Four soldiers moved with him only as far as the edge of the holding area, then remained with the vehicles. Their weapons stayed secured in accordance with movement procedures. Cole was not there to create an armed confrontation, and he knew how quickly such a mistake could endanger everyone on the road. What he needed first was confirmation that his commanding general was alive. Then he needed medical care and a proper civilian response.
Briscoe watched him approach and tried to arrange his face into the professional expression he normally used around military personnel. He could see the lieutenant colonel's rank, the uniform, and the purposeful way the man walked. He assumed there had been some incident with the convoy and began preparing a speech about road safety. He did not connect the armored vehicles to the woman in the back seat until Cole reached him and asked a question that made the morning suddenly feel much smaller.
"Deputy, I am Lieutenant Colonel Raymond Cole. Is the driver of that Volvo in your vehicle?"
"She's detained," Briscoe said. "Possible stolen car. We're handling it."
Cole looked at the crushed bumper of the Volvo, then at the front of the patrol car, where the paint transfer was still visible. He took a measured breath. "That is Brigadier General Adrienne Walker's personal vehicle," he said. "She is my commanding general. I need to know whether she's injured, and I need you to request medical care if that hasn't already been done."
The deputy's face changed. His first reaction was not recognition but disbelief, as though the words were part of a complicated prank. "A general?" he repeated.
"Yes. Brigadier General Walker."
"She never said that."
"That doesn't answer whether she's hurt," Cole replied.
Briscoe turned toward the cruiser and back again, searching for a way to rearrange what he had done into something less serious. "She was being difficult," he said. "I had a reason to suspect the car wasn't hers."
Cole's expression hardened. "What reason?"
"She wouldn't tell me where she got it."
"The registration identifies her as the owner," Cole said. "Did you verify it?"
Briscoe said nothing. The lieutenant colonel had not raised his voice, and no soldier had stepped forward to intimidate him. Yet the unanswered question did more to expose his position than shouting would have done. Around them, witnesses continued filming. Foster stood near her patrol car with her radio in one hand, unable to avoid hearing every word.
Cole moved a few steps toward the cruiser and spoke through the closed rear window. "General Walker, it's Cole. Can you hear me?"
Adrienne turned her head. The sight of him was a relief so sudden that she briefly had to look away. "I can hear you," she said through the glass. "My neck hurts, and my wrists are still cuffed."
Cole turned to Foster. "Has EMS been called?"
"Yes, Colonel. I requested them and State Highway Patrol," she answered.
"Good. Please have her checked as soon as possible."
Briscoe stepped toward the rear door, trying to regain the center of the encounter. "I can take the cuffs off," he said. His voice had changed from command to negotiation, and for the first time since he approached the Volvo he sounded unsure what authority his badge actually gave him. He unlocked the door but hesitated when he saw Adrienne watching him. His hands were shaking enough that the keys struck the handle twice.