Disclaimer: No one but the wonderful creators of Madam Secretary own it. I'm just borrowing it for a quick plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. Also, please note, I've done the least amount of research possible to make the plot work for me. The facts have a smidge of truth in them, but read them with a grain of salt.
A/N: I just updated this chapter to fix some formatting changes that occurred when I uploaded it. None of the content has changed. Thanks everyone!
Summary: The fringe media strikes, a secret surfaces, and Egypt wants its temple back. It's all in a day's work for the Secretary of State.
Of Secrets and Schemes
Episode 1:
Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord stared at the man in front of her. He was almost ready. She could see the sweat coating his forehead. His heel had been tapping the same pattern for the past two minutes. She let silence consume the room. Their breathing and his jittery leg were her only concessions.
Thirty seconds passed. She watched the hand on the clock behind him out of the corner of her eye. She knew from experience it wouldn't be much longer. Maybe ten more seconds… twenty. It didn't matter. She had at least an hour before her next meeting, an unusual luxury.
There. She had to stop herself from smiling as he glanced away rubbing a sweaty palm on his knee. She tilted her head, a silent invitation to speak.
"Madam Secretary, I didn't think-"
"Don," she interrupted, "Let me stop you right there. You're absolutely right, you didn't think, and now we have a situation. There are hundreds of lives on the line and that's on you… But," she stood and walked around her desk sitting on the edge in front of him, "now you have a chance to make it right. You're in charge of the narrative," She leaned in conspiratorially. "You can change it."
She watched as realization hit him. He looked like he'd been sucker punched. "How?" He grimaced. He was hers, and he knew it.
She leaned back with a thoughtful look. "Well, you painted me as the villain. How do you feel about playing the hero?"
Even hinting that this man could be anything close to a hero made her feel dirty, but she needed him to play along. Pushing too hard might make him shut down. If that meant she had to play to his ego, then so be it.
"You want me to give you names." He looked down, defeated.
"It would be a good start."
"I'll be ruined."
"I could argue printing articles without facts already did that, but that would be petty." She shrugged. "Your choice."
He couldn't meet her eyes. His stare locked on his hands folded in his lap. Fifteen seconds passed. With a sigh he lifted his head and grabbed for the paper and pen she handed him when he walked in. He had scoffed when she told him what he would write with them. She smiled as her prediction came true.
Three names.
Three names of three people who wanted to see her ruined. The worst part was knowing that it wasn't personal. They just wanted to eliminate the competition. They didn't think of her as a person. She was an obstacle, and obstacles could be broken by any means necessary. Truth and facts were afterthoughts, for the weak.
When she took this job, it was a family decision. She wondered if they would vote the same way now, knowing what was coming.
/*/*/*/
She stood in front of the door to her house, steeling herself against the conversation she knew would come. She'd go inside. Her beautiful children would greet her, her incredible husband would kiss her, and they would all be happy… For a moment. Then she would shatter them.
Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord looked down as she placed her hand on the door handle. She could stare down powerful dignitaries and make them promise her the moon; she could negotiate global superpowers out of disastrous wars, but she couldn't face her own family. Not with this.
She closed her eyes and took a breath. Before she could talk herself out of it, she went inside.
Henry was waiting for her to get home. He'd seen the story. Of course, he'd seen the story. It was everywhere.
"Is it true?" He asked. It wasn't quite the happy greeting she had expected. Maybe it would be better this way. She wouldn't have to do the shattering. The fear inducing, conspiracy spinning blog did it for her.
"Partly," she said meeting his eyes.
"That's why you quit," he said.
"That's why I quit," she agreed. "If I couldn't change it, I couldn't be a part of it."
His face softened and she took it as a sign to lean into the hug she'd needed all day. He didn't protest, holding her in the same loving embrace he always offered. At least that would stay the same.
"Do the kids know?" she mumbled into his neck. He stiffened.
"What?" She pulled back to get a look at his face. It was thick with tension. That couldn't be good.
/*/*/*/
Henry always knew there were things about her time in Bagdad that she had never told him. She came home and went straight to work. She spent months obsessing over a memo, a classified memo she wasn't allowed to tell him about. It wasn't hard to work out what had happened. She did her research at home, and it was hard to overlook the articles about the ineffectiveness of torture.
Yes, Henry guessed what had happened during her time in Bagdad. When she turned down the station chief job Dalton had offered, he thought it would all be behind them. He would never have to confront that dark part of his wife, the part that went against every moral fiber of his being. He was wrong.
Now, his kids would have to confront that part of their mother too, all while the world watched. He was angry with Elizabeth. He was angry at the irresponsible blog that spun an evil tale about an evil Secretary of State, embellishing an already appalling story with unsubstantiated facts. Mostly, he was angry with himself for not knowing how to deal with that version of his wife.
"They found out at school," he said, "Jason was in another fight. He and Ali don't believe it's true. Stevie hasn't corrected them yet. She knew you would want to tell them yourself." He looked down and away before meeting her gaze again. She looked horrible. He wished as much as she did that she could skip that conversation.
Elizabeth squeezed his shoulder and started into the other room where she heard the kids. Henry grabbed her hand and followed. They were a unit, and they would face this together.
/*/*/*/
Overall, Jason and Ali took it better than Stevie had, not that the bar was set very high. They were still in the house at least, locked in their rooms and refusing to be in the same room as Elizabeth, but still…
"I defended you!" Jason said sounding betrayed.
"I know," Elizabeth replied.
"What am I supposed to say now? When they're saying you're a monster and calling you a…" he stopped himself before saying what she was sure wouldn't be flattering to her character, "What am I supposed to say?" He glared at her.
She wasn't positive, but it sounded like he was quoting someone, probably the person responsible for the bruises springing up around his face. His anger shouldn't have surprised her, but it did. It cut straight through her heart because he was right. What was he supposed to say? How do you defend torture? You can't.
"Don't talk to your mother like that," Henry, bless him, spoke up.
"Why not?" Alison's voice was quiet but rang with clarity.
The room was quiet, shocked. As surprising as Jason's outburst was, it was expected. Alison's quiet fury was not. During her mother's explanation she sat unfocused listening to every word, every excuse. It seemed she was done listening.
Elizabeth saw the words on her daughter's face before they came. They were going to hurt.
"How could you?" That was the question wasn't it. How could she? She could say they were under pressure. People were going to die if they didn't get answers. Children, just like her, were mangled in explosions and littered the streets. She could say a lot, but she and Henry raised them better than that. They would see through her, know that torture rarely produced the answers needed. She taught them so they wouldn't repeat her mistakes.
She hadn't noticed when Alison fled the room. Her words stinging Elizabeth into a stunned stupor. Jason followed soon after. The lingering silence was suffocating.
Stevie broke it bringing Elizabeth back.
"I'll go talk to them," she said, her voice calm and compassionate. She caught her mother's eye, "They'll come around. I did."
How Elizabeth hoped that would be true. In the end, it all came back to the same problem. They shouldn't have to.
/*/*/*/
Daisy sat monitoring the buzz circulating about her boss. She could feel a headache building. A drill burrowed into her temple in time with every new tweet that appeared. Who was coming up with these hashtags anyway? #SecretaryofTorture was just lazy. At least whoever came up with #PsychopathSecretary tried for some alliteration.
Shaking her head she glanced up at Matt. He was pounding away at his keyboard like it owed him something.
"Could you not?" She asked him as each pound added to the throbbing in her head.
He glared at her across the room. "You want to write a statement denying without denying that classified torture may or may not have occurred ordered by our esteemed Secretary of State?"
She started to bite back but sighed instead. It wasn't worth it. He knew as much as she did that whatever defense they came up with would add fuel to the fire.
She didn't just like her job, she was good at it. This was the first time she felt defeated, and she didn't have any fight left.
Daisy knew she needed to stop moping, the Secretary would arrive at the top of the hour, but dang it, she couldn't. Elizabeth McCord spent an entire career in scholarship writing essay after essay about the horrors and immorality of torture, and now it came out that she had ordered a PoW's torture. Sure, some of the facts were wrong, but what was she supposed to say?
"No, the Secretary did not order the torture, rape, and murder of Sara Amari. She ordered the waterboarding of a classified Iraqi activist." Yeah, Daisy, that would play well.
She couldn't help thinking that the Secretary was the epitome of hypocrisy, and if she thought it, the rest of the world did, too. She turned back to her computer and watched the tweets continue to flood in. Something needed to happen and soon or they'd all be looking for new jobs.
/*/*/*/
The conference room was unusually subdued as they gathered for the staff meeting. The usual box of donuts stood untouched as everyone stared off, lost in their own thoughts, the chatter that normally filled the room conspicuously missing.
Nadine sat in her normal spot waiting for the Secretary to arrive with everyone else.
Not only would the team need to strategize on how to handle the latest press releases, but it seemed like everyone from Myanmar to Russia wanted to take advantage of the Secretary's weakened position. She and Jay had gamed out the petty offenses various countries had been committing and found solutions for most of them, but there was one that they would need to bring to her attention. She wasn't looking forward to it.
Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord swept into the room like any other day, seemingly oblivious to her staff's mood.
"Where are we?" She asked.
"You're booked for a round with the morning talk shows starting tomorrow," Daisy said.
"I'll add some prep into your schedule ma'am," Nadine added.
"Fine, is there anything of national importance that's not about my past mistakes?"
A scoff came from Elizabeth's left. She turned, eyebrow raised, "Yes Matt?"
His face went from surly to terror faster than a dog for scraps. Apparently, he hadn't meant for anyone to hear. He answered anyway.
"Is that what we're calling it?" He tried for flippant, but she could hear the fear in his voice, "Past mistakes?"
"Yes," Blake said before she could answer, "It was in the past, and it was a mistake, or is that not descriptive enough for the speechwriter."
"She had someone tortured, Blake," Matt turned on him, "I think it was a bit more than a 'mistake'."
Blake opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off. She couldn't afford to let it get out of control or things would be said that they couldn't take back.
"Are you two done?" They looked back at her.
"Thank you, Blake, but Matt's right. Waterboarding, beatings, torture. Prisoners suffered because I ordered it," she turned to the rest of the room, "You all need to decide right now whether you can work for someone responsible for something like that or not. I won't blame anyone for walking out the door right now. I'll be sure to give you a good letter of recommendation." She paused giving people the chance to get up and leave. No one moved.
"Good," she nodded. She'd be lying if she didn't admit she was worried they'd all abandon her. Of course, she'd never tell them that.
"Now, is there anything else?"
"Uh, yes ma'am," Nadine started, "It's about Egypt."
"Egypt?" She asked, wondering what in the world Egypt wanted.
"Yes, ma'am. They requested the return of their sacred national treasure The Temple of Dendur. Their words, ma'am."
"They want us to return a temple? Like, the entire structure?" She asked exasperated at the same time Blake asked, "As in, the one at The Met?"
"Yes, ma'am," Nadine answered as Jay nodded at Blake.
"But that was a gift." Elizabeth said completely caught off guard, "Where would they even put it? The original location was flooded."
"I'm not sure ma'am, but they're citing cultural appropriation to get it back. It won't work of course, but with the current… situation," she stumbled over the word, "they could cause a stir in the press. It seems as though they're using it to get a meeting with you. They've been trying to get on the books for a few months. I guess they decided they were done waiting."
"Effective strategy," the Secretary grumbled, "All right, get me a binder on the current aid packages for that area and some incentives. Whether they can actually take the temple back or not, I'd like to be prepared."
"Already done ma'am," Jay said passing her the binder.
/*/*/*/
"Elizabeth, we have a problem." Russell Jackson barreled into her office like a hog through underbrush.
"Russell Jackson, ma'am." Blake trailed in looking harassed. She really should see about getting him a raise.
"Thank you, Blake," she said sending him a quick smile before turning back to the man standing impatiently in front of her desk. "Russell?"
He watched Blake leave and close the door before turning back to her.
"It's the leak," he said, leaning on her desk as he grabbed some of her fries. Why did everyone always think her food was open season? "We had Ephraim do a sweep and it came up empty."
"Not a problem," she said. He looked surprised. Honestly, sometimes she thought he forgot she worked for the CIA, ironic under the circumstances. She grabbed the list of names out of her top drawer and handed it over.
"I got these from everyone's favorite reporter, and I use that term loosely. They may or may not be the leak, but they're responsible for it."
"Good," he said as he scanned the names, distracted. He glanced back at her and said firmer, "Good, I'll run these by Ephraim."
He stood up about to leave.
"And Bess," he said snagging a couple more fries, "Don't let Egypt take our temple."
He left as quickly as he came.
/*/*/*/
Daisy and Matt stood at Blake's desk throwing question after question at him. How was he supposed to know the full story? Just because he was with the Secretary the most didn't mean she confided in him, especially about classified information. Sure, there was the one time he spied on Nadine for her, but that was it.
"Look," he said interrupting Daisy before she could ask the same reworded question for the tenth time, "we'll know when we need to know."
"That's not good enough, Blake. I have to answer press questions now, and she just admitted she ordered and I quote 'waterboarding, beatings, and torture' for prisoners; as in plural, more than one, Blake. What am I supposed to do with that?" … And there was number ten.
"Oh, I don't know, your job?" He knew he was being a little unfair, but he was done caring. They all had hard jobs, and they were distracting him from his, "It happened a long time ago, Daisy. Can you imagine the Secretary we know ordering something like that today?"
"No," She said, pursing her lips like she tasted something sour. "No, she wouldn't."
"So what does Russell want?" Matt asked still digging for information.
"I couldn't begin to imagine," Blake said as he turned his full attention to the email he was trying to draft. He resigned himself to fielding their questions for the foreseeable future. He would have to multitask. Maybe they would get the hint and leave… He doubted it.
Before Matt and Daisy could start their next round, Russell swept out of the Secretary's office heading straight for the elevator munching on some fries as he passed. Blake made a mental note to bring a snack around for later. If the Secretary had fries left then she probably didn't get a chance to eat much of her lunch. She always finished them first.
Taking advantage of the distraction, he stood and headed for the Secretary's office leaving Matt and Daisy at his desk.
"Ma'am," he said as he stepped inside, "Your meeting with the Egyptian ambassador is in ten minutes."
She was standing staring out the window behind her desk. Sure enough her burger and fries sat almost untouched.
"Thank you, Blake," She said without turning around. She sounded troubled and closed off. No, the Secretary didn't confide in him, but as he stepped back out of her office he couldn't help hoping that she confided in someone.
/*/*/*/
Jason McCord sat outside the principal's office for the second time in two days. Maybe, he would get lucky, and they would finally expel him. Anything would be better than listening to the stupid comments that his classmates kept making about his mom.
His dad was in the office trying to talk Principle Walters into a more lenient punishment. He honestly didn't know what would happen. His dad was persuasive but Principle Walters was strict on fighting. Still, his money was on his dad.
The door opened.
"Let's go," his dad said looking stern. Jason couldn't get a read on what happened. He grabbed his book bag and followed his dad out of the building.
The drive home was tense. Neither of them spoke. Jason desperately wanted to know when he would have to go back, if at all, but he couldn't find the courage to ask.
It was odd. He had seen his father mad before. More often than not, he was the cause for it; a quiet fury that burned, tightly controlled when he was dealing with Jason and his siblings when they were in trouble. That's what Jason was expecting. This was different. His dad didn't seem angry. He seemed… resigned. It was putting Jason on edge.
They pulled onto their road, and he couldn't take it anymore.
"What's going to happen?" He asked.
His dad's eyes cut over to him, snapping back to the road a second later. His question could have been taken a bunch of different ways. Even he wasn't sure which one he meant.
"You're suspended for a week. We'll discuss it when your mother gets home. For now, you're grounded."
"If she ever comes home," he said under his breath. His dad's stare bore holes in him as he put the car in park in front of their house.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"What do you think it means?" Jason said. He hated the way his voice always broke when he made a point, "She's never home! We have to keep living our lives, deal with everything everyone says about her, meanwhile Queen Elizabeth's never here!"
There it was. The anger was back. It weirdly made Jason feel more sure of himself. His dad's anger was familiar. He knew how to handle it.
"Jason!" His dad started. He knew he was about to get a lecture about using the nickname his aunts and uncles used for his mom. Before it could start, he rushed out of the car, into the house, and up to his room. If his dad wanted to yell at him, he could do it there.
/*/*/*/
"Who planned the ambush?" Elizabeth asked for the hundredth time. Like every other time, the activist stared blankly at the wall behind her. The translator repeated the question, but they both knew the prisoner understood English. Just like they both knew Elizabeth could speak Arabic.
Her superiors were getting impatient. There was another attack today. A suicide bomber in the form of a ten-year-old boy on his way to school blew up a check-point. Two dead. Three injured. Everyone on base was out for blood and the prisoner was the wife of the man who planned it.
"Come on!" She said as she slammed a picture on the metal table in front of her. She didn't have to fake the urgency in her voice. The prisoner gave a small jump but continued to stare at the wall.
They picked him up in a raid with ten future jihadis, not one of them over the age of twelve. She was in charge of taking care of them until their time came and ensuring they didn't lose their nerve when it did. Intelligence indicated that at least four suicide bombers had come out of that particular operation already. Unfortunately, her husband had escaped and reports confirmed he was able to smuggle some of the kids out with him, including the bomber from earlier that day.
"Do you not care that children are fighting your war? This is Yusuf. You remember him don't you?" Elizabeth raised the picture into her line of sight, forcing her to see the mangled boy's body from the bombing. There wasn't much left of him, "You took care of him, didn't you? You told him stories about how his sacrifice would be glorious, made sure he wouldn't change his mind about blowing himself up. Does this look glorious to you?"
The prisoner hadn't spoken a word since being brought in three days ago, and it didn't look like it would change any time soon. Elizabeth was running out of reasons to delay enhanced interrogation. It was horrible, but at this point she wasn't sure she wanted to. Who talked kids into suicide and murder?
The prisoner glared at her silently. Colonel Johnson entered the room and motioned for Elizabeth to join him outside.
He started as soon as the door closed behind her, "We have intelligence that their next target is the school, maybe as soon as tomorrow," he let the information sink in. The school had at least fifty students per day, some of them children to the local political leaders. Blowing it would make an already unstable situation worse, not to mention the heartlessness of it all, "Without names we can't do anything. She knows who he'll be sending, and this isn't working," he said giving her a look. She hated that look.
She hesitated. He saw. "Ma'am, we're out of time. We need answers now."
"Can we secure the school, or postpone classes until we get her to talk?" She asked.
"The intelligence is classified. We can't shut down the school without giving them a reason, and we don't have a viable one we can share. Besides, they'd just pick a different target. Stopping them at the school is our best bet to taking down the entire cell."
She took a breath steeling herself. She released it focusing on the kids being threatened.
"Do it."
It wasn't the first time she had ordered an enhanced interrogation. It wouldn't be the last.
Elizabeth gazed out the window in her office trying to pull her thoughts together. She needed to focus. The Egyptian ambassador would be there any minute and she needed to be prepared.
Turning, she went back to the binder Jay put together.
She was re-reading a section on military aid when Blake walked in.
"Ma'am, Ambassador Mahmoud," he announced.
"Ambassador," she greeted with a smile shaking his hand, "It's good to see you again. Can Blake get you anything?"
Mahmoud smiled back. That was a good sign at least.
"No thank you, Madam Secretary."
She made her way back behind her desk and motioned for Mahmoud to take a seat. They were opponents in a cleverly disguised dance, and her desk gave her the figurative higher ground.
"Now," she said placing her hands in front of her, a subtle indication that she had nothing to hide, "I've been informed you've asked for one of your gifts back."
"Madam Secretary, surely you wouldn't suffer my nation to watch as the United States continues to parade one of our greatest treasures around in a, how does the phrase go, dog and pony show?" Mahmoud sat back in his chair relaxing while putting her on the defensive. He was trying to prove that sitting across from her like a child in the principle's office wasn't making him nervous.
She smiled. The American phrase was a nice touch.
"I've found that internationally acclaimed museums such as The Met lack both dogs and ponies. I am curious, though. Where are you planning on putting it?"
He looked surprised. Good, she wanted to keep him off-kilter. If he was uncomfortable, he might let slip what he really wanted. Of course, she already had a good idea, but it was always better to hear it from the other side of the table first. It would give her a chance to counter and avoid giving too much away.
"I'm afraid, I don't understand," he said trying to buy himself time to come up with an answer.
"I mean where would we deliver the temple if we were inclined to return your gift. As I understand it, the original site was flooded along with a number of other sites that had their national treasures relocated. I believe our help in that venture was the original reason for your country's generosity," she replied, reminding him exactly how the temple came to reside in the States.
"Generosity that has become one of the most popular attractions at your 'internationally acclaimed museum,'" he said sidestepping her question and intentionally switching the word 'exhibit' for 'attraction'. He wanted her to know exactly what angle he would be using in the press, "I wonder what would happen to the museum's, not to mention your country's, reputation if you were to lose it for such… controversial reasons."
Elizabeth let her smile slip, giving him the impression that he had the upper hand. Honestly, she didn't have to put much effort into the act. It was a risk, but if she stayed quiet he might start listing demands… or he would force her to break the silence making his upper hand a reality.
Three beats later, he started listing.
"Of course, if the United States were to increase their military aid package, we might be inclined to overlook your museum's indiscretions," he said, distancing her from the concessions she would have to make while placing Egypt's imagined slights directly on her shoulders.
Sighing, she took her glasses off, giving him a sense of victory. He would pick up on it and feel more comfortable, increasing her chances of getting more information. "What did you have in mind?"
"There are some F-16's that we've been waiting on for a while. I think it's about time they make their way home, don't you?" He said, "Then, of course, there's the matter of monetary aid."
"There is?"
"We'd like it increased."
"Increased? You're already our second-highest military aid recipient," Elizabeth countered, "It would require congressional approval to increase funds. They'd never go for it. We could throw in some Harpoon missiles instead."
"That's not enough for me to take back to my superiors," he said. She knew it wouldn't be, but she needed him to accept her next stipulation. He needed to think she was giving away more than she wanted to for him to agree. She couldn't let them get away with holding her over a barrel when she was down. They would need to give away something, too.
"Fine, what if we threw in some tank kits for good measure?" She paused just long enough to see his eyes light up, "In exchange, we will no longer accept cash-flow financing for future projects."
Mahmoud froze. He realized he'd been played, but he was past the point of no return. Backing out wasn't an option.
"That's unacceptable -"
"No, holding a museum exhibit hostage is unacceptable," she interrupted. It was time for the end game. She had other meetings to get to. "Ambassador, you came in here to strong-arm the Secretary of State of the United States. That's not the action of a friend. A friend who consequently will no longer enjoy the perk of signing for future military projects on credit. We will review them on a case by case basis from now on."
She stood and moved toward the ambassador's chair holding out her hand for him to shake, "Thank you so much for coming by." Flustered, he grabbed her hand on instinct and let her guide him out of the office, "My office will be in touch. I look forward to seeing the signed agreement."
She closed the door before he could reply, leaving the ambassador to wonder exactly what just happened.
/*/*/*/
"Hey Dork," Stevie said as she poked her head into his room. He heard Alison grumble something about leaving him to wallow in his room. Seriously, what did a guy need to do to get a little privacy? She could have at least knocked, "Dinner is ready, and Mom's home."
"I'm not hungry, and good for her." He would have been convincing if his stomach hadn't chosen that moment to start rumbling. Stevie gave him that look she always did when he was being stubborn, the patented I know you're full of it, you know you're full of it, so let's just skip to the end where you do what I want. He hated that look.
"Dude, come on. It's just a meal. You have to eat sometime," she said as she opened his door the rest of the way and took a step into his room. He could see Alison leaning on the wall just outside.
"No, she's a hypocrite, Stevie! I'm not eating with her."
"What about the rest of us then, huh? You know Mom's not the only one you're avoiding if you skip family meals." She went straight for the guilt trip. He rolled his eyes.
"How can you be so okay with all of this?" Alison asked from the hallway.
"What?" Stevie asked, caught off guard.
"Ever since Mom came clean, you've been all calm. You're usually the first one to call her out, especially with something like this. Mom tortured someone Stevie, after telling us our whole lives that it's the worst kind of decision."
"She's right," Jason added, "You're usually first to man the barricades, after I build them of course."
Stevie stared at them through narrowed eyes, "Don't you think that maybe Mom taught us torture was wrong because she understood it a little too well? She decided to admit she made mistakes and tried to change things. That's not hypocrisy. That's progress."
She turned to walk out the door. "Now, I'm going down to eat dinner with the parents that have always supported me no matter how bad I've screwed up. You can come if you want."
Jason and Alison glanced at each other as she walked out the door. Jason's stomach growled again. Shrugging, they followed their big sister downstairs, just because they were eating at the same table as their mom didn't mean they would have to talk to her.
/*/*/*/
"Did you see them?" Elizabeth asked as she took the pillows off her side of the bed. Her enthusiasm seemed a bit unwarranted given the circumstances, but anything that made his wife smile was good in his book. "They came down for dinner."
She snuggled under the covers with a satisfied sigh, "They've graduated up to being in the same room as me."
Henry snuck a glance at her as he followed her into bed, "Babe, they didn't say a word to you all night. I'm going to have a talk with them tomorrow."
"No, let them come to terms with it. If we push too hard too soon, they'll turn into those kids that grow up in and out of jail and blame their parents for everything."
"In and out of jail? Don't you think that's a little unlikely?"
"I don't know. Stevie dated a heroin addict." Elizabeth said staring at the ceiling unsure.
"Good point." Henry paused and turned his head to look at her, "Maybe I'll give it another day."
"Another day would be good," she replied with a distracted nod.
"About Jason," he started, "I was thinking no tv or video games until he's back in school."
"That's fine," she answered still staring a hole through the ceiling.
"Babe, what's wrong?"
She turned her head and searched his eyes. She was trying to decide whether she should tell him or not.
"Ephraim ID'ed the leakers," she said. His breath caught in his throat.
"How bad is it?"
"Pretty bad." She looked back at the ceiling, "One of them visited Juliet."
His eyes widened in surprise. "They have that kind of clearance?"
She nodded. "It was the last thing they did before they fell off the grid. I watched the video. It doesn't look like they got anything they could use from her. Ephraim said there's evidence to suggest they have unofficial ties to a Senator… I just wish I knew what they were planning."
She snuggled into his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her.
"Whatever it is, we'll face it together," he said placing a kiss on her temple.
/*/*/*/
"Well, that was unpleasant," Elizabeth said as she took her mic off after her third and final interview that day.
"All things considered, you did well," Daisy assured her. "With the way things are going this should fade out in the next couple of news cycles."
She turned to Daisy surprised.
Noticing her sudden interest Daisy shrugged, "Attention spans are short these days."
Her eyebrows rose. While that may be true, something told her a potential presidential candidate torturing POWs normally wouldn't just disappear in a couple of news cycles.
Sighing, Daisy offered up the real reason, "Senator Mathews was caught with a prostitute last night… A male prostitute. Right now, you're sharing air time with him. I've already canceled your interviews for the rest of the week."
"Huh, all right then." She turned, heading for the door, "I guess they're right when they say things always look better in the morning."
"It's certainly true about today," Daisy said under her breath as she followed the Secretary out.
/*/*/*/
"Two days?" He roared, "She's only in the news for two days!"
The man slammed his car door, demanding the attention of the others standing in the abandoned clearing. It was far enough away from civilization to provide privacy but not so far that his four-door sedan couldn't follow the dirt path to their meeting point.
"The election is twelve months away. We need her reputation destroyed not damaged. She can come back from this," He glared at the three faces in front of him.
"All due respect, sir," the man standing in front began, the scar across his forehead creasing as he raised an eyebrow, "The story may be dead, but that wasn't the only option we provided."
"No, absolutely not. Out of the question." He objected outright.
"Sir, the only way to keep her out of the race permanently would be to have her to announce it publicly. Option B would achieve that," the female continued for the group. He could always detect a hint of spite when she spoke of the Secretary. It left him wondering. Then again, they were in the CIA at the same time, maybe she knew her personally. He knew from his own experiences that the Secretary wasn't the greatest person to work with. Either way, it worked for him.
"I understand that, but option B is out of scope and out of budget," He hoped they would think he was dismissing it out of monetary concerns rather than the truth, he really didn't have the stomach for it, "As I said before, out of the question."
"I thought you wanted to be president," the third interjected smoothly. He stepped in front of Scar Head offering a smile full of promises, "Think of what you could do as president, all of the good you could do for the country. She would continue what Dalton started, deals with Iran, deals with the Taliban. Is that what you want?"
"Of course not," he spat, "but this… I wouldn't be able to live with it," he finished in a whisper.
"And when another 9/11 happens because of the appeasement that comes from her presidency, will you be able to live with yourself then?" Scar Head cut in.
He looked down, thinking.
"Sir," the man in front spoke gently, "no one will get hurt. It's just to scare her out of running. Once she takes herself out of the race, everything will go back to normal. There won't be any real contenders left. You'll win the election and the country will finally be safe."
He looked up, eyeing his three companions. Steeling himself, he gave the order.
"Do it."
He turned on the spot, got in his car, and drove away. There would be no changing his mind. He would be president.
/*/*/*/
"How bad is it?" Russell Jackson swept into the conference room cutting Matt off mid-rant.
Blake rose halfway from his seat in surprise throwing out a quick, flustered, "Russell Jackson, Ma'am".
"Tell me how bad it was," Russell insisted.
"Hello Russell," Elizabeth smiled waiting a beat just to annoy him, "Would you like to add some context?"
"Context? The polls! How bad will your poll numbers affect your presidential run?"
"Preside-… Russell, I told you I wasn't running."
"It could have been worse," Nadine told him.
"And?" He asked holding his arms out in exasperation looking around the room while the Secretary eyed her Chief of Staff suspiciously, "Can it be fixed?"
"With a couple of big wins, she should regain the points in the polls," Jay interjected ignoring the incredulous look the Secretary was throwing his way, "As long as everything goes smoothly with the Girls in STEM conference and the education reforms we've been fighting for in Afghanistan, things should be back to where they were. Of course, they'll bring it back up in attack ads and debates, but it should be manageable."
Her eyes narrowed at him, "Et tu, Jay?"
Russell didn't let him answer, "And what's the likelihood of that?"
"Pardon?" Jay answered sending an apologetic look to his boss.
Russell closed his eyes in frustration, "Of everything running smoothly."
"The conference shouldn't be an issue. The keynote and speakers have been booked," he trailed off.
"And the Education reforms?" He asked.
Jay hesitated.
"No, don't say it. They're not going back on the reforms," Elizabeth jumped in.
"They're asking for more concessions," he confirmed.
"More concessions?"
"I'm working on it, ma'am. It seems like they're just posturing, but if they're not… We may have a problem."
"In more than just the polls," she mumbled.
"Fix it," Russell said turning toward the door, "And keep me updated."
"I'm not running," Elizabeth called after him eyeing her policy advisor and chief of staff.
"Sure you aren't," he answered as he walked out the door.
/*/*/*/
Henry sat staring at the three faces on the suspect board. Russell Jackson sent the case to them earlier that morning and suddenly he had faces and names to go with the threat his wife talked about the night before.
The briefing with his team went well he thought. They had a surprising amount to go on considering the suspects.
Michael Burvur, former Special Forces tasked with destabilizing unfavorable governments. One mission left him with a scar across his forehead and a dishonorable discharge. Apparently, he didn't play well with others. Currently, working freelance as a fixer for the darker side of politics. They tied him to a number of other smear campaigns for at least three different countries with borderline illegal tactics.
Mindy Batch, former CIA. Worked Bagdad while Elizabeth was unofficially stationed there. Her credentials were used to pull the leaked file.
Brenden Ferthers, conman extraordinaire with ties to multiple international capers. He never left enough evidence for an arrest. Apparently, he met Michael shortly after his dishonorable discharge, and they were inseparable ever since.
The team was tasked with finding them and ensuring that any information they gathered that posed a threat to National Security was secured.
Henry and his team knew everything about the leakers down to where they went to high school, everything except where they were. The last person to see them had been the conspiracy blogger, and he already gave them everything he had.
There was a whisper of a safe house that Dylan was tracking down. With any luck, he'd find something, and they'd have a place to start. There were also the rumors of ties to a Senator that they were looking into. Senators were a pain to work with, but this would be low even for one of them.
Until then, all Henry could do was stare at the board and think.
/*/*/*/
The shutter clicked as Michael stole a couple of pictures of their target. He smiled as he thought of the things he'd captured through his lens. If cameras could talk, his would have some stories.
Zooming in, he took a look at the target's destination. It was the same coffee shop she went to every day… at the same time. Someone really should have taught her to be less predictable. Especially, considering who her mother was.
He shook his head at her complacency. People needed to learn that there were wolves in the world, and he was about to give Stephanie McCord a very real lesson.
/*/*/*/
Stevie glanced at her watch as she grabbed her coffee from the barista. Perfect timing, any longer and she would have been late, and she really didn't feel like starting the day off with an angry Russell Jackson.
She stepped off to the side and took her first sip. It was perfect as usual. The warmth of the drink spread through her releasing some pent up stress. She smiled into her cup. It was going to be a good day.
Wrestling through the usual morning crowd, she made her way out of the coffee shop and started the short trek back to the office. She didn't know what she would do without her daily coffee runs. It was stressful enough working in the White House much less for Russell, and the short walk gave her time to clear her head and prepare for the day.
Approaching the crosswalk, she balked at the number of people waiting for the signal. There was some kind of construction blocking the sidewalk forcing everyone into a single file line. Glancing at her watch, she could almost feel the minutes ticking away.
The traffic on her left continued to streak by as everyone tried to cross the street as quickly as possible. She made it just before the signal turned.
It really was her lucky day, she thought smiling.
Two hands shot out of the parked car next to her, grabbing hard and holding fast pulling her in as the car squealed into traffic. It happened too fast for her to react leaving behind only a coffee cup splattered across the ground and the irrational thought that Russell was going to kill her.
/*/*/*/