Chapter 32

Beatrice

Why is this so difficult?

Why can’t I simply tell him?

It weighs so heavy on me, what the world will make of this—the headlines the press will print in the newspapers and tabloids, how they’ll cover this on TV.

News of my pregnancy will spread like wildfire once the word is out. Which is exactly why Henry needs to know first and needs to know as soon as possible—yet I can’t bring myself to tell him.

Shouldn’t we be able to put ourselves first, and be above all the public perception, expectations, and social norms?

Henry is the most powerful man on the planet, and he has a job to do. I’m torn because the news of my pregnancy seems to pale compared to decisions and problems weighing on his mind, but isn’t it the most wonderful and exciting news you can receive?

Sharing it with your partner should be a joyous and intimate moment of celebration, and still, I’m holding back, literally biting my tongue.

I’m pregnant and troubled by how to tell the father of my child. This is not how imagined this special moment.

I breathe an audible sigh, and from his desk, Henry looks over at me to the table where I’m still pretending to be busy with my folders.

I take in his look, full of concern and care for me. How can I doubt that he’ll know exactly what to do? How can I withhold this important an information from him?

I give him a smile, and he smiles back.

“Henry,” I begin, my voice wavering.

“Yes?”

He halts again what he’s doing and fully turns his attention to me.

“Look, before we continue working on your biography, let’s get one thing out of the way.”

“Oh, there’s nothing in the way,” he reassures me. “Nor is there anything between us. When I joke as I did before, it’s to loosen up the situation, but know that you can always take me seriously, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Henry.”

He smiles again.

“But that’s not really what I meant just now.”

His steady and firm voice—full of confidence—build up my courage in turn, and I know I can tell him. I’m as ready now as I’ll ever be.

Come on, Beatrice, the only way out is through!

I’ve never struggled to find the right words in my writing. Why are all the possible opening lines stuck in my throat now?

“Henry,” I begin again softly.

Just then, there is a short but succinct rapping at the door. Immediately, I swallow all my words back down.

Without awaiting an answer, the two wings of the door fly open, and Lawrence bursts into the room. The White House chief of staff marches towards us, followed by an armada of generals, taking equally great strides. Trailing behind is a group of what I assume are intelligence officials of the administration, filing in two by two.

Henry shoots me a quick, apologetic look from across the room, as if to say he’s sorry for the interruption. It’s blatantly obvious that my “business” is not as pressing as whatever this commotion is about. I appreciate Henry’s look, and I know I can’t expect him to put me above official duties.

But at the same time, I already wonder when the next opportunity will arise to tell him I’m pregnant—and if it will be just as difficult again to muster up the same courage to actually tell him.

“Mr President,” Lawrence says in the authoritative, deep, and booming voice he uses for serious matters. “A situation has arisen.”

The last official shuts the door behind him. The chief of staff has arrived at the table, where he begins to spread a huge map. Lawrence quickly glances at me sideways as he moves my folders out of the way. I gather them up hastily—I guess now the moment to work on the biography is over.

All this looks very alarming.

Henry walks over from his desk and takes position at Lawrence’s side. The generals gather on the other side, their brass insignia and colorful decorations gleaming in the light, while the intelligence officials cluster at one end of the table, as if they were their own dark and gloomy cloud.

The formation of the men at the table has shut me out automatically, and yet I linger. I won’t leave unless Henry explicitly tells me to.

Lawrence seems to have read my mind. Again, he looks at me, then back at Henry.

“She doesn’t—” he begins, indicating me with a nod of the head.

“Have the appropriate security clearance,” Henry interrupts. “Not technically, but I’m going to tell her everything later regardless.”

The answer is good enough for Lawrence, but the others are not convinced. One general looks as though he’s about to say something, but a look from his commander-in-chief shuts him up before he even speaks.

Lawrence’s hands are resting on the map, and he leans forward, putting his weight on them. The intelligence staff look up from the tablets in their hands. I assume they have additional information on there.

Henry waves me into the circle around the table, and I take a step forward, my eyes already fixed on the map spread out in front of us. I recognize the islands in the South China Sea charted out in great detail.

“Gentlemen, whatever this is about, please begin and fill me in,” Henry addresses the room.

Lawrence gives a brief nod and gathers himself. The generals stand upright with their hands clasped behind their back so their chests stand out.

“The situation is as follows, sir: a transport vessel sailing under the Dutch flag was boarded with force by pirates in the South China Sea. The incident must have occurred around here.”

One of the generals points to a spot on the map.

“We believe the pirates have taken the crew hostage and are in full control of the ship since between oh-five-hundred and oh-six-hundred hours this morning.”

“How are we involved? What are the direct consequences for us?” Henry asks.

One of the intelligence men speaks up with a monotonous voice. “The ship was operating as part of our special government contract.”

He pulls up a document on his tablet and presents it to Henry. I can see the words Top Secret on the top of the screen.

Henry briefly scans the contract, nodding, then waves his hand. “I see.”

“The vessel carries what is the first shipment of enriched uranium out of China. This is the beginning of our fulfillment of the nuclear non-proliferation deal we’ve just reached in The Hague,” Lawrence continues.

“So, the ship was already loaded when it fell into the hands of the pirates?” Henry asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m afraid so,” one of the generals answers. “To full capacity. Several tonnes.”

“Why was there no military escort?” Henry asks, turning to him.

“Stealth. Officially, the ship is a merchant vessel. A military escort would draw unnecessary international attention.”

“Despite all this,” Lawrence interjects, “there is some good news. The special cargo is hidden among an otherwise inconspicuous freight. As of now, the pirates still think they have intercepted a regular shipment of unprocessed ore, minerals, and other raw material. They don’t know what they’ve gotten their hands on.”

Henry crosses his arms in front of his chest, furrowing his brow. I look at him and know he’s already brooding, working his mind to defuse the situation without harm to anyone.

“However, it’s a mere question of time until they discover the prize,” an admiral states.

“Once they do,” Lawrence lines out, “we can expect they’ll try to sell it to the highest bidder.”

“From the top of my head, I can think of more than one nation or rogue state that would love to take that shortcut to an atomic bomb,” Henry says with obvious concern.

“Indeed. Time is of the essence, Mr President. We have to act immediately on this.”

Henry looks over to the general with a nod. “Thank you all for bringing me up to speed on this with clarity and brevity, gentlemen.”

“Mr President,” another general chimes in, “we’ve already played through several scenarios and come up with a couple of proposals for an action plan.”

“General, I think I need to get the full picture and know which of our vessels are in the vicinity to decide on an approach to the situation. I believe it’s best if we take this discussion to the situation room.”

Lawrence is already stepping forward to bend over the table, folding up the map as Henry points to the door.

In the same succession, the long line of men marches out the door as quickly as they barged in.

I can’t help but exhale loudly.

There goes my hope of a quiet moment with Henry to intimately inform him of my pregnancy.

Of course, this emergency around the non-proliferation deal is more important.

What was I thinking—even if I was the first lady of the United States, I’d still and always be second to the presidency. Henry’s job always comes first.

“Beatrice, are you coming?” Henry is leaning in the doorway, waiting for me with an inviting gesture.

I blow up my cheeks and huff loudly, shaking off my thoughts. Here I am, miring in petty questions when the literal hat of presidential biographer beckons me to put it back on. I need to document the tension in the situation room.

I hurry after Henry.

I, too, have a job to do.