Consent To Kill

18

Traffic 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 passed 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 New York Times and the 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 Post and the 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" attitude 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 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 Mitchell 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 passed 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…Mitchell, 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?"

"I think he's screwing around with someone I know." Rapp was thinking of Coleman's IRS troubles.

"How so?"

He looked at her. "I'll know more by the end of the day…I hope."

They pulled up to the northwest vehicle checkpoint a block away from the White House. Rapp put the car in park.

She leaned over, her emerald eyes locking onto his dark brown ones. "You'll fill me in tonight."

Rapp pointed to himself. "Right after you summit me."

She tried not to smile, but couldn't help it. "Maybe."

He leaned in and kissed her. "I love you, honey."

"I love you too." Anna got out of the car with her purse and shoulder bag. She walked around the front of the car and gave him a final wave and the million-dollar smile that made her so perfect for TV.

Rapp rolled down his window. "Be safe."

"I will. You too." She waved to the uniformed Secret Service officer behind the greenish bulletproof Plexiglas. She would have to show her credentials at the next checkpoint.

Rapp sat there, one hand on the gearshift, the other on the steering wheel, admiring the view of his wife's slender yet curvaceous figure. She turned around and gave him one more smile. Rapp waved and yanked the gearshift into drive. He pulled away with a smile of absolute contentment on his face. Things just kept getting better between them. They were hitting their stride, and to be honest he'd never been happier.