Bluebird Down

Chapter Four

Elizabeth

Thirty-five minutes left. Elizabeth strode down the hall and into the office three doors along from the Situation Room. A desk and a couple of blue leather armchairs took up most of the floor space, whilst a grandfather clock with sun-bleached oak hid in the corner. The stacks of books that lined the shelves behind the desk imbued the air with a musty smell, and the way that the clock stuttered over each second made it feel like a room that time had forgot.

She perched against the desk and curled her fingers over the edge, the silver and gold of her rings cold against the rich mahogany. Henry followed her inside. The door clunked shut. Silence. She met his gaze. "I know you're not happy about this."

"Well, that's one way to put it." Henry's tone cut through the room. "You heard Director Haymond; you're not CIA anymore."

Her nails bit into the wood. "Right. Because I quit." The words splintered from her mouth and drove into the silence. If you're telling me it's a choice between the career that I love or you and the kids, I will always choose you.

Henry gripped his neck; his body twisted up.

"But now I'm Secretary of State, which is who they're asking for."

His nostrils flared. "Yeah, and I wonder why." He drew in a stream of breath as he massaged his brow. Then his hand dropped to his side, and he frowned at her. "And what was that with Conrad? Steel..."

Operation SteelKing. Her spine bristled. Conrad, promise me you won't tell him. She shook her head and forced herself to hold Henry's gaze. "It's nothing."

"Well, it was enough to convince him." Henry took a step closer.

Elizabeth stiffened. She folded her arms over her chest.

"Tell me what it means."

"It means that Conrad trusts me."

His tone sharpened. "Elizabeth."

"You heard him, Henry." She hugged her arms tighter. "We're going ahead with this plan."

Tick, tick, tick. Henry's gaze bore into her. "You don't want to tell me, fine—" He waved one hand as if it didn't matter, though the sheen of his eyes said otherwise. "—but have you even stopped to think about the kids?"

"Of course I've thought about the kids." Elizabeth's voice fractured. Over and over and over. "But I'm also thinking about the children who won't have a mother or a father if I don't go inside. What about Desi, or Chloe, or Joanna?"

Henry clenched his jaw. "And what about our kids, Elizabeth?" And as her gaze dropped to the floor, he stepped closer still, until he stood toe to toe with her, towering over her as she leant against the desk. "What about Stevie and Ali and Jason?"

Elizabeth swallowed, but it felt like someone had crushed her throat. She lifted her chin and met his eye. "If Daisy dies, Joanna will have lost both her parents, and trust me, I wouldn't wish that on anyone, let alone a little girl." I'm sorry, Lizzie...I couldn't do anything...they had already...She threw her hands up. Her tone spiked. "I can't just sit back and do nothing and watch my staff be killed. My life's no more valuable than theirs."

"It is to me." A jolt of darkness struck Henry's eyes. He clamped his lips together, but that didn't conceal their tremor. He looked up to the ceiling and shook his head to himself. "God, Elizabeth..."

"Henry," she whispered, "please."

She eased away from the desk, and bunching his shirt in her fists, she rested her forehead against his shoulder. His scent enveloped her: the kick of black pepper, the embrace of cinnamon, the earthy sweetness of ambergris.