Los Angeles, CA – October 2014
She slumps onto her couch and cracks her neck. She feels her heart breaking. The weight of her loneliness is suddenly so heavy. And it's not the first time she's felt that way, but it feels worse now than ever before. Watching him leave, not knowing what's going to happen, and knowing she can't call George is too much. So, she focuses on her work.
She boots up her computer. And she goes to send an email to whom she hasn't yet decided. But she sees it- an email from George. She hovers over it, afraid to open it. She knows he's gone, but she doesn't want to let him go. She doesn't want to read his goodbye if it were to be his goodbye. And an even worse thought, what if it's not a goodbye? What if his death completely blindsided him? She lets herself fathom the thought of how scared he must have been. She imagines the last few moments of his life being fear, and she can't stomach that. She can't think about that. It's not something she can fix or change.
She swallows as she stares at the unread email. She could walk away from this whole thing right now. She could take her cash, get high, and take herself out. She could take care of the whole problem. No more Conrad. No more Elizabeth. No more heartbreak. No more pain. She could erase herself from the world, and it would all be over. No more worrying about the lives of the people she loves.
She lets out a breath. She's spiraling. That doesn't solve her problem. She's used to the spiraling. She figures all people who know addiction intimately do it. If there is one thing she can do, it's make getting high a solution. She can justify every single time she hid and used. She can always come up with an excuse for why it was okay because she needs it. And because no one understands. And because life is fucking hard- her life, especially. She takes another cleansing breath and reminds herself that she can do this. She can keep going, even if it feels impossible. She doesn't need drugs to numb the bad or hard feelings. She can face her shit, just like she's been doing—for Henry and Stevie and Allie and Jason. She can do it for them.
So, she moves her cursor over the email. And she clicks it. And she begins to read. George's words are quick but polished. They are filled with love and encouragement. She closes her eyes. She doesn't want to say goodbye. She wants to hear his voice and see his face. She wants him to tell her what to do. George always knew what to do.
She finishes reading the email. She hears his words if she tries hard enough to put his cadence into her reading, "I have faith that you'll make the right choices. And I have faith that everything will work out for you in the end." She puts her head in her hands. The tears are starting to come again, and she can't stop them. She doesn't know whether his belief in her abilities pisses her off or inspires her. She wishes she could talk to him and ask him what his expectations are because she does not know if she can live up to them.
She feels all this pressure. She's back in a corner once again. The walls are closing in around her. She wants to get out, but she can't. It's only getting tighter and smaller, and she can't breathe. She doesn't know what the hell to do. She knows what she needs to do. And it's a daunting task. She can't do it alone. She needs to trust that Henry can keep the kids safe. And she needs to find one other person to lay her trust in. She has a feeling she knows exactly who.
She opens her email. And then she takes one giant, risky leap of faith.
From:
To: RedNevadaFoxglove .com ; WhiteVermontGladiolus .com
Subject: 01001101 01100101 01100101 01110100 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01010010 01100101 01110001 01110101 01100101 01110011 01110100 00001101 00001010
Text: dribeulB MP 3 yadsruhT esuohbulc eht ta em teeM
She hovers over the send button. She runs the variables. Can they be trusted? Does she have a better choice?
She hits the send button. And she gets up from her desk. It's time to pack and hop on a flight to Baltimore.
Delta Airlines Flight 541 LAX to PIT – October 2014
Henry shifts in his seat. He swears his heart has not quit pounding since he left her apartment. He remembers the last time he felt exactly like this—the cockpit of his F-18 and his hands on the controls with his thumb hovering over the button, waiting for his missile aiming system to lock. And then… boom. The explosion made by his missile, the adrenaline, the fear, and the exhilaration of winning mixed with the depth of remorse for the killing. The possibility of having to kill all over again looms over him. Not that he won't kill for his family; he will. He'll do it with the same intensity and with a sense of urgency. A new mission has begun.
He's not sure if he's in shock or if his body has finally had a chance to unwind. Everything is swirling around in his mind. Elizabeth is alive. His kids are in danger. Conrad Dalton is a criminal and psychopath. Jessica will have to be convinced of all of it. His three oldest children need to be told that the woman they buried and grieved for has been very much alive for the last ten years. How will any of them understand the things that were done? They were so young. How could they possibly understand any of this? God knows he doesn't.
He looks out the window as the plane flies through the clouds. He's always loved to fly, even when he's not piloting the aircraft. John Gillespie Magee was right. Flying is the closest he's ever come to touching the face of God. But he doesn't think his relationship with his God is quite the same as it used to be. He wants to know how the God that he's given his allegiance to and put his faith in could let Elizabeth be hurt. How could his God allow all of this pain to rain down on his family? Henry doesn't have the answers, and he's not sure if he'll ever be able to get back the peace he once knew or have the faith he once had.
When the drink service starts, he realizes he's only been on this plane for twenty-five minutes of the five-hour flight. He's not sure how he's going to sit in his seat for another four hours without losing his mind. He needs to focus. He needs a solid plan in place for when he gets off this plane in Pittsburgh. He needs to know where to go. He needs to know what he's doing. He can do that for Elizabeth. Of all the things he's done in his life, running from the President of the United States was not something he had ever prepared himself for, and that's where his uncertainty lies. He's a trained marine and fighter pilot, but yet he doesn't feel prepared for this task. In flight school, he had to go through survival training on what to do if you have to bail and you're stuck behind enemy lines. They were drilled repeatedly on how to survive, on the proper way to conduct oneself in combat, and on the proper way to escape if the circumstances called for it. But what he has to do now calls for a lot more ahead-of-time planning and finesse. He was never trained to be covert and hide in plain sight. He was trained to attack and kill. This task will be much harder than any other task he has ever performed.
His mind wanders back to the day of the funeral. He remembers being so mad at God that day. And he remembers Conrad's words. He had been so kind. There is not a person in this room who did not love Elizabeth. She was the very best of us. But there is no time for anger. Elizabeth would want you to take care of your children. He had seemed truly bereft. He wonders how he did it. How he knew what was happening to her while he held her son as Jason cried to call his mama. Henry wants to know how he could do that while looking into his eyes and telling him that Elizabeth was okay on the other side, waiting for him. He used his faith against him. Conrad Dalton is a master manipulator, and Henry is his victim. He was so wrapped up in his grief and his anger at God that he had been an easy mark. Henry's stomach turns as the flight attendant asks if he would like something to drink. He shakes his head no with a half-grimace-like smile. He doesn't think he could keep anything down right now. He leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes.
Pittsburgh, PA – October 2014
Jessica spends an hour laying out all of the evidence she has against Elizabeth. Andrew had the dossier couriered over to her. She hasn't seen the complete file since she helped Dalton plan to give Bess back to the people she had been working for. She finds herself reading the words intently. She needs to prove to herself that she had made the right descision back then. However, if she finds out she was indeed wrong, would that matter to her at this point? Would she risk everything and everyone for that woman? She doesn't want to know the answer to that. She wants to be a good mother, a good wife, a good CIA officer.
She reads through the proof. Juilet had combed through it- digging deep and far. She and Bess had been friends. Jessica had been less worried. She had an assignment, and she hadn't been in the business of questioning her orders. It was not a part of her nature. That had changed after the twins were born when she became a mother. Her first thought was always to protect the children, now. That was her job, the only job that mattered. So if Bess is not guilty of what she was accused of, then it doesn't matter anymore, not to Jessica. She left.
The file lies open in front of her, and she finds the page that proves the guilt. She had seen this before, but she didn't know Bess then. She doesn't truly know her now, either. But she is married to Henry. And she is the mother to the children Bess birthed. She had gotten a clear picture of who Henry thought Bess was before her "death," and then she had done the work to erase her from his life. She had been successful. She knows that.
The file is a collection of photos, emails, and intercepted messages. She can see the pattern. And she can see how Juliet had seen the pattern. She has the NSA report in her hands that proves Agent Elizabeth Adams McCord sent the emails to Al Queda leadership about US battle plans. Jessica decides she was right ten years ago, and she's right today. She needs to keep her family away from this woman.
Washington DC – October 2014
"She's making it easy," Juliet skips the greeting as she walks into Andrew's office with a small file folder.
"Who's making what easy?" He asks, still staring at the screen.
"Bluebird," She says, handing him the folder. He reads the full transcript—an email, poorly encoded.
"Who'd she send it to?" He asks. He needs to know who Elizabeth has decided to trust. He wants to see the damage so he can minimize it.
"That's the great part," Juliet starts with a small smile, planning to bury the lead, "Isabelle Barnes is Red Nevada Foxglove, and I am White Vermont Gladiolus."
His head snaps up, "She has no idea you were involved with giving her to El Diablo Salvaje. This is good. You're friends with Barnes, right?"
"Yes," Juliet nods, "But for the sake of the mission, you need to know she will never believe me over Bess," Juliet admits. Bess, Isabelle, and George were the three musketeers. Bess and Isabelle had a strong bond, and with George gone the two will cling together automatically.
"Yes, and Barnes will be surprised to know her friend is alive, which will cause her to react with emotion over reason." Andrew surmises, "Have you spoken to her since Bess sent this email?"
"No, but she's been almost jumpy since she read it." Juliet tells him, "And, I mean, Bess was her best friend, and she thinks Bess is dead. I don't know if she believes the email came from Bess or an imposter of some kind. I guess we'll find out if she decides to go to the clubhouse."
"Make sure she doesn't. You go to the meeting and take care of Bess there. Make it look like an overdose. In and out. I mean, no cleanup should be needed. People overdose in nude bars all the time. Assuming she is alluding to the strip bar in Baltimore when she says clubhouse," Andrew tells her.
"She is, and I will, sir," She nods, heading toward the exit.
"And, Juliet?" He calls, and she pauses before opening the door.
"Yes, sir?" She answers.
"You really think Bess sold out our military to Al Queda?" He asks. He needs to know if Juliet is a true believer. The figures she is; she agreed to help Dalton give up Bess. She killed Peters. She was willing to turn her back on her team to save her skin. She's a good agent with a perverted sense of loyalty to the country.
"Of course," Juliet smiles, "And I'll kill her to make sure the world is safe from her."
