Contents ( 84)
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- Acknowledgements
FIFTY-NINE
Dempsey reached up and pressed his hand softly against his left shoulder. He could feel the dressing beneath his T-shirt. The same one he had applied back in Queens. It had been a short-term, field-style fix. Designed to hold him over – to prevent infection – until he could see someone with medical training.
It was no longer looking so temporary.
The flight time from Montreal to Kabul was fourteen hours and they were not yet three hours in. It meant at least eleven more before someone properly qualified could look at his injuries. Maybe longer, depending on what they encountered at the other end.
Ordinarily Dempsey would have seen a nurse at Montreal, before he boarded the flight. Today he he’d been unable to take that risk. Knowles could not know they were heading for Tootkai, and so their tracks had to be covered.
Even a rumour of an ISB Agent with a bullet wound in the closest Canadian airport to New York could give them away.
Every interaction had to be minimised. Hence no medics on the plane either. The United Nations-owned Airbus A330 could hold 335 passengers plus crew. Tonight it carried Dempsey, Grace and two pilots.
The otherwise empty flight had initially provided a distraction. Dempsey had never had a $240 million aircraft all to himself. The effect was strange, even from the First Class cabin. A ghost flight.
‘How’s the shoulder?’
Eden Grace’s voice unexpectedly interrupted Dempsey’s thoughts. She had seemed asleep for the past two hours.
‘It’s fine,’ Dempsey lied.
‘Doesn’t look it. You can hardly move the thing.’
‘It’ll hold. I can get it checked out at the other end.’
‘That’s half a day away. You could have an infection by then.’
‘Nothing a little penicillin can’t handle. Besides, what are we going to do? Turn back?’
‘I could take a look for you.’
‘You?’
‘Yeah, me. I’m not completely useless. We do get a little training in this, Dempsey.’
‘I didn’t mean to sound rude. I’m sure you get training, but it’ll be the same as mine. First responder stuff. Not the same as proper treatment.’
‘Maybe not, but unlike you I can take a close up look. Plus I have two hands for the dressing, and I guarantee this plane has better equipment than a pharmacy first-aid kit.’
Dempsey thought for a moment. He needed treatment. He knew that. But for some reason he was hesitant to let Grace provide it. He did not know why. An unwillingness to show weakness, perhaps?
Whatever it was, he knew that he was getting in his own way.
He adjusted his sitting position, to get a clearer view of Grace’s seat. The movement sent an eruption of pain shooting up his arm and into his shoulder. It caused him to wince, and in doing so it settled the debate.
‘Enough’s enough, Dempsey. You’re in pain. If that gets any worse you’ll be no use to anyone when we get to Afghanistan. And I’ll be damned if I’m getting killed for the sake of a changed bandage.’