Koz put a hand on her shoulder and braced her. “Easy now. I’m sure she’s been taken care of.”
“Like your Green Berets tried to take care of me?” she shot back.
“We’ll find her, ma’am, I promise, and make sure she’s safe.”
“You do that, Colonel,” she said, then noticed she had nothing but a bra on above her waist. She folded her arms over her chest, wincing as her shoulder flexed. “May I have my blouse back?”
“Try this.” Koz opened a locker closet and pulled out an Air Force bomber jacket. He draped it over her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said with a shiver.
A beeping sounded in the medical compartment. Sachs jolted, turning to see if it was one of her medical monitors. But Koz walked over to the intercom on the wall and punched a button. “What is it?”
Captain Li’s voice squawked over the speaker: “Sir, we have NCA commanders on screen for the attack conference.”
“I’ll be right there,” he replied, and turned to leave.
“You’re just going to leave me here?” Sachs demanded. “I don’t think so.” She took two steps and was restrained by her IV feeds like a dog on its leash. “I demand you take me to see the president, Colonel Kozlowski, even if it’s in the mirror.”
Kozlowski looked back at her without answering her implicit claim, although he felt a pang of guilt mixed with uncertainty. “I think it’s best that you’re confined to these quarters pending a thorough medical review.”
“Are you serious, Colonel?” Her tired, brown eyes seemed to search his face and heart for something Koz felt was no longer there.
Koz gave a cool nod to Nordquist, who was already preparing a syringe. “We want to avoid any panic until our forces are in place.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sachs shouted as Koz put his hand on the door.
“Trust me, it’s for your own good,” he said, and walked out.
An alarmed Captain Li was waiting for him in the hallway as the door slid shut behind him like a coffin on a protesting Sachs and syringe-wielding Nordquist.
“Where is she?” Li asked as he brushed past her toward the battle staff compartment. “What’s going on in there?”
He said, “She’s recuperating.”
Li was on his heels like a terrier. “Recuperating? Hello? Are we back in the USSR or what?”
“Can it,” he said as he marched into the next compartment.
Li would not let up, nor would he expect her to. “She
Koz nodded as they entered the battle staff compartment. “Let me feel out the others on the conference call.”
“You’re talking about a coup, sir.”
Koz caught a few stray glances from the young crew as they passed by. A little louder, Li, he thought.
“She’s delirious, Captain,” he told her, waiting until they had entered the empty briefing room. “She accused me of trying to kill her. How much credibility is she going to have with her commanders if she starts making wild charges like that? You really want her in charge?”
“What I want and what is right are often two different things, sir.”
“Let me put this another way, Captain.” He turned to face her, square on. “America has just suffered its worst blow in history. We’re on the brink of universal Armageddon. As president, Deborah Sachs is not some civilian politician but our commander-in-chief. Would you follow this woman into battle?”
Her answer was firm and unwavering. “Yes, I would.”
Koz studied Li’s stoic, determined face. “Well, I’m not so sure.”
Li simply stood there, not giving in.
Koz took a breath. “OK,” he told her. “While I speak to the NCA, I want you to check DOD records and see if this guy Kyle has a history with anybody who could have given orders to kill Sachs. But discreetly.”
“Yes, sir.”
He could see the approval in her face.
“And while you’re at it,” Koz said, “check out the last communications between the White House and Pentagon. Check anything unusual that happened in the city within the past two or three days. Everything should have been backed up at remote DOD mainframes before the blast.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“Find Jennifer Sachs,” Koz said as he sat down at the head of an empty conference table and looked up at the big screen on the wall, wondering how exactly he was going to explain Deborah Sachs.
22
Inside the Nightwatch infirmary, Sachs recoiled as Nordquist flicked the long needle of a syringe with his finger until some clear liquid spurted out. “Don’t worry, ma’am,” he said as he approached her with the hypodermic. “You’ll feel a lot better after this.”
She braced herself against the edge of the surgical table. “Lieutenant, there is no way in hell that you’re going to drug me with whatever is in that thing.”
“Propofol,” he said, reaching for her arm. “A sedative-hypnotic drug to put you to sleep. It’s terrific. No side effects like hangover or nausea. Trust me, you’ll feel a lot better when you wake up.”
She leaned against the surgical table, trying to escape his grasp.
“This is for your own good, ma’am,” he said, trying to jab her.
She arched over the table until she was almost on her back. But before he could take another swipe, she leaned back in a rocking motion, lifting her legs and then shoving both feet into his gut, pushing him back against the opposite wall. His head slammed against a cabinet and he dropped to the floor, writhing in pain.
She jumped off the table and grabbed the hypodermic he had dropped on the floor. He was trying to get back on his feet, and she couldn’t let him or he’d overpower her. With a quick thrust she plunged the needle into his arm before he slapped her away.
He began to sway back and forth, even as he shook his head at her.
“That wasn’t nice,” he said and then collapsed into her arms.
“Your medicine, doc,” she said, barely able to hold up his weight. She eas down to the floor, where he lay unconscious.
As she stood up, she felt a terrific pain in her shoulder. The regional anesthetic was starting to wear off. Somehow she managed to put her bloody blouse back on and surveyed the room: three first-class seats, two bunk beds, a sink, a refrigerator for blood and medicines and a closet full of medical equipment.
Outside the compartment, beyond locked doors, were more of Koz’s crew. So she was going nowhere. Not at thirty thousand feet.
She had a hard time believing Kozlowski could be in on this. He was a uniform like General Marshall and Colonel Kyle. But the way he touched her face with his hand — it was warm and caring, like Richard’s. His actions, however, seemed to have proven otherwise.
Perhaps he would say the same of her, what with the chopper landing and now knocking out the good doctor. But this was self-defense, she determined as she looked down at the medic. And the odds were horribly uneven — one woman in a plane filled with trained soldiers. All she had on her side were two weeks dropping in on Jennifer’s Wing-Chun Kung-Fu class. She picked up no moves, only the idea to use anything available to strike back at your enemy, even his own weapons.
In this case, it was the doc’s own hypodermic.
She checked Nordquist on the floor. He was completely out, but the angle of his body seemed uncomfortable.
