Chapter Three

Henry

"Sir, I want to go in."

Being shot by members of VFF, witnessing Stevie fall from a tree, his plane going into a roll back in the marines…Mere bumps compared to the impact of this. It struck Henry like a blow to the stomach and knocked the air from him. He grabbed Elizabeth's hand. "No, no, Elizabeth. No way."

Elizabeth shot him a fierce look. "Henry." Then she shook her fingers free from his grasp. She turned back to Conrad and braced herself against the table. "Sir, we've already established that we can't take back control or send a team in—not within the next hour—and we sure as hell can't leave them in there to die."

"And we're sure as hell not sending you in there to join them," Henry said. The gazes from the rest of the room burned over him. Let them. Incinerate me for all I care; she's not going in.

Elizabeth straightened up, and slowly she turned to look at him. The blue of her eyes had frosted over, barbed like fractals of ice, and there was a pinch between her brows. She held his gaze. Time around them warped; it slackened and stretched, just the two of them caught in between.

"Bess," Russell said, and the room snapped back around them. Her gaze shifted away from Henry. "I get that they're your staff and you want to help them—"

"Damn right, I want to help them."

"But you're the Secretary of State—" Russell raised his arms, hands held out wide. "—we can't just send you into a hostage situation—you're too valuable." He scoffed. "Do we really need to have this conversation every time?"

"The thought doesn't thrill me either, Russell, but do you really think standing around in here and waiting for them to get shot is a viable plan?"

"Who's to say they haven't been shot already?" He thrust one hand at the screen. "They could have taken those photos and shot them straight after. This could all be some ruse to get you to go inside, and God knows what they'll do then."

Elizabeth's jaw tensed, and she looked about ready to shoot Russell right now, or anyone else who stood in her way. "Sir," she said over her shoulder, gaze still firm on Russell, "I'd like permission to speak with the hostage takers, see if we can get proof of life."

Conrad rested his face in the L formed by the finger and thumb of one hand. He eyed Elizabeth, and as he did, the thud of Henry's heart grew heavier, like hooves clomping the sodden earth. Say no now, and she'd respect the decision, but let her get one foot in the door…

Conrad glanced along the table. "Call Secretary McCord's office."

Henry lowered his head and pinched his eyes.

Elizabeth steadied herself against the desk. The dial tone rang out from the communication system in the middle of the table, and a hush swept through the room. Click. "This is Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord. I need proof that my staff are still alive…all of them."

The rest of the room watched on, all eyes on his wife, except for Oliver Shaw and Captain Baker, whose frowns were lit by the glare of their laptop screens.

A scuffle shook down the line, then—"Ma'am, it's me," Blake's voice crackled through the speaker, "we're all fine."

Elizabeth bowed her head. "Thank God." She bit her lip. "Can I hear from the others too?"

"Sure. Just a second." Blake's voice turned distant. "She wants to hear you speak."

A pause, then—"Ma'am, it's Jay."

"Kat."

"It's Matt."

"Daisy, ma'am."

Clunk. "Sit down." Ragged breaths rasped down the line, followed by a voice like the edge of a spade grating over tarmac. "You have your proof, Madam Secretary, now will you be joining us?"

Henry's heart thumped; its beat pounded out the rhythm of no, no, no. Elizabeth drew away from the table, and she turned her back on the rest of the room. Her gaze dragged up, up, up, until she met Henry's eye. He shook his head at her. "Elizabeth—" Her name lodged in his throat. He swallowed, but it stuck; as stubborn as a fishbone. "Babe, no."

Her eyes thawed, ice yielding to warmer waters below. "Henry," she whispered, "I have to." So soft were the words, that even in a room full of people, it felt as though they were made for him and him alone.

Russell pointed one finger at her, his face crumpled into a scowl. "Don't. You. Dare."

But Elizabeth spun back to the table. "First, I need you to let the others go."

Henry's muscles froze. Oh God, Elizabeth, no.

Russell clenched his fists. He bit down on his knuckle and whirled to face the wall. Then his gaze darted to Henry. He barged over and leant in, his voice a hiss in Henry's ear. "You need to stop her. Now."

"How?" Henry whispered back.

"I don't know. Just do something—anything. Play the husband card."

"That won't work when she's not even listening to me." Henry gestured towards Elizabeth, who was stooped over the table as she waited for the hostage taker to reply. "She'll listen to Conrad. You need to get him to tell her 'no'."

"We'll release one," the hostage taker said.

Elizabeth snorted. "Come on. I must be worth more than that." She turned her chin to her shoulder as she chewed on her bottom lip, whilst against the tabletop, her fingertips drummed out the pause.

"Both women. Final offer," the voice said. "You have fifty minutes remaining. Fail to turn up and we'll shoot them both." The line cut out, and the room tumbled into a chasm of silence.

"What happened to 'proof of life'?" Russell rounded on her. "I can't seem to remember anyone giving you permission to negotiate with them."

"The situation's fluid, Russell; you've got to go with the flow."

Russell ground his teeth together. "A few minutes ago they were going to shoot one, now—thanks to you—they're going to shoot two. You don't need to be a math major to know that's a bad deal."

Elizabeth glared at him, and stone by stone, a wall surrounded her. When she spoke, it was in an expertly levelled tone. "It's only a bad deal if I don't go in." She pulled up the chair next to Conrad, and perching right on the edge, she leant forward so that they were eye to eye. "Sir, this is our only option right now."

"Elizabeth," Henry said, "this is insane."

But Elizabeth held up one hand and continued as if he hadn't spoken at all. "You know that I have the skills, and if we fit me with a camera and a mic, it'll give us a good look inside. If I can't talk them down, at least it will buy us some time and enable us to form a plan." She glanced to Director Doherty. Divide and conquer; she wasn't the only Adams sibling to use that strategy.

Doherty tugged at his mouth, and then his hand stilled and he nodded. "If we can identify entrance routes, it might give us the option of storming the building, but it would be better yet if the Secretary could talk them down."

"Also," Oliver Shaw said, "assuming that they'll have to reactivate the lifts, it'll give us a chance to look at their code. Then once we know what we're dealing with, we should be able to hack back."

Elizabeth twisted round to face Conrad. She slid her hands across the tabletop and stopped just short of his. And as she looked at him, his expression softened, like snows touched by the first rays of spring. Henry's stomach tightened. Why did people—why did Conrad—have to have such a soft spot for his wife?

"Sir." Russell stepped up to the corner of the table and wedged himself between Conrad and Elizabeth's seats. "Henry's right—this is crazy, even by Elizabeth's standards."

"I'm right here, Russell." Elizabeth sank back against the cushion of her chair and folded her arms over her chest.

"I know—" Russell spun round. "—and I'd like to keep it that way. You might be a veritable nightmare, but I'd rather you were an alive nightmare."

Elizabeth shook her head, and the ends of her hair quivered around her shoulders, reflecting shimmers of artificial light. "As touching as that is—"

"Touching? Who said anything about touching? This administration's already seen one Secretary of State murdered, we don't need another." He brought his snarl close to Elizabeth's face—close enough to make anyone else flinch—whilst he stabbed one finger at the image of the State Department on screen. "Who's to say that they don't intend to shoot you the moment you step inside?"

"Then why negotiate with me at all." Elizabeth threw her hands up. "There have to be far easier ways to kill me. To go to all this trouble, they've got to want something more."

"I agree with the Secretary," Doherty said. "The fact that they agreed to release two hostages, and that they haven't harmed the others does suggest that they're willing to negotiate."

"Sir, if I may." Ellen Hill stood up from her chair halfway along the room. "The idea of sending a member of the cabinet into a hostage situation, and a female member at that…" Her gaze lingered on Elizabeth. "It's not a decision that I could support."

Elizabeth edged her way into Conrad's view again. "Sir, I'm more than capable of handling myself."

"There's no doubt about that, Madam Secretary," Ephraim Ware said, "but it's a huge risk. We don't know who these men are, what motives they have—"

"Nothing that we do comes without a risk," Elizabeth said, "and I've dealt with plenty of situations like this before."

"With all due respect, Madam Secretary," Director Haymond said, "running an op isn't anything like being in the situation itself, and as I've been forced to remind you on numerous occasions, you're not in the CIA anymore."

Elizabeth glowered at Director Haymond, and even someone who didn't know his wife half as well as Henry did must have felt the bolts of vitriol that loosed from her thoughts. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. Count the seconds that crackle between the lightning and the thunder. Elizabeth turned to Conrad. "Sir, we don't have time for this. If we don't act now, my staff will die."

"I hear you, Bess, but this isn't Libya or Iran. I can't—"

Elizabeth held up her hand. "Steel king."

The words rang through the room, like the schwing of metal on metal, a sword unsheathed. Henry frowned at his wife. Steel—what?

"Conrad, I can do this."

Conrad eyed her in that way Henry had witnessed so often when she had worked for the CIA. The conversations she would have with her colleagues, spoken in English, yet a language entirely of their own. Conrad drummed his fingers against the desk, lips pursed. Then his hand stilled. "Are you sure, Bess?"

Henry's pulse lurched. Wait. What? He couldn't seriously…

"Because once you go in—"

Elizabeth nodded. "I'm sure."