I was INSPIRED at the School of the Americas Watch protest at Ft. Benning this past November, where I was privileged to meet Martin Sheen. What an incredible moment. In person, he was gentle and soft-spoken (and beautiful – what gorgeous eyes), except when he delivered a passionate, fiery speech that ended with an electrifying version of "Let My Country Awake." (And he was still beautiful.) What an experience!
Bounds of Freedom
A West Wing Story
by MAHC
Chapter Nine – Over His Dead Body
POV: C.J.
Spoilers:
Rating:
Disclaimer:
The White House
Wednesday
2:15 p.m. EDT
"I've got Leo!"
The startling announcement by Josh Lyman, who had burst into the Oval Office in the midst of another dead-end contemplation of their options, brought a halt to all conversation. For just a moment, they stared in silence at the cell phone he held aloft. Then the words erupted from everyone.
"Leo?"
"Where is he?"
"Where is the President?"
"Is he all right?"
"What about the First Lady?"
"Quiet!"
The last command came not from the person with the most authority to deliver it, but from Jed Bartlet's press secretary. It did not occur to her until much later that she had shushed some of the most powerful people in the world. It was just that for the past half hour she been listening with increasingly unbearable anxiety and fear to the ongoing discussion of just how much they didn't know and couldn't do. Now, suddenly, they knew two things: One, Leo was alive. Two, he was able somehow to contact them. He had instantly become the focus of their hopes – and she prayed that he was in a position to turn those hopes into reality.
"Let me talk to him," Nancy McNally ordered, completely ignoring protocol, but the Vice President gestured impatiently toward Josh, who handed over the phone – with obvious reluctance. The hierarchy of power still held – for now.
C.J. exchanged wary glances with the deputy chief of staff, but all she got for her questioning brow was a curt head shake and shrug.
"Leo!" Russell called loudly into the phone, as if he could reach China without the amplifier. "Where are you?"
They all waited in complete silence – Secretary of State, Secretary of Defense, National Security Advisor, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Deputy Chief of Staff, and Press Secretary – hanging on every word the Vice President might utter that would bring them some tiny bit of information. Russell had toyed with sitting in the chair – THE chair, but had wisely restrained himself, perhaps because of the warning glare C.J. threw at him if he even got close to it.
"We're trying to get hold of a Secret Service agent, but so far – " He broke off for a moment, then said, "I see. Do you know if – "
Ask about the President, you amoeba-brained –
"I'm conferring with the leadership – yes, I think at this time, we need their help – what?" A scowl darkened his face. "Leo, I think I am capable of – yes, I see. Yeah – "
With barely controlled fury, the Vice President snapped the phone aware from his ear and extended it toward their group. The Secretary of State cleared his throat uneasily and stepped forward to accept it, but Russell shook his head.
"C.J.," he bit out.
What? The press secretary didn't move for a couple of seconds, not trusting that she had heard right. Did he say her name? Was he saying that in the midst of this frantic crisis, the President's closest advisor wanted to talk with HER? Not the Vice President, or the Secretary of State, or the National Security Advisor – but HER?
Numbly, she moved toward the phone and took it – their precious, fragile connection to the events that were shaping – or reshaping – their world.
"Leo?"
It was clearer than she had anticipated. Still, the signal broke up every few words. If he would only speak a little louder –
"C.J." Hushed, a stage whisper. He obviously couldn't speak freely. Where the hell was he?
"Leo, my God, what is going on?" Please tell us things are fine. Everything is under control. This is all just a huge mist –
" – not sure. Listen – don't have much time. Something's happened – been shots – "
"Where's the President? Is the President okay?"
" – don't know – was not with him when – started. They've killed – corps member."
They had all figured that. "Where's the President's detail?"
"Don't know – hijackers – Hu Jintao's men – "
What? They were Hu Jintao's men? "Hijackers?"
The room drew closer to her.
"What about Abbey?" She didn't tell him about the terms, about the threat to the First Lady.
" – don't know that either."
"Where are you? Why aren't you a hostage?" Not that she wanted him to be.
The answer started with a dry chuckle. " – was in the bathroom. I wanted so bad to – didn't know if Jed – "
His voice broke, and she easily caught the pain. He never called the President Jed in front of anyone else. Even over the line, she could feel the agony of needing desperately to go to his friend warring with the logic of escaping and getting real help.
He cleared his throat and regained control. "Had to find Ron – got down aft stairs – cargo – couldn't call earlier – right outside – "
"Is Ron there? Is he with you? What is he doing – "
"Here – hurt. There are – gunmen – seen at least three agents down."
"Are they – "
"Yeah." The flat tone told her anyway.
Dear God.
"Leo, don't do anything crazy. We're working on getting the Chinese and our guys coordinated to take the plane, but – " Should she tell him?
" – what?"
"They've threatened – they've threatened to kill Abbey if we don't meet their demands."
She heard the groan clearly from the other end. "What – demands?"
"Vague. Healthcare reforms."
"Are you – contact – anyone else?" The hope was evident in his voice. She hated to disappoint him.
"Not on the plane."
Nancy McNally stepped next to her. "Tell him we need him to stay out of sight. He's our only link right – "
A brisk ring interrupted her, and she stepped away to answer her cell phone. General Alexander joined her in a three-way conversation with someone on the other end. C.J. prayed that it was someone with an answer – a good answer.
"Leo," she relayed, turning back to her own conversation, "stay low. We'll need you to –"
"I know. C.J., listen – tell Nancy and Berryhill not – let – Vice President do anything stupid."
She glanced at Russell, who still fumed at the chief of staff's blatant slight. "Yes, sir," she assured him, as the second-in-command looked at her suspiciously. Easier said than done, perhaps.
"Ron – going up – get back – you."
"Leo, you can't – what if – " The line went dead before she could finish her admonition. They all stared at each other for a few beats. Then C.J. said, "He doesn't know anything about the President or First Lady."
There was an agonized collection of grimaces and sighs with this unwelcome bit of information.
"He has confirmed the death of the reporter," she continued. "Three agents dead, as far as he can tell. Apparently, he and Ron Butterfield are in the cargo hold. Sounds like Ron has been injured. I think – " She swallowed. "I think they are going to try to get to the President, if they can."
"What do the terrorists want?" Berryhill asked, subdued.
"They are Hu Jintao's bodyguards."
"What?"
"That's what Leo said."
"My God," Berryhill muttered, for once shaken.
Russell roused himself from the pout to ask, "What's he doing now?"
"Trying to get to the President," she repeated, a snap of impatience in her voice. Pay attention, you Colorado Cowboy.
"Okay." McNally stuck the cell phone back in her pocket and gathered them back together with her voice. "We have a plan. Special Forces. They're troubleshooting right now."
The Secretary of State asked, "When will they be ready to go?"
"Forty-five minutes."
"And we have targets ready, if necessary," General Alexander informed them grimly, and the impact that of that statement hit C.J. with a sickening thud.
C.J.'s head whirled with the sudden deluge of information. Wait, did he say 'targets'?
Targets?
Dear God. Did that mean if something happened to the President or the First Lady that America was prepared to start war? Then, deep down, despite her pacifist tendencies, despite her lifelong belief in peace, she admitted that if anything happened to the President or the First Lady, she'd be hard pressed not to push the damned button herself. She prayed it did not come to that decision.
Unusually silent for the previous exchange, Josh had finally had enough. Red faced, he blurted out, "What the hell are we waiting for? Forty-five minutes? No! They've gotta do something now! We don't know what the President and First Lady are going through. They could be – " He faltered, the sentence unfinished. No one doubted what he was saying. It was what they all feared, anyway.
Nancy's calm voice made an attempt to sooth. "Josh, we've got someone on the plane now. We're working on getting others on. We'll just have to wait until – "
"Until they kill the First Lady?" he asked bluntly. "Is that what we'll wait for?"
No one answered.
No one knew the answer.
But they did know one thing: If they did kill the First Lady, they might as well storm the plane, because the only way the terrorists would have gotten to Abbey Bartlet was over the President's dead body.