Los Angeles, Elizabeth, 2014

He's quiet. He probably thinks I'm crazy. It's not every day where someone accuses the President of the United States of murder. But then he's nodding.

"Why do you think that?" It's a simple question. And whether I like it or not, this is part of Henry's story too. And he deserves the whole truth.

"Conrad did some things in South America, during the war on drugs, they were illegal and against official US policy." I figure if, I don't tell him all of the details maybe I can protect him from some of this fallout. I will die before I let him be hurt. I died a long time ago anyway.

"I didn't find out about it until after I returned to the US from Landstuhl. It was really George, who did the digging. He wanted to know why I had been taken, and why no one ever went looking for me."

Washington, DC, Elizabeth, 2006

It's a weird feeling looking at your own grave. I wonder if there's a body in there, and if so, whose? I wonder about how hard it was for Henry to have picked out the headstone. I wonder how often he comes here. There are fresh flowers, hydrangeas, blue ones, my favorite. I wonder if the kids come here with him, I've never been able to go to my parents graves. I wonder about my funeral, what songs were sung, what prayers were said, the eulogy's given. I wonder about Will, who thinks he's the only Adams left standing. I lose my strength and my knees buckle. George catches me before I fall. He puts his arms around me to hold me up.

"How'd this happen?" God, I need to know. My life was not supposed to end up this way. I was a happy wife and mother. I spent weeknights coaching soccer, helping with homework, playing with my toddler. I cooked with my husband, and danced with him in our kitchen. On weekends I rode horses and did yoga. I was living the quintessential American dream. I was robbed of it.

"Why did this happen to me?" I let my tears fall.

"I don't know, but we're going to find out, kid." He sounds determined.

"I don't think I was ever supposed to make it out of that room." I offer up the information, my determination mingling with his. I need to know why this happened to me.

Los Angeles, Henry, 2014

"I was never supposed to make it out of Iraq. I was the price for his secrets to be kept." She says. And I wonder how in the hell I've found myself in some airport spy novel. I wonder how she found herself there. Sure, she was in the CIA, but she had a fucking desk job.

"Sam, um that was… his name, he um knew these things that had happened in Bolivia in the early nineties. He was a part of some operations, on loan to CIA from MI6. He found out that Conrad was leaving intelligence and going into politics." She takes a breath, trying to bury her emotions again.

"I was the price for his silence." It's a simple statement that says so much. But she wasn't the only one who was effected. We were married, we had children, and she had a brother and friends. Elizabeth was loved deeply and widely. She was mourned for years. I mourned her until this afternoon. Our kids are still mourning her. Will is still mourning her.

"How'd you find this out?" I ask her. She gets up from the couch once again. She removes three books from her shelf and reaches behind some others. She retrieves what she's looking for, a small box. She grabs her laptop and walks back over. Sitting next to me, she removes a flash drive from the box. As she boots up her computer and opens the files, i look through the other contents of the box. It contains the remnants of Elizabeth McCord. Her passport, her driver's license, her engagement ring, and the St. Christopher pendant I got for her. I wonder where her wedding band is.

"I carry it with me." She read my mind, I forgot she could do that. She pulls it out of her pocket it's on a key chain along with the ring that Stevie picked out for her for what I remember as her last mother's day. Now it's my turn to laugh. I pull out my wallet and remove my golden band, different from the Titanium one I now wear. She smiles, we're still connected, and the strings God gave us still tied to one another. I fight the urge to lean in as I look at her lips.

"You want to hear?" She breaks the moment. Business once again. Am I'm thankful. This day has been weird enough.

Washington, DC, Elizabeth, 2006

I check the wire one more time. I make sure it's completely hidden. It was George's idea to wear it to the official debrief with Conrad. He thinks we may get something from it. I look in the mirror, making sure I don't read as nervous. I can do this. I walk in to the outer office. His assistant looks up at me.

"He's ready for you Agent McCord. Also, it's good to see you." She says genuinely. She's one of the nicest people I've met.

"Thanks, Jen. You too." I tell her, proud that my voice isn't shaking.

"Good Morning, Bess. Glad you made it stateside." He smiles, and gestures for me to enter his office.

"Morning, Sir. It's good to be back." I take a seat in a chair across from his desk.

"Can I get you some coffee? No sugar, splash of milk right?" He's pouring himself a cup.

"Yes, thank you sir." He hands me my cup and takes a seat at his desk. He leans back in his seat.

"How's the wing?" He points to my still slinged and casted arm.

"It's alright." We are dancing around the conversation that has to be had. He's quiet for a moment, but then leans forward hands folded resting on his desk.

"We're in quite the predicament here, aren't we Bess?" His toned has changed and I feel my palms get sweaty.

"What do you mean sir?" I ask, trying to convince him that I don't know the thing I do.

"Samuel Rodriguez. A Columbian ex-pat to Britain. I think you know him." My body goes stiff as he shows me a passport photo of my rapist.

"I need to know everything he told you, while you were with him." I nod, feeling trapped.