Shadow of the Hegemon, the - Book 2 (Ender)

than trusting him?"
    "Of course," said Petra. "You tell him the rendezvous point, plan with him very carefully how he'll drive there."
    "I did that," said the psychiatrist.
    "I know," said Petra. "Then, at the last minute, just as you're loading me into the van, you take the wheel and make him ride in one of the limousines. And then you drive to a different place entirely. Or better yet, you take me to the nearest town and turn me loose and let me take care of myself."
    Again, the psychiatrist looked away. Petra was amused at how transparent his body language was. You'd think a shrink would know how to conceal his own tells.
    "These people who kidnapped you," said the psychiatrist, "they are a tiny minority, even within the intelligence organizations they work for. They can't be everywhere."
    Petra shook her head. "You're a Russian, you were taught Russian history, and you actually believe that the intelligence service can't be everywhere and hear everything? What, did you spend your entire childhood watching American vids?"
    The psychiatrist had had enough. Putting on his finest medical airs, he delivered his ultimate put-down. "And you're a child who never learned decent respect. You may be brilliant in your native abilities, but that doesn't mean you understand a political situation you know nothing about."
    "Ah," said Petra. "The you're-just-a-child, you-don't-have-asmuch-experience argument."
    "Naming it doesn't mean it's untrue."
    "I'm sure you understand the nuances of political speeches and maneuvers. But this is a military operation."
    "It is a political operation," the psychiatrist corrected her. "No shooting."
    Again, Petra was stunned at the man's ignorance. "Shooting is what happens when military operations fail to achieve their purposes through maneuver. Any operation that's intended to physically deprive the enemy of a valued asset is military."
    "This operation is about freeing an ungrateful little girl and sending her home to her mama and papa," said the psychiatrist.
    "You want me to be grateful? Open the door and let me out."
    "The discussion is over," said the psychiatrist. "You can shut up
    "Is that how you end your sessions with your patients?"
    "I never said I was a psychiatrist," said the psychiatrist.
    "Psychiatry was your education," said Petra. "And I know you had a practice for a while, because real people don't talk like shrinks when they're trying to reassure a frightened child. Just because you got involved in politics and changed careers doesn't mean you aren't still the kind of bonehead who goes to witch-doctor school and thinks he's a scientist."
    The man's fury was barely contained. Petra enjoyed the momentary thrill of fear that ran through her. Would he slap her? Not likely. As a psychiatrist, he would probably fall back on his one limitless resource-professional arrogance.
    "Laymen usually sneer at sciences they don't understand," said the psychiatrist.
    "That," said Petra, "is precisely my point. When it comes to military operations, you're a complete novice. A layman. A bonehead. And I'm the expert. And you're too stupid to listen to me even now."
    "Everything is going smoothly," said the psychiatrist. "And you'll feel very foolish and apologize as you thank me when you get on the plane to return to Armenia."
    Petra only smiled tightly. "You didn't even look in the cab of this delivery van to make sure it was the same driver before we drove off."
    "Someone else would have noticed if the driver changed," said the psychiatrist. But Petra could tell she had finally made him uneasy.
    "Oh, yes, I forgot, we trust your fellow conspirators to see all and miss nothing, because, after all, they aren't psychiatrists."
    "I'm a psychologist," he said.
    "Ouch," said Petra. "That must have hurt, to admit you're only half-educated."
    The psychologist turned away from her. What was the term the shrinks in Ground School used for that behavior-avoidance? Denial? She almost asked him, but decided to leave well enough alone.
    And people thought she couldn't control her tongue.
    They rode for a while in bristling silence.
    But the things she said must have been working on him, nagging at him. Because after a while he got up and walked to the front and opened the door between the cargo area and the cab.
    A deafening gunshot rang through the closed interior, and the psychiatrist fell back. Petra felt hot brains and stinging bits of bone spatter her face and arms. The man across from her started