Chapter 11
ELEVEN
HELO EN ROUTE TO DENVER
Tim Holland didn’t look up as the helicopter lifted into the cold Colorado sky.
He was already working. He snapped open a compact field kit against the bulkhead and barked orders at the Chase flight medic over the rotor noise.
“She’s going to crash. Boost the saline temp another five degrees. I want a central line now, not later.”
The medic nodded fast. “Vitals are slipping.”
Holland peeled back the blanket covering Shannon’s chest. Her skin was gray, purple where blood was pooling beneath the surface. He didn’t flinch.
“Apply pacer/defib pads now.” He turned to the bag and reached for a wide-bore syringe, stabbed it into the line without hesitation, and slowly injected a warm bolus.
She made a low sound. Her fingers twitched once, then stilled.
“Shannon,” Holland said evenly, hovering near her face now. “You need to stay with me. You’re not done.”
She didn’t respond. Her chest barely rose. Her oxygen levels began to plummet. He couldn’t hear her chest over the rotors.
“Six and a half tube. She aspirated.” He palmed the laryngoscope and slid the tube into place. He cursed as he suctioned thick dark secretions. He checked her temperature again. 89.6. She was barely responding to any interventions.
“Come on, Shannon,” he whispered. “Stay with me. Your dad’s in the air. He’ll meet us in Denver.”
Next he rechecked her pupils with a penlight. Still slow but reactive. That meant the brain was still alive. That meant she still had a shot.
SAME TIME – BASE PERIMETER, FALCON FIELD
Dante stood outside the wire. Wind cut across the asphalt. The helipad was already empty, the rotor wash long settled, the last trace of her departure blown into dust and exhaust.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. His hands were fists in the pockets of his field jacket, and every breath felt like it scraped something raw on the way in.
She was up there. Alone. With strangers. But at least they were from Chase.
He should’ve been with her. He should’ve… No. No emotion. That’s how you blow the mission. But this wasn’t a mission anymore. Not to him.
He looked toward the western sky, watching the dark speck of the helicopter dissolve behind the front range. “Don’t die,” he said under his breath.
Because if she did, there wouldn’t be a system left for him to respect.
9000 FEET ABOVE COLORADO
The rotors screamed overhead, but inside the Chase medevac helo, Tim Holland worked in silence with a field medic.
Shannon lay unconscious beneath thermal layers, warmed fluids pumping into her veins.
Heated oxygen flowed down the tube into her trachea.
A monitor flickered against the fuselage wall.
Four more minutes until touchdown.
He opened his secure comm. The encrypted connection buzzed, then linked.
“Ford,” came the voice.
“She’s alive,” Holland said, “but critical. She’ll make the facility, but she’s still in acute danger. Possible anoxic brain trauma. We won’t know until she reaches normal body temp.”
“I want updates every half hour,” Ford said.
“You’ll get them when I can,” Holland replied. Then he cut the line.
SECURE LINE, USAFA TRAINING WING
Dante stepped into the utility corridor, out of earshot of anyone who mattered. The call buzzed once.
“Ford.”
“Tell me she’s alive,” Dante pleaded.
“I just got off with Holland. She’s critical. What happened?”
“She was strangled and intentionally drowned.”
Ford exhaled hard. “How close are you to proof?”
“I already have the name,” Dante said. “I just don’t have proof.”
“Name.”
“First year, Daniel Krueger.”
“Jesus.”
Dante’s voice dropped. “She saw him coerce another cadet into a blow job, but the kid won’t testify. Shannon tried to keep a record, but Krueger destroyed it. Then the sabotage, the fall, and now this.”
“Who else knows?”
“No one who’ll speak, and the Academy’s locking it down. Judging by Holland’s view, the medical care was substandard.”
Ford’s tone turned quiet. “And you? You staying in place?”
“Yes,” Dante said. “I can’t move yet. Not until she’s safe. Not until I have proof. Not until he screws up again.”
“You think he will?”
Dante didn’t hesitate. “He already has.”
USAFA NORTH WING
The message was folded into an inspection checklist. No name. No seal. It was just a hand-delivered printout with routine bunk assignments and a single line at the bottom, typed in all caps: SHE MADE IT TO DENVER.
Krueger didn’t blink. He tore the paper once, tucked the piece with the message into his boot, and left the room without a word.
In the latrine, far stall, he locked the door and sat down. The tiles were cold. The walls smelled of bleach. His pulse ticked against the inside of his wrist.
Alive. Still breathing. That meant she was probably talking. Or she would be soon.
He exhaled through his nose and stared at the back of the stall door like it could offer strategy. This wasn’t panic. It was math.
One: There were no cameras.
Two: No physical evidence tied to him.
Three: Ezra wouldn’t talk. Ever.
Four: She had no proof, only suspicion.
And if she did have something…
He pulled out a burner from his waistband, one he’d prepped months ago. Powered off. No tower data.
He keyed in the number from memory. It rang once. Then a clipped voice answered, “Secure. Go.”
“Dad, I need a name pulled.”
A pause.
“Tell me the situation.”
“I’ve got a cadet under mental health review who just staged a medical incident off-base. She’s now in Chase Security custody, being treated like royalty.”
Another pause.
“Do I need to contact the folks at Wright-Patt AFB?”
“Yes, I need this at Joint Chiefs’ level.”
“Is this exposure-level or contained?”
“It’s heading for exposure unless you block it.”
Silence.
Then the general’s voice came back, low and flat, “Give me her name.”
“Shannon McKenna.”
A beat.
“I’ll handle it.”
Krueger ended the call and killed the phone. He dropped it into the chemical waste bin behind the dorm, where nothing ever came back out. He didn’t smile, but the tension left his shoulders as he walked back inside.
His father had survived four administrations, two scandals, and the collapse of an overseas theater. A cadet’s word wouldn’t bring down a man like that or his son. Not without bodies.
Shannon McKenna, for now, was still a ghost in a hospital bed. And if he moved fast enough, she’d stay one.