Chapter Fifteen
Henry or the gun.
That was the choice Elizabeth faced after crushing Andreou Flack's testicles with her knee. Lunge to the left and go for the gun, or go to the right and aim for where Henry lay curled in on himself, struggling to get up after the punch Flack had landed in his gut.
One of those things might help to save her life. The other thing was her life. And she had to save both of them.
She went left, shoving Flack away from her as he bent double and cried out at the force of the impact. She looked down for the gun. Damn. One of them must have kicked it in the struggle and it had skittered a little way under a desk that sat in the corner of the room, a couple of metres away from where she stood. Elizabeth went for it, feeling her body protest at the sudden burst of speed after her struggle with Flack, and then feeling her shoulder joint burn as Flack managed to snag hold of her wrist and jerk her back towards him.
The momentum she had built up worked against her as he pulled on her wrist, causing her to whirl around and lose her balance, sending her stumbling back towards the man, who had managed to straighten up enough to catch her in his arms as she careened into him. Her face pressed into his shoulder and she smelled the sharp tang of sweat as she struggled against the grip, her lungs protesting as she failed to draw in fresh oxygen.
Elizabeth stamped down blindly, hearing Flack shout in pain as the heel of her shoe connected with the top of his foot, and it bought her just enough room to pull back and suck in a breath before he grabbed her hair tightly in one hand and held her head close to his so he could snarl into her face. "And you wonder why people are protesting you, bitch."
A couple of metres away, Henry was struggling to get up, his efforts increasing at the hostility of Flack's words. A growl escaped him as the insult left Flack's lips and Elizabeth glanced across to find her husband's face furious as he fixed Flack with a glare that no doubt would have stopped the man in his tracks – if he had been looking his way. The Regional Security Officer was still looking at Elizabeth with a cross between contempt and satisfaction.
She should shrink back. That was what she should probably do. Flack was stronger than she was – most definitely a physical threat. He had already proven that. Plus she had to help Henry and there was no way she'd be able to do that if she fought Flack and lost. But Elizabeth McCord was not given to backing down, and she was sure that she had an advantage over Andreou Flack.
More than one, actually.
"I know why they're protesting me," she said to Flack, careful to keep her voice controlled, doing her best to project the image of the calm Secretary of State even as it took almost all of her effort to quell the trembles that threatened to overtake her frame. "What I don't get is why you are."
Flack adjusted his grip on her, one hand wrapped in her hair and one arm around her in something that might have been close to a lover's embrace – if not for the hostility and definite feeling of menace in his hold. Elizabeth instinctively struggled against him as his face loomed close to hers. He grinned. "That's why."
She frowned, confused.
He practically spat the words at her. "That arrogance. You always know best."
She spat hers right back. "Screw you." She brought her hands between them and shoved as hard as she could at Flack's stomach, quick and harsh, listening to the fast chuff of breath forced from his lungs as he was winded by the shove. Elizabeth pulled back from him, pushing him away as she did, taking advantage of his weakened state and pleased that shoving her knee into his bollocks early in the game had worked to give her one of her advantages. It was hard for him to take her down when he could barely even stand up straight.
Served the bastard right.
Elizabeth darted towards the gun under the desk, her focus narrowing to the aim to get it and then hold it on Flack until help arrived, and she was just bending to grab it when she heard Henry's shout.
"Elizabeth!"
The panicked tone of his voice prompted her to look up and around. Flack was right behind her. Damn. A split second. She had only taken her eyes off him for a split second. Was she going to have to actually shoot the man before he would stay down? She lashed out before he could reach for her, pre-empting his inevitable attempt to grab her with a hit to his face. The hit was admittedly weak; she couldn't get a good angle with him crowding in behind her and she had used her left hand because it was closer to his face and she only really caught him with the back of her fist, but she felt the collision with his cheekbone and she was certain that they would each have a bruise as a result. It also startled him enough that she was able to dodge to the left and out from his looming shadow so that she could turn around to face him.
He caught her just as she turned and they grappled together for several seconds, Elizabeth struggling to keep her balance as Flack used his larger form and weight against her, his hands clamping tight on her arms to stop her from getting away. She felt pain bursting along her left forearm as she tried to pull it out of Flack's grip but he just clung on tighter – until, suddenly, he let her go and she careened backwards into the wall with the momentum of it, her head striking the cement with enough force to send her vision spinning for a moment. Flack used the opportunity to take the advantage and pushed her hard, sending her falling to her knees.
Elizabeth stayed there on the floor for a moment, her ears ringing from the impact and muffling Henry's worried cry from across the room, a worried cry that turned frantic just as Elizabeth felt a rush of air coming towards her and then Flack's shoe collided with her ribs.
Groaning, she rolled onto her back and looked up at the man as he stood above her, smiling down on her with an expression that could only be described as manic. Her ribs were protesting rather loudly and it was impossible to hold in the whimper that bubbled up in her throat as she breathed in and pain bloomed hot and sharp in her side.
She gave herself a second. Closed her eyes. Thought it through. The kick had been hard, but not that hard. She had hit her head against the wall hard enough to feel it still, but in truth she'd had worse accidents involving low-hanging kitchen cabinets. Her body was aching but she had plenty still to fight for. It wasn't that bad. She'd be fine. She was fine.
OK. OK. Think.
Elizabeth was very aware of Henry a few feet away. He seemed to be recovering from the fist to the gut that had knocked the air right out of him. He was on his knees now instead of curled in on himself on the ground, and he'd got his breath back enough to shout a warning when Flack came for her. So he was OK. They were both OK. That boosted her confidence, especially given that Flack, while obviously a skilled fighter, still couldn't stand up straight himself.
And he might have been able to keep secret his position as a traitor to his government for a time, but his secret was out now. He hadn't hidden his tracks well enough to stop Elizabeth from figuring out there was something there to find. He had lost control, in more ways than one. He was prone to making mistakes.
Like underestimating her and Henry.
He could be beaten. Eyes still closed, Elizabeth reached out with one hand to where Flack stood over her, curving her palm around his calf as though she was reaching out blindly in pain for something to hold onto. She schooled her face into an expression of pain and defeat, one that she thought the man with the giant ego would go for. It had the added bonus of being partly honest; the pain was in part real. She let her breaths come loud and heavy, and resisted the urge to turn onto her side, instead opening her eyes to look up at Flack and letting herself appear vulnerable.
This was one of those times when appearance mattered.
It worked.
Flack crouched down beside her after a moment, stroking her hair back from her forehead and his gaze softening as he thought that he had won. "It's OK," he said. "There's no shame in defeat."
Elizabeth blinked up at him. "You really believe that?"
The words may have been slightly pleading but her tone was anything but. She was genuinely asking the question.
She didn't give him time to answer. "I hope for your sake you do."
Flack frowned. Elizabeth lunged for him.
Her arms wrapped tight around his neck as she pushed him backwards, using her body weight and his unstable position balancing against his haunches to knock him off-centre and send him crashing back to the floor. She kept her arms around his neck, stopping him from getting purchase even as he brought his hands up to try and pry her off.
She clung on with everything she had, could feel herself starting to slip, could feel his strength and power starting to win out against her, hoped that she had read things right, hoped that any second now –
Henry appeared next to her, Flack's gun in his hand and levelled at the man's head. He was still breathing shakily but his hold on the gun was steady and his intent was clear. "I thought I told you to get away from my wife," he said. Then he glanced at Elizabeth and his expression softened slightly. "Because otherwise she'll take you down and ruin you." His voice was full of pride.
On the other side of the room, the door opened. "Madam Secretary, I'm sorry to interrupt, but – shit." Matt stopped dead in the doorway, and gave away the extent of his shock at the scene in front of him when it took him several long seconds to process it before he thought to pull his gun.
The mood in the Oval Office hovered somewhere between frosty and full-blown Arctic winter. Russell Jackson stood in front of the Resolute desk, feeling weary as he looked down at the thinning hair on top of Conrad Dalton's head as the President read the latest briefing paper from Ellen Hill, the one that included the addendum on the suspected culprits of the betrayal within the US embassy in Petria.
"Let me get this straight, Russell." President Dalton's tone was carefully cultivated and measured; it was the voice he used when he was just barely keeping a lid on his anger.
The Chief of Staff gave no outward sign of being affected by it, but he hoped that the President could keep the lid on, not just because a chewing out by Conrad Dalton was not fun, but also because they didn't have that kind of time. Unfortunately, Russell suspected that the news about the embassy mole on top of the Russian helicopter and the wider situation meant that he'd be dealing with at least one major presidential rant before sundown. In a way, it was amazing it hadn't happened already. "Sir?" he prompted, when it seemed that the President was waiting for acknowledgement.
"You're telling me that someone in our embassy leaked Bess's schedule?"
"I am, Mr President."
"That they told the protestors where she was going to be."
Russell wasn't quite sure if Conrad had a point he was trying to get to or if he was just processing out loud. Either way, he wished that he'd hurry it along. "Yes," he confirmed.
The President held up the document Russell had just gifted him. "This is the list of suspects."
"Yes."
"Including both the ambassador and the RSO. Who's your money on?"
Truth be told, having read the intelligence that Ellen Hill had provided him with, Russell had found the situation a tough one to call. He shrugged. "I'm sure Bess will figure it out and tell us soon enough. If she ever answers the damn phone."
President Dalton looked up at that, a frown crossing his face. "What?"
"I tried calling her back when that intelligence came through. No answer." There was probably an innocent explanation as to why his phone call had gone unanswered – he understood that communications in Petria were currently a little unreliable given the huge demand on a network that, compared with other nations, wasn't really all that sophisticated in the first place and definitely wasn't sophisticated enough to withstand a crisis in the age of Facebook and Twitter and instant updates. That was probably it. Yet he still couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.
"Was she expecting your call?"
"She was. But the situation is fluid, sir, and the communication channels –"
The President held up one hand to cut him off. "I understand, Russell. Well, while we're trying to get through to Elizabeth – and keep on that as a priority, will you? - let's see if we can get another call through to Petria."
"OK. Who are you calling?"
"I think it's about time I called to congratulate the new President, don't you?"
Everything had happened fast once Matt had pulled his gun on Andreou Flack, crossing the floor in four quick strides to restrain the man, shouting for back-up as he did. "Ma'am, Dr McCord, you OK?"
"Henry needs a medic," Elizabeth said, turning away from Flack to properly look at Henry, who still held the gun clenched in one hand and only released it when Matt very deliberately took it from him.
Her husband opened his mouth to comment – or possibly protest about the medic – when Frank and a couple of the local security guys arrived as back-up and there was a brief commotion as they secured Flack between them and hustled him out of the communications suite with a rushed agreement to hold him in one of the interrogation rooms off the security hub. Matt lingered in the doorway, waiting for Elizabeth and Henry.
"We'll be there in a minute, Matt," Elizabeth told him, leaving no room for argument. She really needed a minute alone with her husband so she could convince herself that he was OK, and to decompress after what had just happened.
It was obvious that the DS agent had questions and was reluctant to leave them alone, but he nodded after a moment and retreated to the other side of the door, pulling it to behind him. Elizabeth would have liked him to have closed it properly, but she could live with the compromise. No doubt her agents would be beating themselves up right now that Flack had managed to get her alone, away from them. They shouldn't, though. They shouldn't have had to worry about threats from their own people inside the embassy and nor could they have predicted the injuries at the front gate that would have split their resources. Still, if leaving the door ajar helped Matt feel better, Elizabeth would let him have it.
Besides, she was too concerned about Henry to worry about it for too long. Her hands were skimming over his face and torso as soon as they were alone, checking him for damage. "Oh God, Henry. Baby, are you OK? I'm so sorry, it's my fault, I –"
"Elizabeth," Henry cut her off. He shook his head slightly. "Not your fault. I'm sorry, babe. I should've –"
It was her turn to cut him off. "If you say that you should have protected me, Henry…"
"But I should have."
She looked down at his chest, watching the ripples in the fabric of his shirt as she smoothed her fingers over his sternum. It was an argument she wouldn't win and so she chose to stop it before it started because, really, all that currently mattered was that they were all right, and they had taken Flack down together. Elizabeth shuddered involuntarily, the stress of the fight they had just endured making itself known. It made her body ache. She closed her eyes. Her brain showed her a memory of Flack coming towards her with his gun trained on her chest, and followed it up with the memory of Henry sinking breathless to the floor.
A sob erupted from her throat unbidden, and then another, and then the tears started and Henry pulled her in close, cradling her in his arms and burying his face in her hair, his own breathing shaky enough and stuttering enough that she thought he might be crying, too. He pressed kisses onto the top of her head and one hand came up to thread gently through her hair, so soft and caring where Flack's recent touch had been harsh and unkind.
Elizabeth sucked in a breath and felt a stab of pain from her ribs, making her grimace and clutch Henry tighter to her.
"It's not just me who needs a medic, babe," he said, his voice low and scratchy in her ear.
She shook her head no. She didn't want a medic. She didn't want to sit and be examined and prodded only to be told what she already knew, that she'd be fine and that a couple of ibuprofen in the meantime might not go amiss. But she thought that she might put up with all of that if it meant Henry capitulated and saw the medic, too. Assuming there even was one still in the embassy.
She allowed herself a few more seconds to just stand with Henry and soak him in, keeping her arms securely around him and revelling in the feel of his own arms tight around her. Her heart was still banging against her ribs and she kept her eyes open in an effort to stop the memories of the fight assaulting her again. There'd be time to deal with all of that later.
For now there was business to attend to: they had identified their traitor, and that gave them something to work with.
"I need to talk to Flack," she mumbled into Henry's chest, reluctant to extract herself from his embrace even as duty called and her curiosity burned. She knew that she couldn't afford to linger much longer; the noise from the protest outside seemed to have grown in scope and volume, and they were running out of time in the embassy.
Henry's arms flexed against her, and she knew the pain in his voice when he answered her wasn't from the punch he had taken. "No, you don't."
She pulled back enough that she could look up at his face. "He needs to be interrogated. We need to ask him –"
"Let one of the agents do it."
She shook her head. It hurt. She ignored the pain, focused on Henry. "He won't talk to them." She was sure of it. At any rate, they didn't have time to try it and find out. They needed to go in at the top. "Henry. It will be OK."
He looked down at her, slid one hand over her ribcage until it rested over the spot that Flack had kicked. The warmth helped to soothe the pain there. Then he stroked his fingers over the back of her head where it had hit the wall, and wrapped his other hand gently around the wrist that Flack had yanked against so harshly. "This is not OK," he said.
Elizabeth sighed. She knew that she couldn't dismiss Henry's worry, especially not when it was justified, and not when his instinct would be to put himself between her and danger, despite being fully aware that she was entirely capable of handling herself. It was just in his nature to protect those that he loved.
Well. It was in hers, too. She wanted to put herself between danger and her husband. And this was something that she could do. That she had to do. "I know," she acknowledged his comment. "But he'll be restrained, and Matt or Frank can stay in the room. But I need to talk to him, Henry. It's my job."
It was also something that she was good at; her long experience in the CIA meant she was adept at persuading people to give her information that they didn't really want to give. She was a professional, and despite the special circumstances, she was currently at work. She wasn't about to sit this one out just because the bastard hit her. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
There was another loud roar from the street outside the embassy and the muffled yet unmistakeable sound of gunfire not far away. "He might be able to give us answers."
Henry closed his eyes briefly and blindly pressed a desperate kiss to her forehead. "OK. But only if there's a way I can watch."
That was a condition she could live with. "Let's go." They didn't have any time left to waste.
