Baltimore, MD – October 2014

"How do I know you're not lying to me," Elizabeth's question is pointed. Isabelle lets out a half laugh, half sigh.

"Well, you can't. But I can tell you that if I wanted to kill you, I could have done it in the airport or on the drive here. I guess I can't blame you for the question. I'd ask it, too." Isabelle stops before she can add that she knows Elizabeth has been through a lot. The file is enough to tell her she was captured well sold to someone. She can imagine what happened to Elizabeth there. But Isabelle is smart enough not to assume she knows exactly what Elizabeth has been through. She can feel Elizabeth's distrust and fear.

"I don't want to die," Elizabeth whispers. She had thought she had become indifferent to the thought of death. Yet, every time she's faced with it head-on, she fights. She doesn't believe that can all be instinct. There has to be something she believes she can fight for, even if she doesn't realize it, even if she can't see her way back to her old life.

"I can understand that. I don't either," Isabelle replies.

Elizabeth gets out of the car. She walks around the block once, scanning the area, as she takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself. Isabelle stands, leaning against Reggie, watching. She can tell that Elizabeth is both planning and psyching herself up for the task ahead. When she walks back to Reggie, the look on her face is set in determination, and Isabelle can't help but grin.

"So, what's the plan, Bess?"

"I need her to confess. If... If I assume you are telling me the truth, I need her to confess. I need proof of the current crimes Conrad is committing. I want my family back." She whispers her last sentence. The task of getting back to them and regaining their trust, rebuilding, is so daunting that she almost doesn't want to try. But God, life has been miserable and lonely. She has always said that silence is a choice, but quiet is something that happens to you. Her life had gone quiet after her parents died. And it had gone quiet when she was taken. But now, it's silent. She chose this silence, and maybe that's why it's so deafening. She doesn't know how to make it go away. She doesn't even know where to start. But George had. He placed Henry at her doorstep. That was a beginning, and it's her only option right now. She needs to start.

"Then, let's get your family back." Isabelle reaches out, and Elizabeth shakes her head. She doesn't want a hug. She can't go in there looking like she's been crying, "Okay." Isabelle shrugs.

"I gotta check in with Henry. Do you have any recording equipment with you?" Elizabeth asks, pulling out one of her three burner phones.

"No, but we can improvise," Isabelle says, elongating her last word as she pulls her cellphone out to look through her apps. She doesn't notice Elizabeth roll her eyes as she dials the number to the burner she had given Henry.

"Hello," Henry answers. His tone is cautious and curious and way too formal. She wonders where he is and if he's managed to get on the road. She wonders how it is going with his wife. There is the familiar pang of hurt in her chest when she thinks about the other woman. It's the heartbreak she doesn't let herself feel too often because when she does allow it, she gets unfairly angry at him.

"Hey," She responds, and the tension in her shoulders eases slightly. It's the same feeling she has whenever she hears his voice.

"Is everything okay?" He asks, and she can hear him moving in an attempt to muffle his voice.

"Yeah, I'm with a friend. Are you on the road?" She asks.

"Yes, I'm going to visit my oldest," He replies. She knows now for sure that he has not told the kids that she's alive. She doesn't know if she has time to process how she feels about that. She supposes the anger she feels toward him is not completely unwarranted. However, what did she expect? For him to tell them after all these years while he's doing everything he can to keep them safe because of things she has to do.

"Good. I'll stay in touch, okay?" She hopes her tone is comforting and reassuring. She's not sure it is. It's been so long since she's had to comfort someone, him especially. And even in their marriage, she was rarely the one who put on the brave face and told him everything would be alright.

"You better," He says. His words are loaded. There is a slight accusation in them, not that she can blame him for that. There's a little bit of worry, not that she can blame him for that either. And there's the promise that he will hold her to it, which is something that is both familiar and comforting. Henry had always inspired her to be the very best version of herself.

"I will. I promise," Her words are equally loaded. A heaviness hangs over the line. It's been so long since she's spoken promises to anyone. She has been a ghost for a decade. Ghosts don't have promises.

"Be safe," He says, and she wonders if the catch in his throat is because he's about to cry or because he's scared. She can tell more words are hanging over his head, but she thinks of the redhead who must be beside him and their kids, the redhead's kids, too, she supposes.

"You, too." Her reply is simple, and the conversation is over. She hangs up slowly as if to linger in the moment with him for as long as possible. It doesn't matter to her that he is not hers anymore; she needs to draw on his strength, the strength he's always given her, for the days to come.

"All right, so we need a good place to put the phone so the mic isn't muffled," Isabelle says, her tone light as though they're making plans for a girl's night. Elizabeth knows that Isabelle has always lived for her job. She loves risky nights in illegal Turkish nightclubs and secret meetings in foreign cities. Elizabeth remembers a time when she loved adrenaline, too. But now, more often than not, having too much adrenaline coursing through her veins makes her a little too nauseous.

"I think my jacket pocket is going to have to do," Elizabeth says. Maybe she's lost her touch, or this could be simple: no overthinking. But there is no way she is letting her phone leave her person.

"We can work with that," Isabelle grins. She is not a technical genius, but she has picked up a trick or two during her career.

"Good, you'll have to do that on the way," Elizabeth says, checking her watch, "Because we have two minutes before we're supposed to be in there."

Elizabeth and Isabelle walk side by side into the bar. Elizabeth hasn't been inside a bar since she got fired from the shitty bar she was working in in LA for shooting heroin on her break. The thought sends a shiver down her spine.

The inside is dim. The air is thick and stale. It smells of alcohol, smoke, and sweat mixed with too much fruity perfume. It isn't too often anymore when Elizabeth craves to do something reckless. She craves a drink or something much, much stronger. Hell, she might even settle for a cigarette, although that is one thing she's never much liked. The urge is overwhelming, however. She takes a deep breath. It does not help.

"It's been a while, huh?" Isabelle's words are meant to be about the practice of tradecraft, but Elizabeth thinks they are also a dig.

"A decade," She replies.

"Do you miss it?" Isabelle asks.

"Not a second of it."

Isabelle looks over at Elizabeth as the hostess leads them toward the back room. They walk through the dressing room. The women are preparing for their shifts, of copious tips are given in one-dollar bills. The men are not in the back. Isabelle is sure they are waiting in the private rooms. The ladies know this particular private room is only used by the CIA to meet informants. Elizabeth has always laughed at how you could always tell nothing happened in this room. It doesn't have the same smell of sex, sweat, and alcohol that the rest of the club has.

Waiting for Juliet is proving to be challenging. The seconds tick by and all Elizabeth can hear is the blood rushing in her ears. Her heart is pounding, and her breathing is too fast. She wants to pace. She wants to leave. She wants a cigarette. She wants a drink. She wants to throw up. She wants to remember how she used to do this. There was a time when she could remain cool under pressure. There was a time when she knew how to breathe.

She tries to take deep, calming breaths, but they're too shaky, and she's just about to turn and walk away when the door opens, and Juliet steps into the room.

"Holy shit... Bess..." Juliet's voice seems to be filled with genuine surprise. Elizabeth swallows as she second-guesses herself. Maybe she can't do this. Maybe this is a horrible mistake.

"Hi, Jules," She forces the words past her lips, and they're a little shaky.

"I... You're dead," Juliet says. Elizabeth thinks one of her best friends is a terrific actor. Whether that is Isabelle or Juliet, she's still not totally sure.

"Not quite," She manages a small smile. She's trying to force herself to think that the situation is not nearly as dire as her mind is trying to make it out to be.

"What the hell is going on, Bess?"

Elizabeth's eyes flick to Isabelle as if to ask her what to say. Her conscience mind might not be sure who to trust, but her gut tells her Isabelle is on her side. She hopes she can believe her instincts. She looks back at Juliet and fears losing the game. She can't get any words out.

"I... We know, Jules. We know about Conrad," Isabelle says, speaking for the first time. She knows Elizabeth wants a confession, and maybe it's best to be blunt with the accusation.

"What?" Juliet feigns confusion once again. This is supposed to be easy. No confrontation. No accusations. Drug Elizabeth. In and out.

"Cut the bullshit," Elizabeth says. There is deep venom in her voice. All the betrayal and backstabbing have been emotionally draining. But, knowing she's looking at her friend, who most likely is George's murderer, is too much for her to handle. She has been tortured, held against her will, and forced to do many terrible things, but this is different.

"Elizabeth," Juliet begins. Elizabeth holds up her hand to stop her.

"I want to know how he convinced you." Elizabeth keeps her accusation vague. Interrogation 101, never provide detail. Let the guilty party fill in the blanks.

"Bess, I don't know what you're talking about," Juliet says.

The air is thick between the three women. Three spies all of whom distrustful of the others. One of whom was sent to kill one. One of whom is there for justice. One there to be a friend, now stuck in this mission of righting wrongs.

"I think you do. And I think I know exactly how he did it. You've never been able to think for yourself." Elizabeth's voice is cold and calm. It is almost a mirror image of her father's. She had been ten when she heard Ben Adams use his negotiation voice for the first time. She's spent years wondering what her parents would think of the woman she's become. Now, standing across from Juliet, she has no doubt her father would be proud of her for finally fighting.

Juliet sighs, "Are we really going to pretend you're not a traitor to your country," she says. She figures Bess isn't leaving this room alive. So, there is no point in continuing to play the part.

"Are we really going to pretend you didn't participate in making the tradecraft that set me up as a traitor?" Elizabeth's voice raises slightly. She can feel her rage bubbling under the surface. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest and her lungs tighten.

"Elizabeth," Isabelle starts. She isn't sure if she's trying to calm her or remind her of her plan.

"I didn't because it's not tradecraft." Juliet's words are resolute.

"You... You believed it?" Elizabeth can't help the slight voice crack. She doesn't know why that small detail is the part that finally makes the betrayal sting in the way it should.

"The director of the CIA handed me a file. I read it and came to the same conclusion he did. You betrayed your country. You betrayed me. And Conrad. And you needed to be eliminated. So I did what I had to do." Juliet is trying her best not to lose her cool. Elizabeth can see her fists are clenched, and her jaw is tight.

"You didn't eliminate me," Elizabeth says through her teeth.

"No, that wouldn't have been a good enough punishment. How'd you enjoy your time with The Wild Devil?" The smirk on Juliet's face almost causes Elizabeth to lose it.

"You knew what he was going to do to me?" Elizabeth tries to keep her voice even. Her throat is tight, and her stomach is twisted.

"You raped your country of its military upper hand," Juliet shrugs, and Elizabeth nearly flinches at the emphasis she put on the word rape.

"So you thought it was fitting I be raped as a form of punishment. Is that it?" Elizabeth is struggling to maintain her composure. Her entire body is tense.

"It was not my idea."

"Whose idea was it?" Isabelle steps in, sensing that Elizabeth is having trouble keeping control.

"Who do you think?" Juliet scoffs.

"Conrad," Elizabeth is the one who answers.

"He didn't tell me the details, but he said it would be a fitting end for you. But, yet, here we are... You can't leave well enough alone, and now you'll have to meet a real end." Juliet reaches behind her back and pulls a pistol from the waistband of her jeans.

Elizabeth's entire body stiffens. She hadn't expected Juliet to be carrying. Her brain is trying to figure out if she can disarm Juliet or if Isabelle will take care of it for her.