Author´s note: Hello again everyone, I took my sweet time again but am doing my best to update and keep my muse alive which comes and goes with stress levels and such. However, the rest of this story is already planned out.

Also, this chapter and the following ones may be considered unsuitable for younger audiences.

Jennkyle: Thank you. :)

Noro: There you go. I hope you don´t mind intervals between chapters too much and still enjoy the story.

Kelleekellkell: Oh if that is the case it means I was successful writing this then. :)

Reneeharris49: And welcome back to you as well and thanks for rereading :) Hope you´ll enjoy the update.

Chapter 39

Calm before the storm

The red carpet was there, the entourage a reduced one. The Belgian Prime Minister instead of the country´s monarch. An impressive press corps but instead of military honours a small group of delegates including aides from the office of the current UN Secretary General. This visit was supposed to be business, Fitz knew. Politics, not pomp, making the world a little safer and sending that message of gravitas to the world in crisp images of suits and handshakes and solemn, serious faces instead of flowers and autograph seekers framing the rope lines. He had been among those suggesting it be that way. The attention of the world will be on this event, he had said, it should be focused on what we achieve, not so much on those that achieve it. The countries, yes, but not their heads of state. Of course that was an illusion. Psychology dictated that people always identified a country and it´s power and sovereignty with the person at the top, but at least the message seemed to have gotten through - TV channels were reporting with a solemn yet upbeat seriousness that he had hoped they would display.

Hands were shaken, waves were given, carpets were being walked down. It seemed, strangely enough, like the quiet before a storm, but Fitz pushed that aside. This was after the storm, this was when the rewards were being reaped. Today, they had done a big step on the way to finally bring Jerry´s murderer to justice and while he mustn´t allow himself worry about the FBI doing a good job at the moment, there was other things, more important even, although of course it was impossible to ignore the personal impact of Eli Pope´s imminent arrest: the world would become safer today. The world was one step closer to peace and one step further away from the mentality of the Cold War era. That wasn´t the calm before the storm, that was the tranquility that came after.

Fitz adjusted the earpiece to be able to follow President Masri´s words as the other man stood at the speaker´s podium near his own, facing a large crowd of international press. Speaking of how he hoped and was confident that their negotiations would be beneficial not only for both their countries but for the world. How he was positive about their bridged divide offering the possibilities of a new dawn in diplomatic dealings between their two countries. How he was looking forward to be the first president of his country to sit down at a table of brotherly diplomacy after decades of mistrust. Fitz made no delusions about the other man adding occasional little side slabs about their countries´ relationship, but all of them were tame. It indeed looked, he thought as they shook hands after the press conference, like this could indeed be a good thing. Today, Fitzgerald Grant, he told himself, today is the day that will shape your legacy.

OoOoOoOoO

So many things. So many things going through her mind. So many things to worry about and to be mad about that it was difficult to just switch off that torrent of thoughts. Standing near the sidelines of the heavily guarded airport room the brief press conference was taking place in, Olivia took a deep breath. Inhaled. Exhaled. She didn´t like not being in the loop of what was happening and while she would have trusted Huck with her life, she hated not being able to be in the know of what was happening on the other side of the Atlantic right now. What Huck was doing. What the FBI was doing. What her father was doing.

She took a brief glance at her phone. Nothing. Like the calm before a storm. The image came unbidden and unasked for, like she would usually rely on her gut. It made her feel uneasy. Suddenly she wished for the press conference to be over already so they could make their way to the hotel, regroup, prepare for the start of the negotiations that would begin later that day. To get out of this airport. Out of this heavily guarded room she reminded herself. There was nothing to worry about right now also because there was nothing she could do about how things would unfold about her father. Nothing she could do. But that strange feeling in her gut remained.

Liv tossed a glance towards Tom Larsson, the calm shape of the man its usual collected, stoic self, always on guard, always dangerous, always ready to protect. At least it was good to know that while her father was on the run there was probably little capacity for him to meddle with affairs over here right now. She turned her attention away from the press conference, knowing from the way Fitz´ voice sounded that he was about to call the last question and that they were about to move out.

"Is the motorcade ready?"

"Yes Ms Pope," the young agent that had been waiting for her instruction said. "We´re ready to move out as soon as POTUS is done. We´ll use the south entrance so we´ll move along with Masri´s entourage for another few steps outside this room. Good for the press, nightmare for us." he half- joked. Olivia didn´t comment on it.

"Let me look at the security cameras."

The agent held up a tablet, tapped the screen a few times. They had turned away from the press conference now, away from the eyes of the press, immersed in making the machine run smoothly.

"There are some bystanders," the agent said. "not outside, the airport has been cleared in a wider perimeter and check ins have been relocated for the time being making things easier for us. But there are some … tourists, people that have valid plane tickets and have already been cleared by security." In the background, the press conference was concluding and Fitz´ baritone was carrying over the crowd.

"I thank you all for your questions and your interest, ladies and gentlemen. And for the press corps to actually stay on topic this time." Laugthter.

She nodded while looking at some live camera shots from the departure and arrival area of the airport. Things looked good. A few people lining the sides of where they would go but there was nothing that looked dangerous.

"We are looking forward to sharing the results of our negotiations with you, meanwhile, have a good afternoon everybody." Some mild applause, chairs being shuffled as journalists got to their feet.

Liv glanced up, catching Fitz´ back, him leaning over to Masri for a few words. Some cameras flashed. Gold for the public. Unity between two representing countries that used to hate each others´ guts. She faced the screen again, routinely scanning the small crowd. Peaceful. "POTUS is about to move." came the command she could dimly hear from the agent´s earpiece. "I need to take this, ma´am." Liv moved away.

More shuffling of chairs, agents moving from their positions.

Another, last glance before the agent started to pull away the tablet. The last image of a small crowd. Mostly families, some travelling businesspeople, curious to catch a glance of the two statesmen. And… she felt her blood freeze. "Wait!"

"Get ready, POTUS about to move to the motorcade. Just a few seconds now."

The image was grainy, black and white only, but even under the wide hat that she had no doubt chosen for sheer stylish sass, the figure of her mother was unmistakable. It took a half second to react. "Get the president off that stage." she hissed, already darting forward and into the open.

More chairs, animated chatter. She made a leap, probably alarming half the Secret Service… and then felt a push.

A gunshot.

Screams.

A body hitting the ground.

Another pushed away, surrounded by a swarm of dark suits, guarding like hounds.

Another shot.

Disorientation.

"Get him out. Get him out. Get him out!"

Panic.

The push had been hard. Made her stumble and fall to her knees where while going down she scraped her temple past the steps leading up to the podium. She tasted blood.

Someone grabbed her, but that hand let go again as more shots sounded.

Sharp.

Unbelievably loud.

She instinctively cowered, reached out with her hand.

Found something.

Cloth.

Something wet.

More shots.

So many.

When she raised her head, trying to take in the scene, the world around her was chaos.

Doors slammed shut against more gunfire.

Screams.

But the first thing she noticed, still trying to make sense, still not comprehending that several agents of the Iraqi agents had suddenly turned, was something else. And she understood that what she had touched, was a growing puddle of blood. And what she stared at was the motionless face of president Masri, eyes wide and lifeless.