Chapter Six

Elizabeth

Another day, another staff meeting. Elizabeth rocked back in her chair and drummed her fingers against the armrests, the movement lacking any rhythm. The smell of coffee was overpowering, and the cloying sweetness of the doughnuts—with their pastel pink icing and lurid sugar strands—turned her stomach. She glanced up at Jay who sat across the table from her. "Any news on the Russians?"

Jay shook his head, and his mouth drew to one side; the facial equivalent of a shrug. "They've not shut down the embassy yet, but they haven't retracted their statement either. Salnikov is still spewing his anti-American rhetoric on his chat show."

"Though it's not so much anti-American as anti-me, right?" Elizabeth gave a wry smile. Salnikov's list of adjectives for her was growing larger and more imaginative by the day. How long before he added 'cuckquean' to it? In the original sense of the word, of course, though perhaps they would distort it to the modern sense too. No wonder Jason was so worried.

Kat leant forward. She clasped her hands atop her binder. "We're drawing up a list of sanctions in case they do decide to go ahead with the closure. But I'm mindful that we don't want to get into a shootout with them."

"Do you really think that they'll retaliate against our retaliation?" Matt said from his seat near the head of the table, and he gave an uneasy laugh.

"I wouldn't put it past them," Kat said. She shrugged one shoulder. "Salnikov's support is waning, and he wants to look tough. It's all very well him going on television and talking the talk, but at some point he's going to have to walk the walk."

One of the assistants scurried in with a note. She handed it to Blake, who sat at the desk in the corner, the laptop screen open in front of him. He stopped typing and stared down at the slip of paper. His eyes widened slightly, and his lips formed a kind of anxious 'O'. Elizabeth's heart sank.

"Start with moderate sanctions," she said, "but come up with some plans to hit them where it hurts too. Just in case." She looked around the table. "Is that all?" Everyone closed their files. As Blake eased to his feet, one finger in the air, Elizabeth turned to him. "What is it now?"

"It's the War College, ma'am," Blake said. Christ. Henry. What had happened? And her expression must have dropped, for Blake shook his head before she had said a word. "No, ma'am. It's your son."

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" Elizabeth stormed into the security office at the War College. Jason startled and shrank back in his chair, and even the guard behind the desk flinched.

"I'll just…" the guard pointed to the door as he eased out of his seat, then he made a hasty retreat from the room, leaving Elizabeth and Jason alone in a tempestuous silence.

Elizabeth's hands found her hips as she frowned down at her son. "So you got fed up of following your father to buy milk—" guilt flashed across Jason's face and he squirmed in his seat "—and you decided you'd stalk him at work too?"

Jason stared down at his lap, finding sudden interest in the rip in his jeans.

Elizabeth pulled out the seat next to him. She leant forward and touched his knee. "Jason, your father is not having an affair. Now this needs to stop." She shook her head to herself. "Trespassing at the National War College? Do you know how many strings I had to pull to get you out of here without so much as a caution?"

Jason's jaw jutted to one side. "Not as many as you're pulling to stop those photos from coming out, to keep us all bound in this lie."

Elizabeth's pulse surged. She took a deep breath. She stood up. "Right—" she gestured to the door "—this way. Now."

Jason clutched the arms of the seat. He stared up at her, all his petulance replaced with fear. But under her glare, he rose to his feet. "Where are we going?"

Elizabeth grabbed his bag from the floor and chucked it at him. Then with one hand on his shoulder, she steered him through the corridors. "You're so interested in what your father's doing all day, so come on, let's go see."

"Mom." Jason's step faltered and he dug his heels in. The officers walking past stared at them, but even they had the sense to hurry along and dive out of Elizabeth's way. "Can't we just go home?" His tone almost begged her now. "You're making a scene."

Elizabeth snorted. "Trust me, Jason, this is not me making a scene."

When they came to Henry's classroom, Elizabeth peered through the small square window set into the door. Henry was at the front of the class, resting against the desk; his hand gestures animated him as he spoke. Elizabeth rapped twice, then budged her shoulder into the door. She dragged Jason in after her.

Henry

Henry stopped at the rap on the door. Before he even had a chance to say 'Come in', Elizabeth had stormed inside, their son in tow. His mouth fell open. "Um…Hi, honey."

The whole class spun around. Elizabeth flashed him a smile, breezy, as if nothing was wrong. But the fact that she had a scarlet-faced Jason—who looked like he would rather be living at the bottom of a cesspit right now—by the shoulder and that they had interrupted his class suggested that things were far from fine.

Elizabeth pointed to a desk and chair at the back of the room. She snapped at Jason. "Sit."

Henry's throat bobbed, and his mouth had turned to cotton wool. Oh God, angry Elizabeth. She had always been bad cop when it came to parenting. She said she hated it; she didn't want to be the mean one. But she did it so well. There was nothing that could cut you down quite like that tone of voice. Despite everything, he felt a pang of sympathy for their son as he sank into the seat.

Elizabeth turned back to Henry. Everyone in the class was still staring at her, but she paid them no attention. "You have a new student," she said, and Jason slumped lower and lower into the chair, as if hoping that a void might open beneath him and swallow him whole. "He was so keen to see what you're teaching today that he thought he'd scale the fence."

"Seriously?" Henry looked to Jason, but Jason's gaze was buried in his lap.

"Seriously," Elizabeth said.

"Well, that's not cool." It sounded lame, but he floundered for anything else to say.

Elizabeth's phone rang and she fumbled for it in her coat pocket. She stared down at the screen for a moment before silencing the call. "I need to get back to the office," she said, and she met his eye. "I'll see you this evening." She turned to Jason, and her glare made Japanese steel look blunt. "You, sit there and listen. God forbid you actually learn something about ethics." She held her hand up to Henry, and her fingers snapped to her palm in a quick wave, then she was gone. His gaze lingered after her, his whirlwind of a wife.

The class let out a collective breath, and dissolved into low whistles and chatter. "Man…That's his wife?"

"Enough, enough," Henry said, and he gestured for them to settle down. "Right, let's continue."

The bell drilled for lunch, and the students collected their belongings and filed out of the room. They shot Jason pitying looks as they passed, and Jason hid behind his arm. Henry returned the piece of chalk to the ledge under the board, then strode to the back. He perched against the edge of Jason's desk. Jason stared down at the wooden surface and refused to meet Henry's gaze.

Henry let out a long sigh. "Well, you definitely didn't inherit the spy gene." Jason's face hardened, and his pout tightened as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. "Jason, I love your mother more than I love anyone or anything else. And I love you, Stevie and Alison too." He shook his head. "Those images aren't real. I didn't do that. I would never do that. Not to her, not to the three of you."

Jason glared up at him, and beneath all the anger, there were hot tears threatening to fall. "Then why don't you have an alibi?"

"Because I was home alone." It was that simple. That was all it took for doubt to grow. "You have an incredible mind, Jason; this amazing capacity for critical thinking. So why can't you even begin to consider the possibility that something else might be going on?"

"I just don't buy it." Jason shrugged. "When you hear hooves, think of horses not zebras."

Henry chuckled to himself. Someone's been talking to Will. "Theodore Woodward. It's a derivative of Occam's Razor, though Occam certainly wasn't the first to suggest the principle."

He returned to the chalkboard and wrote up the quote as he spoke. "It was Aristotle who said 'Nature operates in the shortest way possible'. And whilst the principle holds weight in scientific endeavours, life isn't so simple."

He set the chalk down, and leant against the edge of his desk, his arms folded over his chest. "I thought you out of everyone would understand that; you've always taken more than an academic interest in conspiracy theories." How many times had he pressed his mother for information in the hope of uncovering CIA plots?

"Yeah," Jason said, and he met Henry with a turbulent gaze, "but this isn't the moon landing or who shot JFK; it's you hurting my mom."

Henry's heart ached. Ached for Jason's torment, ached that his son could believe such a thing. "And you really think that me having an affair is the most credible explanation?" Maybe Will's right; maybe you should leave. His lip trembled. He stopped and took a deep breath. "I would give my life to protect your mother."

Jason pursed his lips and seemed to consider that for a moment, his gaze never falling from Henry's. But then he shook his head, and it was like a wall had shot up around him; every brick that Henry had just loosened was fortified. "But you're only human, and humans are walking contradictions. You can love someone and still do things to hurt them." Jason grabbed the bag from his feet, stood up and slung the strap over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Henry said, and he meant it. He pushed himself away from the desk, collected his own bag, and walked to the back of the room. "I have an hour before my next class. Do you want to stay and have lunch and keep an eye on me for the rest of the day, or would you like me to drop you home?"

Jason yanked open the door. "I can make my own way home."

"I don't think so." Henry followed him into the corridor. He locked the classroom before turning to Jason. "Your mother left me in charge. You have your choices, now decide."

"Fine." Jason dragged out the word and threw in an eye-roll for good measure. "Drop me home. But I'm done talking to you."

"That's fine," Henry said, though the words stung. "But know that whenever this is all over, no matter what you say and do, I forgive you."

Jason snorted. "Whatever."

Elizabeth

Elizabeth accepted the glass of red wine from Henry and climbed up onto the end of the kitchen island. She rested her feet against the stool, the wood cool against her bare soles. The background music was quieter this evening, or perhaps she had just grown accustomed to it.

"I'm sorry about Jason." She sent Henry a glance over her shoulder. Dumping Jason in Henry's class like that probably hadn't been the best idea, but breaking into the National War College to spy on Henry had shattered any boundaries between what was reasonable and what was not.

Henry pulled a face as he poured his own glass. "Don't be." Then he replaced the stopper and set the bottle in the middle of the counter. "He's just angry and confused and hates what he thinks I did." He took a long draught and then eased himself up onto the side next to her.

"I know," Elizabeth said, "but it's still not pleasant for you."

"Who has kids because they're pleasant?"

Elizabeth turned to face him, a light smile playing on her lips. "Remind me why we had kids again?" She twirled the stem of the wineglass between her fingers before taking a sip.

"We thought it would be fun." Henry shrugged. "Plus your body pregnant…" he let out a low whistle.

She fought the flush of heat that rose through her cheeks. "Yeah, swollen and sweaty: so sexy." She bumped her arm against his.

"Life-giver." His gaze roamed over her; at once both scalding her and eliciting a shiver. "Incredibly sexy." His eyes locked on hers, a dark glimmer rippling through them. He set his glass down on the counter, then cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheek. "You're beautiful."

Her gaze lowered to the wine glass in her hand, but he dipped down and caught her eye again. Then, with his thumb still stroking her cheek, he brought his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. She breathed him in; the trace of aftershave, the fruity tang of the wine, that slightly musty smell that reminded her of old books. And as his lips trailed down to leave hot kisses over the pulse at her throat, her eyes slipped shut, her mind swimming with everything Henry.

The phone rang. Elizabeth jumped, flung out of the haze and back into the kitchen. The wineglass tumbled from her hand and smashed against the floor. Red spattered across the wood. "Shoot." She went to jump down, but Henry caught her wrist.

"Wait. You'll cut your feet." He climbed off the side, and as if to emphasise his point, glass crunched beneath the soles of his slippers. "Come here." He beckoned her closer, and with her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands gripping his shoulders, he lifted her down and carried her free of the shattered glass.

She eased down to the floor, but stayed close, her body flush against his. "My hero," she said through a smile, and she stretched up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss. The phone rang for a second time, and she sighed. She patted him on the chest, then went to retrieve the phone from the cradle. "Hello."

"Ma'am, President Dalton and Russell Jackson are here to see you."

Elizabeth glanced at her watch. "Now?" The thud of her heart filled the pause. "Just give me a minute."

Henry looked at her expectantly as he tipped the shards from the dustpan into the bin.

"It's Conrad and Russell," she said, and his expression fell.

Elizabeth showed their guests to the living room and motioned for them to take a seat on the burgundy sofa. Henry had settled into one of the armchairs opposite, and Elizabeth joined him, perching against the armrest. Henry snaked his hand up to rest against her thigh, and she covered it with her own. It felt as though he was clinging to her for support, bracing himself for whatever was about to come, and from the grave expressions on Russell and Conrad's faces, whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"Henry, the FBI have taken a look into your phone records," Russell said. He rested his elbows against his knees, hands clutched in front of him. Elizabeth's stomach sank a little lower with each word. "You received a call around five p.m.—" Elizabeth, phoning to say that she wouldn't be coming home that night "—then after that all the data switched off until midnight, when the GPS came back online…" his jaw clenched, and he shook his head ever so slightly. "The GPS places you at the hotel at the time the photographs were taken."

"What?" Henry's grip on Elizabeth's thigh tightened. "That's not possible." His voice cracked. "I wasn't there. I was at home. I wasn't there." He stared up at Elizabeth, his eyes wide and shining with fear. "Babe—"

Elizabeth gave him a gentle smile and she brushed her thumb over his knuckles. "I know." Breathe, Henry, just breathe. She turned back to the sofa, her gaze darting between Russell and Conrad. "Is it possible that someone was accessing the phone remotely? Cellular data doesn't just switch off."

"Unless you put it in aeroplane mode." Russell gave a half-shrug. Maybe he was just being flippant, but Henry's hand clenched into a fist beneath Elizabeth's fingers.

"So I switched off the data to get from work to the hotel then decided to switch it back on once I was there?" His tone had sharpened, as if studded with the shards of glass from the kitchen floor. "Because that makes perfect sense."

Russell raised his hands. "That's not what I'm saying."

"Then what are you saying, Russell?" Henry said, and he shifted forward in his seat. "You think I did this? You think I would cheat on my wife?"

"I'm just saying—" Russell's eyes flickered slightly, as if struggling to hold Henry's gaze "—that the GPS signal from your phone places you at the hotel."

Henry's jaw clenched, and the scene from the Oval Office—Henry launching himself at Jon Smythe—came to Elizabeth's mind. She slipped her hand beneath his and lifted his knuckles to her lips; he needed to calm down. Henry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He gave Elizabeth a nod, as if he understood, and he rested back in his seat.

Elizabeth lowered their hands back to her lap, and she returned her gaze to Conrad and Russell. "What about GPS spoofing?" she said. They eyed her warily. "The Russians have launched attacks before, so the capability is definitely there. Hell, even video gamers know how to spoof their own GPS."

"He's not playing Pokémon Go, Mom; he's having an affair." At Jason's voice, Elizabeth spun round. Their son was stood in the doorway behind the armchairs, his brow set in a heavy frown, his arms tight across his chest.

"Jason," Elizabeth began, dragging his name out, but Jason shook his head, turned and stalked towards the kitchen. Elizabeth looked to Conrad, heat rising in her cheeks. "I'm sorry, sir. The whole situation—"

Conrad held up one hand to stop her. "It's stressful, I know." He pursed his lips for a moment before continuing, "Look, we think it's worth checking the phone for malware." His gaze turned to Henry. "Has anyone had access to your phone? Have you downloaded anything at all?"

The clock on the mantlepiece ticked away the silence. Then Henry shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of, but I can't be sure." He rubbed his forehead. "I dropped it outside the house the other week, but one of the DS agents found it."

"Well, we'll get the tech team to check it over," Russell said. He extended his hand, and Henry retrieved the phone from his jeans pocket and passed it to him. "Then we'll take it from there." There was a touch of inevitability to his tone, as if he already knew the outcome. It made Elizabeth's skin bristle; whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?

Whilst Elizabeth walked Conrad and Russell to the door, Henry remained sat in the armchair, leant forward, his fingers steepled against his lips. The distant gaze had returned, as if he were trying to pull apart every movement he had made leading up to that night. But the problem with memory was that sometimes you needed the passage of time in order to shine a spotlight on it.

The DS agent stood on the porch jumped aside when the door opened. Russell turned back to face Elizabeth; a bitter gust of air rushed into the hallway and tumbled through the house. He held up Henry's phone. "We'll get this back to you as soon as the tech guys are finished with it."

"Thanks, Russell," she said. "Good night, sir." Though she was anything but thankful, and it certainly wasn't a good night.

The hallway vibrated with the music that blared from Jason's bedroom. Elizabeth knocked at the door, though there was no chance he would hear over that racket. When she popped her head inside, she found Jason sat on his bed, legs stretched out in front of him. He glanced up from the screen of his tablet, but within a second, he looked back down.

"Can you turn the music off?" Elizabeth said, but Jason remained where he was. Elizabeth sighed. She strode across the room to the docks and yanked the plug from the wall. The music cut out, and the room rang with the ensuing silence.

"I was listening to that," Jason said, but he made no move to switch it back on.

Elizabeth's hands found her hips. "And you were listening to a private conversation too." Jason's scowl deepened. Elizabeth took a deep breath, then perched on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on his knee. He flinched, but didn't push her away. His whole body was bound so tight with anger. "This behaviour has to stop, Jason. I can't have you skipping school, trespassing on government property, eavesdropping on the president."

Jason's head snapped up. His gaze burned. "I wasn't eavesdropping." He picked at the protective film that covered the screen of his tablet, loosening the corners. "I heard something smash and I thought—" His throat bobbed.

Elizabeth's chest ached. Oh, Jason. "Your father would never hurt me." She stroked the hair at the side of his head; just as she had done when she lulled him to sleep as a child. Her baby boy. "Has he ever given you reason to believe that he would lay a finger on me?"

"No." Jason made the concession reluctantly. He bit the inside of his cheek. "But I never thought he would have an affair either."

Elizabeth shook her head, and the ends of her hair danced over her shoulders. "He isn't—"

"Mom." Jason met her gaze. His hands stilled atop the tablet. "The photos, the lack of an alibi, now the phone…What more do you need?" And there was genuine concern in his eyes, like when you see someone in the path of an oncoming vehicle, but you're too far away to push them aside.

"It will take a lot more than that to ever convince me that your father could have done this," Elizabeth said. She squeezed Jason's hand. "I love him, Jason, and I trust him."

"Well—" Jason's lips twitched and dragged to one side "—love makes you blind."

Elizabeth let out a terse breath—what had they done to make their son so cynical, why hadn't they protected him?—and as her chin tilted down, her hair swept forward into her eyes. "I think we're going to have to agree to disagree," she said, because some battles couldn't be won in a single night. "I know that you don't want to see me hurt, and what you're doing is to protect me—" in a distorted way so reminiscent of Will "—but what I need right now is for things at home to be as normal as possible. I'd like you to go to school and to stop following your father."

Jason's jaw tensed. "I can't just pretend like nothing's happened."

"I'm not asking you to. But I am asking you to respect me." She looked into his eyes. His gaze flickered and his shoulders rose just a fraction. "Will you at least do that?"

There was a long pause, filled by the tunes drifting through from the adjacent rooms. Then Jason nodded.

Elizabeth squeezed his hand again, a small smile lifting the corners of her lips. "Thank you." She stood up and leant in to press a kiss to his temple. "Good night. Try to get some sleep."

"Mom?" Jason called her back just as she reached the door. With her hand resting against the handle, she turned to face him. His expression was torn, as if debating whether to say whatever it was he had wanted to say. "Love you."

Elizabeth's chest tightened, a swell of love caught up in the bitter ache. "I love you too, baby. Night."

Elizabeth climbed under the covers and shuffled over to Henry's side of the bed. He was sat up, leant against the headboard, book propped open in his hand. She nestled against his chest, the thud of his heartbeat steady beneath her ear, and he put the book down on the bedside table and wrapped his arm around her. She was enveloped; his pulse, his scent, his warmth.

"Did you speak to him?" he asked, and his voice reverberated through her, a low hum.

"Mmhm."

"I hate that they believe this—" his grip on her arm tightened "—that anyone believes I could do that to you." The thud, thud, thud quickened. "I don't know what's worse: Jason being Jason, or Stevie and Alison acting like I don't exist."

After that morning, she'd take nonexistence over spying any day. She thought about saying so, but Henry wasn't ready to make light of it yet. "Just give them time." She pressed her lips to his chest. "You'll soon be their favourite again." She craned her neck so that she could look into his eyes. "You're my favourite." That earnt her a small smile.

Henry skimmed his fingertips up and down the outside of her arm; they left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. She settled against his chest again. "What you said earlier about GPS spoofing…" he said. "Do you really think the Russians could be behind this?"

"What? They don't have any kompromat, so decided to make some of their own?"

His fingertips paused at her shoulder. "Yeah."

"They have the resources, and they certainly have the motive." Discrediting Elizabeth would leave the path to the presidency wide open for Teresa Hurst; she had said herself how amicable her relationship with Salnikov was. "But I don't know if Salnikov has the balls." All talk, no walk.

The silence lingered, haunting in a way following night after night of endless baselines. Henry's hand moved to her hair, and he stroked his fingers through the strands. "Just be careful over this thing with the embassy, won't you?"

Her eyes slipped shut, lulled by the caress. "I promise." But a moment later, her eyes shot open, and she pushed herself away from Henry, propping herself up against the pillows. "You know, Teresa Hurst stopped by my office the other day." Henry watched her, his expression impassive as he waited for what she would say next. "She said that if she becomes president, she'd keep me on as Secretary of State."

Henry scoffed. "That's a big if."

Elizabeth's gaze fell to the covers. She smoothed her hand over the woollen blanket. "Maybe…" She stopped. Henry tucked the hair that had fallen in a veil across her face behind her ear. His hand lingered, cupping her jaw and drawing her eyes back to his. They were filled with such warmth and love and tenderness that her heart ached. She couldn't let anyone else see those photos; couldn't bear for this lie to become a public truth. "Maybe I should take her up on the offer, officially announce that I won't run for the presidency. Maybe then this will all go away."

Henry's gaze hardened, and he shook his head. "Babe, you can't do that. You can't give up."

"What if we don't have another choice?" Everything inside her sank, dragged down by the weight of the very real choice: her husband or her career.

"We'll find a way," Henry said. "You always find a way."