Executive Power (27 page)

Rapp held up his hands in an effort to calm his wife. Caring too much for Irene to let her take the heat for something she didn't do wasn't his style, and in addition, something told him that when the two most important women in his life got together and compared notes they would discover that it was not Irene's fault.

“Anna, don't blame this on Irene.”

“Why shouldn't I?” she snapped.

“Because … as far as she knew I was not directly involved in the operation.”

Anna took a moment to try to decipher the importance of what her husband had just said. “What do you mean? She's your boss!”

“Well … she … just … um … she's busy. She doesn't have time to micromanage something that's happening thousands of miles away.” Rapp watched nervously as his wife's face twisted into a skeptical frown. Trying to stop her from scrutinizing his words too closely he said, “Hey, the important thing is I'm home, and I'm safe.” Smiling, he added, “I've got a little scrape that you won't even notice in a week or two.”

“What are you talking about?” shouted an incredulous Anna. “You were shot in the ass!” She reached out to take a swat at his butt, but he blocked her.

“Honey, let's calm down.”

“Don't honey me! And don't tell me to calm down! A couple of inches in the other direction and you could have been hit in an artery, or maybe even your dick … you stupid macho jerk.”

“But I wasn't. I'm fine … don't worry about it … it won't happen again.”

“Yeah, right,” snarled Anna without an ounce of sincerity. “So tell me something, Mr. Big Shot … Mr. Tip of the Spear.” Anna used her fingers to make mocking quotation marks in reference to several articles that had been written about his role in America's battle against terrorism. “You're pretty high up on the totem pole. In fact the last time I checked you only take orders from two people. “The president and Irene. Isn't that right?” Anna poked him in the chest with a finger.

Rapp chose not to answer the question.

“So if Irene didn't order you to be involved in the rescue, then who did? I doubt it was the president.”

“Um …” Rapp hesitated, then decided to keep his mouth shut.

“You did, didn't you?”

Slowly he began to nod and then said, “Yeah.”

“You asshole. You lied to me.”

“No, I didn't,” Rapp said, shaking his head.

“Don't even try it, Mitchell.” Anna shook her fist at him. “You told me you were done with this type of stuff.”

“No … I never said that.”

Anna took a deep breath trying to gain some composure, and then let out a bansheelike scream. Rapp put his hands out to grab her shoulders and try to calm her, but she retreated too quickly.

She shook her fist at him, saying, “Oh, I swear to God, I could hit you right now.” Anna's jaw was set and her fists were clenched in rage. She needed to get away from him, to sort things out, to try to make sense of how she had been so naive. She turned and took a step toward the door.

Rapp let his hands fall and started to follow her. “Anna, don't worry. Everything is going to be fine.”

The
don't worry
part was what really got to her. It was only her life they were discussing. The man she loved more than anyone in the world had lied to her and then got shot and she was being told not to worry as if they'd had some slight misunderstanding. It was too much to handle. Her entire body tight with rage, she spun and delivered a clean punch to her unsuspecting husband.

Rapp would have been able to block the blow if his eyes had been open, but unfortunately, they were closed while he cursed himself out for being so monumentally stupid. The blow stopped him dead in his tracks, causing him to stumble back a step. Instinctively, his hands snapped up in defense as he prepared to grab hold of his wife's wrists, but she was done with him. She stormed from the room with tears welling in her eyes. Rapp was left alone in the bedroom to ponder the mess he had created.

“T
rust me, I'm not happy about it either,” said an unusually agitated Irene Kennedy into the phone that she was clutching.

Mitch Rapp stood in the doorway of his boss's office following the conversation in complete shock and trying to make sense of what was happening. It appeared that his worst nightmare was taking place before his very eyes. Things were spiraling out of control and, for Mitch, who was very much accustomed to being in charge, it was unnerving.

Rapp's body was stiff from sleeping on the couch, and his rear end hurt almost as badly as it had right after he'd been shot. His left eye was slightly swollen, and a headache seemed to be just over the horizon. Rapp stood on the threshold of the sun-filled office, and wondered what forces had allowed this cruel alliance to form against him. The more he listened to his boss the worse things looked for him.

“No.” Kennedy shook her head while holding the phone. “No … Oh, that's great,” the director of the CIA said with rare sarcasm. She looked up at Rapp disapprovingly from behind her brown glasses. “No, he didn't bother to tell me that he'd been shot in the
ass.”
She scowled at him, and pointed sternly at a chair in front of her desk.

In all of his years of knowing Kennedy, he had never seen her show this much emotion. Last night, with his wife, was bad enough, but Kennedy had always been someone he could depend on. This just might be intolerable. Rapp stepped into the office and closed the heavy soundproof door. The administrative assistants didn't need to hear this. He walked slowly across the large office as his boss continued discussing his bad behavior with his wife. The whole thing was very unsettling.

“No,” Kennedy said, “you don't need to apologize to me. I can see why you thought it was my fault.” She stopped talking and listened for a few seconds. Then in response to whatever it was that Anna had said, she replied, “Well, that is very nice of you to say. I feel the same way, and believe me you can count on me for the same thing. I think the two of us are more than up to the task.”

Rapp closed his eyes and let out a low groan. He felt like he was back in grade school, standing in the school office listening to his principal and mother conspire against him on the phone.

“Yes, I'll be the judge of what is classified and what isn't.” She spun her chair around, turning her back to Rapp. Then shaking her head she said, “Yes. Don't listen to him anymore. If you have any questions pick up the phone and call me.” Again Kennedy paused to listen and then said, “Exactly! I couldn't agree more. I might even recommend that he spend some time with one of our in-house psychiatrists.”

Rapp stared at the back of his boss's head and said, “Over my dead body.”

Kennedy spun her leather chair back around and shot him a glare. “All right, Anna. I'll see you in a couple hours, and I've got you down for drinks on Thursday at six. Thank you … . Okay. Oh, and I wouldn't worry about that other thing. He's tough, and as I already said, he more than had it coming.” She nodded several times, and then said, “All right … bye-bye.”

Kennedy slowly replaced the handset, keeping her inquisitive eyes locked on Rapp. “Well, that was an interesting conversation.”

“I bet,” replied Rapp with no effort to conceal his displeasure.

Kennedy looked at his face. “Nice shiner. Where'd you get it?”

Doubting her sincerity he said, “I slipped in the shower.”

“Really. At least you didn't fall on your behind.” Kennedy pointed to one of the chairs in front of her desk and said, “Sit.”

Rapp shook his head. “No thanks … I think I'll stand.”

“Sit,” replied his boss in a voice more stern than anything he'd ever heard from her.

Rapp carefully lowered himself into one of the chairs and with a fake smile said, “There. Are you happy?”

“Hardly.” Kennedy snatched her glasses from her face and placed both elbows on her desk. “You have got some major explaining to do.” The reserved, analytical Kennedy was amazed at how good it felt to let her pent-up anger out.

Rapp, put in the unusual position of having to remain the calm one, said, “I think everyone needs to relax a bit.”

“Nice try, but you were way out of bounds on this one. When in the hell were you planning on telling me that you were shot?”

“Oh, come on, Irene, you've got enough stuff to worry about with running this place.” Rapp dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand as if one of her top advisors and best operatives getting shot was utterly trivial. “You don't need to worry about every little injury to one of your people in the field.”

An offended, angry expression fell across her face. Her brown eyes focused intently on him and she said, “That hurt.”

Rapp was completely mystified. His head hurt, his eye hurt and his ass was absolutely killing him. How could a few words “hurt”? “What are you talking about?”

“You,” she started in an angry tone, “are not just simply one of my many employees. Next to my son and my mother you are probably the dearest friend to me in the entire world, so I would appreciate it if you wouldn't insult my feelings by portraying me as some detached boss who has no concern for her employees.”

“That's not what I meant,” said Rapp as he shook his head.

“That is what you said, and what you meant, and don't insult me further by trying to re-tailor your words.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake.” Rapp started to stand. “I can't take all of this estrogen.”

Kennedy stood abruptly and yelled, “Then take a little testosterone! Sit your ass back down, Mister!”

“My ass hurts too much to sit, thank you very much!”

“Don't try to turn this around on me, Mitchell. This is not my fault. When you called me requesting that I get full authority for you to plan the hostage rescue you knew exactly what you were doing. You waited until the real chain of command was asleep, and then you went in and launched the rescue, without our final approval.” She angrily pointed a finger at him and said, “And you put yourself right in the thick of it.”

Looking down at her desk, she picked up a file. “This is the after action report filed by Lieutenant Jackson. Did you think I wasn't going to find out?” She threw the file down onto her desk. “You crawled into that damn camp by yourself and almost got killed.”

“Almost got killed,” Rapp mocked her. “Where the hell have you been for the last fifteen years? Every time I walk out the door I almost get killed. That's part of my job.”

“Not any longer. You're not twenty-five anymore. We have other people who can lead the charge. You're not some buck private storming the beaches. You have one of the best counterterrorism minds in this entire town, and we can't afford to lose you over some macho need to be right in the thick of it.”

“Are you done?” Rapp looked at her defiantly. He knew there was some truth to her words, but he was sick of being on the receiving end of another tongue-lashing. “Could you try to see past your bruised ego at being left out of the loop for a few hours and thank me for a job well done? General Moro is dead, an entire sixty-plus-man force of Abu Sayyaf guerrillas has been silently exterminated, we have a new commander of the Filipino Special Forces who will vigorously take the war to the Muslim terrorists, the Anderson family has been rescued, and not a single asset was lost in the process.” Rapp held up his hand. “The only problem was that yours truly got shot.”

Kennedy decided to remove some of the emotion from the discussion. As good as it felt at first, she knew it was counterproductive. Especially when dealing with a bull like Mitch. He needed to be finessed, not pounded on. Thoughtfully, she nodded and said, “Thank you for a job well done.”

Rapp immediately relaxed. He did not enjoy fighting with Kennedy, especially on the heels of what had happened last night. She had always understood him—probably even better than he understood himself. “And I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. You know I think of you and Tommy as family…. It's just that …” He shook his head in confusion. “I've always been on the front line. You know that. I've always been left alone to make decisions as I see fit in the field. We handled the General Moro thing without consulting you, and I saw no reason why I needed to call Washington and ask for the green light on the hostage rescue.”

“You didn't want to consult with us,” answered Kennedy, “because you didn't want to hear us tell you that you couldn't go on the mission.”

Rapp thought about it for a moment and then admitted, “Maybe.”

“Well, let's just chalk this one up as a learning experience. You're probably having a more difficult time transitioning into your new duties than either of us predicted.”

Rapp shook his head and frowned. “I'm not having any problems.”

“Yes you are. In not-so-subtle ways. We need to sit down and clearly outline the parameters of your job.” She watched Rapp frown and said, “Don't worry, I just don't want any ambiguity in the future. You're too valuable to this country, and too valuable to me as a friend, to be risking your life needlessly.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Rapp replied, “All right.”

In a conciliatory tone Kennedy asked, “Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?”

“No … not really. I'd just like a little less screaming and a little more gratitude.”

“I can work on that.” Kennedy smiled. “And as far as the gratitude thing is concerned … well, I think you're going to get plenty of that.”