audit Scott Coleman…who the president knows and likes by the way. A decorated veteran. The president will be furious. While we're at it, why don't we call a few of your old buddies on the Hill and tell them how you're using your staff to spy on private citizens?" He waved the file in front of Ross's face. "That's what this is by the way. It's spying on a private citizen, you fricken hypocrite. And you spent twelve years up on that fucking hill pissing and moaning about the CIA. Grandstanding in front of the cameras and saying that we'd better not be spying on American citizens…suspected terrorist or not."

The file was arranged with thumb tabs. One of the tabs was labeled Phone Records. Rapp opened it and started looking at the calls. "You have a subpoena for these records? Did you go to a judge? I didn't know you had investigative powers. I don't think the press knows you were given investigative powers. I'm sure they'd love to write about it. Get you all bogged down and ineffective before you even had a chance to make any reforms."

Ross was indignant. He yelled, "I demand to know what the two of you are up to, and I demand to know right now! Neither of you are private citizens! You work for me!"

This time Rapp couldn't resist. His anger got the best of him. The file was about an inch thick. He cracked Ross across the left side of his head with it. Ross's perfectly combed hair went askew, with a clump falling across his forehead, partly obscuring his left eye.

Rapp grabbed him by the front of the shirt. "Listen, you idiot. I don't answer to you. I answer to the president. I hunt terrorists for a living, and the last thing I need is some hack like you, who doesn't know jack shit about what we're up against, looking over my shoulder and telling me what to do." Rapp released his shirt and shoved a shocked Ross back into his chair.

Rapp took a step back. "Don't think I don't know the game here. This is your stepping stone to bigger things. That's your plan, isn't it, Ross? You want to be president someday."

Ross was too angry to speak. Rapp glanced over at Gordon, who was still cool as a cucumber. "I heard you're the reasonable one. Talk some sense into him, because I promise you this…I can't make him president," Rapp pointed at Ross, "but I'll guarantee you I can make sure this is the last government job he ever holds."

Rapp grabbed the other files and stuffed them under his arm. He didn't even bother to address Ross. He looked at Gordon. "Call the IRS off by noon, or I'll see you two in the Oval Office, and I promise it'll make this look like a fucking picnic."

Gordon didn't answer. He just nodded.

Rapp left with the files and slammed the door shut behind him.

Gordon waited a few seconds and then heaved a huge sigh. He slowly began shaking his head. He looked over at his boss, and said, "I told you…"

"Don't say it," snapped Ross. "I know you told me this was a bad idea. I know you told me Rapp was the wrong guy to mess with. I know! I know! I know!" Ross sprang out of his chair. He walked over to his desk and looked out the window and down the street toward the White House. After fifteen seconds of silence, he said, "I think I should talk to the president about this."

Gordon just looked at him. "Are you out of your mind?" There was no malice in his tone. It was more clinical. Like a shrink. "Did you hear anything he just said? That was Mitch Rapp, Mark. He kills people for a living. He penetrates terrorist cells. He ran I don't know how many deep-cover ops. He's on a first-name basis with the president. Get him out of your mind. Get Coleman out of your mind. We have more than enough stuff to tackle."

Gordon watched his boss. He knew how the man thought. He knew how large the man's ego was. He knew how hard it would be for him to walk away from something like this. "Mark, this isn't worth it. It's beneath you. You're going to be president someday and when that happens, you can do whatever you want. Right now, though, we need to just walk away from it."

Ross ground his teeth and kept staring at the White House. He'd never been more humiliated in his entire life. He didn't give a crap who Mitch Rapp was. He could outmaneuver anyone in this town. Ross told himself to get control of his anger. He would regroup. Be more careful next time. Hire better people. As much as he hated to admit it, Gordon was right. It was good advice. At least for now. But if an opportunity presented itself, he would crush Mitch Rapp and make that Neanderthal pay dearly. Rapp needed to be taught his place in the natural order of things. He needed to be brought to heel at the boot of the elected officials. Ross nodded slowly, and a sly smile crept over his face. He would get even. No, he would get more than even. When the time was right he would destroy Mitch Rapp.