Midnight

join the Council tonight.”
         Elizabeth stood mute, the color drained from her face.
         “She’s not feeling well,” interjected Haley hurriedly. “We must get some rest. I hope you enjoy your evening, Mr. Reed.” The two passed Reed, who bid them good evening and then turned and disappeared into the crowd.
         “Haley,” whispered Elizabeth breathlessly, thrown off by the encounter and with a note of panic, “let’s hurry.”
         They went down the stairs and toward the street. Haley raised her arm and hailed a cab. The cab driver was a silent type, and Haley watched out the window as the monuments and buildings faded by. In less than twenty minutes, they had arrived home, and Haley handed the driver a twenty dollar bill, which was all she had in her wallet, with an instruction to keep the change.
            In their apartment, Elizabeth sat in the corner of the couch, wrapping her legs in her arms. She was shaking as the words continued to play in her mind. Haley turned on one of the lights and then joined her, resting her chin on Elizabeth’s knees. The light dimly fell on both of them, huddled on the soft couch.
         “Tell me.”
         Elizabeth nodded and took a deep breath. Her head throbbed.
         “I was looking for a bathroom, just before I came and got you. I guess I took a wrong turn, and I ended up in someone’s office, I don’t know whose. And then I had to hide behind a curtain because someone was coming in. It was Reed. He was,” she paused, “on the phone. With someone. I don’t know who. And they talked about a plan that he had orchestrated, and making sure that everything went well, and that he had coordinated with the Pentagon and with Quantico - and something about survivors and making this country better - and then--Haley--then he said that tomorrow they would have to go to Chimaugua-”
         “The...the fallout bunker?” interrupted Haley.
         “In case of nuclear attack,” affirmed Elizabeth. “I know.”
         “The Chief of Staff doesn’t orchestrate drills; the Pentagon does.”
         There was a moment of silence.
         “Maybe he was working with the Pentagon on orchestrating a drill,” continued Haley. “I don’t know enough about the processes, the chain of command there...it’s got to be a drill. It has to be.”
         “What if it isn’t,” murmured Elizabeth.
         Haley looked around the apartment--the soft rug, the paintings of the ocean, a wooden wine rack she had bought in Costa Rica. Suddenly, she pulled out her phone and powered it down, and disconnected the Wi-Fi router from the wall, and Elizabeth also turned off her own phone.
         “We need to find out,” said Elizabeth after a moment, in a subdued tone that carried notes of urgency. “Haley, we have to find out.”
         Haley looked at her friend.
         “Elizabeth, if this isn’t a drill…if it’s not a drill, how do we know who we can trust? If there is a nuclear attack on U.S. soil, orchestrated from within, how do we know who to trust and who is involved?”
         Elizabeth did not have an answer to this question, and so sat in silence with her hands clasped tightly.
         “Is there no one in this city who you trust?” Elizabeth asked at last, after a few long moments.
                  “I trust Senator McCraiben.”
                  “Do you trust him that much? That you would risk your life in entrusting him with this information? It may be a drill, I pray to God it’s a drill, but Haley, if it’s not...”
                  Haley paused. The Senator—his face, his kind smile, his gruff demeanor, it flashed in her mind like a passing thought. She nodded.
               “We just don’t know,” continued Elizabeth. “We don’t know.”
         “I think we have to take the chance,” Haley replied quickly. “If there’s anyone who I trust, it’s him.”
         “Haley, he wasn’t even there tonight. He could have perfectly well been on the phone with Reed.”
         “There are any number of people who could have perfectly well been on the phone with Reed, including many people who were there.”
         “I just don’t think we can trust him.”
         “Well then, what’s your plan?”
         They both sat for a moment. The spring peepers sang happily outside the apartment and the wind rustled the treetops. A window was cracked open. Haley stood up and walked to the window, pulling down to shut it completely.
         “I don’t have a plan, but I just think we have to think more clearly about who to trust.”
         “Damn it Elizabeth,” burst out Haley angrily, “We have less than twenty-four hours. If we don’t trust one person enough to tell them, literally millions of people could die. This could be very real. You’ve overheard something that is of critical concern to national security - I mean, this is potentially millions of people dying. Who do you trust? Isn’t there one person in this city who you trust? I can’t have this on my shoulders. You can’t either. Just give me one name, and if we agree, we go to them.”
         Elizabeth buried her face in her hands and sat still. Haley paced back and forth, her hands on her head. A minute passed. Two.
         It’s just a drill, Haley told herself. It’s just a drill. It has to be just a drill. A sick joke.
         “Haley, do you really trust the Senator?”
         Haley’s gaze jerked up. “Yes, yes, I do. Of all the options he is the one I trust.”
         “Why?”
         In her mind’s eye, Haley saw the Senator. Working tirelessly. He would often get angry over injustices towards people who were not his constituents, who he had no political reason to care about. He would consistently sacrifice his own personal comfort to make sure that others had what they needed. Every morning he would come into her office, ensure that she was set up properly and not overwhelmed, and offer encouraging words. He had so much on his shoulders and yet would take the