OK PEEPS. HERE'S SOME MORE FOR YA! I know today was a bit less of updating stuff - but - let me tell ya, there's lots more to come! I hope you enjoy!
Bess knew from the way that her body ached as she opened her eyes that she hadn't moved in a few hours. But as she started to come around, the weight of her daughter in her arms brought a smile, despite the stiffness she was currently feeling.
Henry's entrance, while quiet, into the room, must've been what woke her up, and she smiled as Henry tiptoed over to the edge of the bed.
"Sleep well?" Henry whispered, leaning down and placing a light kiss on her lips.
Bess inhaled, loving the smell of his cologne today. She started to carefully slide out of the bed, tucking Emma's still sleeping body into the blankets.
Once standing, she gestured to the door. Henry nodded, holding the door and then carefully clicking the latch into place as they entered the noisy hallway.
Bess glanced at her watch. "Oh, dear. It's eight am." Then she twisted her head from side to side slowly, "Oh, gone are the days that I could sleep pretty much on a rock for an entire night."
Henry laughed, and, without hesitation, began to massage her shoulders, which felt like heaven to her. "Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news but…" And Henry handed her the phone he'd been keeping, which showed about 20 missed messages from Russell.
Bess groaned. "Has he had another heart attack?"
Henry chuckled, "We should hope not. Imagine him being stuck in the same hospital…"
Now it was Bess' turn to laugh a bit. "I don't ever want to imagine that." Then she turned towards her husband, and asked him, "How are the kids?" She felt horrible that she'd not even gotten to really talk with them, even have a basic conversation with Jason, who she'd not seen for a few months. And with all that was going on, how were they handling it all?
"Well. They ordered pizza and spent the night down in the bowling alley. So…" He smiled, "I think they're coping ok."
Bess tried to see the humor in it – but she knew her children.
Henry must've known that she was struggling. "You think Emma is up for a visit from her siblings?"
"Well…" Bess glanced into the hospital room, seeing Emma curled up, still asleep. "She looks peaceful right now, but…" She looked up at her husband, "Henry, it all just feels so fragile right now."
Why, after such a wonderful time with her daughter, did she now just feel absolutely drained?
Henry, always the one to be able to read her thoughts, pulled her close, and she rested her head on his chest. "We'll give it some time, babe."
She nodded, and just let him hold her for a few minutes. Let her body feel his strength against her. Wrapped around her. Holding her up while she couldn't. Just for a moment.
Bess swore she could feel the tension enter the room even before she heard Russell's voice. "We've got a situation." He called down from the end of the hallway.
Bess groaned, looked up at Henry and grimaced, "I really dislike him right now."
Henry smiled, and kissed the top of her head, "As most people find themselves at multiple times during the day with him."
A movement from inside the room drew her eye – she saw Emma stirring in her bed, her eyes beginning to open slightly… Bess grabbed Henry's arm, and she immediately said, "Tell Russell I've got to go in with…"
Henry's calm voice cut through her insistent mothering voice as he assured her, "Let me go sit with her."
Russell's out of breath voice now seemed even closer than Bess could handle. But she held her hand up to Russell, hoping he got the hint. Instead she asked Henry, "Are you sure? I'll be right here…"
Henry nodded, and opened the door into the room, "We'll turn on some cartoons or something…"
Bess leaned her head into the door of the hospital room, and, as Henry took a seat beside Emma, she told the sleepy girl, "Hey, I've just got to handle something really quickly… but your dad is going to…" And she sent a quizzical look toward Emma, "watch cartoons?"
The smile from Emma's face looked so much older than Bess ever remembered it. And Emma just nodded, "I think he wants to watch them more than I do…"
By this time, Henry had switched on the TV, and must have found something that interested him, because he said, "OOO… let's watch this one…"
Bess winked at Emma, who nodded in agreement and settled back against her pillow, turning her eye first to Henry and then to the TV.
Bess closed the door quietly, only to become aware of Russell standing exceptionally too close to her.
And he began relaying information, Bess felt like he was unsure of exactly how abrupt he was coming across.
But she slid her glasses on, and looked down at the file in his hand.
"We've pulled the information for the discrepancies between the timecodes for the two videos. Each programmer has a login key – which time-stamps each action used on the system."
Bess looked over the top of her glasses at Russell.
He shrugged, "I mean, I know that's not the techy term for it… but… is that really what you need now?"
She shook her head, "Go on."
"Well, we tracked down the officer in charge that night at that terminal…" Bess saw the officer's headshot. Looked to be no more than twenty-nine or thirty. Sharp kid. Chiseled jaw. But, as with any young person in uniform, he looked overwhelmed by the uniform he wore. Like it wore him. "He finished out his career in the military three weeks after the discrepancy." Bess flipped the page to find financial records. Russell continued, "Thirty-five hours after that, $150,000 was deposited into three separate accounts that he later accessed."
"You went out to find him, right?" Bess asked, "Questioning. Find out where the money came from…"
Russell nodded, and gestured for Bess to turn to the next image.
She'd seen enough gunshot wounds to the head to immediately recognize it. Blood. Brains. All over the walls.
Russell said, "This morning, agents found him at his beach home in the Caymans like this. They say it happened about six hours ago."
She looked closer at the picture. And training took over. "Execution style. Close range."
She ripped her glasses off her face, and began pacing… talking… "So someone paid him to do that, got someone right as they were leaving the service, and then, only a few hours before agents were sent to question him, someone executed him." She looked at Russell, her heart sinking. "And we thought the cover-up from Marshall was deep."
He grimly nodded.
"And the NSC?" Bess asked, hoping they would have some leads as she tried to make her brain think about next steps. "What are their…"
"Well, they're being extremely careful in who is read in on this." Russell started. "They're working on tracing where the financial aspect plays into this. And they're reviewing the information from Isabelle…"
Bess knew exactly where he was going with all this. "I don't know when Emma will be ready to talk…" The look he gave her was enough to let her finish her own thought, "I know that's not always something we can wait for, but…"
"I read Isabelle's report." Russell simply said. What he really meant to say was that he understood why Bess would be hesitant to bring up so much trauma to someone still healing. "But I think right now, the one person who might know the most might…"
Bess swallowed. Then there was the problem that Emma's testimony wouldn't just be her own story… but it would be torn apart, analyzed – like a specimen, stripped away of all feeling just to find the facts to solve this whole debacle. Nothing would be private for her daughter. And Bess knew from experience, that was enough to demoralize anyone.
"But there is the problem of the leak."
"Which leak are we talking about?" Frustration rose up as she again began to think about all the problems that had happened. "Leak about Emma being kidnapped? Leak about Conrad and I? Leak about …"
Russell must've known Bess wasn't really having any of all of what this was – as she preferred to think of it. Because he simply handed her his phone, and she saw all the news articles. Her heart sunk.
"Hey!" Henry called out playfully. "I was watching that!"
Emma smiled, and held up the remote that was attached to her bed, "But, see, I have the power… and…" She flipped the channels while she talked, "Old Scooby Doo reruns weren't doing it for me."
He just shrugged, because if he was honest with himself, he hadn't been watching the TV at all.
"Fine then." He said, playfully resigned, sat back in his chair. "Now to decide what you're going to settle on…"
He was amazed at how absolutely perfect Emma seemed to him. Of course, there were scars, bandages, and a poorly-healed hand, but… there was something absolutely wonderful about just sharing the room with his little Emma-bug. He had to remind himself that she wasn't still that little girl. And he mentally filed away the fact that he'd need to discuss how they needed to make sure not to keep Emma as she'd been in their minds for so many years.
She reminded him so much of Elizabeth. Her hair wisped around her chin, catching around her ears just like the few short strands Elizabeth had. And the way she would wrinkle her nose at something on the television – even just the way she tilted her head a bit as she listened…
Some newscaster's voice caught across Henry's thoughts.
"Breaking News coming to you this morning from Washington DC." Henry looked up and couldn't move. Some full-haired loudmouthed reporter spoke while a picture that they'd used when Emma had first gone missing four years ago was plastered across the screen. "Young Emma McCord-Dalton has been found and rescued. Yes, you heard that right. The girl that our entire country mourned without knowing – has been found. She is being treated right now for serious injuries, and we are awaiting more information."
Henry knew he should jump up.
But then the picture that he'd seen sprawled across the tabloids a million times came to the screen. The collage of Conrad's inauguration photo as he took his oath, Elizabeth's picture as she swore her Secretary of State oath, and, just beneath that, Emma's first grade picture. The headline: "America's Princess" faded in and out of the screen.
Henry now found his strength, and jumped up. "Emma, can we switch the channel…" And he reached for the remote.
Emma pulled it away from him, towards the other side of the bed.
And Henry now stared straight at her. Watching, and pleading, "Emma, there is some stuff that your mom wants to talk with you about – and I'm sure she doesn't want you to find out from the television… especially with all the…"
Emma just shook her head. And Henry realized that Emma wasn't staring at the screen. She was watching it with about as much intensity as some of his students watched him just before they fell asleep. No sign of tension. No panic. No movement.
"She resurfaces, now, not just the love-child with her father as president, but her mother now in that same position, this girl has perhaps entered the golden age of American politics – the Dalton-McCord dynasty."
Then Emma turned to Henry. And her eyes drilled down to his core. Icy blue piercing. She blinked once. And, with a voice as calm as a puddle of blood, she asked, "Do you think I look like my father?"
