Author´s note: I am having a devilish bit of fun slowly but surely bringing this fic to its big finale, seeing how all the strings that tangled during me writing and planning it are starting to untangle and make sense. This chapter might be a little shorter than the average one but to me this length made a whole lot of sense with regards to the plot´s arch which will resolve itself soon. There is more of this to come and I hope you guys are still enjoying it.

Clio1792: I am glad to hear the suspense worked. I am constantly trying to improve on my writing skills with regards to creating suspense and this fic is actually partly new ground for me, at least for the political drama involve so I am glad you are enjoying this. As with regards to Eli´s role in all this… that´s the big question, isn´t it?

Jennkyle: Good to see such excitement and I hope I didn´t keep you on edge for too long. :)

Noro: Well, here you go and thanks for your review.

Kelleekellkell: Hah, good to hear and thank you so much.

Chapter 40 – Trapped

The world around her seemed to have slowed down to a tantalizing, terrifying slow motion as if her mind wanted her to focus on what exactly was going on, as if it insisted she take in every bit of the horror around her. Her eyes wide the only thing she could hear for a moment was her racing heart, the only thing she could feel was fear, more dominant even than physical pain that she would later learn was anything but minimal – a bloody sash on her forehead where she had hit her head against the side of the slightly raised podium, the impact of the unlucky fall on her left knee…

With some effort, Olivia tore her gaze off the body of President Masri, forcing herself to look around the room, take in the chaos. Most of the press corps had already filtered out when the attack had occurred, but about a dozen journalists were still inside the room, herded into a corner and pushing themselves against the wall. Somebody was crying and she could hear their dry sobs. Around them, weapons at the ready, were three of Masri´s security personnel. Two more, one Iraqi she figured and one Secret Service agent were on the ground, unmoving, one body curled away from her, the other laying face down. In the desperate attempt to focus and make sense of everything she noticed with some desperate relief that the person she was dreading to see with a gun to his head was not there – she could only hope that Fitz had been taken to safety. Apart from the dead agent on the ground she could not see any more Secret Service. They are with him, she feverishly told herself, still on the ground, her whole body trembling as she tried to get into a somewhat upright position. They are with him. He is safe.

Her movement caught the eye of one of the gunmen who turned with deadly precision and pointed his gun at her. "Stay down, woman." he barked and there were two things she suddenly noticed, at the same second or so briefly one after the next that the time interval did not matter: 1. The man who was threatening her, despite the clothes marking him as one of Masri´s – or, apparently, a mole that had infiltrated Masri´s ranks – spoke in an undeniable American midwestern accent. 2. Next to him, weapon drawn as well, but not on the attackers but to keep the journalists in check was a familiar face: "Tom!" Her voice, cracking with disbelief and betrayal, sounded hoarse.

"Shut up." The Iraqi made a threatening step closer and she held up her hands in what was apparently the universal sign of surrender. "What have you done?" she half hissed, half whispered, stubbornly trying to bite down the sob that came with her words. "You´ve sworn an oath to protect the…"

"I said shut up." Now the threat of the man with the midwestern accent and the looks of an Iraqi was very clear as he made another step, the message behind his body language unmistakable. Tom Larsson reached for him and put a calming hand on the other man´s lower arm. "You don´t want to shoot that one." he said, the gaze he tossed into her direction so cold that Olivia almost felt herself shiver. "That one is more valuable than you even know."

"Then she should keep her tongue in check." the other snapped, but lowered his gun a little and finally did a step back. Olivia felt her shoulders relax, but her mind was racing. Trust your gut, she thought. You can work through this and you can be of help here somehow. It was not easy thinking through all the panic inside her and outside in the room. But somehow her gut had warned her before this had happened. With a sudden sensation of shock she remembered what, or rather, who, she had seen on the screen just before the attackers had opened fire. The person in the crowd had been her mother. And that was what confused her even more. After everything that had happened, after Maya leading her to find the boxes she had stolen from her father, did that mean the two of them were working together after all? Was this the grand plan Eli Pope had divined to save his skin? Distract the media, distract the CIA and FBI so he could slip through their grasp? It made no sense. Maya´s action had clearly been a betrayal. Eli Pope would never expose himself the way he would have had through willingly letting her find out about the murder of Jerry Grant. His surprise had been real, his bluff when she had confronted him a few days ago had been heartfelt. So how did it all fit together? One thing was for sure though: if the international press got any idea about the fact that a Secret Service agent and another American were part of this assassination this could very well mean bigger trouble than anyone could anticipate. In the moment the two men looked away from her again, she slowly, slowly moved her hands, trying to feel for her phone with trembling fingers…

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

She had to fight the urge to just keep sauntering along the panicking crowds. She had to withstand the sweet, sweet temptation of turning and staying, but it would have made her look far too suspicious if she were trying to get a seat in the front row. Still, Maya could not completely stop herself from smiling to herself under the brim of her hat at how wonderfully all of this had worked. There was of course the excitement of nobody yet knowing what exactly had happened. Who was dead, who was alive… even she didn´t know. It had been some relief earlier to see that her daughter was not in the press briefing room when the two presidents had entered it for their press conference and no other life concerned her. She found herself chuckling softly trying to figure out which one had bitten the dust. It was like a fun little guessing game to wonder who the bilionnaire had chosen as the designated survivor in the end. Whether he had chosen a short lived power boost in his own region over the temptation of cutting off the Eagle´s head.

A pity, really, that she could not peek in on what was going on in this room and around it. While she was being ushered out of the security zone and back to the entrances she could see special force police in full body armor and with guns at the ready run into the building, causing some of these dumb tourists to scream before realizing those were their own. Well, she would have to watch everything unfold from the comfort of an already booked hotel suite she had booked in advanced on an untraceable credit card that had just gotten a nice big financial boost. If there was one good thing to be said about that misogynist, flabby old man who was sponsoring this show it was that he apparently paid his debts on time.

But there was something that considerably consoled her for missing out the show she thought when she left the airport building and allowed a young policeman to point her to the other end of the premises. The sweet sweet revenge it implied. She was wreaking havoc on this world and she was doing it alone. What was happening today would have massive impact not only on the US government. What was happening right here would also destabilise the shadow government dear Eli had worked so hard to design. This and of coruse those boxes she had delivered to her daughter´s hands. And this, maybe, after all, was the best of all. What did she care about presidents? What did she care about politics? The only language worth speaking and understanding was money. Money and power. And when those bullets hit their targets, she thought, whoever they had hit in the end, there was one man they were definitely taking down because she had shown him that he had no control over her at all. And that man was Eli Pope.

She hailed a taxi and when one stopped, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket.