“Thank you, Maddy” Phyllis Armstrong said softly. They all shared a common bond, or most of them, lawyers and doctors and judges and even a First Lady, histories of violence and abuse, and only by sheer luck and grit had they survived it. And they were all acutely aware that there were countless others who weren't as lucky, and needed their help. The group sitting in the First Lady's private quarters was anxious to help them.

Bill Alexander was the last to speak, and his story was the most unusual, as Maddy suspected it would be. He had grown up in a good home in New England, with parents who loved him and each other. And he had met and married his wife when she was at Wellesley and he was at Harvard. He had a doctorate in foreign policy and political science, and had taught at Dartmouth for several years, and then Princeton, and was teaching a class at Harvard when he was made Ambassador to Kenya at fifty. His next post was in Madrid, and from there he was sent to Colombia. He said that he had three grown children who were respectively, a doctor, a lawyer, and a banker. All very respectable and academically impressive. His had been a quiet, “normal” life, in fact, he said with a smile, a fairly boring, but satisfying existence.

Colombia had been an interesting challenge for him, the political situation there had been delicate, and the drug trade pervaded everything in the country. It was intricately interwoven into all forms of business, tainted politics, and corruption was rampant. He had been fascinated by what he had to do there, and felt equal to the task until his wife was kidnapped. His voice quavered as he said it. She was held prisoner for seven months, he said, fighting back tears, and then finally gave in to them, as the psychiatrist sitting next to him gently reached out to touch his arm, as though to steady him, and he smiled at her. They were all friends now, and knew each others most intimate, and best-hidden secrets.

“We tried everything to get her back,” he explained in a deep, troubled voice. Maddy had calculated from the time he'd spent in his three diplomatic posts that he was sixty. He had white hair, and blue eyes, and a youthful face, and he looked strong and athletic. “The State Department sent special negotiators to talk to representatives from the terrorist group that was holding her hostage. They wanted a prisoner exchange, trading her for one hundred political prisoners, and the State Department wouldn't agree to it. I understand the reasons for it, but I didn't want to lose her. The CIA tried too, and they tried to kidnap her back, but they fumbled the attempt, and she was moved into the mountains and after that we couldn't find her. Eventually, I personally paid the ransom they wanted, and then I did a very foolish thing.” His voice shook again as he continued to tell the story, and Maddy s heart went out to him, as did everyone's, as they listened. “I tried to negotiate with them myself. I did everything I could. I almost went crazy trying to get her back. But they were too smart, too quick, too evil to beat. We paid the ransom, and three days later, they killed her. They dumped her body on the steps of the Embassy,” he said, choking on the words and giving in to tears now, “and they had cut her hands off.” He sat there sobbing for a moment, and no one moved, and then Phyllis Armstrong reached out and touched him, and he took a deep breath, as the others murmured their sympathy to him. It was a horrifying story, and a trauma everyone wondered how he had lived through. “I felt entirely responsible for making a botch of it. I should never have tried to negotiate with them myself, it just seemed to make them madder. I thought I could help, but I suspect that if I had left it alone and let the experts handle it, they'd have kept her for a year or two, as they had with others, and then released her. But by doing it myself, I more or less killed her.”

“That's nonsense, Bill,” Phyllis said firmly, “I hope you know that. You can't guess what might have happened. Those people are ruthless and immoral, a life means nothing to them. They might very well have killed her anyway. In fact, I'm sure they probably would have.”

“I think I'll always feel as though I did,” Bill said mournfully, “the press more or less said that.” And suddenly, as she listened, Maddy remembered Jack telling her that Bill Alexander was a fool, and she wondered how he could be so heartless, now that she knew the story.

“The press likes to make a sensation of things. They don't know what they're talking about most of the time,” Maddy added for good measure, as he glanced up at her with eyes full of sorrow. She had never seen so much pain in her life and she wanted to reach out and touch him but she was sitting too far away from him. “They just want to sell a story. I can tell you that from experience, Ambassador. I'm so sorry all of that happened to you,” Maddy said kindly.

“So am I. Thank you, Mrs. Hunter,” he said, and blew his nose in the clean handkerchief he took from his pocket.

“We all have tough stories. That's why we're here. That's not why I asked you to be here,” Phyllis Armstrong brought them slowly to order. “I didn't know most of these histories when I asked you to come here. I asked you because you're intelligent, caring people. That's why you came, and why you want to help the commission. We've all learned from experience, the hard way, or most of us at least. We know what we're talking about, and what it feels like. What we need to do now is figure out what to do about it, how to help the people who are still out there. We're survivors, all of us, but they may not be. We have to get to them soon, and to the media, and the public. The clock is ticking, and we have to get to them before we lose them. Women die every day, murdered by their husbands, raped in the streets, kidnapped and tortured by strangers, but most women are killed by men, men they know, and more often than not, their spouses and boyfriends. We need to educate the public, and show the women where to go to get help before it is too late for them. We have to change the laws, and make them tougher. We have to make the prison sentences match the crime, and make it too costly to commit an act of violence on a woman, or anyone for that matter. It's a war of sorts, a war we have to fight and win. And I want each of you to go home and think about what we can do to change things. I suggest we meet again in two weeks, before most of you go away for the summer, and let's try to come up with some solutions. Today, I mostly wanted you to get to know each other. I know each of you, some of you fairly well in fact, but now you know who you'll be working with and why they're here. We're all here for the same reason essentially and some of us may have suffered, but all of us want to make a difference, and we can do it. Individually, we're all capable of it, collectively we will provide a force that cannot be resisted. I'm putting all of my confidence in you, and I want to do some thinking about this myself before we meet again.” She stood up then, with a warm smile that enveloped each of them. “Thank you for coming here today. Feel free to stay and chat for a while. Unfortunately, I have to move on to my next appointment.”

It was nearly four o'clock and Maddy couldn't believe how much she'd heard in two hours. It had been so emotional for all of them that she felt as though she had spent days with them. And she made a point of going over to Bill Alexander and talking to him before she left. He looked like a kind man, and his story was so tragic. He looked as though he still hadn't recovered from it, and that hardly surprised her, given the trauma he'd been through, and it had happened only seven months before. She was surprised he was coherent.

“I'm so sorry, Ambassador,” she said gently. “I remember the story, but it's different hearing it from you. What a nightmare to go through.”

“I'm not sure I'll ever recover,” he said honestly. “I still dream about it.” He told her he had recurring nightmares, and the psychiatrist asked if he was in therapy, and he said he had been for several months, but was getting by on his own now. He certainly looked sane and normal, and was obviously extremely intelligent, but Maddy couldn't help wondering how he could survive an experience like that and still be functioning sensibly and calmly. He was clearly an extraordinary person. “I look forward to working with you,” Maddy said with a smile.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hunter,” he said smiling back at her.

“Call me Maddy, please.”

“I'm Bill, and I saw your story the other night, about Janet McCutchins. It was very disturbing, as it should be.”

She smiled ruefully at the compliment and thanked him. “My husband has yet to forgive me. He was very upset about the implications for the network.”

“You have to be brave and just do the right thing sometimes. You know that as well as I do. You have to listen to your heart as well as your advisers. I'm sure he understands that. It was the right thing to do, and you did it.”

“I don't think he'd agree with you, but I'm glad I did it,” she admitted.

“People need to hear it,” he said firmly, the strength coming back into his voice. And he looked younger as he chatted with her. She was very impressed by him, both by his presence and the way he had handled himself at their first meeting. She could see why Phyllis had asked him.

“I think they do need to hear it,” Maddy said, and then glanced at her watch. It was after four and she had to get to the studio for hair and makeup. “I'm afraid I've got a five o'clock show to do. I'll see you at the next meeting.” Maddy shook hands with several people before she left the room, and then she left the White House as quickly as she could, and caught a cab back to the network.