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Chapter Five

She thought if not for Henry at her side and his hand holding hers securely, she might have fallen apart.

Elizabeth wasn't sure which problem she should be focusing on. The political aspect of the coup or the bloody massacre in the ballroom? The background motives or the situation as it was happening? Kodalov as a political agent or the wider picture that he fit into? The fact he had declared her persona non grata or his shaky legal grounds for doing so? Legal grounds that he hadn't bothered to articulate and, given the high number of guns in the vicinity, she hadn't wanted to stick around to hear.

No.

None of those things, at least not now, not yet.

First she had to focus on Henry, on getting him out.

However willingly – enthusiastically – he had come with her to Petria, had in fact suggested it himself, this mess was her responsibility to sort out. Anything that happened to him was on her.

They were still just getting their balance back after the past shaky year when at times she had been terrified that everything they had built together was about to fall apart, and she couldn't have anything knock them off course when they were just getting back to solid ground. She just couldn't risk it. There was no way she could lose Henry.

And so she forced herself to put all of the rest of it out of her mind until they were safe. She gripped his hand a little tighter and shifted closer so that she could walk with her side pressed up against his.

They were three steps away from the bottom of the staircase that would take them to the exit and the car where her agents waited.

Some of her agents, at least. The others were still unaccounted for, and that was a cause for concern, as well as a reminder of those hours in Iran just after Minister Javani's house had been attacked and she had been separated from her detail and she had been wracked with fear for the situation and so much guilt that they were in trouble because of her. And that reminded her –

"My staff." Elizabeth stopped on the bottom step and turned to Matt, who was on the step behind and still looking back up at Kodalov and his men as they stood watching them leave.

"We have to keep moving, Ma'am." It was clear Matt hadn't heard what she'd said, that he was just trying to get them out as fast as possible.

Henry lifted his free hand to hold her arm and she thought he was about to urge her to keep moving, to get out. He didn't. "I didn't see them in the ballroom," he said. "Did you?"

She thought back, tried to remember when she had last seen Daisy and Jay who had come along on the trip – Jay to deal with the policy discussions and Daisy to keep the media in a reasonable mood, and to keep her sane while Henry was off looking at churches. She couldn't remember. They had been in a different car on the way to the palace, she remembered that much. She closed her eyes and tried to think, aware of the growing aura of stress and urgency around Matt the longer they were delayed. Dinner… they had been at the small dinner that President Zembrovko had held before the main reception started. And then…

"They went to make a call," she said. She remembered now. What was supposed to be a friendly dinner for the cameras had turned into a policy dispute over the presence in Petria of the giant US-owned clean energy plant, and Jay had wanted to review the environmental impact report to check a claim made against it by one of Zembrovko's advisors. Daisy had gone with him because Jay couldn't remember how to get back to the small office they had been allocated during their visit to the palace. "At the end of dinner. I haven't seen them since then."

Suddenly finding them became the most urgent thing. They couldn't leave them behind. They couldn't. Elizabeth turned back to the flight of stairs they had just descended with the intention of racing back up to find her team, no matter what. Her eyes locked on Kodalov, still standing at the top of the stairs and looking at her with the same cool, creepy smile he had maintained throughout all of their meetings over the past few days. He cocked his head in interest at her move.

Matt stepped in and blocked her line of sight. "We'll come back for them," he told her.

She wanted to protest, but Matt was in front of her and Henry was at her side and there was no way around them and even if there was, she knew it would be stupid to take it. She just felt so damn useless. And guilty, because she was so relieved that she had managed to stay with Henry, because if he had been missing there would be absolutely no way she could stomach the thought of leaving without him.

Logically, she knew the wisest course of action was to get to the car, where they could formulate a plan to get them – all of them – to safety. But still.

She felt like she was leaving Daisy and Jay behind to die.

Henry stepped down from the last stair, taking her with him as he did. She followed, resigned to the fact that, for now, there was nothing they could do. At the bottom of the stairs, Matt stepped in front of them so he could open the door that led to outside and the service road where they had left the cars. He cast a glance back up the stairs to check the position of Kodalov and his men.

Elizabeth wasn't worried that they would shoot. They had nothing to gain from it and besides, Gleb Kodalov was a man who liked a game and what better game than taking away the diplomatic status of the American Secretary of State and sending her off into the middle of a restless coup? That would be way more fun for him than simply putting a bullet in her back, although really she thought that it amounted to the same thing.

With a deep breath and his gun poised ready in case he should need it, Matt pushed open the door.


"How can there be no information?" Russell Jackson held his phone with a grip so tight it could have snapped a man's wrist. He wished that he was holding a man's wrist. Specifically, the wrist of the Director of the CIA, who was on the other end of the phone line.

"It's not being reported," the Director answered, in response to why the CIA had so little information about whatever was going on in Petria.

All they knew about the situation had come through one of Elizabeth's Diplomatic Security guys, who had been in the middle of calling his Stateside supervisor to give a routine update on their flight plans for later that night when there had been the sound of gunshots and shouting and then the guy had sworn loudly and said something along the lines of shit, we're being attacked before the line had gone abruptly dead. Apparently the CIA had found out about the attack from the head of the Bureau of Diplomatic Security, who had called when he had been unable to get back in touch with his agents by phone and, when he called the main line of the presidential palace in Rusapol, found that it had been disconnected. So after consulting with Elizabeth's chief of staff, the Diplomatic Security man had instead called the CIA to see if the nation's premier international intelligence gathering organisation had any intelligence as to what was going on, only to be told that they did not. Which was when Nadine Tolliver called Russell.

It seemed that the CIA had learned nothing new in the intervening forty-five minutes, either.

Russell would have been apoplectic at the response of the Director if he was not so discombobulated by the answer. "It's not being reported?" he repeated at a volume several times louder than the other man had used. "The reason the CIA doesn't know what's going on in the Petrian capital is because it isn't live on CNN?"

"We don't have many assets in the region, sir."

Unbelievable. "But you have some, right? I mean the country has a land border with both Ukraine and Russia, it's not like we've just left it alone. Right? You have some assets there." They had to have some assets there. "Or should I just go on Twitter to see what's happening?" The question was serious, although unnecessary. He already had the Twitter live-feed open on his computer.

#RusapolAttack.

The reply from the CIA Director was slightly testy. "We have some assets in the capital, Mr Jackson. Our officers are reaching out to them now."

"No, no, no. Don't reach out to them. Reaching out is too polite. We don't have time for polite, see. We need intelligence now. So get in there and smack some heads together or I'll come and do it for you." Russell hung up before the Director could come up with a reply, dropping the phone back into its cradle before immediately snatching it back up.

He dialled Nadine Tolliver at the State Department to see if she'd had better luck with her sources.


The car, thank God, was still there where they had left it, and appeared to be untouched.

Kev the driver was behind the wheel but Frank was outside the passenger door, gun drawn and pointed at the palace side door, ready to shoot, on edge. There was sweat on his brow. He lowered the gun as soon as he saw Matt come through the door, ushering Elizabeth and Henry along with him.

No words were exchanged as Matt opened the back door of the car and gestured for them to climb in, standing right behind them so there was no choice but to comply. Elizabeth got in, followed closely by Henry. As soon as they were inside, they reached for each other simultaneously.

Henry's arms tight around her like a vice made her feel the tiniest bit better even as she was aware of Matt climbing into the back seat with them and leaning over to talk quietly with Frank and Kev in the front, his voice earnest, no doubt telling them about the missing members of their party. Elizabeth tightened her grip on Henry, resting her forehead against his shoulder and feeling the slight pulse just above her eye where she had bumped her head on the marble dancefloor.

"It's OK," Henry whispered in her ear. "It's OK."

It really wasn't OK, not at all, but it sounded to her like he was trying to help himself keep it together more than anything. She lifted her head and pressed a kiss to the underside of his chin and then he turned his face down to kiss her lips, his touch desperate and urgent, hands tangling in her hair, sliding over the silk of her gown.

He pulled back only when, in the driver's seat, Kev put his foot down on the accelerator and said, "Better buckle up. This might not be pretty."

As soon as they turned off the service road and onto the private road that led away from the palace, down to one of the city's main promenades, Elizabeth saw that he was right. The dread started up in her gut once again, as did the adrenaline, which had never really waned.

"Oh, my God."

They looked to be facing a gauntlet.