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CHAPTER 23
KENNEDY spent another ten minutes with Rapp, both answering and evading his questions and gently probing to gauge the depth of his memory loss. His inab
ility to recall information stretched across all aspects of his life. One pattern did emerge, though—his mind was blank when it came to anything that involved the last three days. Before that things were spotty, but Rapp’s recall seemed to get better as each memory fell into place. Not wanting to overwhelm him, she didn’t bother to tell him that in the middle of the night, the doctors had been on the verge of drilling into his head to drain the clotted blood that was creating pressure on the brain. The prognosis was very iffy at the moment.
The military doctors had ample experience with head trauma caused by explosions. Every case was different. Some patients progressed to a full recovery with nothing more than a week’s bed rest, while others never fully recovered despite the best effort and medical care. Kennedy would not allow herself to think the worst. Over the years Rapp had proven that he had an extremely strong ability to survive what would kill most people. His refusal to be deterred, despite overwhelming odds, while it often put him in harm’s way, was the very thing that drove him to never quit. Dying simply wasn’t an option.
His recovery right now depended on rest and relaxation—two things that were as foreign to Rapp as not barking at a stranger was to a dog. This put Kennedy in a unique quandary. She needed Rapp to find Rickman. There was no other asset up to the task. There were others who could help, but she needed Rapp’s fearless, ruthless behavior to deal with the miscreants who orbited their interests in this part of the world. Unfortunately, he was sidelined until the doctors told her otherwise. So far they were being vague, telling her he would likely be kept in bed for a week and then there would be another week of rehabilitation. A variety of symptoms could persist, including lethargy, slurred speech, difficulty in walking, blurred vision, numbness, headaches, amnesia, dizziness, and pain. The last part didn’t concern Kennedy. Rapp’s pain threshold was off the charts. She was betting that he would recover way ahead of the curve, but she couldn’t count on that, so she told him she had some things to attend to, but that she’d be back to see him in a bit.
Kennedy then found one of the doctors in the hall, an Air Force major, and told him that Rapp was awake. She filled him in on their conversation, and the doctor said this was a very positive development. He then excused himself and went to personally check on his patient.
Kennedy found Coleman in the small lounge with two of her bodyguards. She asked her men for a bit of privacy and sat down next to Coleman.
Kennedy grabbed Coleman’s hand. “You know you saved his life.”
Coleman was embarrassed. “Let’s not get all melodramatic.”
An uncharacteristically big smile spread across Kennedy’s face. “I don’t think you understand. You’ll be able to hold this over his head for years.”
Coleman joined in with a big grin. “Good point. The only problem is that I think he’s saved my life at least twice. I’m still behind.”
“His memory is a little shaky at the moment. Maybe he’ll forget he’s ahead. I’ll never tell him.”
“He’s awake?”
Kennedy nodded.
Coleman breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God. How’s he doing?”
“He seems to be okay, but he doesn’t remember much.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure he knew who I was when he woke up. He recognized me, but he had to struggle to come up with my name. He remembered his own name, but he couldn’t tell me where he worked . . . at least not at first. As we talked, more and more things seemed to fall into place.”
“Rick?”
“No idea. In fact I don’t think he can remember a single detail over the past seventy-two hours.”
“Shit.” Coleman dropped his face into his hands. “So he’s out of commission.”
“I’d say for at least the next week.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I’m not sure at this point. Do you have it in you to take the lead?” Kennedy thought she knew the answer, but she needed to ask the question.
Coleman thought about it for a moment and then said, “I have the drive, but Mitch and I are very different. You know that. I’m not afraid to break a few rules and even a few noses, but I’m an amateur, compared to him. The only other person I know who could do it is Stan, and from what I heard yesterday, he’s not exactly up to the challenge.”
“What about Mike?” Kennedy asked, referring to Mike Nash, her counterterrorism director.
After inhaling sharply, Coleman shook his head. “I like Mike, but I’m not sure he’s cut out for this rough stuff. I don’t blame him. He’s got a wife and kids and you gave him an important job with a nice title. He’ll do well, and if he had his back to the wall, he’d do whatever it would take to survive, but that’s not what this is.”
“What is this?”
“You want Rick back, you need to find someone who’s willing to throw out the rule book. You need someone like Mitch who doesn’t give a shit about the politics . . . someone who’s fearless. Someone who will make these dirt bags fear for their lives.”
Kennedy agreed. The only problem was that she had no such man available. “Louie Gould . . . have you had a chance to talk to him?”
