Madam Secretary
Coverup
~MS~
Her right heel catches on the end of her dress— she trips on the next step, but the Secret Service agent on her left merely wraps his right arm around her middle and proceeds to take the majority of her body weight onto him— his fingers dig into her side, in an almost painful way. "What was that?" She asks breathlessly as they round the corner and continue up the next flight of stairs— she looks up through the gaps between the railings… The race to the top seems never ending.
"Nothing." Her head tilts down to see Max, the Treasury Secretary, glaring back at her.
"It was obviously something." She mutters. She sucks in a breath of the stale air within the stairwell— her lungs can't seem to keep up with the pace. And when she stumbles on the tread of the next step, her left hand scoops up a handful of the material of her dress, keeping the thick taffeta away from her feet, while her right hand brushes away the hair stuck to the back of her neck by the beads of sweat that build just beneath the curls of her hair. "What the hell is going on?" She hisses as they reach the next landing— and up they go.
"Minister Canoglu is pulling out of the trade deal." Max says as they begin up the last flight of stairs.
"What?" She tries to stop for a moment, but she's being pulled forwards.
Max throws a look over his shoulder. "Let's just say he didn't like our tax policy."
They reach the top of the stairwell— a dead end with a single door leading out onto the rooftop. She drops her dress and lets out a huff. "He liked it an hour ago." She comments.
The door is pulled open, and one of the two Secret Service agents -she believes he goes by the name of Todd- holds it with his left shoulder as he motions with his hands for them to pass through the doorway. The other agent, with his hand now on her lower back, ushers her forward, and— "We'll fix it when we're back in Washington."
She stops— his hand is firmly pushing on her back now. "Why not now?" She asks. Her lips shrug. "He's right downstairs." She says, pointing back down the stairwell.
His back is towards her— she sees his head shake. "No." He mumbles.
Her forehead wrinkles, and— her back arches when the agent's fingers jab into the skin of her lower back. She throws a glare over her shoulder, but she inches forwards until eventually she steps down onto the rooftop— she shivers. The chill of the California night air nips at the exposed skin of her arms. "What do you mean no?"
He turns to her. "We need to leave now." He explains as he twirls one of his fingers in a circular motion in the air just above his head. She looks past him as an engine roars to life— she watches as the rotor blades slowly begin to spin. It's only a few seconds after when she notices they're at full speed capacity.
She steps up. "Now?" She shouts over the noise. She looks around the tarmac— her hair is being pushed in about every direction from the force of air created by the propellers of the helicopter. Her mouth opens, and she seems to fumble with her words. "My DS agents are—" She pauses. Her mind is trying to process two things at once. "—None of them are here Max." She looks to him, her brow pulled in the middle.
"Don't worry about that." He says. She has to step closer to fully hear what he's saying. "The chopper will take us to an airstrip in Miramar." He takes a step backwards. "They'll meet us there." He tells her as he steps up onto the landing skid— he bends down and extends his left hand to her. She takes it but just as he puts his other hand on her back to lug her up, the door leading inside busts open— it hits the brick of the building before swinging back and clasping shut. Her head whips around when she hears the noise, and when she sees Fred, she pulls her hand from Max's and steps back. It's only when she notices the gun he holds in his hands that her heart seems to skip a beat— the overhead light shining out over the tarmac glints off the metal of the firearm.
"Secretary Quinn." Fred says sternly as he quickly but cautiously nears them.
"Fred?" She questions as her eyes flash from him to Max and finally back to him.
He's a step away from her now and— "Madam Secretary." He says before he grabs her right wrist and yanks her towards him before pushing her to the side— out of the line of fire that he seems to have.
Her chest tightens when— "What is this about?" Max says as he steps down from the helicopter— his hands are on either side of his head, raised in the air.
"The murder of Turkish Defense General Polat." Fred says. And then— "Put your hands on your head."
Her lips part and she eyes Max. 'The murder of General Polat.' It turns over in her head. 'I was saddened to hear that Emir Polat had passed. You have my condolences.' She'd said to Minister Canoglu earlier this evening. Her head spins. 'It's odd, isn't it? The way he died.' Conrad had whispered to her in the hall just outside the situation room last month. 'Max Quinn has requested to join you in California.' Nadine had told her two days ago.
"Slowly get on the ground." She hears— her stare drops to her feet as her fingers find the pendant that rests on the flat of her breastbone. And it's in the next moment where she thinks her heart may stop completely.
The sound's muffled by the whoosh whoosh of the rotation of the rotor blades, but the shot left her ears ringing— it was a piercing noise that couldn't be missed. Her fingers still— the 'protect me' pendant pinched between her thumb and forefinger. She blinks once, twice, and it's as if everything's moving in slow motion. Her gaze lifts from the ground and she prays to the saints Henry swears by, but— "No." She mutters. Her lips part. She watches as Fred's shoulders fall back against the ground—blood sprays out from in between his lips. The hand that's pressed against her chest falls to her side as her eyes wander the tarmac— she spots the gun in Todd's right hand, his finger still twitching on the trigger. His lips are pressed together in a firm line. She swallows and her stare darts to Max, he still kneels on the ground— he looks surprised, shaken almost. And it's when the ringing in her ears dissipates, when the whirring sound of the helicopter returns, that she rushes across the rooftop— the bottom edges of her dress drag against the concrete. And then she drops to her knees. "Fred?" She mumbles— her hands hover just above his face. "You're gonna be okay." She tells him as he gasps for air. Her fingers tremble as she pushes away his suit— she doesn't have to search hard for the entry point. The deep red soaking through the material of his button-down shirt gives it away. Her hands go to his chest, and she presses down— Fred groans, while she nearly gags at the feeling of the blood seeping up between her fingers. "It's gonna be okay." She tells him as a tear escapes from the corner of her eye— it's the first, but certainly not the last. When she reaches up and swipes it away with her knuckle, she can feel the streak of blood across her cheek. Her lips tremble. She can hear Max mumbling above her— he's next to his agents now. She looks over her shoulder and— "Call someone!" She cries before turning back to Fred.
She doesn't notice the quivering of his lips, doesn't look to his face until his right-hand weakly grabs her wrist— Her eyes dart to his, and— "Run." He mumbles— droplets of blood sputter out from his mouth.
She shakes her head. "Wh— What?" She stutters.
She sees him swallow. "Run." He huffs out, repeating the word.
"No." Her heart clenches. "I'm not leaving you." She whispers before she gasps for a breath. She glances back at the three men— Max's mouth is moving, but she can't hear, can't read his lips, and then he points towards her. Her neck snaps back to Fred.
"Run." He tells her again— it's more of a breath than a word.
She lets out a sob. "I'm sorry." She cries as she sits back on her knees. And as she steals another glance over her shoulder, she pulls off her heels.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" Max spits in Todd's direction— she slowly stands. "What in the hell are we supposed to do with her now?" He huffs out. And once she's sure the three men are standing near the front of the helicopter, she bunches up the bottom of her dress in her left hand, and sprints for the building.
"Hey!" One of them shouts, but she's already to the entrance— she swings the door open, rushes through the doorway, and yanks the door closed behind her. She gazes down the stairs and freezes— she panics for a moment, knowing she'd be unable to outrun them no matter how good of shape she's in. And then her eyes lift up. She turns back to the door, and something in her chest flutters the slightest bit with a twinge of hope— she turns the deadbolt, and then takes off down the stairs.
Her feet hit the tread fast and she prays she doesn't trip as she did on the way to the top. When she makes it halfway down the first flight, she hears the banging against the metal door, and she pauses -hand on the rail- when there's a loud thud— presumably a kick. She continues down and when she turns the corner, she stops for a moment to peer upwards. She picks up her pace when she hears the rattle of the metal.
She clears the first set of stairs and stops on the first landing— she rushes to the door. She yanks at the handle once, twice, three times, but it's locked. She presses her face up against the small rectangle of glass and peers down the hall, but there's no one in sight. Her breath catches in her throat when she hears the unmistakable bang from a pistol— she wouldn't be surprised if they'd shot at the lock. She turns and makes for the next flight of stairs, but on the first step down she slips on the material of her dress— as she catches herself on the railing, she swears to never line the inside of a gown with silk again. She pulls herself up and lets out a breath before carrying on.
When she makes it to the next landing -floor 4, the floor where the main gathering is taking place- she dashes across the concrete towards the door and pulls at the handle. It swings open— she hears the loop of the metal handle hit the back of the wall as she runs down the hall. And when she reaches the end she turns left into the ballroom— her head spins as the soft thrumming of the violin, the cheeky laughter of party goers, and the clinking of glass on glass meet her ears. Her eyes wander the room, from left to right and then right to left. She searches for someone to run to, someone to help, but the room's filled with unfamiliar faces. Bodies turn towards her, eyes dart in her direction as she rushes forwards. A woman gasps. "Madam Secretary?" Someone questions. An older man grabs her arm, but she shakes him off.
She hears glass shatter behind her— she looks to see a waiter squatting down next to a fallen tray, but the young man's glare isn't on the broken champagne glasses, he— she follows his line of sight to the middle of the room. Her heart drums against the inside of her chest— this was gonna be a great tale to tell Henry she thinks as her eyes meet Max's. His lips parts— he points a finger in her direction, showing the two men behind him where she stands. His lips move and this time she can clearly see that he says, 'There she is.' They're rushing towards her now, pushing through the small group of people that stand in the center of the room, and for a moment she remains still, merely staring at Max, daring him to approach her, but when she sees the gun still firmly gripped in Todd's right hand she turns. She turns to the left, but when she does, she rams straight into someone's chest. She looks up and— "Matt." She breathes.
"Madam Secretary." His hands are wrapped around her biceps. "We've been—" His eyes wander her body. "Are you hurt?"
She frantically shakes her head. "No." She swallows. "No." She repeats again.
She watches as he raises his right wrist to his mouth and— "I have Bluebird, but I need assistance on the Northwest wall of Ballroom B." He murmurs into his sleeve. And then his eyes meet hers. "Whose blood is this?" His fingers seem to tighten against her skin.
She looks over her shoulder. "They shot Fred." She cries.
"Who?" He asks urgently. Her fingers curl into his suit, and he shakes her just a bit. "Who shot Fred?"
She turns and points in the direction of the three men nearing them, and he must see the gun in Todd's hand because with his hand clasped around her wrist he shoves her behind him as he unholsters his weapon.