Vince Flynn - Consent To Kill

Anna was in the room with him, but as usual she was talking on her cell phone. Sometimes Rapp wondered if the device was surgically attached to her head. He had no doubt, if the roles were reversed, and she was about to go under the knife and he was chatting away on his phone, she'd be shooting him daggers with her eyes. Rapp pointed at the sign on the wall above the small desk. There was a cell phone with a red circle and a line going through it. Anna frowned at him. Rapp pointed at the sign again. She stuck her tongue out and turned her back on him. Rapp laughed to himself.

According to his watch it was three minutes past seven in the morning and he was hungry as all hell. He was under strict orders, though. No food before surgery. They didn't want him puking on the operating table. Anna got off her phone and turned around.

"That was Phil. He says good luck."

"Who's Phil?"

"My boss, Mr. Smart-ass."

Rapp had never met the man even though his wife had worked with him for nearly a year. "Where's the love, honey?"

"It's right here." Anna rubbed her belly.

Rapp smiled and motioned for her to come closer. She was wearing a dark brown Juicy Couture sweat suit. He placed his hand on her stomach and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"A little constipated, but other than that, fine."

"Lovely." He made a face.

"You asked." She sat down next to him and leaned back. She tugged at the ties on his hospital gown. "I can see your butt crack."

Rapp shook his head. "Why in the hell do they make people wear these things?"

"You don't know?" she asked sounding a little surprised.

"No."

"It strips away the patient's identity so you'll be more docile and do what you're told."

"Where did you hear this?"

She shrugged. "I can't remember."

Rapp thought about it for a moment and said, "I'll bet you're right."

"I know I am. Think about it. What do you guys do when you interrogate a terrorist? You shave their head and beard and you take away all of their clothes." She tried to straighten the back of the gown, but it wouldn't cooperate. She let it hang loose and asked, "Seriously, how are you doing?"

"Fine. I just want to get it over with. I hate hospitals."

"At least you're not here to get a bullet taken out."

Rapp looked at her sideways. "Thanks for that happy thought."

She put her arm around him. "Honey, everything is going to be just fine. The doctor said it's pretty straightforward. An hour or two at the most in surgery, and then two more hours in recovery. We'll be home by one at the latest." She was genuinely worried about him and not for the reasons one would think. Most people going in for surgery feared the recovery and the pain that were to follow. Pain was not a problem for Mitch. She doubted he would take anything stronger than Tylenol Three for more than a day or two. The real issue was not being in charge. Mitch was such a lone wolf, he was so used to being in charge and doing things his own way, that the idea of putting himself in the hands of others was purely unnerving to him.

"I'm starving," Rapp blurted out.

Her husband was a big eater. She reached out and ran her fingers through his thick black hair. "We'll have to stop and get something on the way home."

The door opened and a petite nurse entered. She was wearing blue surgical scrubs and black clogs. She held a clipboard a few inches in front of her face. "Mr. Mitchell Rapp?"

"That's me."

She flipped through the chart. "We've got you scheduled for a vasectomy this morning."

Rapp stared back at the woman, speechless. Before he could form a sentence, the woman said, "Just kidding. My name is Deb, and I'm going to get you ready for surgery."

Anna laughed. Mitch didn't.

"You must be Mrs. Rapp." The nurse stuck out her hand.

"Anna. Nice to meet you."

"Where'd you find a big stud like this? Look at these shoulders." The nurse stepped back and sized him up like he was a piece of beef.

"It wasn't easy. I had to go through a lot of guys."

"I'll bet."

Rapp laughed.

"Okay," the nurse returned her attention to Rapp. "The right knee, right?"

"No." Rapp looked alarmed. "The left."

"I know, I know." She waved her hand at him. "I'm just kidding. Trying to get you to relax, you know? You look so tense. Here, sit all the way up on the table." She took out a big black marker and wrote NO on Rapp's right knee and YES on his left knee.

"Dr. Stone is the best. He did the vice president's knee last year."

"I've met the vice president. I'm not impressed."

"Me neither," she whispered and rolled her eyes. "Kind of an ass if you ask me. Anyway…Dr. Stone handles all the hockey players on the Capitals. Big strong guys like you." She grabbed him by the shoulders. "Come to think of it…you two look familiar. Are you someone important?"

"I'm nobody," answered Rapp, "but she's important."

The nurse put her hands on her little hips and looked at Anna.

"I'm the White House correspondent for NBC. Anna Rielly."

"That's right. My husband loves you."

"Doesn't everyone's," said Rapp dryly.

Anna delivered a backhand to his chest. "Pay no attention to him. He's a little crabby."

"Is he worried?" the nurse asked without looking at Rapp.

"I think so."

"I'm hungry," moaned Rapp.

"Well, then, we'd better get things moving. Anna, I'm going to take him into prep, and then he'll head straight into surgery. You can wait in the lobby and when we're done, I'll come get you and bring you to recovery."

They both stood. Anna grabbed his face and kissed him on the lips. "I love you, honey. Good luck."

"I love you too." Rapp turned and limped toward the door.

Anna followed him into the hall and watched the tiny nurse lead him away. She glimpsed his backside through the flapping gown and couldn't resist giving him a whistle. "Nice butt."

Rapp lowered his head and shook it at the same time. Anna stifled a laugh and cursed herself for not bringing the camera.

Gould had found the pickup truck the day before at a small used car lot on the outskirts of Annapolis. It was the type of place that preferred to deal in cash. The truck was black with a gray cloth interior. The asking price was $4,999.99. It had high miles, which he expected, and a few dents here and there, but otherwise it was in decent shape. He got the guy to come down to $4,500 on the price and paid him in hundreds. The only glitch came when the guy asked to see a proof of insurance. "Maryland state law," he told Gould. It was the one thing he hadn't thought of. Fortunately, the guy did not want to lose the sale, so he wrote down Progressive and told Gould to fax him the information when he had a chance.

Gould left the car lot and found a big auto center a few miles down the road. He dropped another twelve hundred bucks on new tires, belts, filters, an oil change, and a new battery. The car salesman had told him everything was in great shape, but Gould knew better than to trust him. With so much on the line it wasn't worth leaving the dependability of the vehicle to chance. The next stop was Home Depot, where he picked up an extension ladder, a chain and lock, a set of tools, an extension cord, two high-pressure hoses, five different types of tape, a roll of clear plastic, a utility knife, six five-gallon gas cans, two forty-gallon propane tanks, and a few other odds and ends. The final stop for the night was Radio Shack where he purchased a remote switch. Gould went back to the hotel, locked everything up in the truck, and chained the ladder to the truck bed.

He then went about briefing Claudia on the plan. Any anger he felt toward her over what had happened earlier that day was now mitigated by the news that Mitch Rapp would be going under the knife in the morning. Since Gould had first learned about the knee problem that morning things had only gotten better. Rapp's wife unwittingly gave Gould a constant stream of updates as she called friends and family and told them in detail that Rapp was going in for arthroscopic knee surgery in the morning. She had given away the entire timetable. When they were supposed to be at the hospital, and what time she expected to get back to the house. Gould had at minimum a seven-hour window to get things ready.