FORTY-FIVE.

    It 'was Sunday night, it was late and Mitch Rapp sat awkwardly behind the wheel of his sedan, his body contorted in such a way as to keep his right butt cheek from touching the seat. Medically speaking, the ass was not a bad spot to be shot; no vital organs, just a lot of muscle and fat. In terms of general comfort, though, it sucked.

    To the amusement of Coleman and his men, Rapp had flown all the way back from the Philippines either standing or lying on his stomach.

    With the mission a complete success, and Rapp's long-term health not an issue, the men were able to make light of his situation. For the most part Rapp took the ribbing well. The humor was at least a welcome distraction from having to dwell on what awaited him when he got home.

    Relationships, he was finding, were tricky things. He'd already learned that often his recollection of what had been said, or promised, varied greatly from his wife's. He'd been searching his memory for the last day trying to remember if he had ever specifically promised to stay out of situations where he might be shot. Most of these conversations were vague by nature of the secrecy that went along with his job, but he seemed to remember some reassurances he'd made that he wouldn't do anything stupid. Something told him that she would classify getting shot in the ass as downright moronic.

    Ultimately, however, he realized that this legalistic approach, while an inventive defense, was worthless. Nothing specifically had ever been agreed upon or said, but there were clearly expectations in place. Anna was not a judge or jurist, so any case pleaded on the grounds of technicalities would be unwise. She was his wife and no amount of truth or logic would save him from her wrath.

    This briefly led him to the conclusion that he would need to stall and fabricate a story. The Anderson family was currently recuperating at the naval hospital in Pearl Harbor. Rapp had told Kennedy that he wanted to stay with the family for a few days and handle their debriefing.

    He was hoping to stretch the debriefing into a full week of recuperation for his own tender wound. In addition to that, he felt it would be fairly easy to fake a surfing accident on a coral reef. All he'd need to do was shred a pair of swim trunks and scrape himself up with some coral. It would hurt like hell, but it would pale in comparison to what his wife would do to him if she found out he'd been shot.

    Kennedy had dismissed his request immediately, saying that something had happened in Israel, and she needed him back in Washington immediately. A plane would be waiting for him in Pearl Harbor and he wasn't to waste a minute. Ever since that conversation he'd been struggling to find a way out of an impossible situation. Somewhere over the western United States he'd come to the awful conclusion that he would have to face the wrath of his wife head-on.

    This was all new to him, this feeling of dread. Relationships for Rapp had always been fairly uncomplicated. Since the death of his college sweetheart, he had never allowed anyone to get that close to him.

    Part of it was his job. Intimacy involved honesty, and his job precluded allowing any woman to really know him.

    There had been a torrid affair with Donatella Rahn, an Israeli spy, that had lasted on and off for several years. In certain ways Donatella knew him better than anyone. It was a volatile relationship prone to great highs and depressing lows, and in a certain sense they were too much alike to ever marry, although she sure would have liked to have tried.

    There had been plenty of other relationships, but never one so serious as to make him want to change. Anna had altered all that. Before her, if someone asked too many questions, or demanded too much of him, he found the nearest exit and never looked back. Relationships had always been easy, because they were always on his terms, and as soon as those terms were challenged or questioned it was over.

    Now, everything was different. There was no walking away, no my place and your place, it was now their place. He had married Anna because he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. She made him want to be a better man, and deep down inside he knew it was for all the right reasons.

    But right now, driving down this dark, rural Maryland road he dreaded seeing her reaction. In a way he hoped she would lash out at him and get it over with. The alternative was too painful to think of.

    Anna was a fiercely stubborn woman. The worst thing she could do to him was withdraw her love and affection.

    Rapp turned into their driveway and swallowed hard. He'd called her earlier in the day when they'd landed in California to refuel, and told her he'd be in around midnight. It was now closer to one o'clock and he hoped she would be asleep. The front porch light was on but that was about it.

    Rapp parked on the new pad next to the single-car garage so Anna could get her car out in the morning if she left first. Carefully, Rapp rolled out of the car seat and stood still for a moment. Every time he placed weight on his right foot it felt like someone was sticking a knife into the wound. The doctor onboard the Belleau Wood gave him a pair of crutches that he'd left at the airport. This whole shot in the ass thing was going to be handled on a need-to-know basis, and Anna was the only one who needed to know. As far as everyone else was concerned he'd pulled his hamstring.

    After grabbing his bag from the trunk he limped over to the front door like an invalid. When he inserted his key, the dog began barking.

    Rapp opened the door and quietly greeted his mutt.

    "Hi, Shirley." Rapp patted her head and then keyed in the code to turn off the alarm.

    Somewhere in the house he thought he heard music playing. Anna had left the small light over the kitchen stove on, but other than that the first floor was dark. In the faint light cast from the porch Rapp saw a piece of paper sitting on the stairs. He picked up the linen card and opened it. It was addressed, My Dear Husband, I've missed you terribly.

    Hurry upstairs!

    Looking at the note, Rapp let out a long sigh and then started gingerly up the stairs, his left foot taking each upward step carefully followed by his right. By the time he reached the top step he could tell the music was coming from the bedroom. He approached the open doorway with trepidation, torn between a deep yearning to hold her in his arms and the fear of how she would react when she discovered his wound.

    The room was lit with candles and there she was, lying in the middle of the bed in a black silk nightgown propped up against an array of plush pillows with one leg languidly crossed over the other. She gave him a devilish smile and held out her hand.

    Rapp's brain was racing in opposite directions. Part of him wanted to tear off his clothes and jump into bed with her, and another part of him was saying that he needed to explain a few things before he got naked. For the short term, the path of least resistance and most enjoyment won out. Rapp moved across the room smiling at his gorgeous wife.

    Stopping at the side of the bed he reached out and held her hand, and for a moment all of his worries melted when he looked into her sparkling emerald eyes. She tugged, pulling him closer. Rapp bent at the waist only a few inches and was instantly shocked back to reality.

    The fresh wound stopped him in his tracks, sending signals screaming to his brain not to bend farther.

    Rapp recovered by pulling Anna toward him. She got up on her knees and wrapped her arms around his waist.

    "I missed you, honey."

    "I see that," replied Rapp as he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her on the lips.

    "Did you miss me?"

    "You know I did." Rapp smiled.

    "More than you can imagine."

    "Oh, I think I can imagine." She wrapped her arms around his back and squeezed tight.

    Rapp held her head against his chest and laughed like a little boy.

    "Did you have a good week?"

    "No." Anna reached up and slid his jacket over his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

    "How could I have had a good week without you?" Next she grabbed the leather holster of his Beretta and slid it over his shoulders. The daughter of a Chicago police officer, she knew enough not to let the weapon drop to the floor. Carefully, she lowered it and set it on the jacket.

    Rapp admired her slim figure under the thin black silk and let his hands begin to explore. Anna tugged at his shirt and began unbuttoning it while she tilted her head back and offered her lips to her husband.

    Rapp kissed her, knowing he should stop her from undressing him and explain what had happened, but he couldn't. He didn't want it to stop.

    Anna tore off his shirt and broke away from the kiss. Pushing herself back she ran her hands over his bare chest and down around his sides. She took in his lean strong body and let out a lustful moan. Before Rapp could react, her hands slid from his sides down and around to his butt. Anna looked into his eyes with a playful hunger and squeezed with a force that matched her passion.

    There was a split second in Rapp's mind where time stood still.

    Everything froze and his mouth and eyes opened in anticipation of what was about to happen. And then the pain emanating from Anna's grip shot through his body like a lightning bolt. His entire body went rigid and he reached for his wife's hands. Prying them loose, he stepped back and closed his mouth and eyes as a wave of nausea washed over him.

    "What's wrong?" asked a startled and concerned Anna.

    Rapp held on to her hands and waited for the pain to subside. In a weak attempt to lighten the situation, his painful expression lessened into a grimace but not quite a smile.

    "Um…" His brain searched for the right words but they weren't coming.

    "What's wrong? What did I do?" Anna stepped off the bed, holding her hands out gently.

    "You didn't do anything," Rapp managed to say.

    "It's just something that happened to me."

    "You're hurt?" Anna looked confused.

    "Why didn't you say something to me… what's wrong?"

    The questions kept coming, as she moved closer and he backed away, in a weak attempt to buy some time.

    "Honey, it's not a big deal… I just suffered a little injury while I was in the Philippines."

    "What kind of injury… let me see it."

    Rapp held on to her hands.

    "No… you don't need to see it. It's no big deal."

    Anna detected the look of guilt on his face and seized upon it.

    "What do you mean I don't need to see it? I'm your wife."

    "Honey," Rapp said in a lame attempt to calm her, "it's really no big deal."

    Anna released him and took a step back, placing her hands on her hips. with a menacing look she stared him right in his face and said, "You are trying to hide something from me, Mitchell Rapp, and you'd better come clean right now, or we are going to have serious trouble."

    Rapp let out a nervous sigh. He was boxed in with nowhere to go.

    Defeated and embarrassed he said, "I was shot during a hostage rescue and-" "Shot!" screamed Anna.

    "Oh my God, where? Are you all right?"

    "Yeah… yeah, I'm fine."

    Concerned and puzzled, Anna asked, "So where were you shot?"

    "Um…" Rapp hesitated and then in a slightly embarrassed tone said, "In the ass, but don't worry, I'll be fine… it just hurts a lot."

    Confusion spread across her face.

    "How did you get shot?"

    "I can't talk about that," Rapp replied with as much confidence as he could muster.

    "It's classified."

    Anna placed her hands on her hips and looked angrily at her husband.

    "Classified my ass! You're my damn husband for a week, you come home one night and tell me you have to leave town on an urgent matter and that, oh by the way, you won't be doing any more of that James Bond stuff that you used to do." She stabbed a finger at his chest, backing him into the corner.

    "You lied to me, Mitchell."

    "No"-Rapp kept his hands out in front of him-"that's not true, honey."

    "Don't bullshit me, Mitchell! And then to add insult to injury I run into your boss at the White House on Friday night and she tells me you're over in the Philippines supervising the rescue of that family of Americans. Irene told me you were on some ship and out of harm's way." Folding her arms tightly across her chest she added, "I can't believe I was dumb enough to trust her."

    Rapp was completely caught off guard that his boss had confided in his wife. Shocked, he asked, "Irene told you about the mission?"

    "Yes." Anna got right in his face.

    "And don't try to change the subject, or hide behind all that national security crap. If you want this marriage to survive you'd better come clean with me right now. How in the hell did you get shot?"

    There was no more room to maneuver.

    "I was shot during the hostage rescue."

    "So you weren't on the ship, you were right there in the thick of it?"

    After hesitating for a second he said, "Yes."

    Anna began shaking her head. Through clenched teeth she snarled, "That bitch. She lied to me." Looking her husband in the eye, she said, "Your boss sat there and lied to me at the White House. She ordered you to lead this hostage rescue, and then had the audacity to tell me you were safe." She clenched her fists and let out an angry scream.

    "You're done working for her, and when I see her… boy, am I going to let her have it."

    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."

    "Urn…" 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 banshee like 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.

    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."