Chapter Two
Elizabeth
"Russell. What's going on?" Elizabeth strode through the corridors of the White House. The lights and paintings and mahogany furniture streamed past her, no more than a blur, like the haze around a car speeding along an autobahn, as she headed straight for the Situation Room.
Russell was pacing outside, his phone pressed to his ear, but he spun round at her voice and stuffed the phone back into his jacket pocket. "Where the hell have you been? We thought—" He drew in a deep breath and ran one hand over his head. "We're getting reports of gunfire on the seventh floor. The building's being evacuated…"
Gunfire. Adrenaline twitched through her bloodstream. "Is anyone hurt?…My staff…?"
Russell's gaze lowered, and he gripped the back of his neck as he shook his head. "Not known yet, but the situation's fluid."
Her breath bound her chest. Henry slid his hand into hers and squeezed, but it barely registered, her fingers numb. "Our children?" The words snagged in her throat and sounded foreign as they stumbled from her tongue.
"Secret Service agents are with them," Russell said. "Stevie's in my office. The other two will be taken down to the bunker as soon as they arrive."
Thank God. Elizabeth's eyes slipped shut. Henry pulled her close, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder, his warmth suffusing her as his fingers fluttered against the small of her back.
"Henry—" Russell began.
"I'll meet them there." Henry kissed the top of Elizabeth's head and then squeezed her arms before taking a step away.
"Actually," Russell said, "POTUS wants you to stick around, at least until we know what it is that we're dealing with."
Elizabeth and Henry shared a look. What exactly did they think they were dealing with?
Russell leant his weight into the Situation Room door. He raised his eyebrows a fraction. "Shall we?"
The door swung open, and the buzz of voices and the fug of perfume, cologne and sweat that stuffed the dimly lit room hit Elizabeth. She squeezed into the gap next to Conrad's seat at the head of the table, her fingers still laced through Henry's.
Conrad looked up at her and gave her a nod. The pinch in his brow relaxed a little. "Elizabeth. It goes without saying, but I'm glad to see that you're safe. When they said shots on the seventh floor…" His lips tensed.
Henry's grip on her hand tightened.
"Do we know what's happened?" she asked.
People flurried around the edge of the room, a medley of suits and uniforms as they ducked and darted, whisking notes and swift whispers between those congregated around the table. Ellen Hill, Ephraim Ware, Hugh Haymond, Keith Doherty, Oliver Shaw, Ronnie Baker, and countless more. Live footage from the front of the State Department popped up on the screen on the far wall.
"Director Doherty," Conrad said, "any update?"
"The State Department's been evacuated," Doherty said, "but it'll take a while to confirm numbers and to work out if anyone's still inside."
"And the computer system?"
"It does appear that it's being controlled by an external source, as we suspected."
Elizabeth frowned. "What? Like a cyber attack?"
"Yes, ma'am," Oliver Shaw said. He looked up from his laptop screen and swivelled round to face Elizabeth. His gaze jumped back and forth between her and Conrad. "The security systems were deactivated shortly after twelve PM, and all CCTV footage from this morning has been wiped. We also know from the reports of employees on the lower floors that the sprinkler and alarm systems were tampered with. And the lifts are no longer working."
"How's that even possible?" Russell said. He elbowed his way through the throng of people and stood on the other side of Conrad.
"If someone installed a backdoor into the system, that would grant them remote access."
Elizabeth's stomach tensed. She turned towards Henry. "The software updates."
Oliver nodded. "That's our working theory, ma'am."
Russell rubbed his brow. "So how much control, exactly, do they have?"
"Anything with a computer chip."
"Jesus…" Russell turned away, and his hands fell to his hips. He pivoted back to Oliver. "Can we at least access the security cameras and get a look at what's going on inside?"
Oliver pursed his lips. "No, sir, not until we've figured out what code they're using and designed a programme to take back control."
Conrad leant back in his chair. His brow furrowed whilst he tapped one finger against his lips. Then his gaze darted to Director Doherty. "What about sending a team in?"
"We have men ready outside," Doherty said, "but without any visuals and without any means of access apart from the stairwells, I'd be hesitant to send them in."
"Do we have any idea what the attackers want?" Elizabeth said. "To take control of the building like this…that takes planning."
"It could be a disgruntled employee, or someone wanting to make a statement—"
"The media are already going wild." Russell gestured to one of the side screens, where the news network footage showed the bustle of reporters at the cordon outside the State Department.
"It could be that they have hostages. Or…" Doherty drew in a sharp breath, and his gaze stuttered before he met Elizabeth's eye once more. "…there's always the possibility that it was an assassination attempt."
Assassination attempt? Elizabeth shook her head. "What do you mean?"
Doherty's mouth hung open, and the others sat around the table stared up at her.
What was it? What wasn't she getting?
"Babe." Henry tugged at her hand, and when she turned to him, his face had paled, the lines more pronounced. "They could've had access to your schedule." He swallowed. "And you don't have your DS agents with you inside."
A chill grazed the back of her neck. Oh. If he hadn't phoned, if she had cancelled on him, if she had stayed inside with her staff…
"Sir," Captain Baker said. She squinted at the laptop in front of her; the pale glare from the screen made her skin seem almost translucent. "I've been monitoring the State Department computer system, and it looks like someone's uploaded a message."
"Well," Russell said, "what's does it say?"
A blush crawled up Captain Baker's neck as her fingers danced over the keyboard. The live footage from outside the State Department shrank into the corner of the monitor on the far wall as she projected her own screen onto it. The bustle of the room ebbed. The voices faded beneath the hum of the air-con. Everyone turned to look.
Elizabeth held her breath. Each second of the pause spun itself out into minutes, and the hush that saturated the room stiffened.
One by one, the letters flashed onto the screen. Lurid green stark against the black backdrop: We have hostages. Attempt to access the building, and a hostage will be shot. Await further instructions…
The message lingered for a moment, just long enough to worm its way into Elizabeth's mind, and then it vanished.
Elizabeth's stomach sank. She stepped closer to Henry, her back to the room. She lifted her gaze to meet his eye and then whispered, "My staff."
Henry's jaw tightened. His eyes darkened, hazel murky with fear. He squeezed her hand.
"Sir," Director Doherty said, "as I said, we have teams on standby, but without knowing the state of the situation inside—"
Conrad nodded. "It's too great a risk."
Elizabeth looked to Oliver Shaw. "You said earlier that you could design a programme to take back control." She let go of Henry's hand and stepped up to the table. "I know CCTV is limited on the seventh floor, but what about accessing webcams?"
Doherty's eyebrows raised a fraction, and his eyes brightened. "If we could just see how many hostages there are, where they're being held, identify possible access routes…"
"It's possible," Oliver said, "but we need to get a good look at their code first, then we can develop our own programme that will deactivate it."
"But if you take back control and the hostage takers realise…" Henry said.
A pause engulfed the room. Oliver pursed his lips. "Then they'll shoot a hostage."
Russell scratched the back of his head, his face drawn into a grimace. Then he folded his arms over his chest. "So in summary—" He looked from Oliver to Doherty and back again. "—we have no eyes and ears on the building, we can't send in a team without serious risk to life, we can't hack back until we know what code they're using, and even if we do manage to take back control, they'll shoot the hostages anyway."
Oliver swallowed, throat bobbing, eyes wide. "Yes, sir."
"So what the hell can we do?" Russell spread his arms and pivoted as he cast his gaze around the room. When silence met him, he added, "That wasn't rhetorical. So if anyone has a suggestion, I'm all ears." He lowered his voice to a mutter. "The only stupid idea is a silent one."
Captain Baker raised her hand, as tentative as a child on the first day of school. "Um, sir…there's another message."
Russell flapped at the screen. "Let's see it then."
Captain Baker struck a key on the laptop. Pause. Then flash. A picture of Elizabeth's office. Blake, Matt, Daisy, Jay and Kat were sat on the floor at the foot of the couch. Each had their knees huddled to their chest. Their eyes shone wide and white. Then came the voice, deep and distorted. It jarred through Elizabeth and bristled the hairs at the back of her neck.
"Secretary McCord, we invite you to join us. Present yourself at the elevators in the lobby. Come alone. You have one hour. Fail to show up and the first hostage will be shot."
The camera zoomed in on Daisy, and the number 'one' appeared over her head. It branded itself on Elizabeth's mind. Then the screen went blank.
A wave of nausea rippled up from the pit of her stomach; it flushed through her hot, then cold. She tugged at her blouse, and her skin prickled as pockets of air fanned the cool sweat. No. Stay. Stay. I'll be half an hour max.
The eyes of the room watched her, like students searching for enlightenment, or perhaps just passersby ogling a car wreck. But what could she do? One hour. No time to storm the building, no time to hack back. Her heart pounded. She turned to Conrad. "Sir, I want to go in."
"I stand corrected," Russell said, and he pointed at her, "that is a stupid idea."
