Aide & Abet. Hillary held her head
gingerly. God, did it hurt. She
wasn’t completely sure what had just happened but she was patently certain that her day had not been improved by the
event. The first sense to return, aside from pain sensation, was smell. The smell would haunt her long after she forgot the antiseptic smell of Bill’s
hospital room. It was burning—no, cooked, roasted—flesh and she was
horrified. She knew this smell. Oh,
she knew this.
In
her mind flashed an American tragedy that she’d lived. The devastated open
air that had been the Twin Towers was a vicious reminder and she flinched from it and to a reality as violent.
There
were hoarse, shouting voices. Frantic voices, seeking one another and missing
repeatedly. “Has anyone seen Lotus? Who has Lotus? Anyone! Talk to me people.”
“I
have the Prime Minister. I have him! I’m extracting the Israeli Prime Minister STAT.
I need medics yesterday.” The report continued, but the Hillary’s
hearing faded as the previously-noted pain radiated from her pelvis. She’d
nearly forgotten that. How, she’d never know.
And,
the blood. The smell was strong, but the sight of it was gruesome. She could
see it starkly against her unnaturally white hands. They were sitting in pools
of it, but she couldn’t be sure who it was coming from, her or the person gasping near her head. Instead of breathing, she heard a disheartening gurgle in their throat—a death rasp. She reached out a bloodied hand towards the body and touched it gently.
She could hardly breathe herself—something was crushing her ribs into the tender tissue of her lungs, leaving
every inhale tasting of iron—but she wanted them to know they weren’t alone.
Without speaking, she said a dying prayer for the person at her side. She
wished she could see their face, if only so that she could tell God the child he would be taking now, as though he didn’t
know. It was her curiosity, only hers.
“Lotus,
I repeat who has Lotus? Michaud, give me Lotus.
Michaud!” The yelling continued in the smoky conference room that
had been where peace talks were being finalized between Israel and Iran. There
would be no union—for now—of their nations, but resources could be shared and civility approached. It had been a wonder of wonders and they had turned to Hillary to give thanks. There had been only friendship in their hands when they turned to her.
It was another who had come to spill blood on unsullied ground.
The
agents continued screaming for the agent-in-charge. Hillary could hear their
transmission sporadically coming from the body she still held to. She didn’t
have to guess who had stayed at her side through this tragedy anymore. Alegre
Michaud was an old confidante gone to ground. One more gone.
“Would
someone please—please give me Lotus?” It was another agent shouting
her codename. There was a franticness in his voice that scared Hillary. Could they really not see her? She could
hear debris being shoved about as they searched; the spray of fire extinguishers and the irritating smell of nitrogen; the
cry of the reporters who’d yet to be moved. It was a press event, this
closing day. They’d been filled to the extreme with people from every mainstream network and periodical. Today should’ve been a slam-dunk for her legacy and a killing for her legislative agenda going into
the fall session. Now, it was just a killing all around.
“You
have to get out of here,” a muffled voice commanded somewhere above Hillary’s head.
“We
can’t. The President is in here.”
It was the same agent. She didn’t recognize the voice and she was
pretty familiar with the voices of all of her agents. It was something every agent taught their charge so that they couldn’t
be easily deceived.
“If
she’s here, she’s dead. And if she isn’t, she will be. The integrity of this area is severely compromised, if not the integrity of the entire
structure. You need to take the rest of the wounded and get out of here.” Hillary gasped, as much from the pain of increased pressure on her lungs as fear. She wasn’t dead—no, not yet.
“I
can’t do that. It is my job--”
“And
it is my job to keep you from being dead. If we find the President, we’ll get her out of here, but you can’t be
here. Right now we’re trying to keep the entire building from catching on fire.
You’re in the way of our efforts and I can’t have that. Either remove yourself or I will.”
The
agent remained silent but moments later Hillary was able to pick up on the sound of someone picking through way through the
rubble to where she imagined the exit was. From there, emanated even more voices,
these raised. “No, you can’t leave her in there! Go back in there and get her, or I’ll go back and get her myself.” She smiled grimly but with affection. Evan.
“You
can’t do that, sir. They’ll put you out like they did me. You have
to get to the ‘copter, Mr. Vi--Mr. President.” The pall that came
over the conversation only added to the pressure driving breath from her lungs. “You’re
in charge until we find her. If we don’t find her alive, you are the President. You have a responsibility to the American people--” She willed him to assent.
The line-of-succession had to be guarded. It was a wonder he hadn’t already been spirited away.
“I
have a responsibility to her. I promised I’d never…” Evan trailed
off, lost.
“Please,
Evan, go,” she ordered with her little breath though she knew she’d go largely unheard.
“Okay.
I’ll go, but if you hear anything on your radio, you tell me. I don’t care if it’s the w--worst thing. I
have to know. I have to tell her mother and Chelsea.”
“I
will, sir. Please, we have to go.”
In her mind’s eye, fuzzy as it was becoming, she could see him nodding with that thoughtful frown on his mouth. He was buttoning his suit jacket and striding powerfully towards the front lawn, where
they’d been waiting for too long. She didn’t doubt for a second that
he looked absolutely presidential marching across the grass in front of a smoldering White House. They’d play that again and again in the coming days, she imagined.
Truth was she wished she could be there to see it herself.
It
was so hard to breathe by now. That monstrosity on top of her seemed to be getting
heavier by the moment. Air was only coming in terrible little hiccups. She could even hear the gargling in her own ears. Out of the
corner of her eye she saw unidentified light sparkle on her ring. She smiled,
grimly once more at it. Till death, do us part was clearly not so far away, after
all. She realized that she hadn’t even had a chance to fall in love again.
Dreamily,
she thought of Evan again, and wondered. Maybe no one ever loved the same way
twice, but she had most certainly loved him. This morning, when she had run into
him on the way to the Roosevelt Room, she had impetuously considered saying as much.
They hadn’t spoken—really spoken—for so long that she thought it would take something extreme to
bring them back to their old dance. Then, she’d remembered last night. That moan had been Evan, she was sure of it.
She had shaken herself viciously awake of her wistful stupor. There was
always Susan, and if not Susan, someone else. Not her. He hadn’t wanted her then, and she imagined he never would.
Still,
he had been such a puzzle this morning, sporting airs as cool as any day in D.C. They
had briefly spoken—exchanged pleasantries and platitudes. He was on his way to a meeting somewhere at the other end
of the White House, but he’d have an eye out for her, he said. She’d
thanked him cordially, feeling horribly uneasy standing tall on her honor with him.
She’d wanted to say something about OEOB and what she’d heard, but she couldn’t think of anything
then—and he didn’t seem inclined to hang back and listen. He looked
just about ready to stride away when he turned to her once more.
He’d
read, to her, as oddly guilty. She hadn’t had much time to dwell on it,
for the Iranian President and Israeli Prime Minister were punctual fellows who would begin without her if need must. As she went to leave him to his guilt, he’d gently grabbed her shoulder. She’d turned back just in time to meet a kiss. Had
she not seen what he had done, she wouldn’t have known he’d done it at all—just the faintest brush of his
lips against the corner of her mouth. She was left too stunned to react.
“Knock
‘em dead for me, will ya?” He’d whispered hoarsely near her cheek.
“Will
do,” she’d retorted weakly. The muted touch had tingled on her skin
as he left her standing in the corridor on her own. Throughout the day she had
inconstantly touched the tingling spot near her lips. His presence still lingered
there, as he had lingered himself when realized she hadn’t been found. In
the worst moment of her life, it was the kiss she couldn’t let go of; the night before was just a wrong piece in the
right puzzle. She nodded off into unconsciousness thinking of it.
The
commotion around her erupted suddenly into a roar, rousing her to dull awareness. It
assaulted her ears and her head, how it hurt with all the noise. The force of
the object on her body seemed to have immediately taken on the weight of the world.
She’d carried it on her back before, but it had never felt so crushing.
She gasped feebly and what little that remained of her reality spun like a globe that had lost its stand, off into
space, and out of orbit. She exhaled finally.
Maybe that was all she’d been waiting for.
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