Author´s note: Good to see that I have not been abandoned :) Thank you guys, for sticking with this story.

ShaunV76: And thanks to you for having me back. :)

Sister1256: Thank you.

Guest: Thanks a lot and thanks for being patient.

noro: Hey, good to see you´re still around to read as well, thank you.

Chapter 36 – Bad gut feelings

The sleek, gigantic hull of the Boeing 747 had already come to a halt on the runway, presidential quarters, as required by security protocol, facing away from the terminal, terminal spotlights trained on the massive craft, motors already humming smoothly in preparation for takeoff. A small group of about two dozen reporters with flashing cameras emitting a cacophony of voices were vying for attention and testing the limits of a small ropeline squared off the lower end of the access to the machine.

A sight so familiar and yet so bizarre under the circumstances it occured to Liv as she strode up to the plane, aware that the press would be far more interested in her presence after her disappareing off the news radar for months than it would even be dimly aware of the drama that had played out around a small, rundown diner and gas station on the outskirts of Chippowa Falls, Wisconsin about half an hour ago. In the raising buzz and excitement over the president´s departure to Brussels for his summit with President Masri of Iraq, this story, closely connected to the very heart oft he man this aircraft was waiting for now, was mere noise on the sidelines. This at least, Liv thought to herself, was something to be grateful for. She had been worried that the hunt for her father, the partial exposure of the boxes she had received from her mother might dominate the international news cycle, diminish Fitz´ achievement on the international stage, but so far, that hadn´t happened.

"She´s safe, Liv. The girl´s with me. And there´s a team here, taking care for the rest."

"Thank you, Huck."

She had to fight down frustration when she ended the call and let her phone slide into the pocket of her coat before ascending the metal staircase leading into the plane. Her father had escaped again, but she was reluctant to believe it had been mere luck. The sniper that had killed the owner of the diner – a mess they were already spinning into a tale of attempted armed robbery – must have been someone her father had brought as a backup. No doubt there had been little coincidence to the fact that her father had just happened to end up pumping gas at the very station their whistleblower had been looking for a ride home from work. No way her father had gone into this on mere risk. He was already on the run from the FBI and he knew it. By the looks of it, something had gone wrong in the timeline of their meticulous planning. The FBI had simply not had enough time. And that in itself was a mistake that should not have happened. She was livid when she exited the bright spotlight and entered the familiar aircraft, ignoring the soldier on duty and his salute.

Fitz found her minutes later on her familiar seat, to the front of the plane, near the presidential cabin, a seat that was a clear statement to her rank in the proverbial food chain. She might have been away for a few months and yes, she was aware that there were implications that came from it, and emotional aspects that she had not even begun to properly work through, but she noticed belatedly that she had merely taken a seat in her old spot. Fitz stepped in when she was running hands over the smooth leather of the armsrests in an attempt to calm herself and maybe, just maybe, with a small hint of nostalgia.

"We shouldn´t speak here…" was all he said, his voice so calm and bereft of the anger she was feeling towards whoever had botched this up that it was almost unnerving. She followed him to his private cabin and waited till the door was closed.

"I have no idea who fucked this up, but I swear…."

"Liv. I´m as mad as you about this, but they have his identity, they are on his tail. He´s aready on a no fly list and David Rosen immediately issued orders for arrest nationwide. He won´t get far."

She could hear herself laugh bitterly as she paced the room, arms protectively crossed in front of her.

"You really can´t be that naive, Fitz. He´s escaped every possible trap in the past and I…we need this time to be different." There was a haunting, terrible thought that had been begging for attention all the while. Her father wasn´t stupid. And if a beast was forced into a corner, it tended to lash out. Had her mother really made sure to take all the evidence? All the boxes? Had she been thorough enough to destroy digital evidence as well? Because if not, her father, as usual, remained the one working the longer lever. He could, at any time, reveal things to his own whistleblowers, information that B316 was sitting on and that would wipe the current administrtion off the map. As cruel as it might sound, her father was a liability. Had been for a long time. And wording that, saying that out loud was more difficult than anything.

He looked at her intently, did a step forward, reached for her arms, his head slightly bent, his eyebrows slightly raised, that very look he´d give her to calm down, to reassure her. She played with the thought to shake him off but didn´t. "He has a dozen different identities, he has dozens of secret allies that will slip him out of the country or into hiding right under our noses." She was so mad…and so mad at herself for not being able to control her emotions, her anger, any better. Why was that? Why, she wondered, couldn´t she just use head over heart like she usually did, analyse the situation confidently, calmly, weigh one aspect against the other, identify the pitfalls and get the problem handled? Was it merely because the problem was her own father? Or was it, she wondered, maybe closer even. Was it because she still had, always had had, all those twisted, wonderful, annoying and infuriating affectionate feelings for the man who was standing in front of her now in his almost boyish, naive attempt to make the dark clouds go away? She didn´t struggle when he pulled her closer.

"We´ll be fine." She could feel his calming baritone softly thrum against her forehead. "We have Huck. We have the Secret Service to protect us. We have a team too, Liv. Now we´ll handle Brussles first and your father in the meantime." He moved his arms around her more, let his palms brush up and down her backside as if she were cold. She didn´t move away. "Trust others a bit, Liv. He won´t escape the FBI this time." She took a breath, almost shaking her head. How, she thought, how could be mustert he courage, the grace, to talk like that. To place aside his own thoughts for revenve and place his hopes for that aside for the good of the country? She could feel he was tense underneath the calm, his muscles tight, his thoughts probably running back to that very night and those images that had burned themselves into the collective memory of the American people; the image of a father carrying his dying son. But for now he managed more grace and more dignity than she could even begin to muster.

A knock on the door made them reluctantly break apart. "Yes?" Fitz called out, his hand still against her arm as the door opened to reveal a dutyful as always Tom Larson. "The team´s ready for you, Sir." he said, glancing briefly, seemingly unnoticed to Liv and pretending he hadn´t seen anything unusual in the room. "for the summit briefing."

"Of course." Fitz replied with a small suppressed sigh. They left the room together.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

"This will do, thank you so very much." She told the taxi driver and the man slowed down the vehicle in front of the terminal. She reached into her handbag, gave the man a charming smile through the rearview mirror and pulled out a 50 Euro note, about 20 per cent more than the due fare.

"Oh…" the man chuckled in suprise as he accepted the cash and she demanded no change. „Thank you, ma´am. It was a pleasure. Greet your family in the UK for me."

"I will." She said, likening her chuckle to match his and exited the car. The taxi driver left the vehicle as well, assisting her with her small suit case and she made it into the building.

The place was swarming with personel, not only because the local authorities had stepped up their security in the lights of the still rather recent terrorist attack at this very same airport, but for another reason as well. Good thing you´re in time for your plane, Ma´am. The taxi driver had told her. I bet there´ll be massive delays today. Best to check in early.

Of course there would be. An international or even a bilateral summit was always a big thing for security, a huge expense for the taxpayer as well but sheep didn´t tend to notice their blood being sucked if it only happened clandestinely. But navigating the masses of businesspeople, families and travellers and arriving reporters as well as a small crowd of bystanders curious to catch glimpses of the Iraqui and American presidents was…amusing. The lives of sheep were so careless it nearly made her smile.

Greet your family in the UK for me. So easily decieved by a fake accent it was funny, so easy to pass as someone from another ...from almost any, country. The passport in her pocket would not have disproved her either, but she wasn´t here to travel. She was here to taste some blood. She was here to witness the beginning of the big show she had helped orchestrate.

She checked in under a false name for a flight she´d never intended to take, let her hand luggage be screened for security, no lights going off, no no fly list alerts either. Of course not. She made her way past the shops in the duty free are and finally settled on a nice spot near the panoramic window that alllowed her a perfect look at the runway. Her mind full of lighthearted thoughts Maya Pope checked her clock as she awaited the arrival of Air Force One.