He hustled through the hallways. They were on a strict time frame. He rounded the corner, and— "Sir." He stepped into the doorway. His hand raised and his fingers wrapped around the wood of the frame. "We have them on SVTC."
"Is Bess in the frame?" He asked as he sprang up from his chair.
"I haven't gotten word," Russell said as they, side by side, rushed down the hall.
The Sit Room was quiet compared to the state of the room earlier in the hour. He looked to his left. Probably because the mic was hot.
"Here he is now," Hugh said, waving a hand to his left.
His eyes jumped to the screen as Conrad took his stance at the head of the table. One look at Bess and he knew they were going to hell in a handbasket. He was relieved to see her alive though he thought it would be better if she'd been off-screen. The president's emotions were already running high. They couldn't afford any rash decisions.
"Bess," Conrad breathed. It was too quiet to be caught by the microphones.
He stepped up to the table as he studied the screen. He watched as an arm slowly came across her chest. The gun being held in the man's right hand rested near the top of her stomach.
"How is Secretary McCord?" The president asked.
The man smiled. "She is doing very well." He adjusted the camera so there was a wider frame. "We even stitched her up for you," he said— the blood-soaked spot of her shirt was a contrast to the grayness of their surroundings.
The camera panned up, and— "Can Secretary McCord answer herself?" Conrad pushed.
He turned his eyes to her.
"I— I'm okay," she muttered. And from those three mumbled words he knew she was anything but.
"Now—" The man began. Russell was surprised he'd gone without the mask this go around. It surely benefited them. "Mr. President, have you made any progress on our request?"
Conrad rested his palms against the table and leaned his weight onto his arms. "Unfortunately, not a lot can be done in an hour. You have to give us more time."
"Don't give me that bullshit," he gritted through his teeth. As he jerked his arm away from Elizabeth's chest the gun bumped against her cheek. It was impossible to miss the way her breathing quickened. "All it takes is one phone call from you!" He pointed towards the camera.
"If only it could be that simple," Conrad said calmly.
The deep frown on the man's face turned into a triumphant smirk. He set his gun down somewhere off camera before both his hands fell to Elizabeth's shoulders. "I must ask you Mr. President…" His palms slid down until he was squeezing her breasts. He felt as the whole room froze, and he thought all the oxygen had been sucked from his lungs. "Are all your cabinet members this beautiful?" He kept one hand on her breast while the other came up to tangle in her hair. He ducked his face towards her neck, and she flinched.
Conrad's jaw locked. "If you touch her…" He swallowed. "There will be hell to pay."
His hands fell away from her body, and he stepped back from the chair she was sitting in. "Who is to say I haven't already?" He leaned forward. "We'll talk soon." And the screen snapped to black.
"HUMINT helped uncover the location of the kidnappers. They're in an abandoned warehouse just outside of Moscow," Admiral Hill said.
The president sank down into his chair. "What's the source of that intelligence?"
"Russian GRU," she answered.
"Have we got an ID on this guy yet?" Russell asked.
Hugh looked up from the manilla folder his nose was buried in. "We're almost there, sir."
"What, is the CIA sitting on their asses today?" Conrad huffed. "Get me an ID," he ordered. He swiveled in his chair and called him over. "Russell?"
"Sir?" He questioned, ducking his head.
"Has anyone got in contact with Henry?" He asked.