Thank you, as ever, for all the wonderful support for this story and especially to those of you on tumblr who talked me down off a bit of a ledge lol. Today we have a little history lesson about our fake country and continue the experiment into how mad I can make this fic before the wheels come fully off the wagon. Enjoy!

Oh, there is also a swear word so, um, beware. Haha.


Chapter Six

Rusapol, the capital of Petria, was a beautiful city. It benefitted from a rich past that had led to the creation of plenty of fine buildings and lush open spaces, before the country's experience of Soviet rule in the twentieth century robbed it of its independence – both political and financial. That regime had been gone for thirty years now, but the country had never quite managed to recover. Yet the beauty remained.

Or, at least, it had.

It was astonishing, Elizabeth thought, how fast a landscape could change.

On the drive to the presidential palace earlier that evening, Rusapol's streets, lined with eclectic coloured buildings, had been beautiful, if a little haunting with the echo of so much history and the lingering scars of communism. Now, in the light of the coup that was underway, they appeared completely altered.

The central promenade leading away from the palace and into the government district was thronged with people chanting angry slogans and lit by flaming torches, the effect in the night-darkened streets terrifying. The protest had been there earlier, but it had been peaceful and measured and backed by daylight and no one had just shot the President in cold blood.

Now there was an undercurrent of threat running through the gatherings, the mood of the protest having darkened with the loss of the light.

Did they know that Zembrovko was dead? Surely the news could not yet have broken, not when there was still so much chaos inside the palace.

As the car approached the palace gates, Elizabeth clutched Henry's hand tighter. She had been focusing so hard on getting them out of the building intact that she had hardly stopped to consider what waited for them on the other side. Gleb Kodalov's warning about the streets had been apt.

Something occurred to Elizabeth as the car sat idling a little way back from the main street, tucked just out of sight from the people on the other side of the low wall that ran around the perimeter of the President's residence. Kodalov had been in the palace the whole evening. He had been there for the press photos and for dinner, and the reception in the ballroom. She had felt him watching her on several occasions. Plus, once the guns had started going off, there would have been no opportunity for him to leave before he murdered Zembrovko.

So how had he known about the mood on the streets?

"They're so young," Henry said, catching her attention.

"Hmm?"

"Not all of them, but a lot of them are really young." He was looking at the people in front of them.

Elizabeth followed his gaze. "Yeah."

Kodalov seemed to be under the impression that he had the support of the people on the streets, otherwise he would never have mentioned them. He had planned this, but how?

She wanted to mull it over, her mind racing as she worked to deduce how the man had pulled off such a big and violent coup so suddenly without anyone suspecting – anyone including, she supposed, the United States, seeing as she had been clueless until the moment it happened, and no one from home had called to warn her of an imminent threat. How had he done it?

She wanted to think it through, but there was a more immediate problem.

Her attention was caught by her DS guys engaged in a whispered, heated exchange. "Guys?" she prompted.

They stopped talking and looked at each other as though daring each other to be the one to speak.

OK then. So that probably meant it wasn't good news.

"What's going on?" she asked Frank, picking him to be the most likely to just tell it to her straight.

"We need to identify a destination," he said.

Oh. She had thought they already had one. "Our options being?"

"Ideally we'd like to go to the airport, get you straight on the plane and in the air."

She shook her head. "No." She wasn't leaving while her staff were still missing.

"Elizabeth," Henry protested, "we can't stay here."

Frustration flared within her. She wanted to say to him that he had stayed. Not that long ago when he was in Pakistan, he'd had the option of getting out safely and leaving his team behind, and he hadn't taken it. She had been crushed when she realised what he had done, had thought for a time that she might have lost him for good, but she got the rationale of the decision. He couldn't leave his team to fight their fight without him. And he couldn't take that choice away from her, either. Yet she said nothing. It was nowhere near the time to be rehashing old arguments, and that was one argument it would probably never be time to revisit, the chance of causing lasting hurt and deepening barely-healed wounds too great. "I know," she said eventually, measuredly.

Frank winced. "The trouble is, Ma'am, we don't know what terrain we're facing. Communications are patchy and we can't get a read on what's ahead. And given the distance to the airport –"

Set just outside the main conurbation of the capital, it had to be at least a forty-five minute drive to Rusapol International, probably more given what they were facing. "It's too risky," she said.

"Right."

"The embassy, then." They had driven from their accommodation in the chancery to the palace earlier in just over seven minutes. She thought that they could manage seven minutes without getting killed.

Frank hesitated before answering. "Yes, Ma'am. But we have to make you aware –"

"That it's likely to be a target," she cut him off. There had been groups of protestors outside the embassy throughout her visit, protesting the US-owned energy plant. The current circumstances suggested that the protest could easily escalate, especially once word got out about the forced change of command.

"Correct."

"It also has resources that we can use," she said. She hadn't forgotten that Kodalov had declared her persona non grata. Her and her party, and that included Henry and her DS agents, but hopefully not the main US mission presence. The only support they'd get would be from their embassy. Outside the chancery building they were on their own.

Besides, with the airport off-limits and any allies she may have had in the government dead or unreachable, they had nowhere else to go.

She was aware of Henry sitting still and quiet beside her. She turned to face him, saw the worry lining his face. "Henry?"

He looked at her and gave her a tremulous smile. "The embassy," he said. "Until we can formulate a plan to get out to the airport. Hopefully the communication channels will be working so we can call home."

From the look on his face she knew that by home, he meant their government and not their kids. Elizabeth was trying very hard not to think about their kids. If she thought about them then it would all just be so much worse. This wasn't something for them to be a part of, but they were the main reason she was so desperate for it to be over. It was clear that Henry felt the same, although he couldn't hide the flicker of desperation in his eyes or in his touch as he gripped Elizabeth's knee with the hand that wasn't holding hers.

"The embassy?" Frank said, looking at everyone in the car in turn and receiving nods from all of them.

That was good. Her DS agents were tasked with protecting her, and that meant taking her to a place of safety even if it went against her wishes. In a situation with no ideal safe place to go to, Elizabeth felt it was important they all agreed on the destination; she didn't want her agents to feel they were taking an avoidable risk just because she didn't like the other options. They all had to be in it together.

"Let's go," she said.

Kev the driver put the car back into gear and pulled out into the road, passing the security check point – abandoned – and then the wall that surrounded the palace before entering the main promenade. The only other cars on the road were unattended. They were surrounded by people. The windows of the car were bulletproof and allegedly soundproof, but the noise from outside was deafening.

Bodies pressed against the car as they made their way slowly through the crush. Elizabeth could feel the stares of the people on the streets, although she knew they couldn't see in through the tinted glass. No doubt they would recognise the diplomatic plates for what they were, but Frank had thoughtfully removed the small American flag the car usually sported and hopefully the European-made car would look a little more at home on Rusapol's streets than the US model she usually travelled in. For once in her life she thanked whatever bureaucracy meant that importing American-made cars into this part of the world just wasn't worth the hassle.

"Fuck," Henry said suddenly, loudly, leaning over Elizabeth to get a better look out of the window as they approached the end of the promenade and the right-hand turn that would take them towards their embassy.

The swear on his lips was so rare and out of character for him that it startled her and stirred up the dread that had been lying low in her gut, sending it sliding anew through her veins. She looked up at his face as he pressed into her so he could better see out of the window. "Henry, what is it?" She pressed one hand to his chest to get his attention and felt his heart beating heavily.

He pulled back slightly so she could twist in her seat and see what he was looking at.

On the corner of the road, a tank.

In the middle of the road to the left, a smaller armoured vehicle.

Standing all around the vehicles, men dressed in black and wearing helmets and Kevlar vests and holding sleek, high-grade automatic rifles – just like the gunmen in the ballroom.

Kodalov's army.

They were looking at the approaching car with interest.

Yeah, she thought that Henry had it about right.

Fuck.