ENJOY...
Moments. That was all her presidency was made of. Moments. Tiny seconds of time. Time that wound in a loop. Winding until Elizabeth was sure she would suffocate from the pressure. The entire room fell quiet around her.
She didn't know how she was supposed to make a decision when she was still processing the information. Information.
Impossibility. To process – to understand – to grasp – whatever it was that Elizabeth was supposed to do with the facts presented to her.
And in that significant moment – sitting right there – the room focused on her. Secretary of State Thompson, who sat in the seat she'd sat in so many times, advising the President before her. Gordon Becker, Secretary of Defense sat, eyes trained on her, waiting. Admiral Ellen Hill – her lips pursed, and eyes closed, as if understanding the weight that was upon Elizabeth. Isabelle, the Director of the CIA, her dearest friend, stood where she'd stopped pacing. Her face was white, all color gone from where it should be. Jay sat in the same seat Russell had sat for years – his head in his hands, processing. Attempting to process.
Other senior officials stood around the room as well as sat at the table. All eyes trained on her.
And she repeated herself for what felt like the thousandth time in the last five minutes.
"A dirty bomb will go off at any moment – between five to thirty minutes – target is probably Camp Justice – it is a targeted missile – a planted target. We have no leads on where the bomb may be. Or where it will go."
"Yes." Gordon said. "We have not called off the search for the bomb. Scouring the area around the body."
Ellen said, "We should order an emergency evacuation of the base, Madam President."
Elizabeth nodded.
And then.
She heard Isabelle.
"I think I have eyes on the target."
Elizabeth felt the eyes shift from off of her to Isabelle.
"What?" Gordon asked.
"Where?" Elizabeth asked.
Her normally decisive friend, and respected fellow agent, stumbled over her words, "The asset we were interrogating."
Elizabeth stood up, so she was eye-level with Isabelle. "Put up the interrogation feed." She heard someone typing to connect the feed to the screen.
Most of the eyes turned towards the screen.
And Isabelle's voice, shaking, quietly said, "Elizabeth, there's something …"
And suddenly, Elizabeth was there in the room. An interrogation room that seemed as natural to Elizabeth as her office at the State Department. Concrete walls. Lighting from both sides of the room. Camera facing the asset.
The interrogating agent's back was to the camera. But they were both standing up, facing away from the camera.
"What are we seeing, Isabelle?" Elizabeth asked. This part was not normal.
Voice slowly gaining stability, Isabelle used a laser pointer to circle the bare shoulder and back of the asset. "Within the last hour, what we thought was simply a scar from captivity has grown and …"
Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief. "They put a bomb inside of…"
Ellen corrected her, "Not a bomb, Ma'am." And Ellen stood up, walking closer to the screen, getting a good look. "It's the target. When activated to prepare, it must have started to open to give a homing location."
"Fuck." Elizabeth said. Then she found the stability inside. "The base. Evacuate the base."
Gordon was on the phone sounding the alarm to the station chief.
Isabelle spoke into the microphone on her phone. "You need to evacuate."
"How long do you think we have?"
"Not long." Ellen said. "Maybe ten minutes. Depending on when it was activated. Again, this is technology that I have never seen used like this."
Elizabeth watched on the screen, heard the sirens in the background at the base. Immediate evacuation.
"Leave the target there." Gordon ordered over the phone.
Both of the subjects turned towards the door as it opened. She heard a man's voice say, "Out. We need to get out."
Elizabeth couldn't imagine the girl, who she could now see her face, dark eyes, her eyes scrunched in pain. And as the agent began to help the girl towards the door, the man's voice said, "No. Leave her."
"Elizabeth…" Isabelle said, drawing Elizabeth's attention away from the screen.
Turning towards her friend, she saw the pained and guilty look on Isabelle's face.
The noise from the sirens, the calls, the reports running through the situation room blocked any other noise.
But Elizabeth looked into Isabelle's eyes.
"What?" Elizabeth asked, trying desperately to read what Isabelle wasn't saying.
Isabelle's lips were shaking, the only word that met Elizabeth's ears was, "Bess…"
And then she heard it.
"No. You can't just leave her!"
"We have orders, McCord." Came the man's voice.
Elizabeth felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. She reached to hold herself up with both her hands on the table. And she searched the screen. Knowing that voice. Knowing that voice like it was her own.
The voice she'd wanted to hear the entire day. Needed to hear.
She felt lightheaded. The screen blurred for a second, as she tried to understand. Or, rather, as she understood but couldn't accept. She began to shiver, her body trying to stay conscious. She felt two sets of hands on each arm, helping her to her seat.
Sucking in air, she used her energy, the fading energy, to breathlessly ask, "What is my daughter doing in Baghdad?"
What was her daughter doing there? Her mind flew through the impossibilities. Through the moments. What had she missed? Hadn't it just been yesterday that they'd flew her back from Iran? Hadn't Isabelle gone and saved her? Bringing Emma back to never go back?
Isabelle.
The lies. The lies about work. The lies about being busy. The lies about needing space. The lies about late-night working. The lies.
But then she saw it.
She saw Emma struggling. Refusing to leave the room without the target. The head covering fell off. And she saw her daughter. Wild hair. Wide, blue eyes.
There.
Interrogating.
Acting as an agent.
Not acting.
But.
An agent.
Isabelle.
And the hands on her right arm suddenly felt like fire, and she ripped away from where her friend was holding her, yelling, "How could you!"
"Bess, I'm sorry I was…"
Emma was still in the room with the target of a radioactive bomb. Her baby was in danger, yet again.
And with a hatred Elizabeth felt down to her very core. Down to her soul. With that vehemence, she turned and snarled, "When this is over," She took a breath as she stared deep into the traitor's eyes, "I'm going to kill you."
As she turned her attention to the screen in front of her, she heard Isabelle say, "I know."
Elizabeth would. If that was the last thing she did.
"What?" Emma said. The sirens going off. The call for evacuation. The knowledge she had about the uranium being somewhere. The facts flew. But Mike's command to leave Amira there and to leave – Emma couldn't file that.
Mike got close to her, towering over her. "That THING in her back? It's a homing device."
Emma stepped back, looking between Amira, whose eyes were full of terror and pain. The girl dug her fingernails into Emma's skin, grasping. Terrified. And then the lights flashing through the blinds on the windows. Evacuation codes sounding over the loudspeakers outside. And Mike standing there, beckoning her towards the door.
"It's… inside of her?" Emma asked for clarification. Willing her brain to understand.
"Yes." He yelled, "and we don't know when it's going to go off. We have orders to leave."
In Arabic, Amira frantically asked, "What? What's going on?"
Emma stood there. And she took one deep breath. In the space of a breath, she worked it over in her head.
The bomb was going to come here.
The bomb was targeted to Amira.
That was why they'd left her alive.
Wherever she was rescued, they'd see casualties.
The space at the bottom of the breath.
The orders were to evacuate.
To lock Amira here in the room.
And leave her to die.
Run away.
And she knew what she needed to do.
"Go." She yelled over the sirens. "Mike, go!"
The look on his face was one of frustration and fear. "We have orders, Emma."
Emma shook her head. "I'm coming. I need to tell her what's happening." She hoped he'd believe it. Or at least pretend to.
"Immediate." He said. "Evacuation."
Then the earpiece in her ear shocked her.
"EMMA MCCORD YOU WILL EVACUATE NOW."
"Fine." She agreed.
She was a good actress.
Hearing her mother's voice was not what she needed. Ignoring the earpiece, she walked towards the door, following Mike out, but grabbing the chair she'd been sitting on for what seemed like hours and setting it by the door.
She could hear Amira behind her, screaming in fear.
"Hand me the keys." She called out, "I'll lock the door."
He tossed them to her and rounded the corner to the stairwell.
Once he was out of sight, she grabbed the med kit that was always near the door of an interrogation room. And then she ran in, slammed the door behind her. Using the chair she'd brought over, she jimmied the chair against the door knob. She made sure it was secure, then turned to where Amira was standing, terrified.
Eyes wide. Entire body shaking.
Emma tossed the med kit onto the metal table.
And she began explaining to Amira what was happening.
"When the doctor gave you that surgery, he put something into your back." When the girl opened her mouth to ask questions, Emma kept going, "We don't have time. If I don't take it out, you're going to die."
"No. No."
Emma, ruffling through the med kit, found what she was looking for. Then she turned to Amira, holding her hands, not knowing which one of them was shaking more. But she said, "Listen, Amira. You have to trust me."
Amira nodded. Softly at first. Then rapidly. "I do I do."
The same time that pounding started on the door, the angry and insistent yells over the earpiece began again.
"Open this door, McCord." Mike yelled. "She's not worth it."
Her mother, "Get out of there. NOW!"
And, in English, Emma called out, "SHUT UP!" She struggled, and finally opened the roll of gauze.
"STOP. LEAVE!" Anger overcame the fear in her mother's voice. "This is not the time to play hero! You don't know what…"
Emma turned to Amira, and said, "It's going to hurt. Lay down on the table. You have to lie still."
Once Amira was turned away from her, she grabbed the package with the sterilized scalpel in it. Once Amira was lying on her stomach, disregarding modesty, Emma tore the buttons from the girl's back, exposing the clawingly red back.
The pounding on the door stopped. And she heard footsteps running.
She grabbed the scalpel, and her hands started to shake. She took another breath.
Find the spot.
Deep cut.
Pull it out.
Gauze stuffed inside.
Run.
Using her left hand, she felt around, finding what felt to be a foreign object, she added an extra half an inch from where she felt it start. Then, with her teeth, she ripped the top off the iodine bottle, dumping half of the bottle down all over the area.
And now.
She needed it quiet.
And the yelling and pleading and commanding from the earpiece was too much.
She turned to the camera, and she said, "I have to do this."
Then she yanked the piece out of her ear – letting it dangle so she didn't hear it.
She needed to calm her heart. Her hands.
The body on the table was shaking.
"Ok." Emma said, "This is going to be painful."
"Don't leave me here."
"I'm not leaving you here with this." Emma reassured, placing the sharp edge of the scalpel down on the skin.
And with one deep breath.
It went fast. She pressed down, the flesh splitting apart, blood pouring out. She only saw the fleshy layer underneath the skin for a second before the blood overtook it.
Quick.
She ran the blade half an inch or so past where she could feel the object.
Screaming. Yelling.
Emma could hear the screams that echoed around the room – and she forced herself to stay in the room instead of going into the past. She wouldn't. She was needed here. The screams weren't her own. They were Amira's.
Setting the scalpel down on the table, she took another breath. She poured the rest of the iodine on her hand.
She ignored the voice. The voice in her head that told her she was going to die. She wouldn't listen.
With a tone more confident than she felt, Emma said, "This is the worst part, Amira."
Then she pried the skin open, and she pressed her iodine dyed fingers through the fold, blocking out the screaming.
Blocking out the pounding in her own ears of what she wondered might be her last heartbeat.
She could only reach it with her fingertips, so she reached her hand under, feeling the shoulder blade above her palm. And she found it. Metal. Warm. Wet.
Gritting and praying for a miracle, she ripped it out, the ball fitting into the palm of her hand.
But now, the blood. It was everywhere.
And the screams were quieting into a whimper.
Her fingers, coated in warm blood, reached for the gauze she'd ripped open.
She had just a few minutes. Faster.
She might not die, but you will. The voices called.
As fast as she could, she stuffed the white gauze into the bleeding cavity. When blood kept pouring out, she pulled another pack out, praying it would hold it.
When that didn't. She knew she had to make a choice.
And she did.
Clutching the ball in her hands, and, when the blood cause it to sleep, she harbored it close to her chest.
She ripped the chair away from the door and ran out. Sprinting. Holding destruction in her hand.
With her free hand, she managed to shove the earpiece back in. And she yelled out, "I need a back gate opened.
She ran down the stairs, jumping from landing to landing as she could.
Faster.
She breathed. Air in.
"Drop it and get out." Came her mother's reply.
One more landing before the door. She needed to know where to go.
Praying Mike still had his earpiece in, she called out through tightening lungs, "Mike, gate. Opened. Away from the evacs."
She heard something, but she couldn't hear it over her mother's frantic cries.
And she tried again, "Mike?"
She got to the glass door. Lights flashed. Sirens wailed.
"Emma. Please. Just… I…"
And something. A man's voice. But she couldn't hear it.
She didn't know where to go. Which way. It was dark. If she ran the wrong way, more people could get hurt.
Turning the ball over in her hand, she yelled into the earpiece, "Isabelle, get Mom off the radio. If there's anyway we make it out alive, I need to hear."
Praying.
Then silence.
Then. "Hirst. Line is clear." Isabelle's voice.
"Right out of the door. Third building on your right. Started SUV there. Gate opened straight ahead."
Emma pushed through the door, running into the dark, jumping off the steps past one building, thankful for the flashing lights to give her some semblance of bearings in a place she'd only seen once.
Her feet burned underneath her.
Her fingers ached from holding the terrible treasure.
Death. She knew what that looked like. She pushed it away.
Her chest heaved, as she ran with all her might. Get to the car.
Mike had a car started for her.
She rounded the last building. And she saw the lights and open driver door.
Lights.
She threw the car into drive, and put her foot to the floor. Right through the gate.
The car bounced. Jumped.
The speedometer ran higher and higher.
Now she had to decide.
She looked in the rearview mirror. Lights fading behind her.
Blood pounding through hear ears.
Blood covering the steering wheel.
And her.
The flat land wasn't completely flat, and she bounced over a rock and hit her head on the ceiling. Her earpiece fell out. But she still kept going.
Then she saw it.
The lights completely gone behind her.
And, clutching the death orb, with fingers shaking as she held it, she started to press on the brakes. Not enough to send her flying through the windshield. But, she prayed, enough to keep the laws of physics.
And she held the ball outside the window, and let go.
It continued to go. And she turned the car to the right, sliding and skidding throughout the desert. But then she turned the car into a 180. And again, she listened to the engine speed up.
And she prayed.
Prayed that death would stay away.
And that she'd gotten far enough.
She prayed.
Lights. She could see them.
And then she heard it.
