Thank you thank you thank you for all the wonderful comments and to everyone reading this. You are all excellent.
Um. I am not cool. This will become apparent within the first two lines of this chapter. I also know nothing about helicopters. This may also become apparent haha. Enjoy!
Chapter Seven
How to Get Your Eyeliner Perfect Every Time – Fast!
The Best Dresses for Fall
President Dalton in crunch re-election talks
17 60s Mini Skirts That are SO 2016
Rumours of unrest during McCord power plant visit; protest in Petrian capital – live updates!
Alison McCord abruptly stopped her casual scroll through her online feed, ignoring all the articles on fashion and makeup tips and instead clicking onto the link that referenced her mother.
She quickly scanned the first few lines about the power plant protests. Apparently people in Petria were upset about an American company investing in their country because it was an affront to their sovereignty.
Because poverty and unemployment were so much better, right?
Alison rolled her eyes; it seemed to be just another dumb protest of the kind that seemed to follow her mother around wherever she went. Just part of the job. Not a great part of the job, admittedly. It sucked having her mom talked about in the press like that, with quotes from people who hated her just because of the job she held. Alison knew it was pointless to take it personally… but she totally did. And she knew her mom did too.
There was a link at the bottom of the article to another, trashier article, about her mom's visit to Petria. Specifically an article on the outfits she had worn to visit the power plant that was the reason for her visit, and to her meetings with various members of the government and community groups. Now with updates from the presidential reception!
Oh, that might be worth a look. Her mom had acquired some good formalwear as part of her job and she'd be lying if she said she didn't covet some of it.
Alison clicked on the link to find pictures of her parents arriving at the presidential palace in Rusapol. Her mom looked amazing in her smoky blue dress with the close-fitting bodice, sweeping knee-length skirt and sweetheart neckline, and her dad's matching cravat was so cute, if a little nauseating. He had obviously chosen it especially. But they looked so happy, posing together for a picture inside the palace.
She missed them. It had only been a few days, but it was tough with both of them being gone at the same time.
At least this time there had been no lies about what either of them was doing. Sometimes she thought her parents thought she and Jason and Stevie were stupid, giving them excuses about conferences and routine diplomatic ventures when they all knew perfectly well they were off doing something dangerous and covert.
At least the visit to Petria was…
Something caught Alison's attention.
A link just beneath the picture of her parents with their big smiles and eveningwear. Gunshots, explosions in Petrian palace, read the text. Reports of violence in Petrian capital of Rusapol.
Alison clicked the link. She read the scant text there that spoke of rumoured gunshots and explosions from within the palace where her parents were due to be for a reception on their last night. She felt panic start to build but squashed it down.
Not enough information. She needed more details before deciding whether it was a situation worthy of panicking.
She clicked onto Twitter. Scanned the worldwide trending topics.
The top trend: #rusapolattack.
She clicked it. Read for a minute.
Yeah, she figured that panic was just about the right response. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her mouth was dry. Her stomach rolled. She called out urgently: "Stevie!"
In the driver's seat of the car, Kev the DS agent hesitated for a moment at the turning that led back towards the embassy. He flicked his gaze between the tank and guys in bulletproof vests to their left, and the protestors that lined the street behind them. Then he looked right, which was the way to the embassy. There was a bend not far after the turn, making it impossible to see what lay ahead.
While he hesitated, Henry kept his eyes on the men with the tank, and kept his arms around his wife.
The Special Forces guys with the tank and the armoured vehicle – it was almost like they knew to expect them. The roadblock was very deliberately on the left side of the road, while the right side was practically a straight run back to the US embassy.
Elizabeth's visit to Petria had been well-publicised in both the US and Petrian press, and her presence had been high-profile throughout the trip. It was surely not a coincidence that those men had chosen to place their tank exactly where it was. They had to be aware that she'd be likely to head for her embassy and, if they were loyal to Kodalov, it would be easy for them to identify her car. His security guys were probably keeping them updated and at any rate, the diplomatic plates and their direction of travel were a dead giveaway as to their destination. It was almost like they were blocking off all other routes than the one that led to the embassy. The question was whether they were trying to be helpful to their American guests, or whether they were ushering them into a trap.
Somehow Henry doubted that they were helping them out. The best they could hope for was that it was just a show of strength. Something to intimidate but nothing more sinister than that.
"OK," Kev said from the front seat, seemingly talking to himself. "So I'm just gonna…" With one last nervous look at the tank and the street behind them lined with fervent protestors, he turned the car to the right and put his foot down on the accelerator.
Three days ago, Elizabeth had met Minister Gleb Kodalov in person for the first time.
During almost two years of occasional phone calls and video appointments, she had always found the man hard to pin down beyond being something of a slightly sleazy cliché. It was obvious from the beginning that he had ambition – and plenty of friends locally to help support that ambition – but he had never given any indication of wanting to depose President Zembrovko.
It was only when she finally met him on her first morning in Petria that she learned of the recent falling-out between the two men.
After the initial formal greeting at the door of the foreign ministry – and the handshake Elizabeth opted for becoming awkward when Kodalov went instead for a cheek kiss and, oh great, no doubt pictures of that would be on the internet soon enough – they had repaired to Kodalov's private office for talks.
As soon as the door was shut behind them, the polite small talk they had sustained through the corridors of the building gave way to an atmosphere that Elizabeth found slightly uneasy.
Kodalov glanced around at her as he poured coffee for them both. "I saw that you were present when Maria Ostrova was killed."
It sounded like a casual remark, but the topic was anything but, and she didn't know the man well enough to gauge what he meant by it. "Yes," she confirmed, and then left it there, because Kodalov wasn't one of her friends. With some of her counterparts in other countries she might have felt compelled to expand, might not have minded talking about the subject because she knew that they would only be mentioning it out of sympathy and they were on the same side.
But in Petria, given its location and its considerable factions still loyal to Russia, she needed to tread more carefully – especially when it seemed like Kodalov was about to reveal which faction he fell into, something she had never been able to properly pin down from his nebulous answers during their phone conversations.
"Her death was a great shame," he said, turning to lean against his desk and look down at where Elizabeth sat on a small sofa. "She was a strong leader."
Elizabeth accepted a cup of coffee from him but neglected to respond to his comment. So it seemed Kodalov had sympathies with Russia. That would explain his noticeable silence on the topic of Russian aggression in next-door Ukraine, something that he should have been very vocal about given that Petria was politically and militarily weaker than Ukraine, and likely to be next on Moscow's absorption list.
"Don't you agree?" Kodalov asked, moving to settle himself next to her, his eyes watching her intently like he was trying to read her reaction before she could speak it. "You should," he went on before she could say anything. "After all, she inspired you to leave early her husband's funeral, did she not?"
That was not something she liked to be reminded of, that awful, embarrassing incident when Maria Ostrov had stood up on the world stage and spoken against Elizabeth while she was sitting watching in the audience. "President Zembrovko didn't get along with her," Elizabeth said, smiling coolly and diverting the topic of conversation away from her own unpleasant memories. She let the statement hang there, seeing if Kodalov would take the bait.
He tilted his head, an annoying habit she had noticed in almost every video call they'd had. No doubt he meant to look thoughtful, but it came across as patronising. "That is true," Kodalov said. "I will admit, Madam Secretary, it was a cause of some disagreement between us."
In diplomatic terms, admitting to a 'disagreement' with his head of state meant that in reality they were probably engaged in openly hostile combat over the issue.
"You must have topics on which you and your President Dalton do not agree, I assume?"
Elizabeth forced a laugh. "Oh, we were very much in agreement on the issue of Maria Ostrov."
Mostly. At least Kodalov didn't know about what had happened with Dmitri.
She had been surprised to discover the disparity in views between the president and his foreign minister on such a crucial issue for the government – perhaps the most vital aspect of the country's foreign policy. President Zembrovko had always been outspoken on the issue of sovereignty for Petria; he was of the generation that had lived through Soviet rule and would not stomach the thought of ever returning to anything like that era.
Maybe that was it, Elizabeth thought as the car turned right and drove towards the US embassy, leaving the tank and the protestors behind. Maybe that disagreement over Russia was what had prompted Kodalov to turn against his president so violently and absolutely.
But then why not wait? Petria was due elections in a little over a year, and Artur Zembrovko was not eligible to stand again for the presidency. Kodalov could have used the opportunity to launch his own bid for the highest office in the land. All he had to do was bide his time for a few more months.
There had to be an explanation.
Elizabeth couldn't figure it out, and she was pulled from her attempts at trying by the car slowing down as it approached the embassy gates.
"Damn," Frank said from the front passenger seat.
Protestors stood outside the embassy, blocking their path to the gates.
No, no, no. They had to get inside the embassy. There was no other option; until they knew that they could safely get to the airport, they had nowhere else to go.
The group of people standing in front of the gates had noticed the car. They were chanting something, although Elizabeth couldn't quite make out what they were saying. Lights swept over the car from overhead and a low, throbbing churning noise started up. A helicopter. She could feel the noise pounding through her and adjusted her grip on Henry's hand, needing the touch to anchor her. She craned her neck to try and peer up and out of the window, only to be pulled abruptly back by Matt.
"Stay back from the glass," he ordered, looking nervously out at the protestors.
"If this is the bit where you tell me to get down on the floor to hide, you can think again," she said, hoping to lighten the mood a little. She smoothed her free hand over the silk of her skirt. "This dress is rented. I can't take it back creased."
She turned to look at Henry as he sat at her side, one hand holding hers and the other on her knee. He was looking up at the roof of the car, concentrating on something.
"Henry?"
"It sounds like an Apache."
"The helicopter?"
He nodded. "Yes. But it's not quite the right noise. It's something else. If I had to guess I'd say that helicopter is a Mi-24."
Elizabeth wracked her brains for her small store of knowledge on helicopters, most of it given to her at one time or another by Henry and his professional and personal enthusiasm on the subject. "That's Russian-made, right?"
"It is," he confirmed.
That wasn't right. Since it regained its independence thirty years ago, Petria had signed military arms and hardware deals with the US, the French and the British – and very deliberately not the Russians. "Petria hasn't had any new military equipment from Russia since the 1970s."
Two possibilities. The first a little better than the second. Either it was an old helicopter still in service under the Petrian flag, or else it was a foreign-owned helicopter, which meant that the probability was high that the Russian air force was in the skies over Rusapol.
Elizabeth knew which option she preferred. "Please, please tell me you can tell how old it is just by hearing it?"
Henry shook his head. "Sorry, babe. Not without seeing it."
"Well, you're not getting out there to look."
"Believe me when I say I'm grateful for that." The worry on Henry's face was unmissable even in the dim light of the car, and the strobing light from the helicopter brought it into stark relief. There was no way through the crowd of protestors, who didn't seem to be inclined to move any time soon. They couldn't idle for long; it wasn't safe to stay still on the streets.
In the front seat, Frank was on the radio talking to the staff inside the embassy. "Can you meet us at the back?" he asked whoever was on the radio.
There was static for a moment and then a woman's voice on the line. "Affirmative. You'll need to move quickly. There's not much cover."
Frank nodded to Kev in the driver's seat and, without warning, he yanked the steering wheel to the right at the same time as flooring it on the accelerator, forcing Elizabeth back into her seat and knocking Henry into her, his back against her chest. His elbow collided with her rib cage and his weight pressed down heavily on her for a moment before he was able to brace himself. "Sorry," he breathed.
Elizabeth slid her arms around him to help steady him, her palm over his sternum to feel the rapid beat of his heart. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear as the car took another sharp turn fast, taking them round the roads to the back entrance of the embassy. "It's all right," she said to Henry, quiet enough that no one else could hear. "It's going to be fine."
He turned to look back at her and their eyes locked. She could see he was trying really hard to believe her. So was she. The helicopter was still circling lowly overhead. "Of course it is," Henry said.
She nodded.
The car jerked to a stop in line with the embassy's back door where deliveries – and not the Secretary of State – were usually received. The door was opened from the inside by one of the embassy security staff.
"Home sweet home," Matt said, pulling out his gun ready to cover them in case they should need it during the few steps between the car and the building. "Let's go."
