"That certainly wouldn't surprise me," Seth said. "It would be a subtle way for her to get some kind of payback for what he did to her. She was nonconfrontational, so this indirect approach would've suited her."
"How did she know about the weaknesses within the Secret Service in the first place?" Calix asked.
Seth shifted in his chair. "Um, I'm pretty sure she read a memo marked for the president's eyes only. He rarely involved her in anything, and she didn't seem to mind, but she knew a lot more of what was going on than he realized. She just had more subtle ways of getting information, and one of her strategies was to read the papers he brought with him into the residence."
Coulson cleared his throat. "Technically, she would've had the security clearance, so even though her actions weren't advisable, she didn't break any laws. They're married. It would be hard to exclude her from all information her husband was privy to. First ladies have always held that implicit trust…or so the Secret Service director has assured me."
Del leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "So let me get this clear. The president asks for extended Secret Service protection months after the Pride Bombing, but the first lady doesn't know why. She protests, but he ignores her. He has an affair, which she discovers, and he agrees not to run again. But then he has to break that promise because his vice president resigned, and so she forces him to choose me as his running mate. Then their grandson comes out as gay, the president shows himself to be a raging homophobe after all, and she's furious. Shortly after, she reveals to Henley what she has learned about weaknesses in the Secret Service."
Calix suppressed a smile. To others, it might sound like Del was repeating what had been said already, but he thought out loud to organize the facts in his mind.
"Correct, Mr. President," Coulson said. "We can only speculate at her motivation, though the affair does seem likely to play a role, as does her concern about how thinly stretched the Secret Service was."
Del tapped his chin with his index finger. "If you're correct and Henley is suggesting someone told her to contact him, it stands to reason this person would know both about the affair and the issues within the Secret Service. Because if they didn't, they'd never have suggested that the first lady contact Henley behind her husband's back. Whoever told her had to know she had reason to get back at him and that she had specific information to do it."
Damn. Calix hadn't thought of that, but Del was right. Whoever had made that suggestion to Mrs. Markinson had to have known what was going on. So who had she told about the affair?
Coulson's face showed respect as he looked at Del. "That's quite insightful, Mr. President."
"I have my moments," Del said dryly.
Seth sat quiet, a deep frown between his eyebrows. "I can't recall her talking to anyone about the affair. She had a few close friends, but as far as I know, she never discussed it even with them. At least, not when I was present. That doesn't mean she didn't because obviously, she could have when I wasn't on shift."
"Can you do some discrete digging around with your colleagues, find out if anyone else picked up on something?" Coulson asked.
Seth nodded. "I'll give it a try. I'm still close with those agents, and we talk regularly. Let me see what I can unearth."
"In the meantime, how do we handle this?" Calix wanted to know. "Do we confront her?"
"Our evidence is circumstantial," Coulson admitted. "But it's enough to talk to her, providing she's willing to. Another option is to contact Henley again. Or Levar. Maybe he knows something."
"No." Calix's tone was firm. "We leave Levar out of this. If Henley hadn't been his boyfriend, we wouldn't have approached him, so let's not blur the lines. And to be honest, I'm not comfortable putting much more pressure on Henley either. At least, not with the backing of the White House. We're not telling you how to run the investigation, but we value the good relationships we have with the press, and forcing them to reveal their sources would endanger that. Plus, there's always the risk of alerting them something else is going on if we're working that hard to find their source. The last thing we need is for Henley 'Hound' Platt to get on this particular trail because once he smells blood, we're fucked."
Coulson smiled at him. "I figured you would say that, and I respect that. At this point in the investigation, I don't see the need to pressure Henley more, but I'll keep the option open. For now, let me contact Annabeth Markinson and see where I can get with her."
"If you want to, I can go with you," Seth said softly, and Calix smiled. The look on Seth's face was that of a man in love, and it warmed his heart to see those two together, even though they were trying so damn hard to stay professional. "She likes me."
"Of course she does," Coulson muttered, and Calix's smile widened. He'd never expected the tough FBI agent to break character, but that remark had not been professional at all.
Seth winked at Calix, then said, "Oh, boo, you say the sweetest things."
Coulson's expression was priceless.
6
God, he was bored. It had proven to be a classic dreary Monday morning where little happened. Earlier that morning, Rhett had taken some photos of the president with foreign dignitaries, but he wasn't needed until after lunch when the first family was heading over to a shelter to pick out a new pet. That should make for some amazing photos, although the thought of venturing outside the safe walls of the White House made him nervous.
He'd overcome his agoraphobia for the most part, but unknown situations with many people were still challenging. All he needed was one wrong move, one shove or yell or hard sound, and he was right back at the Pride Bombing, witnessing the horrors through his lens. He'd better drown himself in vanilla before they left and hope no one would notice he smelled like a Yankee candle.
He'd checked if Levar was available for lunch, but his schedule was fully booked, which left Rhett wandering down to the White House mess on his own. He hated eating by himself, especially in his tiny office, which was more like a closet and only suitable to store his gear. Without any windows, it was claustrophobic as fuck and more than a little depressing. Not that he would ever complain. His job didn't warrant a bigger office.
Aside from that, the whole concept of eating by himself triggered middle school memories. Middle school trauma, more accurately, as none of those memories were happy. The good things hadn't started to happen until he had met Levar.
His eyes trained at the floor, as usual, he hurried down the hallway and nearly bumped into someone. Calix. Rhett frowned. Calix was limping, favoring his right leg. What had happened? He looked like he was in pain. His whole body tense, he was moving stiffly, with none of his usual fluidity.
"Are you okay?" he asked. Calix stopped and slowly turned around.
"Just peachy, can't you tell?" he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
"What happened? Did you get into an accident?"
"Oh no. This was all my own doing. Can you believe I'd be stupid enough to choose this?"