Washington, DC – October 2014
The way she grabs his hand makes him instinctively wrap his fingers around hers and squeeze. He looks down at their intertwined hands and it feels off, tainted. He feels confused and angry. But he sits with her at the dining table. It's too big—the table, the situation, his emotions. He's never been a person who is able to shove their emotions down. He can choose not to show them to others, but he feels them constantly and deeply to near near-exhausting degree. And his current state is overwhelming. He doesn't want this. He doesn't want this at all.
"What's your argument?" he asks her, and he hates the coldness that has settled into his voice. It's starting to dawn on him that no matter his feelings—romantic or otherwise—she is now an adversary.
"In 2004, I was working black ops for the CIA." Jessica starts.
"You said that at the house," Another sentence in a tone he'd never imagined using with a woman he's married to. He watches as the sweet person he thought he was married to begins to disappear. Her mask slips further and further off every time he speaks, and his words aren't what she wants to hear. He's not responding like she had imagined he would.
"Henry," she sighs, "I need you to let me tell the story."
"Fine," he says, leaning back, folding his arms over his chest.
"I was called into Conrad's office in 2004 along with Juliet."
His brow furrows, "You know, uh, knew Juliet?"
"Yes," she nods.
"Did you know Elizabeth?" He asks. The question is thick with emotion, and he has to clear his throat after the question is asked.
"No," she shakes her head immediately, "I knew of her. But I did not know her. That was the first time I had met Juliet as well."
Henry tries to discern her honesty. Four days ago, he would've said he knew her. Four days ago, he would've sworn up and down that he knew every single thing about the woman sitting at this table with him. Four days ago, he would've said that the woman he knew was nothing like the person in front of him. Now, he realizes he doesn't know her at all. He never did.
"Anyway," she says, trying to pull his attention back to her. She needs him to hear her, and he's not giving her an inch. He's not giving her any leeway.
"In that meeting, Conrad informed Juliet and me that he was tracing a rogue agent," she continues, "I was handed a file on Elizabeth, and I was told to read it and report back to him within 72 hours with my findings."
Henry takes a deep breath. He wonders how many times Conrad has lied to the people around him. He has read the file Jessica is about to tell him about in Elizabeth's apartment. He has heard the lies the file contained.
"So I did. I reviewed the file and presented my findings to Conrad,"
"And what were your findings?" Henry asks, his jaw clenched. He watches Jess pull a file out of her bag, a brown leather backpack he got her three Christmases ago. She opens the thick blue file folder with the CIA Logo and stamped Top-Secret/Special Access Program. Code Word Only. The title is short. Liquidate Bluebird. She begins to pull out the fabricated emails he's already seen.
"These are all the emails and conversations I was able to uncover in those three days. These are the phone records. These are the photos of the meetings," she spreads the documents in front of him.
"I've seen all of this. I've read it," he says with a short tone.
"Right, you said that at the house," She nods at him, "Elizabeth must have a copy?"
"Yes," Henry nods.
"Well, honey, you have to admit it looks bad—really, really bad. When I saw it, she was guilty. And I had two of her closest friends relaying that to me as well." Jessica explains her thought pattern and Henry can blame her for jumping straight to guilty. But there are ways in which that should be handled—much more legal ways.
"So, you helped murder her instead of going to the FBI or DOJ?"
"I was told she was on the kill list," Jess nods. He looks away from her, trying to keep his temper in check.
"But the three of you didn't murder her," he says through his teeth, "How did Samuel Rodriguez come into play?"
"He was one of the men we were working with on the ground in Iraq," she explains, "He was going to set up the IED. He and Conrad go back pretty far,"
Henry nods, he's unsure whether he should give up the information he knows about Rodriguez and Dalton in Bolivia. So, he goes in another direction.
"So, you thought she was on the kill list... And you what assumed that's what Rodriguez was going to do, kill her?"
"Yes," Jessica nods.
"He didn't," Henry's voice cracks as his nervous energy causes him to stand, "He didn't kill her. He took her. Did you know about that?"
"Yes," Jessica confesses, her eyes not leaving the papers in front of her. Henry doesn't want to look at her. He doesn't want her to see the tears welling in his eyes as he pictures his Elizabeth cold and scared and hurt and alone.
"He did awful things to her. He hurt her. He took the love of my life away from me," He chokes on his words, "and you knew?"
"I'm sorry, Henry. I'm so sorry. But I was following orders. It's what I've always done," She stands to reach out to him, trying desperately to ignore the phrase he used to describe Elizabeth.
"And what about us!" he yells, "How did we end up bumping into each other in a Giant Eagle? How did we end up hooking up while my wife was being raped every day? I mean, Jesus, you and I were getting married and having twins, and she was alone. I promised her I'd never leave her alone," He has to stop speaking to catch the tears before they fall. That promise had been part of his proposal after he did that incredibly stupid thing of leaving her for three days. He promised her, vowed to her, that her days of being alone were over.
"You made a promise to me too," Jess counters when she can feel she's losing him.
"I did," He nods, "And I've stuck to that promise."
"Until the minute you knew she was alive," Jess says through her gritted teeth.
"That's not fair," he tells her, "I've been faithful, I've been present, I've been a good husband. And you're dodging the question. How did we end up together?"
"Conrad asked me to approach you," she admits, and his face falls, "It wasn't fate. It wasn't an accident. I was sent in. I was under orders to approach you." She tells him. She feels as if that fact shouldn't erase the years they've spent together. But she sees his face twist in disgust. She watches in real time as she loses him completely, "But Henry, please, I love—"
"You are lying—" he cuts himself off before saying the word he wants to say. He's not in the habit of stooping that low, "Was any of it real?"
"Yes, yes. Henry, I love you. I really do." Jessica pleads with him, "Please, baby, you have to understand. I'm only telling you this because I want you to see the truth. She is not the person you thought she was."
His head is spinning. He can't breathe. He can't believe he fell in love with the woman standing in front of him. The woman who is not Jess the banker who loves reality TV and singing 90's country while she cooks. No, this woman is a cold, manipulative spy. His hands go to his hips as he turns away from her. He can't look at her. He can't bear to see the person he once loved—the person he was building a life with.
"I cannot help you. I won't," He whispers, officially pledging his allegiance to Elizabeth.
Jessica shakes her head. She will not lose him. She refuses to lose him. And she can't think of a single thing she can say that would convince him. She's lost. Her entire life is falling apart. Everything is unraveling. She can't let that happen.
"Henry, you are going to make that phone call," she grits out, swallowing down her tears.
"Or what?" He demands, spinning around, his eyes wild with anger and sadness.
"Or I will have you arrested for aiding and abetting a known enemy of the state," She says without blinking. He shows no sign of bowing down to her. He stares at her in a hard, uncomfortable silence. She tries to keep her chin up and her posture straight. He breaks the silence with a simple statement.
"You are not the person I thought you were."
Her bottom lip trembles as she shakes her head, "I am. I swear I am. And I will spend the rest of my life trying to prove that to you. But we have to get through this," She tries again. All she receives is a shake of his head in return. It snaps something inside of her. She slams her hand down on the table.
"God dammit, Henry!" She screams. The room falls quiet, and she looks up at him. She knows his answer. She can see it on his face.
"You are going to make that fucking phone call. Or not only will I have the FBI arrest you, but I will take our kids, and I will run with them. You will never see them again. And when Elizabeth gets executed, you'll have no one. Do you understand?"
"I can't," He whispers, his voice thick, "I can't do it," He thinks of the Milgram experiment—all of those people who fake-fried their friends just because some guy told them to. He's a theologian and a philosopher. He will not bend over and give Elizabeth up. She's made the sacrifice of not being near their kids; he can be strong enough to do that, too.
"You will. Or you will lose everything. If you chose her, god knows what I'll be tempted to do. Maybe I'll call the president about your refusal,"
Henry is reeling. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and his vision is blurring. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't have a plan. He's run out of options. He walks to the bar, noticeably filled with full-size bottles of liquor and not the mini ones. He twists open a bottle of bourbon, good bourbon. If he's going to do this, he needs a drink. He's not proud of what he's about to do. But he doesn't know what else he can do. He downs the sipping whiskey in one go before pouring himself another.
He slowly turns back to her, "I want you to know I'm only doing this for the kids. You and I are done."
"Henry, don't say that," she starts, but he doesn't let her finish.
"Do you want the damn phone call or not?" He grits out.
"Yes," she answers quietly, "Yes, I do,"
…X…X…X…
Stevie's never felt this anxious. She's sure of it. Everyone around her knows something. And they aren't telling her. She stood in the White House and watched Harrison adorably bowl with her brothers. But Allie and Jason were quiet- answering every question from the First Lady with a no thank you. They're keeping their distance from Stevie, and she hates it. And then, there was a quiet drive to the hotel, where she and her younger siblings were immediately sent away with their grandpa.
Her grandpa, usually a beacon of stability, is off. He's playing tick-tack-toe with crayons on the kid's menu, a feeble attempt to distract himself. But he's sitting in a fancy hotel restaurant, a place he would never voluntarily choose. And he hasn't made one comment about making food at home, a routine he never breaks. Not one comment about the showy extravagance of staying in a hotel wing strictly meant for visiting foreign dignitaries. And she can't ignore his glances every few seconds at the obvious spooks that are sitting at the table next to theirs, a sign that he's aware of the unusual situation they're in.
Stevie takes a long drink of water and watches her only little sister. Allison is fiddling with her sleeve, and she has a look on her face. Stevie's not sure what it means, but she's not sure what any look means right now. She can't tell if it's just the usual Allison anxiety or something else. She turns to Jason; his brow is furrowed in a way that reminds her of her mother- not Jessica, but rather the woman she sees every time she looks in the mirror these days. Her mother's blue eyes always stare back at her, and her throat always gets tight. She sometimes wonders if that's how her mother felt when she looked in the mirror; after all, both Elizabeth's and Stevie's eyes are Suzanne's.
Stevie tries to breathe slowly and calm her nerves. Her grandpa catches her eye.
"Everything's okay, sweetheart?"
She nods, giving him a weak smile. He doesn't buy it, though. And she wonders why he felt the need to reassure her so quickly.
"I need to use the restroom, Allie, wanna come with me?" She asks. She needs to get one of them alone so she can get the truth. She can't take another second of the anxiety that's hanging over her.
Allie looks at her grandpa, and the look in her eye is a plea. He gives her a reassuring smile. He glances at the agents- Secret Service, FBI, or CIA, he doesn't know. He figures they can't have a problem with a bathroom break, and girls always go in pairs, don't they? At least his wife and daughters did.
Stevie waits for her little sister, who is moving at a glacial pace. She notices one of the agents get up and follow them. She holds her breath until they are in the bathroom, and the agent remains outside the door. She's alone with her sister.
"Allie, what's happening?" Stevie whispers to her withdrawn little sister.
Allie looks up, and her lower lip trembles. She's wanted to cry for hours. She hasn't begun to understand any of this at all. It's been one thing after another for hours- leaving Pittsburgh, the weird White House visit and the bombshell secret revealed.
"Dad," Allie has to pause when her voice immediately cracks, "Dad said... D-dad said mommy's alive," she finally chokes out, her chest heaving with the effort.
"What?" Stevie's mouth is open in shock. That can't be right. That can't be something that her father said.
"It's what he said. And I think it's true. And I think she's in trouble," Allie whispers. It makes sense to her that she would be in trouble. Why else would all of this be happening?
"Oh, my God," Stevie breathes. This can't be happening. Not now. She's going to lose it. She can't believe it. This can't be real. At a loss for anything to ground herself, she pulls her sister into a hug.
"She's going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay, Allie," she tells her little sister, but she has a hard time believing the words herself. How is this happening? She has so many questions, and she only hopes they'll have a chance at getting answered.
