Elizabeth
"Madam Secretary! I must say, it is very inconsiderate to be late to the very party being thrown for you."
Her eyes widened slightly, she quickly jutted her hand out into the space between Matt and Frank; waving it to get their attention, giving them the best depiction of 'drive faster' possible in a single gesture.
"Ah, well, had I known there was going to be a party I would have picked up the pace."
A warm chuckle filled the line, "I have been waiting for this opportunity for quite some time. Can you imagine my disappointment when I found out you weren't here? I guess I will just have to… make do with some of your little followers."
Followers? Her staff. A chill grazed down her neck, following the curvature of her spine. "How imprudent of me."
The motorcade rolled up to the State Department, and she was out of the car before it came to a halt. She walked away from it, back towards the street — putting as much distance between her and her detail as she could manage.
"Surely the staff under the Secretary of State aren't worth the hassle. What is it that you want?"
"Oh, Madam Secretary, my only demand is you. Your staff was simply going to be collateral damage, but," He inhaled deeply, "this lot is proving to come in handy. Anywho, it's up to you. Just note that not showing up is signing their death warrant."
She slammed her eyes shut and pinched the skin between her brows with her thumb and forefinger, "Let me talk to them." This was taking a turn for the worse and doing so at an alarming pace.
A scuffle shook down the line, then- "Ma'am, it's Kat."
Elizabeth bit her lip and held back a sigh of relief, "Good. Can I speak to the others as well?"
"Of course," Kat's voice continued from a distance, "She wants to hear from you." And then there was the muffled sound of a finger tapping the screen.
There was a pause, before- "Jay here, ma'am."
"Daisy, ma'am."
"Matt."
She fingered her wedding ring, needing to be doing something. "And Blake. Are you still there?"
"I'm here, ma'am." The screen on the other end was tapped again before the third-parties voice took over.
"There, you have your proof. Now, will you be on your way up?"
"The only way-" She scoffed and shook her head, "The only way I will be joining you is if you release the others."
He inhaled slowly and deeply, holding it for one… two…. before letting it stream out of him, "I will release no more than two. You can meet them at the elevator and be escorted up from there. You are to come alone. Try anything, and once again, you will be to blame for their execution."
Elizabeth glanced over at her detail, and then up at the building, her eyes slowly drifting up to the seventh floor before screwing them shut. A picture of Jay, Daisy, and Kat pressed against her eyelids; the laughter of Chloe filled her mind, images of Joanna and Desi slowly drifted upon her, presenting themselves to her like a slideshow and situating right next to the snapshot of their parents.
Those slowly morphed into Matt and Blake, and then into all of them. They were so young; they still had so much life in them, so much to learn, to see, to give. They still had too much to change. Her thoughts drifted off to Henry and the kids; their laughter drifting through her head, followed by their faces, smiles plastered on them. She felt the ghost of their hugs, and the trace of Henry's lips on hers, almost as if-
"Send them down." It took her a lot to muster the ability to say that calmly, unwavering.
The call ended, and she fought against the strong urge to throw her phone. She just wanted to be back in the comfort of her home; the kids, her husband's embrace — her world. Putting on her mask, her well-known facade, she walked back over to where her agents stood, not giving herself the time to talk herself out of anything.
"Matt, I am going to call you on my work phone. Mute yourself, and do not, under any circumstances, unmute it. Uh," She rubbed her brow and looked between the two men, "Keep it on speaker, and Frank, use your phone to record everything, at least until you can get Matt's phone into the hands of the President or Russell, them and only them. Do you understand?"
Frank nodded, and Matt studied her, almost like he was trying to see through her, "Ma'am is ev-"
She held up a hand to halt him, "We don't have time for questions. Please."
He shifted uncomfortably before nodding.
"Good, now have someone call ahead to Russell Jackson to let him know that the President will need to clear his schedule for the rest of the night. I don't care who does what, but Matt, your phone goes directly to the President or Russell, and Frank's records until they have it, that is your top priority. Someone needs to be here to talk to anyone who comes out, okay?" She didn't give them a chance to answer, "Great."
She ignored the raised eyebrows she received and called Matt's phone. After a pregnant pause, in which they did as instructed and launched into action, she made her way into the lobby; that emptiness and feeling crawling up her legs and wrapping around her torso — taking up residence in her chest. As she made her way to the elevator the only feeling that broke through her unease - for no less than a second - was when she went to rub her neck, the contact with fabric sending a jolt through her. Man, she was glad she decided to wear a loose-fitting turtleneck today.
Elizabeth stood and watched as the number above the elevator slowly trickled down: … four… three… two... one... ding!
The doors slid open and revealed Daisy and another State employee, Clarissa, who is from the sixth, no, fifth floor. The tall, slim man behind them gave them a push, and they exited slowly, stopping in front of their boss. It gave her a clear view of the pistol stuffed in the front of his pants, a semi-automatic weapon held in his hands.
"Ma'am…" Daisy looked like she was about to get sick.
She reached out and squeezed her arm, her gaze flitting back and forth between both women, "I'll be okay. Now head outside, some agents are waiting for you. They will take your statements."
They hesitated. "That's an order." She told them sternly and pointed behind her. "Go."
After sharing a look with each other, they walked away, their pace picking up the closer they got to the doors. Elizabeth directed her gaze back to the man, his arm outstretched to keep the elevator doors open. He used his free hand to gesture with the gun, giving her a short 'get in.'
She shook her head and stepped in, biting back the sharp intake of breath that rose when the barrel of his gun pressed into her side.
He hit the '7' and slid back into his place, not letting his gaze drift away from a spot on the door. The overwhelming smell of mustard and something unidentifiable filled the small box, the cause of it seemed to be the man to her side. She dubbed him 'Mustard.'
The doors slid open with a ding and Mustard pushed her forward; leading her down the glass-lined offices, turning her to the left instead of continuing to her office. She took in as much as she could before she was facing the other way: The conference room doors were open, take-out containers placed in various spaces now abandoned — the smell of Tai food almost burning away the mustard scent. A man sat at the head of the long table, typing away at a laptop, another standing watching over his shoulder, his hands lax around his gun.
Mustard pushed her down into the chair that sat in the middle of the desk-lined office space, facing the opposite direction as the conference room. He pulled her hands behind her back, zip-tying them behind the back of the chair.
She took in the scene in front of her; Matt and Blake were leaning against the strong, oak desks on her left, while Kat and Jay sat off towards her right. Jay sat there slouched, staring off into the space behind her. Kat was also leaning against a desk, but she was constantly switching between holding herself up and allowing the desk to do some of the work for her.
Mustard stepped off to the left, far enough away that he could only be seen in her peripheral vision.
She swept her gaze over them, checking for any external injuries. "You guys doing okay?"
They looked okay, aside from the bands of sweat that lined their foreheads and the abnormal paleness in their faces.
Matt snorted and a small smirk formed on his, "Your remarks for the conference may be a little late. Or just, you know, not third-drafty."
"That can be forgiven." Her lips pulled up into a taut smile — she admired his ability to deflect and at least try to make a joke at the same time.
The rustling of fabric had her diverting her attention to the space behind her, though she kept her gaze trained straight ahead. It increased; stopping the second 'over-the-shoulder' guy stepped into view and crouched down in front of her, their knees brushing together in the process.
If she hadn't been so disgusted by the fact that he was their captor, 'wonderful' or even 'beautiful' could be verbs used to describe his physique; he was well-built, his plain black shirt hugging his muscular form. His deep black hair complimented the rich amber of his iris', making the flecks of honey in them pop. They almost reminded her of-
He reached out and captured her chin in his hand, his grip automatically tightening, "Secretary McCord, how nice of you to join us." He pulled his hand away and stood. An evil smirk formed on his face as he swept his arms outward, "Now it is a real party!"
DS Agent Matt
The band of agents had determined that Matt was going to deliver the phone; the newest agent to the detail was assigned to follow with Frank's phone — the senior agent was determined to relay real-time updates, and refused to go anywhere that was more than ten steps from the building.
Matt sped towards the White House; his grip on the wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white, listening intently to the conversation coming from his phone.
Only two things got across clearly; a constant th-thump, and the Secretary's voice, as stoic and formidable as ever. Everything else was understandable, just muffled, causing you to lean in to catch what exactly was said.
Something had felt wrong the second she walked away from them to talk on the phone, her face as she relayed orders rubbed him the wrong way. The image of her fiddling with her wedding ring had set off the warning bells — she always did that when she was stressed or worried. He wanted to kick himself; he should have pushed back, should have stopped her from going inside until she gave them some type of explanation. The Secretary herself knows that they don't answer to her, but she does know that they trust her judgment - as an analyst and diplomat - and as long as it didn't affect her safety they had always listened and worked with her.
As much as a part of him wants to be mad that she knew exactly how to get them to drop it, he can't. He's too mad at himself. If it wasn't for the guilt and apprehension that settled in him, he probably would've worried about his job — but that was the least of his concerns right now.
Conrad
Conrad stood in his favorite spot, gazing out at the land before him. The door to the Oval Office swung open, Russell. He smirked to himself, prideful in the fact that he found one constant in such an unpredictable occupation, nay, world.
"Ah, I was wondering when you'd end up coming in. Lydia and I were planning o-"
"Mr. President."
Conrad turned around, Russell's voice was almost both laid-back and tense, and that combination is never a good thing. He looked tense, his slouch slightly more prominent.
"What is it?" Conrad cocked his eyebrows and walked over to his chair, resting his forearms on the top.
Russell rubbed his head and averted his gaze. "There's a situation." He looked back up, his gaze only hitting Conrad once before looking anywhere but the man that was slowly ascending on him, "You are needed in the Situation Room."
"Russell," Conrad commanded.
Russell's gaze locked with Conrad's. He took a deep breath before giving the blow, "The sit-" He scoffed, "Something is going down at the State Department. We don't have much information. Some of the Sec-" He shook his head at himself, "-some of Bess's agents are on their way over, they say that they have some audio and ears on the floor."
Conrad gave a small nod, "Are we waiting on anyone else?"
"No sir, everyone is already in the Sit Room."
"What about Henry, the kids?"
"With your permission, I'd like for them to be brought here. They would probably appreciate being easy to reach with updates."
"Do it."
Henry
Henry sat at his desk grading papers, half-reading half-listening to Jason and Alison bicker from the kitchen. He fought against the urge to glance at the clock — he knows that it won't make her come back faster, make the time pass. Interruptions were high on the list of job-cons.
After deciding he was in need of a drink, he got up and dragged himself over to the kitchen; walking in as Jason stormed up the stairs and Alison threw her hands up in frustration.
"Oh, real mature!"
He opened the fridge and looked over his shoulder at her, "Everything okay, Noodle?"
"It will be."
He nods and reaches for a beer. He's in the middle of popping the lid off when the two agents come crashing in, their faces only showing the slightest amount of concern.
"Dr. McCord, we need to get you and the kids to a secure location." One agent said as the other walked halfway up the stairs and stopped. Henry heard them call up for Stevie and Jason just as Alison walked up behind him, giving a soft 'Dad?'
"Okay.. okay" He turned to her, "Everything is going to be okay, Ali. Go up and get your jacket and shoes."
He walked over to the coat hanger, sliding into it as both agents walked over and stood by the door, "Elizabeth. Is she alright?"
The agent's face twisted up into a sympathetic smile, "I'm sorry, we have limited information. But, the sooner we get you to the White House the sooner you will get an update."
Conrad
Conrad strode into the Sit Room, absently waving everyone back into their seats as they hastily rose to their feet.
"Tell me we have something." The room stilled and went silent. Russell pointed to the phone sitting in the middle of the table.
Conrad sat, pursed his lips, and looked over at Russell, "A phone?"
"Our audio"
The room filled with a metronomic th-thump, th-thump, th-thump. It was drowned out by soft breathing before the th-thump, th-thump, th-thump dominated the line again; this pattern continued as the room diverted their attention elsewhere.
He furrowed his brows, "Is that a heartbeat?"
Russell's face broke into a devilish smirk, "It is. And it belongs to Bess."
*Notes:
Ah! So many great reviews! Thank you!
For anyone who may have been confused at the end of chapter 3, hopefully, this chapter clarifies the usage of 'party.'
I would also like to point out that certain things were left out on purpose, for example, the man not patting Elizabeth down and searching her; that was deliberate and will basically cause a ripple effect in future chapters.
I left a gap or two in there so you can let your imagination flow before I clarify it in a later chapter, for example, why she was glad she was wearing a turtleneck and now the ending- her heartbeat.
Oh, and I'm sure this breaks a decent amount of protocols, but we all know Elizabeth doesn't get held back by them.
Enjoy! :)