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In a rare moment of honesty, Kennedy shook her head. “I was wondering if you could tell me how he’s doing?”
“Much better. According to his recent scan, there’s been a drastic reduction in swelling.”
“Do you think he’s ready to fly?”
Major Nathan winced and shook his head. “These head cases are tricky, they’re all unique. Some patients bounce back after a few days, some people never bounce back.”
“So he could fly if he had to?”
The major sighed. “If he absolutely has to, yes, but I’d like to give it a few more days.”
Kennedy frowned.
“What’s the problem?”
“I can’t really talk about it, but let’s just say Mr. Cox is extremely good at his job and we need him.” Kennedy wanted him back, but she also wanted to put Rapp somewhere where Joel Wilson couldn’t get his hands on him.
The major had immediately recognized Kennedy when one of the nurses had brought her into his office the day before. She explained politely that his newest patient was one of her top operatives. Nathan had already guessed that Mr. Cox was no mere analyst. It was standard procedure for the staff to cut the clothes off emergency patients, since they only got in the way. Mr. Cox had no open wounds, but Nathan counted three bullet holes and a scar that looked like it had come from a knife. Even the nurses commented. His battle scars, combined with his rock-hard physique, made the deduction simple. Nathan had rotated in and out of Bagram for nine straight months. He had pretty much seen it all. Or at least he thought he had. Mr. Cox was something of an anomaly.
Nathan understood that Kennedy held a unique position. If he could, he would try to help her. “Why don’t we go see how he’s doing, and then we can reassess.”
They found Rapp sitting up in his bed with a tray of food in front of him, watching an episode of Justified. After some brief pleasantries the doctor looked at his chart and asked, “How do you feel this morning, Mr. Cox?”
“Better,” Rapp said, moving his head around. “No headache, and I’ve got my appetite back.”
The doctor scribbled a few notes on the chart. “That’s good. How’s your memory?”
“Pretty good.” Rapp pointed at the TV. “I know that I’ve seen this episode before and I remember most of the characters . . . Dewey Crowe, Boyd Crowder, Raylan Givens, Art Mullen, and Dickie Bennett.”
“Good show?” Nathan asked, without looking up.
“I think I’m the wrong guy to ask, Doc. I really don’t have much to compare it to.”
Nathan laughed. “And your recall in general?”
“Seems like it’s getting a lot better.”
“All right, where’d you go to college?”
“Syracuse.”
Nathan rattled off the same questions he’d given Rapp late yesterday. Mother’s maiden name, grade school, high school, childhood best friend, and on and on. Unlike yesterday, he got them all correct today. Nathan decided to expand the list. “First job out of college?”
Rapp gave Kennedy a strange look and then told Nathan he didn’t know.
“Current job?”
“I think I’m an assassin.” Rapp watched his doctor look up with wide eyes. “I’m just kidding, Doc. I work for the CIA and if I tell you any more than that, I’ll have to . . .”
“Kill me,” Nathan finished the sentence for him.
“Exactly.”
Nathan glanced sideways at Kennedy. “Is he always this funny?”
Kennedy was relieved that he was coming back. She smiled and shook her head. “He’s never had much of a sense of humor.”
Before Rapp could comment, Nathan asked, “Favorite color?”
