Consent To Kill

"Irene," said Ross as he looked at Prince Muhammad, "he is in certain ways the most powerful man in Saudi Arabia."

"I suppose you're right," Ke

"Prince Muhammad does not strike me as someone who is very receptive to change."

Ross left them to go shake hands with someone.

"He's a dyed in-the-wool Wahhabi. Change is not in their lexicon."

"That's what I tried to tell him, but he thinks his personality can win anyone over."

Ke

Ke

Ke

"You don't seem too excited to meet him," said Gordon.

"Excited." Ke

"You don't trust him?"

What a question, Ke

36

Rapp sat on the edge of the exam table and looked down at the swathe of smooth skin that ran from the middle of his left thigh to the middle of his shin. He was proud of the fact that he'd managed to shave it without cutting himself. He knew they would have done it for him, but he wasn't all that crazy about people touching him with sharp objects. The reality that he was going to be put under for the procedure gave him enough anxiety as it was. As much as he hated it, though, he knew it had to be done. He'd put it off long enough.

A

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. A

"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." A

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 u