Thank you, as ever, for all the lovely comments and to everyone reading this, especially as the wheels of the plot are looking ever less stable haha. I hope you like this chapter x
Chapter Seventeen
Why had she said that?
Henry couldn't figure it out. He stood in front of Andreou Flack and watched the hint of glee start to spread across the man's face at Elizabeth's order to shut down the power plant, and wondered what his wife was thinking. He was sure she had her reasons, but he couldn't work out what they were. Couldn't put together the thought process she had gone through to propose shutting down the US-owned power plant as the solution to their problem, when she knew full well that shutting it down was exactly what the man in front of them wanted.
It was what Gleb Kodalov wanted too.
Well. One of the things he wanted. Maybe Elizabeth was hoping to trade the plant for their safety, for a way out of the embassy. Maybe –
No. That wasn't it. That wasn't it at all. It was simpler than that, so simple that he had overlooked it at first.
So had Andreou Flack. Henry watched the glee turn to confusion on the man's face as he watched Elizabeth and no doubt failed to find any hint of defeat in her expression. He watched Flack as he went through the information in his head, trying to unpick it, trying to work out why Elizabeth would so easily give him just what he wanted. He was obviously struggling to put it together.
"You're shutting down the plant?" Flack queried after a minute, clearly fishing for an explanation.
"Yes," Elizabeth said simply.
Henry unobtrusively slunk back towards the wall, standing facing the one-way mirror so that he could see both Elizabeth and Flack, but he kept his eyes on his wife. Even exhausted and suffering the effects of the other man's hits and kicks, she was phenomenal. He was so proud.
Flack stuttered briefly, unsure how to respond. Then he rallied and said, smarmily, "I think you'll find, Madam Secretary, that it's the right thing to do. You have to see that, you –"
"You know, I've spent a lot of time over the past few days learning about that plant," Elizabeth cut in, sounding almost casual as she folded her arms across her chest and settled back in her chair, fixing Flack with a small yet confident smile. Yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing. "I've read briefing memos and had meetings, I've visited the plant, had a tour of the grounds and seen some of the regeneration work the company has been investing in since it arrived here eighteen months ago. And you know what I've learned?"
The only answer was the sound of Flack's slightly harsh breathing as his stress levels rose.
Elizabeth leant forwards, the better to verbally skewer the man. "That plant powers almost a million homes in Petria, including a large swathe of Rusapol."
Silence for a moment before Flack's face broke out in a smile as he thought he'd caught her in a falsehood. "No, Rusapol gets its power from –"
"A locally-owned distribution subsidiary? Where do you think they buy their power from now that the coal plant is gone? They've had to diversify, Andreou."
Flack's face fell.
"The plant feeds directly into subsidiary suppliers that power the local electricity grid. Assuming Helena's able to get through to Mark Strong right about now, I'd say we have…" Elizabeth made a show of checking her watch. "Oh, about half an hour before Rusapol goes dark?"
Henry had to work very hard to keep the grin off his face at Elizabeth's killer blow; it wouldn't be the done thing to catch sight of his own reflection gloating in the one-way mirror at the stunt she had pulled. There were cameras filming. He wanted to be on the record sober. He could grin like a maniac at his wife later. He knew she was taking a risk, but her risks had a history of paying off.
Elizabeth placed both hands flat on the table and stood, leaning down over Flack. The move had to be hurting her bruised ribs but she showed no sign of discomfort, only calm competence – a professional with decades of experience and the ability to be ruthless when needed, who had calculated the risks and knew exactly what she was doing. "It's not just Gleb Kodalov who can turn the lights out on the presidential palace at will. This is what pulling the plug on US investment looks like, Andreou. You need to help me now, or else the lights in Rusapol go out tonight."
"Anything?"
Blake jumped at the sound of her voice and hurriedly hid his phone in his jacket pocket, like he hadn't just been standing suspiciously in a corner of the dimly-lit kitchen with his back turned, the light emitting from the screen of his phone a dead giveaway as to what he was doing.
Sometimes Alison McCord thought that other people thought she was stupid. Just because she was young and liked fashion and make up and was a girl, apparently that meant she had to be treated like a fool. At almost any other time, she would have made an exception for Blake – her mom's assistant was one of the people who actually took her seriously – but she seriously was not in the mood for any obfuscation, however well-intentioned. "You can tell me," she said. "In fact if you have news about my parents, you have to tell me."
Stepping away from the counter, Blake looked a little guilty – and apologetic. "There is no news," he told her. "And believe me when I tell you it's harder to tell you that than it would be to give you new information."
Alison swallowed and nodded, suddenly feeling the need to avoid Blake's eyes as she became very interested in looking down at the kitchen floor. That was what she had been fearing; that there was nothing new to learn. The past hour or so had been quiet in terms of updates; just the news and the internet running the same items over and over, and Blake calling the State Department in quiet desperation and Stevie and Jason sitting in uneasy silence, and Alison desperately trying and failing to resend her text to her parents asking if they were OK.
She got now what people meant when they said it was the not knowing that was the worst thing.
Whatever was going on, she was sure it would be better just to know.
Then she thought of something, something she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of doing before. She looked up at Blake. "Hey, can you call the White House?"
He frowned, a little wary, one eyebrow quirking up at her question. "Technically, yes. I can call the White House." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I hate to ask why?"
"Call them," she instructed. "Then give me the phone. I want to talk to the President."
The look on Blake's face was one of weary, sceptical resignation. The look on Alison's face was of adamant determination. Her mother's daughter.
Blake sighed. He dialled.
"You denounced the murder of Artur Zembrovko in your address to the nation, Gleb. You called him a great man who you respected. Now, whether or not you believe that's true, you have to live up to that."
That was how Conrad Dalton had finally won the argument with Gleb Kodalov, although it wasn't so much winning the argument as it was backing the man into a corner. It had been a fine line to walk; he had for a minute thought of outright accusing the new Petrian leader of the murder Conrad knew him to have committed, but there was a small snag in that plan: the proof, or the lack of it. While he trusted Elizabeth's word absolutely, and while Kodalov no doubt knew that Conrad knew what he had done, he'd had nothing concrete to back up the claim.
And so now they were all complicit in the crime, and Conrad felt as though he could use a shower or eight.
He had retired to the Residence for a few minutes' peace, needing space to clear his head before getting back to business. He sank down into the cushions of a soft, plump couch and slumped forward to rest his head in his hands. He had been close to losing during the phone call with Kodalov, when the other man had realised the President of the United States was going to stay silent on the small matter of his shooting his own president to death, effectively forcing him into the position of endorsing Kodalov's national address and his position as a unity president because he had no reason to oppose him – no reason that he could admit to.
Conrad had floundered for a moment, before he realised that as dirty as the phone call made him feel, at least he had not just murdered a man. It had inspired him to remind Kodalov of his kind words about Zembrovko in his address, and also inspired his next command: that to uphold Zembrovko's beliefs and the fledgling democracy of Petria, Kodalov should announce elections within the week.
And he should reinstate the diplomatic status of Conrad's Secretary of State and make sure she had a clear path out of the embassy – and the country – lest he wanted to find US tanks accompanying his own on the streets of Rusapol.
Apparently he must have sounded convincing – or maybe he just sounded cranky and dangerous – because Kodalov had agreed.
President Kodalov had agreed.
Of course he had. It meant he got to stay as president, which was what he wanted. And he had something on Conrad, which gave him leverage. It helped his position when he talked of dangerous US involvement in Petria, and spoke out against the new power plant. Yeah. Of course he had agreed with the terms to call an election he'd almost certainly win and to let Elizabeth safely out of the country. It was a small price to pay.
Like he was ever going to refuse. Still, making a recording of the call was enough of a threat to both of them that Conrad was certain Kodalov would keep his word.
Conrad sat up and scrubbed his hands over his eyes. He was aware that he had things to do; the situation in Petria was still volatile no matter what he had just agreed with the country's new President, and he couldn't relax until he knew that the embassy was safe and his Secretary of State was on a plane back home. But he thought things could wait for a few more minutes.
First he needed to try and scrub himself clean after doing a deal with the devil.
She was worried that it was a play too far. Turning off the lights in Rusapol worked well as a threat, but what if Flack didn't go for it? More importantly, what if Kodalov didn't go for it? Or even if they did, half an hour was a tight window. Things might be OK in the immediate term while most people slept, but plunging the city into darkness could – would – lead to chaos and riots and blame would inevitably be pointed somewhere, and Elizabeth was certain it wouldn't take long for it to be directed at the embassy where they were currently holed up.
Then again, what could Kodalov say against her actions? He didn't want the plant in the first place, and without it, much of Rusapol was struggling for electricity. It was his bed to sleep in. But still, she was worried it was a little too ruthless.
She really needed Andreou Flack to start helping fast so she could call Mark Strong and tell him to flick the power switch back to on.
Especially as she could feel herself starting to flag. It was getting harder to focus, her senses were feeling slightly dulled and her side and her head were aching badly. She needed to stop, needed rest. She could see the fatigue on Henry's face, too, as she turned to look at him standing against the wall. He was watching her closely, and from the expression on his face it seemed he had her back with her call on shutting down the plant.
That was good. It had been a risk to go there, still was a risk to go there, but she had to show that she meant business, that she still had power and cards to play, even locked in the embassy with a protest outside and a Russian helicopter overhead. She had to show she wasn't intimidated.
And that was true enough. She wasn't intimidated, not anymore. She was just damn well pissed off, and if turning out the lights was what it took to get Andreou Flack and Gleb Kodalov to take her seriously, then that was what she would do.
Provided, of course, that Mark Strong the power plant boss didn't laugh Helena off the phone when she called to give the order, which was admittedly a possibility. Hopefully his loyalty to country was greater than his desire for profit.
Elizabeth straightened up with the intention of resuming her questioning of Flack, but a hot dart of pain ran down her side, stilling her in her tracks. She pressed one hand to her ribs and it took all of her effort not to make a sound, to keep her face neutral and avoid Flack seeing her pain. She glanced over at Henry, willing him to help her.
He looked worried as he watched her, but he took the hint, stepping forwards to place one hand on the back of Flack's chair and the other on the table, leaning over the man and drawing his attention away from Elizabeth. "Time to do your part," Henry said to Flack, his tone hard and leaving no room for argument. "Remember you're on a timer until the lights go out and Kodalov loses control of power, which he will once it gets out that the US-owned plant shut down because he didn't like its presence in his country. He might get mileage out of being anti-American in his speeches, but the practicality of it is very different and I don't think he's going to like that. And nor are you, if we leave you here and he finds out that you're the reason the lights went off." Henry's face was inches from Flack's so that the other man could not fail to take in his words. "All you have to do is tell us what we want to know and we'll take you with us, so whether the city goes dark or not, you'll be away from the blame. You'll get to keep your life, for what it's worth."
Flack looked unsure, indecision writ large across his face and the sweat on his skin shining under the lights of the room. He looked like he might be wavering.
Henry glanced back at Elizabeth, eyes searching her face, silently asking if she needed him to continue for her. Her brilliant husband.
She took a breath, feeling the pull of it deep in her chest, assessing for a moment. Tolerable. The pain was tolerable again. She swallowed and reached out to pull towards her the thin paper folder she had brought with her into the room. She gave Henry a small nod and a small, grateful smile.
He straightened up to give her a line of direct sight to Andreou Flack, but he didn't step back, electing to stay close by in case he should be needed.
And if his looming presence happened to intimidate the Regional Security Officer a tiny bit then… it couldn't be helped.
Elizabeth turned her smile to Flack, but it was different to the one she gave Henry. This one let the man know he was about to be beaten; the only thing for him to do was wait for it. "You know, my husband is a great guy," she told Flack, almost conversationally. "For lots of reasons, but he's also pretty experienced in live missions, did you know that?" She waved her hand in the air as if to wave away the comment. "Of course you did, forget I asked that. Anyway, he brought my attention to something interesting a little earlier, after you'd finished taking out your frustrations with your fists – don't think I've forgotten that, by the way. We'll be coming back to it at a later date. But back to Henry. He asked a couple of the security guys to see the building schematics and a detailed map of the local area, but do you know what happened when they tried to access the files on the computer?"
Flack swallowed heavily.
Elizabeth allowed a pause to let the question sink in, waiting for as long as she dared before lowering her voice to a whisper as though sharing a secret. "The files weren't there, Andreou." She raised her voice again. "So they tried to find the physical copies. But Henry, were they there?" She looked to Henry.
He shook his head, his gaze fixed on Flack's face. "They weren't there. In fact they don't seem to be anywhere. Which is interesting, because they're the documents that would show any routes out of the embassy other than the obvious ones through the doors."
The you're screwed smile on her face was widening into a grin of its own volition. "And it's even more interesting, Andreou, because you're pretty much the only guy on staff here that has both the security clearance and the know-how to make those documents disappear."
It seemed that Flack was still determined to put up a fight, even though he was left clutching at straws. "The ambassador would also have the clearance."
Elizabeth scoffed. "Please. Helena can't even successfully send an email half the time. She wouldn't have a clue how to make computer files disappear without a trace." She glanced towards the one-way mirror. "No offence, Helena," she added, in case the ambassador happened to be watching.
Silence.
Almost. Not quite silence, because the sound of Flack's breathing was loud in the room and the sound of the helicopter was still there in the background, a rhythmic thrum that Elizabeth had almost grown used to, enough that she was able to block it out for whole minutes at a time until the chopper made its next pass directly overhead and made all of the walls vibrate.
She retook her seat at the table and placed her hand over the paper folder that lay there. "You know what's in here?" she asked Flack.
He shrugged awkwardly, his arms cuffed behind his back restraining his movement.
She flicked the file open, watching his reactions closely.
The folder was empty.
"Nothing, Andreou, nothing is in here. This folder is supposed to hold the paper copy of the building schematics, but, like I say – that seems to have disappeared."
Flack blinked and said nothing.
She pressed on. Almost there now. The man was almost broken. He just needed a little more. "The only reason I can think of to make those documents disappear is because they held information that we might find useful. Information like how to get out of here in an emergency." She took a breath. "Tell me how we get out of here."
No answer.
Elizabeth glanced down at her watch. "There's about twenty minutes left before the lights go out, Andreou. Time to pick how you want this to go. If you don't help us, we'll leave you with Kodalov and you'll take the fall for anything he needs you to. Because – and here's a little secret for you – you're one of us. Doesn't matter what you've done for him or his puppetmasters. You're American, and we all know what Kodalov thinks about that right now. It'll be you that does the time. And believe me when I say it won't be pretty."
"Are you threatening me, Madam Secretary?"
She shook her head. "No. I have some experience of this sort of thing. I know how this is going to go. I don't need to threaten you - I'm telling you. Kodalov will end up killing you. And call me crazy, but I don't think you really want to die for his cause. Do you?"
She waited and held her breath, was aware of Henry doing the same. Aware of Matt standing against the wall behind Flack, looking up at the ceiling as the helicopter hovered close by, and seeming increasingly twitchy. They really had to move soon.
Come on, Flack.
Flack blinked and looked down at the empty folder on the table. Resignation written across his face. "There's a tunnel," he said.
Relief flooded through her and Elizabeth had just opened her mouth to press for more information when the door to the interrogation room opened and Corporal Isaac Greenwood stepped in.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, "but there's a phone call for you. It's Russell Jackson."
