Parkersburg, WV – October 2014
Elizabeth nearly jumps out of her skin when there is a patterned soft knock on the hotel room door. Her heart rate speeds up as her brain tries to compute the pattern.
"Morse Code," Isabelle whispers.
Elizabeth takes a breath and nods.
dot-dot-dot-dot dot-dash dot-dash-dash dash-dot-dash ... Repeated... Hawk.
"It's Hirst," Elizabeth whispers, trusting the codeword knock enough to stick her eye over the peephole in the door. She quickly kicks the chair out from under the door handle and opens the door, "Mike,"
"Hey, Killer," Mike says, pointing inside the room. Elizabeth steps aside and lets him in along with the man she's assuming is his Chief of Staff. She eyes him, trying to profile him as best she can as fast as she can. She focuses on his face as she always does for split-second profiles—studying micro-expressions and his eyes, looking for signs of dishonesty and deception. He appears stressed, with his brow furrowed and a frown, but his eyes are sharp and curious. She doesn't find any indication of dishonesty, so she turns her attention back to Mike, who's eying Isabelle the same way Elizabeth had eyed the man she assumes is Jay Whitman.
"Mike, Isabelle Barnes," Elizabeth says, pointing between the two, "Isabelle, Mike Hirst."
Mike shakes Isabelle's hand, "Nice to meet you. So, let's get straight to the point. Why are we here? What do you need?"
"A lot," Elizabeth replies. She gestures toward the sofa and armchair in the sitting area of the hotel room.
"I was assuming that may be the case—word around DC is the President and the FBI are anxious about something," Mike tells her.
"I'm sure he is very anxious," Elizabeth nods.
"Why don't you start from the beginning," Mike suggests, and Elizabeth nods.
"You know that shit hole I rescued myself from in Iraq?" She starts receiving a nod from Hirst, "What if I told you I'm in possession of proof that the then Director of the Central Intelligence Agency set me up to be taken? And since done nothing but make my life a living hell through threats, extortion, and coercion to keep me quiet?"
"I'd say I never liked Conrad Dalton," Mike smirks ever so slightly, "But I'm going to need a lot more than that,"
"Whoa, wait a minute," Jay interrupts, "You want the congressman's help to take on POTUS? POTUS? That-That's insane,"
"Yes, Mr. Whitman, it is insane. And so is what he has done and continues to do to me," Elizabeth tells him, and she can see a slight shift in his demeanor, "I'm in possession of all the evidence I need, and it's airtight. It's a no-brainer,"
"So why am I here?" Mike says,
"Frankly, you are the only member of Congress I know personally. And taking on the President does fall within the House's purview," Elizabeth says.
"And I owe you one for the whole allowing you to be kidnapped by sending you off-base alone, right?" Mike tries something a little light-hearted to cut the tension.
"That too," Elizabeth nods, "Look, the President is involved in something much deeper and sinister than I ever thought possible. Worse even than a lot of the things you and I did in Iraq... It goes further back than that and is ongoing." She says, grabbing her paper copies of the files out of her bag. She hands them off to Mike.
"In the eighties, while the US was generally running amuck in South America, there were a string of covert missions led by an agent codenamed Moros. Moros is Conrad Dalton. These missions were simple-destroy villages to cause disruption, destabilize the area, and win the war on drugs. Dalton's lead in this was a Columbian national named Samuel Rodriguez. He was young at the time, and he was a true tyrannical sadist—he was nicknamed the wild devil. Flash forward to around 2004, Dalton is making shifts into politics, and Rodriguez is running a smuggling ring of raw opium poppy from China through the Middle East, and he knows all of Dalton's dirty little secrets. There is a series of conversations between the two, and while I'm sure I will never know the exact things said, it all leads to the IED that you had thought killed me. I was set up by Conrad Dalton, employing two agents, one of whom is still unknown, and the other was Juliet Humphrey."
Elizabeth finds her voice threatening to waiver as the story becomes much more personal, "Conrad made a file making me out to be a traitor to this country that I have loved and served my entire professional life, and after the IED went off, I was taken by Rodriguez. I don't care to discuss the things that happened there right now, but you saw me after Mike. You can imagine."
Mike's jaw is clenching as he looks at the pictures of her injuries. He can feel Jay's rage as he looks through the South American files—it surprises him every time he likes the nearly bleeding heart of the man he's chosen as a Chief of Staff.
"As you know, I made it to the LRMC, where my family was not waiting for me. I was told by Dalton that my husband had chosen not to come to me. I was devastated and traumatized at the time. It wasn't until I got back to the States that Agent George Peters and I tracked down these files from an informant of George's in Uruguay. I was threatened by Dalton, and I fell into a deep spiral, but in the last fifty-six hours, things have come to a head."
She pauses for a moment to gather the files she needs for the current issue. She has a feeling Mike has already put two and two together, but she wants to make sure he's on the same page, "George Peters was murdered. Juliet Humphrey was sent to murder me, and in full disclosure, she is dead in pure self-defense. And now, he has my family. He has Henry and the kids, Mike. And the only thing I know to do, the only play I have—"
"Is impeachment," Jay cuts her off, "That's why we're here,"
Elizabeth looks at Mike, hoping her desperation is coming through in her eyes, "He's trying to have me killed; he is using my family to do it. He is the most powerful person in this world, with a network so big it makes me nauseous to think about it. But if the President commits a crime, there is a system in place to check that power—impeachment and removal. I need help. I'm out of options,"
"So we need to make a giant case for conspiracy spanning decades stick, using these files and your word," Mike says, "That's going to be tough,"
"I know," Elizabeth nods. She knows the battle is still all up a very steep and dangerous hill. She hasn't reached the summit yet.
"You'll need a legal team to represent you, and we'll need a team we trust to verify the files," Jay tells the room, his eyes still on the bombed Bolivian villages, "Agent Peters' informant was from Uruguay?"
"Yeah, that's all George ever told me about him, why?" Elizabeth asks,
"Because I think I might know who it was," He says quietly.
The room suddenly focuses all of its attention on Jay. He holds up a group photo—three CIA guerilla fighters responsible for the destruction, Rodriguez in the center, and behind them, a reflection of the cameraman in a piece of metal, a look of disgust written on his face.
"That's my father," Jay says, pointing at the reflection.
Washington, DC – October 2014
Henry wordlessly sits at the dining table with a bottle of Bourbon. Every second that goes by feels like a million years. He remembers so vividly the long, lonely nights after Elizabeth disappeared on him. He feels as if that's what he'll take to calling it—she disappeared. He's had her back for what feels like all of five minutes, and now he's waiting to hear the news that she's been arrested—taken from her life once more.
Jessica has not left his side since their argument, and he can feel her presence looming over him like a cloud. He can't bring himself to look at her. He can't bear to meet her gaze. He's more than halfway towards drunk now, and he knows he needs to stop before the kids get back up here—but he takes one more shot anyway.
He nearly startles when Jessica's phone dings on the table. He watches her reach over, a satisfied smile growing on her face, only for it to fall once she reads the message.
She looks up at him with fire in her eyes and her mouth in a firm frown, "She wasn't there,"
Henry doesn't bother trying to hide his relief. His heart is still beating a mile a minute, but now he knows she has a chance.
"I should have known," Jessica snarls, "You fucking warned her somehow, didn't you?"
Henry swallows, "How could I? I read exactly what you wrote,"
"How'd you do it?" Jessica questions, her voice becoming stone cold—nearly emotionless.
He doesn't answer her. Instead, he reaches for the bottle of liquor and takes another drink, not looking at her. He knows he's being a coward, but he doesn't want to fight her. He doesn't want to talk to her.
"How'd you warn her?" Jessica yells as she grabs the bottle from his hands.
"I didn't," Henry replies, his voice low and his eyes still not meeting hers.
"Henry, when they force you to watch every single one of our children be murdered, I want you to remember, you drove them to it. Not Elizabeth, you," She changes her tactics. She needs Henry to be afraid of her. She needs him to know that if he doesn't comply with her wishes and her orders, she will hurt him, and she will hurt him badly.
Henry shakes his head, his eyes burning holes in the wood of the table, "I didn't warn Elizabeth," he denies firmly.
Jessica grabs her phone and dials a number Henry doesn't know, "Bring her up here. Time to up the steaks,"
Henry's head snaps up to the sound of his wife's voice, "Bring who up here?" he demands.
"Stevie," she shrugs, and Henry immediately stands.
"Jess, don't. I didn't warn her. You said I just needed to make the call. I made the call," Henry is pleading, the alcohol in his blood making him feel sicker by the second, "Stevie loves you, Jess. She loves you so much. Please don't do this to her."
"Then tell me what you did," She says.
"Jess," Henry says.
"If you tell me how you warned her, we won't have to punish Stevie," Jessica offers.
"I called her Bess. That's how I warned her. She hated the nickname when Conrad started using it." Henry breathes, "Please don't hurt Stevie. Please,"
"Not good enough,"
Henry feels like the floor has been ripped out from underneath him. The bourbon is sloshing around his empty stomach, and he can feel his head spinning, "You said the only thing I was obligated to do was make the phone call!"
"And you didn't hold up your end of the bargain," Jessica says, so cold Henry's stomach threatens to empty its contents.
"Please don't hurt my little girl. She's our little girl, Jess. You raised her, fed her, taught her how to walk in heels, and did her makeup for her first homecoming dance. She loves you. She needs you. Please don't hurt her," Henry's voice cracks. He feels tears coming to his eyes, and he hates himself for it.
"You should've thought about it harder before warning Elizabeth," Jessica snaps.
Henry feels helpless. He doesn't know how he's going to get his daughter out of this mess.