After the intense heat of the desert, Germany was cold. She stood hesitating at the top of the stairs that led from the plane to the tarmac. The wind felt harsh and biting, and she shivered, wishing that Henry were beside her, a warm arm over her shoulders.
"Ma'am," Blake said into her ear.
She moved forward numbly, hardly even noticing the relentless popping of flashbulbs in her face. She turned toward Blake.
"Why is there press?"
"They heard about the bombings." He explained.
"Bombings?" Her voice rose in pitch.
"At the Afghan bases, ma'am." He explained patiently.
She tried to remember Afghanistan but her brain felt slow and sluggish. It seemed the only thing she could remember was the sound of Henry laughing, and the feel of his hand resting on her hip. They crossed the icy tarmac and she was thankful for the ridiculously oversized boots. She was surprised to be greeted by her staff when they entered a small room. She had expected that they were already on a flight back to Washington.
"Madam Secretary!" Nadine rose from where she'd been seated behind a computer. "We are so relieved to see you."
"I wasn't in any danger." She responded.
"It didn't feel that way." Daisy said. "The internet was buzzing with concern." She held up her phone, a bright smile on her face.
She stared at Daisy for two, slow, long blinks trying somehow to formulate words to express her fury at the ridiculousness of her statement. Fortunately, Blake stepped between them.
"I don't think now is the best time to . . ." He put an arm around Daisy walking her away. Their voices a quiet whisper while the rest of the room was filled with awkward silence.
Her fear and anguish over Henry, was clouding her ability to read the room - to read people. But it slowly dawned on her.
They were all trying to avoid telling her something. She swallowed hard, and then turned to the one person she knew would be the easiest target.
"Nadine," She kept her voice even, sounding strangely harsh, "What aren't you telling me?"
***MS***
Three steps out of his office, he felt it. Felt something was wrong. A student rushed into the hall past him, her face white with fear. He had half-turned toward her to ask what was wrong, but then heard commotion not far from where he stood. Looking up, he could see people in the distance - some of them running. Another student rushed past him, looking equally terrified, and as he passed Henry he said, "Run! Get inside!"
He took another step forward, narrowing his eyes, and adjusting his vision to the bright outdoor sunlight. An odd thought flitted through his brain, What a beautiful day! And then he saw it in the distance. A young man dressed all in black, a black woollen ski hat covering his face except for eye and mouth holes. He immediately recognized the weapon in his hands. And wondered briefly where a kid could get a hold of an AK. He knew he ought to dash back inside and call authorities. He knew that trying to manage a crazy situation would probably only get himself killed. He understood down to his bones that if went after the kid, Liz would be pissed as hell - probably for all eternity. But he was a trained soldier, and had been a damn good one. He'd probably be a soldier still if it weren't for Liz and the kids. It wasn't that Liz had ever asked him to quit, but rather that he had recognized the impossibility of being a warrior and a father; of being a man of words and a man of weapons. It became too difficult to manage the two, and he recognized that something had to give. It had been much too difficult to merge the life of the soldier with the life of husband and father. He had seen enough marriages around him disintegrate, and he couldn't comprehend the anguish of life without Lizzie beside him. For him, the choice had been obvious. Yet now, here was the old dilemma right in front of him. Who was he? Soldier? Father? Teacher?
He dropped down low, hiding behind a brick planter that housed several trees. Henry McCord was all of those things, and despite his wife's righteous fury, he knew what he had to do. If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. Hadn't he just told Ali that? He watched, his eyes narrowing to slits, his brain already pushing thoughts of Ali, Stevie, Jason, and Liz to the background, as he assessed the situation. He was cautiously waiting to strike.
***MS***
Stevie McCord opened the front door, surprised to see Alicia from their security detail standing in the doorway. She opened her mouth to speak, panic immediately flooding her body when she heard her little sister's voice behind her.
"You aren't supposed to come inside! Why is she . . ."
"Take it easy, Ali." Stevie said, trying to balance her irritation and compassion. "Let her talk."
"I was thinking about what you asked me about, Stevie." Alicia began, and for a half-second Stevie had been utterly confused. She hadn't asked Alicia about anything. Then suddenly she understood.
"About the party?" Stevie asked. She was amazed that Alicia gave no reaction. She just smiled.
"Yes. We can talk now, if you like?" Alicia's warm smile, did nothing to calm the terror that was flooding Stevie's system.
"Oh, my God!" Ali groaned. "Mom's in the middle of the desert and you are trying to set up some stupid party! You are so selfish!" She stormed back upstairs.
"I'm sorry." Alicia said, after she'd left. "We can tell her you are planning a party for your Mom." She offered, but Stevie just shook her head. Her little sister thinking she was a selfish jerk was the least of her problems.
"What's going on?" Stevie tried to keep her voice low.
"Let's go in the study." Alicia said. Stevie followed her and sat at her father's desk. Alicia closed both doors to the room, and turned toward her.
"Your mom is fine."
Stevie exhaled slowly, tears in the corner of her eyes. "Then why . . ."
"She's on her way home. There were bombings at some of the bases, and so we thought it best to get her out now."
"Oh, good." She glanced at the picture of her mother that sat on the corner of her father's desk. "Dad will be so . . .wait, why are you telling me this? Why isn't Dad?"
"Hey!" Jason's voice called from upstairs. "The internet is down!"
"Tell him, you already called and they are working on it." Alicia's face was serious, and Stevie felt all sense of peace fall away.
"Yeah, I know. I called. They are working on it!" She called back to him. She turned back to face Alicia. "Tell me what is going on. Right now!"
"There was a problem at Georgetown." Alicia began gently.
***MS***
At least three more students had run past Henry McCord and into the building. He was hopeful that at least one of them had thought to call 911. He had made his way along the planter and across the open space between the buildings, and was now hunkered down behind a large bush. He was almost directly behind the troubled boy. He was sure it was a boy. His thin arms trembled as he hefted the heavy weapon.
Henry was in a good position to rush him, but the boy's movements were erratic and unpredictable. He kept swinging around in wild circles, pointing his gun and firing from time to time. If he rushed out at just the wrong moment, he would most certainly be shot. He could see one student lying just across the quad and didn't know if they had simply dropped flat to avoid being shot, or if they were hurt. What he did know was that he didn't have much time. The boy took a few more stumbling steps forward, and away from where Henry was hidden.
"Janeen!" He called out angrily. "Janeen!" He fired the weapon in a wide arc, and moved as if to run forward.
Henry realized that if he didn't act now the boy would take off in a run, and be gone. It wasn't really that he had much time to think. From the time he'd swung open the door to step out in the bright sunlight, until now, had been maybe two minutes, but his brain had switched over into that odd, familiar slow-motion of battle. Everything felt simultaneous like it had slowed to a near standstill and that everything was rushing past him.
"Janeen!" He called out again, and then took a stumbling step forward. Henry McCord rose from where he was hidden and rushed forward, his only thought the target in front of him.