OK. THIS ONE. THIS CHAPTER WAS HARD TO WRITE. NOT SUBJECT MATTER WISE. BUT ALL THE MOVING PARTS. I HOPE YOU CAN SEE THE EFFORT I PUT INTO THIS ONE. ALSO, THIS INCLUDES A BIT THAT I LAUGHED OUT LOUD AT MULTIPLE TIMES AFTER I WROTE IT. I HOPE YOU ENJOY. I LOVE HEARING YOUR FEEDBACK.
Elizabeth didn't foresee that her afternoon would be quite revolving around Emma in such a way. Not that it had been intended that way. But from updates on different reports for the investigation, and other upkeep – to the unknown reason meeting – it was quite a bit about her daughter.
Henry said he would be by mid-afternoon if that worked for her schedule and no wars threatened to break out and pull Elizabeth away.
Now, she was listening to Director Ware detail the highlights of their investigation. "Madam President, we are in the process of going through and analyzing the information left in Michael Clayton's possession. The time frame in which we traced the altered video to him and his execution was less than five hours."
Isabelle sat across the room from the Director, and she piped up, "You've been working through his possessions for two months. What are you expecting to find that you haven't?"
"Any connection to an intelligence agency. Any leaked information." Then he paused, looking to Elizabeth, sitting at her desk. "Ma'am, I don't want to give you false hope. But we're not hopeful."
"So the answer we have right now is – there is no way that this was a low-level hack, no way that this was a foreign government, no way this was done last minute." The officials in the room nodded in their agreement. "So we know not only is it someone deep in our organizations, but we have no leads at all." She let her voice rise a bit. "I just want to make sure I'm hearing everyone right."
Ellen Hill chimed in, "Ma'am, I've looked through the same intelligence reports. The pieces don't add up. There's no line connecting one person to another." She stood up and brought pictures up. Pictures Elizabeth had seen before. But she laid them out as she spoke. "We have Clayton's video editing, where he retired three weeks later and received $150,000 between three bank accounts routed in through numerous bank accounts that are protected by international finance laws. He was executed five hours after we discovered the video problems. We got to his residence only two hours after his execution." She set another picture down. "This is Thomas Frommel. He was identified by Agent Barnes as present at the compound before he was killed by Barnes in self-defense. Due to the bomb that went off minutes later, we were unable to recover his body. Frommel served as a Gunnery Sergeant E-7, retired two years ago. He flew to Turkey, and went off the radar for two months before the bombing. He had no wife, no children, and his mother, his only surviving relative, is in the late stages of Alsheimers. No complaint from any of his superiors or fellow Marines." She set down another picture. "This is the compound where we found twenty-three murdered women and children. The shots were from common weapons used by small militia men in the region. No traceable ballistics at all."
Elizabeth took a deep breath.
"Well, have we started weeding out those who knew we were going to get Emma. That was a secret operation."
Director Ware stepped in. "Ma'am, we have done extensive interviews with every person involved. Looked deep into backgrounds as well. They all come with recommendations and no prior incidents or even incentives for any misconduct."
Elizabeth put her elbow on her desk, leaning her head into her hand as she closed her eyes. She didn't feel hopeless much.
"So we dig deeper." Isabelle said. Elizabeth opened her eyes and watched Isabelle stand up and pace. "We take each person. And we give them the CIA version of waterboarding."
"Ma'am" Ellen Hill interrupted, but Elizabeth held her hand up.
Isabelle continued, "I don't mean actually hurt people. But… remember what happened when you thought I was the leak during the whole Muncie, Juliet thing?"
Elizabeth remembered. And as much as she thought that was a good plan, she knew pragmatically she couldn't allow that. Not for the amount of people.
So she took a breath, and said, "Continue looking through every bit of information. Leave nothing unturned."
The ending to the meeting was evident in her voice, and with the "Yes Ma'am" and "Thank you, Madam President" endings, soon she was left with Isabelle alone in the office.
Elizabeth stood to her feet, setting her glasses on the desk as she walked the length of her desk. Her mind was a million miles away, plowing through the information over and over again. Trying to draw the lines. Trying to connect dots that seemed lightyears apart.
"Wanna let me know what's going through your mind, Bess?" Isabelle asked, jumping back into their work relationship at the CIA.
Elizabeth clenched her jaw. And she said, "How can there be no information? How is it that this deep of an attack just fade into nothing?"
"I've scoured this, Bess." Isabelle said. "I can't find anything. And, trust me, if there was even a painting crooked in any of these pictures, you know I would notice."
"I know." Then she leaned on her desk and faced her friend. "What does your gut say?"
Gut was a big thing for a spy. That was often the difference between life and death when the information wasn't available, present, or even in existence yet. She was afraid she'd lost hers.
Isabelle stood to her feet, and crossed her arms while working through it, "We're missing something. A big part of it."
"How do we find it?"
"What if we talk to Emma again?" Isabelle floated, She knew Elizabeth was going to react to that. "Hear me out, Bess. Her debrief was rough, I know. And I know you know."
Elizabeth shook her head.
"She didn't get into the details." Isabelle continued, "And those are what we need right now."
She shook her head again, "I can't ask her do go through that again."
"Bess…"
"NO." Elizabeth said firmly. "I'm just starting to get her back, Izzie. She talked to me this morning without anything happening. And, I can't lose that."
"Is that worth not catching whoever did this to her?"
The question hung like a noose in the middle of the room. And Elizabeth knew she was right. But she couldn't go there yet. There had to be another way.
"I want outside eyes to look at this." Elizabeth said the last option she had before putting her daughter through more.
Isabelle shook her head, "You can't think that's a better idea, can you? That opens us up to a whole host of other issues and possible leaks. You've got to think with your head and not your…"
"Vesuvian." She said simply.
Isabelle's eyes got wide. "You've got to be kidding." And she walked up to Elizabeth, "A security firm? The one you called the Spawn of Satan?"
"Yes." She said, "Contact him. I want to meet with him as soon as possible."
Isabelle turned away from her, running her hands through her hair, "I know you're feeling powerless, but this is way too deep to… they're not equipped with the capability to… you're losing it, Bess."
"I did business with them." She said, "They're outside the government. And that's where our problem is. Isaac Bishop, while his ideas aren't mine, is someone who is trying to do his best."
"You're clouded by your closeness to this." Isabelle stated, and she turned, facing off against Elizabeth with a fire in her eyes Elizabeth hadn't seen for a while. "You could get impeached for this. The amount of intelligence you would expose would be more than damning. Not just for the American people. But for me."
"Is it your daughter who's in danger? Who was destroyed by whoever this was? Is your daughter the one still trying to simply sleep at night because of the nightmares she has?" Elizabeth's voice escalated, and she couldn't stop. "Have you watched your daughter try to claw her way to consciousness from a horrific nightmare that she can't escape?"
Isabelle shook her head, the unbelief and anger evident. And she said, "No. But my goddaughter has told me things. Fuck, I SAW her in that, Bess. Don't tell me I don't know what's going on."
Elizabeth walked to Isabelle, pointing her finger in her friend's face, "Then what the fuck is wrong with you that you wouldn't do whatever possible to find who did this? Huh?"
Isabelle didn't budge. Not even when Elizabeth was inches away from her face.
Her voice was plain. Hard. And resolved. "I'm not the President of the United States. You have to do better. You know better."
Elizabeth stared into her friend's eyes. Cold. Unwavering.
She turned around, angry and utterly overcome with emotion. Angry because she was powerless. Angry because she was the leader of the free world and couldn't make it right. She couldn't bring justice. She put both her shaking hands on her desk, willing her voice to stay strong. While also keeping her voice from screaming. And she said, "One week, Iz. I'm going to Bishop if you don't have anything in a week."
And Isabelle didn't agree. Didn't say anything. Didn't congratulate Elizabeth on doing the right thing. She left. Elizabeth heard the door close hard behind Isabelle.
Then Blake entered, "Ma'am, I've got…"
She held up her hand, her back still to the door. "I need five minutes."
"Yes, Ma'am." He said, and the door shut again.
And she was left alone. And all she wanted to do was scream. Hit things and scream. She was used to not being in control. Cleaning up mess after mess. But now. She could feel the anger raging through her body. Her fists clenched, her fingers digging into her palms. The energy coursed through her, and, without thought, she reached up and let out a roar of vehement rage as swept everything from her desk, the commotion echoing through the room.
Both doors to her office opened, one from Russell's office and the other from Blake's desk. Secret Service Agents ran in from outside.
And she stood there, facing them all, the evident of her rage and powerlessness scattered on the ground. And she clenched her jaw. And said, "I'm going to step out for a minute."
And she left them there, taking a brisk walk down the outside corridor. Back and forth. Willing herself to breathe through the anger. Making her heart stop pounding. So she walked. The cold temperatures biting at her cheeks, bringing her back into her body. She walked.
And put Isabelle out of her mind.
Pushed the powerlessness down.
Swallowed her pride.
And when she was able to think without seeing red, she returned to her office.
Blake had cleaned up the mess she'd made, although there was a patch of water on the ground from her glass. Papers were put back. Pens placed neatly where they belonged. Russell sat on the couch, his legs crossed as he sarcastically asked, "So, how's therapy going?"
"I'm fine." She said, grabbing her glasses and putting them on, only to find they sat crooked on her face.
"That's what this looks like." Russell said, "Fine."
She shook her head, "Don't push me today, Russell." She searched through her desk drawers, finding her extra pair of glasses. Then she called out to Blake, "Is Agent Hensley here?" Ending her conversation with Russell.
"Yes Ma'am." He called out.
"Send him in." She said.
Russell stood up and came up to her desk, and quietly said, "You can't handle this alone."
She just looked at the papers in front of her. And dismissed him with a "I'll let you know when I need you."
"I'll be in my office."
The door to Russell's adjoining office closed just as her daughter's secret service agent came into the room.
"Madam President" He addressed her politely. Elizabeth looked up, not bothering with a pleasant smile. This was one conversation she could actually have the conversation she wanted to without fearing impeachment or crossing boundaries.
"Agent Hensley," she didn't offer him a seat. Instead, she just looked at him. "Thank you for coming."
He nodded, "Yes Ma'am."
A good looking kid, Elizabeth looked at the file on her desk. "How old are you, Riley? Can I call you Riley?" She wanted to catch him off guard. Make him defensive.
"Riley is perfect, Ma'am." He said, still standing in the stance her agents did when they stood next to her. "And I'm thirty-two, Ma'am."
"I see here that you graduated from Yale with a criminal justice degree. And you then joined the Marines, and after four years, you left that in order to pursue a career in the Secret Service. You completed the initial eleven weeks of training at FLETC in Georgia followed by seventeen weeks of training at the Rowley Center, where you scored top in the CITP program and passed the JJRTC with flying colors." She rattled them off. And the looked up at him, walking from her desk, "Is that right?"
"Yes Ma'am." He said, if he was questioning why she was reviewing his history, he didn't reveal it.
She walked towards him, and said, "My question is, Riley, how is it that with all this training, you missed the basic lesson of remaining emotionally separate from your assignment?"
"With all due respect, Ma'am…."
"Let me warn you," She interrupted him, "In my experience, when someone starts a sentence off with the words 'with all due respect,' the words that are about to come out of their mouth are ten times out of ten anything but respectful." She stood tall, her face firm, "And, normally, Riley, I can give the benefit of the doubt. Today, I don't have that patience. Would you like to reconsider what you're about to say?"
He took a breath, and he said, "Ma'am, my job is to protect your daughter with my life."
"Thank you for stating your job for me."
"Ma'am, unless your daughter trusts me, I cannot do that job."
"I disagree, Riley."
"I know you hate the whole 'due respect' thing, Ma'am, but I politely disagree."
She smiled at the fly buzzing around in her web. "I think you've forgotten that it only takes one split second for me to have you reassigned to some base in Alaska or a seniors home guarding an arthritic patient."
His voice was firm, not shaken. "And that is your prerogative." He looked at her directly, "But, ma'am, I am responsible for keeping Emma safe. If she doesn't trust me, she's going to try and sneak away. Pardon me, but that shouldn't be so far out of the question since I replaced an agent who lost her here in the White House. And while here in the White House, that's not as terrible of a thing because, well, this is one of the most protected places in the country. But all it takes is her to not trust her security for a split second, and the worst thing could happen. If she trusts that I have her best interest at heart, am willing to interact with her so she doesn't feel so much like a specimen, then we have a fighting chance."
Elizabeth let the words hang in the air. Then she emotionlessly asked, "Are you done?"
He nodded, "Yes, ma'am."
She stepped back, her mind running as she absorbed what he said.
"Answer one more question, Agent Hensley." She firmly asked, "Are you willing to report to me directly about any issues my daughter might be up against, whether physically or emotionally?"
Without thought, he said, "No, ma'am."
"Explain."
"Trust, ma'am. I need her to be open with me about a lot of things in order to protect her. But if she feels I am reporting every little thing, things she might not want you to know, she won't let me know. And while she might not know what the difference between a life-threatening incident or just a secret, I need her to feel free to talk to me about it. I will always inform my supervisor about any sense of danger for your daughter, Madam President. But I cannot become a tattletale to her mother, because that will not let me do my primary job, which is keeping your daughter safe."
Elizabeth turned back to her desk.
And she felt it.
Her gut.
"Agent Hensley, I would advise you take to heart my concerns here." She said, unwilling to capitulate the entire issue. "But from what it sounds, you are taking care of my daughter in the best way possible. Continue that."
"Yes ma'am." He said.
"You're dismissed, Riley." She said sharply.
And while she'd given him a hard time, he'd changed her mind. After watching him with Emma at the range, she'd had reservations. Her agents had always maintained personal distance. But listening to him, she'd understood his reasoning. A teenager, especially one who was under complete lockdown, needed a personal connection for the protection to have her best interest at heart.
"Were you just intimidating our daughter's head of Security?"
She turned around at Henry's voice, and she felt some of the strain slip out of her shoulders. "I was." And she added, "I can't be the first President to do that. Isn't it a mother's place?"
He walked over to her, kissed her, and said, "It's your prerogative." Then he asked, "Difficult day? You look…"
She just nodded, then said, "I'm hoping I can make it through the rest of the day before I have to talk about it."
"Gotcha. Ice cream in the bathtub tonight?" His knowing tone relaxed her, because if he knew what she needed, that means she'd made it through similar days. Hope.
"You know it." Then she looked at the papers in his hand, "If that's another problem in the world, Henry, I don't know if I have that in me."
He shook his head, taking his place on the couch, "No, I was looking through our expenses this last month. And…" He flipped a few pages in….
"Yes, Henry, I bought three pairs of shoes this month. But they looked really good and I wanted something to make me smile." She confessed, plopping down next to him, and taking the papers from his hands.
"No, I agree. Your shoes looked sexy."
She rolled the papers up and smacked his knee, "Henry!"
He smiled, then nodded to the report, "No, look at page three."
She flipped one page then the other. "What exactly am I…" Her eyes widened as she exclaimed, "Is that what I think it is?"
"Yup."
"We were billed over five thousand dollars from the CIA shooting range?"
"And I called and checked, thinking maybe our outing was expensive because we had to clear the whole place out, extra security, some deal with you being president where everything can cost more… but" He turned to face Elizabeth, "that was just ammo cost."
"WHAT?" Elizabeth exclaimed, "What were we shooting, gold bullets?"
"Well, apparently our trip there hasn't been the only outing from the McCord household." Elizabeth raised her eyebrow, and Henry said, "Apparently, in the last week and a half, Emma has been at the range from…" He flipped to the back of the sheet, "eleven at night until five in the morning. Every night."
Now she couldn't help herself. She stood up and said, "Henry, no. That can't be true. She's not…"
Henry just bit his bottom lip. "Think about it."
She sat back down, her head spinning as she realized. "You go to bed around ten, ten thirty." He nodded. "And I'm not allowed to talk or see her…"
"She's been locking herself in her room until I'm asleep and then she goes to the range."
She leaned against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling and said, "I mean, yay for her feeling empowered, but this is…"
"Bordering on an obsession, yeah."
She let out a frustrated breath, "And now we'll have to talk to her about it. Even when she's been doing so well."
"I'll do it." Henry offered, putting his arm around her shoulders. "You're the default bad guy. She likes me a tiny bit right now. I'll take it for the team."
"I know I should argue with you" she said, scrunching down farther into the couch so she could touch her head on his chest, "But I don't feel like being the bad guy to anyone else today."
"You owe me." He said with a hint of laughter to his voice.
She looked up at him, ran her fingers on his jaw, and said, "I bought those heels."
"Never mind. I owe you big time." Henry said quickly, then looked at his watch, "When is she meeting us here?" He ran his palm from under her arm down her side. "We have time to…"
"Mom, can I come in?"
The timing was irrationally irritating.
They both sat up and separated quickly, knowing it looked so suspicious, but still. Elizabeth stood to her feet, and said, "Yes! Of Course! Come in."
"Too enthusiastic…" Henry muttered under his breath.
Then, to make it less awkward, in some part of Elizabeth's mind, she repeated the same thing, just quieter, "yes. of course. come in."
Henry shook his head, "Still super weird."
She smacked him with the papers again, "Shut up." Then she turned her focus to Emma. "Do you want to sit on the couch?"
Emma nodded, "I wasn't planning on sitting on the floor and listening intently at your feet."
Elizabeth laughed. Knowing it was too loud, she said, "Too loud." Then she stopped and took a breath. "Whew long day."
"Your face is red." Henry whispered as she sat down next to him. She pinched his thigh.
"Not as red as it's going to be when you find out I came in too."
Elizabeth turned around to see another person in the room. Then she turned around and slid down into the couch.
"Sorry, Mom, but I wanted him to come in too." Emma said.
Henry stood up now and looked around. "Mike Barnow?"
"Thought you were rid of me, huh?" And like Mike B fashion, he made his way to sit on the chair facing Henry and Elizabeth. "I'm like the herpes. Never leave. But we have fun."
"Mike, what are you doing here?" Elizabeth asked, trying to regain some control in what she was wondering might be a dream. "And Emma, how do you know…"
She took a deep breath. But was interrupted by the office door opening again, and Blake calling out, "Sorry ma'am, one more." Elizabeth started to turn but then saw the cat run and jump onto the couch beside Emma. Then the door closed. For what Elizabeth hoped might be the final time in this dream.
"Mom." Emma said, "I want to talk to you about something."
Elizabeth exchanged a look with Henry, and then squinted her eyes, trying to make herself try and listen to Emma instead of trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
"I want to talk about my public perception."
She blinked. That was all she could do.
Henry jumped in. "Your what?"
"Her public perception, or maybe, her public persona, if you will." Mike interjected.
Emma continued. "Since I've gotten better at reading, I've been reading and seeing what they're saying about me in the press. And I think it's time that I did something about it."
Elizabeth cleared her throat, "Um." She pointed at Mike, "I still don't understand why he's here."
"No offense taken." Mike shot back.
"I went to talk to Daisy, but she said you'd fire her if she helped with it." Emma said, "But she recommended I talk to Mikey."
Mike was doing a terrible job of keeping the smirk off his face, until Emma called him "Mikey."
He turned to Emma and said, "We talked about the Mikey thing."
"Sorry."
"When did the public stuff start to bother you?" Elizabeth asked, then wished she hadn't.
Mike leaned over and handed her a folder, full of stories and headlines that Elizabeth had seen. She never expected Emma to see them. She'd hoped they had a bit longer before Emma caught up on the technology that cell phones and computers provided.
"Love Child." "Damaged Goods – the story of America's fallen Princess." "The President's Daughter: Real, not Porn Clickbait."
"I started reading papers for reading practice." Emma said. "And, it just doesn't feel fair."
Henry leaned forward, sending Elizabeth off balance, but she sat up. He said, "Look, Em, this isn't something you need to worry about. You need to focus on getting better and dealing with life here, not worrying about what the public thinks about you."
"I would…" Mike tried to interrupt.
But Elizabeth just shushed him, "Hush" and said to Emma, "And we're really making progress. We're working through…"
Emma shook her head, "Mom, I want to do this."
"Why?" Henry asked, "What do you want to tell America that they need to know?"
Elizabeth watched Emma closely. She looked down at her hands, and without thought pulled Zazu in closer. Her voice was quiet. There wasn't a shaking to her words. But there was a hint of unease.
"I want to tell them that I'm not what they think."
"Do they…" Henry started, but Elizabeth put her hand on his knee. She wanted to hear where Emma was coming from.
Emma swallowed, then continued, "Sure, I'm not perfect. And I'm not whatever they call me, the American Princess. Trust me." If not for the moment, Elizabeth would've interrupted her and dealt with the self-deprecating comment, but she listened on. "But I'm not someone who can't say something. And I know that others have gone through… tough times like me. And, I just don't want to be the one McCord who is shut off from everything. I didn't get to speak for so long. Can I just at least tell people who I am?"
Elizabeth shook her head, "It's not about keeping you quiet, Emma. It's that you aren't an object that other people get to just talk about or watch …"
"But she is." Mike argued, and this time wouldn't be quiet. "There's a way to do this that will be tactful, and, perhaps even healing, both for the family as well as for the general approval ratings."
"Come on, Mikey." Emma shook her head at Mike, "We talked about the approval ratings. She doesn't like that."
"Sorry."
Elizabeth sat back, her mind going hundred miles a minute. And she kept looking back at her daughter, who had put on her fancy dress – the one she'd worn to Conrad's – pulled her hair back out of her face – she'd tried hard with this. She saw hope in her daughter's eyes. And something that Elizabeth recognized. There had been something extremely healing for her after Iran. It was the ability to speak. And to be listened to. And define what she was about not from others or rumors, but from what she could express. And Emma already felt so different from the other kids. Keeping her like a prisoner for her own safety wasn't going to help. It would probably just pull them away from each other.
And, despite how much she hated it, the approval ratings would help. Especially now.
She looked next to her. To Henry.
"What do you…" She floated.
Henry shook his head, and said, "I don't know why it's not a resounding NO on my part."
"I know."
Mike, reading way too much into the situation, "I'll set up a quiet, intimate interview. Maybe we can get Katie Couric out of retirement."
"Hold on." Henry said. "Your mother and I need to talk about this, Em."
Emma nodded. "Sounds good." Then, she added, "But, to quote an asshole, 'But I won't take no for an answer."
Once Elizabeth dismissed Emma, and gave Mike the stink eye long enough before she kicked him out of the office, she fell lengthwise onto the couch, setting her head on Henry's lap. Looking up at him, she searched for her calming husband. "Tell me I'm crazy."
"It might be what she needs. The chance to have a voice."
Elizabeth agreed. "Maybe finding her voice will help cut down on our shooting range bills in the future."
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, "If we wrote a book, no one would believe it."
