Title: Boxed Set
By: Eligent
Pairing: gen
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Set pre-Revelations
Summary: Kidnapping cases may be part of the BAU's everyday life, but they have never experienced something like this. How do you keep playing the game when you're the odd man out and the rules keep changing at every turn? Reid and the others are about to find out.
***
"Conference room, now."
Reid looked up from his paperwork, surprised by his supervisor's harsh tone, only to see Hotchner brush by his desk, his dark coat still wet from the rain that had been steadily drizzling over Quantico the last couple of days.
"A new case?" he called after the fleeing figure. "Shouldn't we wait for Morgan?" He eyed the empty desk across from his.
"I said now, Reid." Hotchner was already moving up the stairs, two steps at the time, the very image of stress.
Reid and Prentiss looked at each other over the partition that separated their desks and Prentiss shrugged at Reid's silent question. With no more information forthcoming they gathered some writing materials and followed Hotchner up the stairs. They met up with Gideon and JJ, coming from JJ's office. Gideon was also still wearing a wet windbreaker and JJ's arms were suspiciously empty of new files.
"What's going on?" Prentiss asked her, but JJ just shrugged. She was just as out of the loop as the others. Gideon urged them on towards the round table room, his urgency making Reid nervous. What was going on?
The team filed into the round table room and took their seats. Hotchner remained standing. He shrugged off his coat and folded it over a chair before crossing his arms over his chest. "Morgan's missing," he said without preamble as soon as everyone had settled down.
"What?" Reid exclaimed, sitting up straight.
"What do you mean by missing?" Prentiss demanded with a frown.
"Since when?" JJ wanted to know.
"Hotch and I have just come from his place." Gideon sat forward to start his explanation, his hands clasped in front of him on the table. "This morning one of his neighbors was out walking his dog when he noticed that Morgan's patio door was open and that there was glass on the ground. He went up on the patio, looked in and saw signs of struggle. He immediately called the police. Once they found out who Morgan is, they contacted us."
"Why didn't you call us when you found out?" Reid asked, his worry showing itself in his slightly hurt expression.
"I was already on my way to work," Hotchner explained, "So I just had to turn the car around. It was the same for Gideon. And Morgan's place was packed with police and forensics, so we thought it would be better to come back here for a preliminary briefing."
"You said signs of struggle," Prentiss said, making eye contact with Gideon. "What did you mean by that?"
"There was a hole in the back door," Gideon answered. "It looked as if someone had tried to cut a hole in the glass to stick their hand through to reach the lock, but they dropped the piece of glass on the patio, which was what caught the neighbor's attention. And there were things knocked down all over the kitchen and in the living room; broken plates, books knocked down from shelves, things like that. There must've been two or more unsubs in there and from the looks of it, Morgan put up one hell of a fight."
"The police found blood and hair on one of Morgan's football trophies," Hotchner said. "Their theory is that the unsubs used it to knock him out. But there wasn't much blood in the house and no body, so we're pretty sure they took him alive."
Though the questions 'who' and 'why' were on everyone's mind, no one uttered them.
"Was anything missing?" Prentiss asked.
Hotchner shook his head. "His cell phone, keys and gun were still there. But I haven't spent enough time in Morgan's home to notice if anything special is missing. Reid, I want you to go there later today and look around. And bring Garcia too. I think you two are the ones who have been there the most."
Reid nodded mutely. In his mind's eye he was already there, making a mental list of things to be on the look-out for.
"Where is Garcia?" JJ asked. "I haven't seen her today. Has anyone told her yet?"
Hotchner shook his head again. "We just got here. Go and see if she's here, will you? We're gonna need all the help we can get."
JJ left the room, heading for Garcia's office.
"Did you find a message or a ransom note at the site?" Reid asked.
"No," Gideon said. "And as far as we know we haven't been sent a ransom demand either. Have any of you gotten anything in the mail? Have you checked your mail and e-mail today? Any strange phone calls?"
Everyone shook their heads, no one had received anything.
"I'm going to call his family soon," Hotchner said grimly. "I'll ask them too, but I doubt they will have heard anything. We need to put up surveillance on all of our phones and e-mails. Now where's Garcia?"
"Hello!" Morgan shouted once again, his voice growing hoarse. "Hello! Is anyone there? Hey, can you hear me? Hello?" He pounded on the door with a clenched fist. "Hey, let me out!" Not that he had much hope of being let out. You didn't kidnap someone and chain them up in what Morgan assumed was a basement only to let them out a few hours later with a slap to the back and a 'there's a good sport'.
With a last, frustrated bang on the door that left his fist aching, Morgan walked away from it, once again surveying his prison, even though he already knew that the only way out of the room was the door. The very locked and bolted steel door.
The room was medium sized, maybe fifteen by fifteen feet. Two cots were standing head to head in one corner, a pile of coarseblankets at the foot of one of them. In the opposite corner, directly across from the door, stood a screen and behind it were a toilet and a sink, both made out of stainless-steel as if they belonged in a public restroom or a prison. Morgan didn't like the sight of them. While it did suggest a certain care for the hostage, it also suggested that this was supposed to be a long term arrangement. There were no windows and the white walls were bare. A fluorescent tube hummed in the ceiling. The room was reasonably clean, no dust or grime on the floor. There was a new sensation to the place too. There was a faint, moist smell in the air that Morgan associated with wet paint and the stainless-steel appliances were just that; stainless. They looked unused while the cots and blankets looked like they had been picked up at an army surplus store somewhere.
There was a steel shackle locked around his left ankle, with a long chain that rattled as he paced across the floor. The chain was padlocked to a u-bolt which in turn was securely bolted to the wall at the spot furthest away from the door. The chain was long enough for Morgan to move around the room, but was stretched taut when he stood by the door. He wouldn't be able to take one step outside this room. He had already checked every individual link in the chain, looking for weaknesses, but it was as strong as it could be.
He was wearing jeans, an old navy-blue t-shirt with a faded Chicago Bears logo on it and tube socks. No shoes. That fact irked him to no end. The floor was concrete, painted gray. It had no insulation whatsoever and his toes kept curling up to ward themselves from the chill. The shackle was fitted on top of his jeans so at least it wouldn't chafe. It wasn't all that snug either, it was loose enough not to be constricting… except of course for the fact that he couldn't take it off. But it still lay heavily on his ankle bone, thumping against his foot when he moved around.
Morgan walked over to the sink, taking a mouthful of ice cold water into his mouth and then splashing more over his black eye and then at the lump at the back of his head. There were more bruises hidden on different parts of his body, but no serious injuries. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing that he hadn't made it easy for his kidnappers to take him, they'd been forced to knock him out first.
The attack had come from nowhere. He'd been home alone, slouching on his couch with a bowl of popcorn in his lap, watching a movie, when the sound of shattering glass had startled him and sent his pulse racing out of sheer surprise. Letting the popcorn bowl clatter to the floor, he'd raced towards the kitchen. His first thought had been that it was a baseball gone astray or a football or something like that, but it was too dark for anyone to be out playing. In the archway to the kitchen he'd almost collided with the first of the kidnappers, who was racing the other way to get to him. Morgan's gun was kept in a lockbox in his bedroom and he knew there was no time to get it, because behind the first man he'd seen two others come to help, all three of them wearing ski masks.
The fight was still a bit of a blur in his mind, outdrawn as it had been. He vaguely remembered one of his pictures falling off the wall as he slammed one of the kidnappers into it, and hearing other things smashing as they moved around in the apartment. He knew he'd gotten a couple of good punches in himself before something hard had smashed into his skull and the next thing he knew he woke up on a cot in this room with a blinding headache and his foot shackled to the wall. Since there were no windows here he didn't know what time it was or how long he'd been here. He hadn't been wearing his watch, he'd taken it off together with the gun and his shoes as he'd prepared for a lazy night in.
Suddenly the sound of a key inserted into a lock echoed throughout the room and Morgan hastily walked out from behind the screen, prepared to come face to face with his captors.
The door opened and a man stood on the other side of the threshold, carefully out of reach for anyone in the room. It was a man Morgan had not expected to see.
"Hello Morgan," he said calmly.
Morgan's eyes narrowed dangerously and he walked quickly towards the door until the chain ruthlessly yanked him to a stop just out of reach from the man. "You?" he hissed furiously, his fists clenched by his sides. "You bastard. Where is she? Where's Garcia? What've you done with her?"
***
"Penny?" the man said, an amused, pretended look of surprised on his face. "I haven't done anything to her. Why, do you think I should?" He smiled conspiratorially as if they were sharing a secret.
"You leave her alone, Caswell, or else-" Morgan started.
"Now, now, Morgan," the man interrupted. "I don't think you're in a position to make any threats." But he had dropped his amused look.
Morgan, his fury barely contained, gaped at the man. His name was Henry Caswell and they had first met about six months earlier. The team had been working a case when they had unexpectedly had to call Garcia in at ten p.m. on a Friday night to go through some data they had recovered.
When Morgan went to Garcia's office he saw a man sitting on a chair right outside the room, iPod earbuds in his ears, reading a magazine, doing everything he could to appear unobtrusive while Garcia worked away at her keyboard on the other side of the open door. The iPod was pink and the magazine was about on-line poker, so it was no stretch of imagination to figure out where he had gotten the items. The man glanced up at him as he passed, but then went back to his magazine, seemingly uninterested.
Morgan entered the office and tapped the dressed up Garcia on the shoulder. "Uh… sugar plum?"
"Yes, my candy cane?" she said, spinning around on her swivel chair and smiling broadly at him.
Morgan nodded his head towards the man. "What's with the bodyguard out there?"
Garcia sighed and pushed her glasses up her nose. "I was on a date when you called. I couldn't just leave the poor thing sitting alone in the restaurant, now could I?"
"So why have you got him stashed out in the hallway?"
"Hello?" Garcia said, gesturing towards the computer screen. "Confidential, remember? Besides, I fully intend on continuing the date as soon as I've finished here, if you know what I mean." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Morgan had grinned knowingly and let it slide at that, going back to business. But once the case was over he had gone back to see Garcia.
"So, tell me about this guy."
"Who? Henry?" Garcia said, holding back a school-girlish giggle. "He's just a guy."
Morgan grinned. "Penelope Garcia, are you blushing?"
"No," Garcia said with blossoming cheeks.
"So, tell me," Morgan said, playing the part of gossiping best friend. "How did you meet?"
"At a party," Garcia said. "We've been dating about a month now and things are looking… well, good. It's new, exciting… you know, right?"
"Wait, what? A month? Why am I only hearing about this now?"
"I didn't want to jinx it," Garcia said, looking a little embarrassed. "He's different. He's… I don't know… I just know I wouldn't mind him sticking around for awhile."
Morgan smiled at her. "So you like him. Good for you. I'm glad."
Since then Henry Caswell had been a semi-regular in their lives. He would come by headquarters a couple of times a week to pick Garcia up and he and Morgan usually exchanged a few words when their paths crossed. He had accompanied them on a couple of after work beers and Morgan had thought he was a good guy. Good for Garcia. But now… What had Henry done?
"Listen, Henry," Morgan said, trying to find a way to defuse the situation. "If this is about me and Garcia… we mean nothing by it. It's just the way we talk to each other. Just harmless flirting, you know? There's nothing going on between us."
"You and Penny?" Henry looked almost perplex for a moment, before he burst out laughing. "Oh, please. I could care less what the two of you are up to. This isn't about her, it never was."
"Then what's it about?" Morgan wanted to know. "Tell me why I'm here. What do you want?"
"I don't think you need to concern yourself with that just yet. You'll find out sooner or later," Henry said casually. "I just came down to see if you'd settled in. You seem fine to me. Here, I brought some breakfast." He put a paper bag covered in grease stains on the floor and gave it a push with his foot so that it slid into the room without Henry risking coming in contact with Morgan.
Then he shut the door in Morgan's face.
"What? Caswell!" Morgan pounded the door again, just as fruitlessly as before. "Caswell! Get back here!"
But he didn't and Morgan kicked at the door in frustration, and then cursed loudly as he hopped on one sock clad foot over to a cot where he sat down to nurse his sore toes. 'You'll see'? What kind of an answer was that? And what about Garcia? Henry had said that he hadn't done anything to her, but that wasn't true, was it? They'd been together for seven months! Was this what it had all been about? Was this the only reason Henry had been with Garcia, to get to him? But why? What had he ever done to Henry Caswell?
"Now where's Garcia?" Hotchner said.
"Here, I'm here sir." Garcia said, slightly out of breath as she rushed into the round table room, JJ right behind her. "JJ says that Morgan's been kidnapped. Is that true?"
"I'm afraid so," Hotchner said solemnly.
"Oh god." Garcia sank down of a chair. "I- What do you want me to do?"
"For a start we need surveillance on our phones and e-mails in case we're contacted that way," Hotchner said.
"On it," Garcia promised.
"When you've done that," Reid said, stopping Garcia who was already on her way out of the room, "Come see me. You and I are going to Morgan's place to see if anything is missing."
"Okay."
"I'll alert the mailroom and the hotlines," JJ said. "Make sure they stay on their toes if anything suspicious comes in."
"Good," Hotchner said. "Okay, let's get to work."
"I don't like this," Garcia said later that afternoon, hoisting the strap of her shoulder bag higher up on her shoulder and staring at apartment door 1F, the yellow tape across the door warning people that something wasn't right here. "I don't like this at all."
"What?" Reid asked, shivering a little as he stepped out of the warm car.
"I don't want to go in there when Morgan isn't here. He should have some say in who comes and goes in his home."
Reid frowned. "He won't mind."
"I know," Garcia said. "But I still don't like it."
A forensics van was parked next to Reid's car. A red-headed tech that Reid had crossed paths with on other crime scenes, but whose name he didn't know, just slammed the rear doors shut with a resounding bang and then walked up to them.
"We're done here," he said as a way of greeting, "So you can touch and move anything you like. The police left some time ago…"
Reid nodded. Once the kidnapping had been established as a FBI matter the police wouldn't have had any cause to stick around.
"… except for one officer. He's out back with a glazier, fixing the back door. They'll be done soon too, so lock up after yourselves, okay?"
"Okay," Reid nodded. "Thank you."
Morgan had a ground floor corner apartment in an apartment complex with external galleries, so his front door wasn't inside a hallway; it was facing the communal parking lot. Out back, where the upper apartments had balconies, Morgan had a small patio, facing a green area between the complexes.
Reid opened the front door and held the tape up so Garcia could duck under it, before following himself. He closed the door behind him.
The apartment was quiet. There was some clinking from the work being done on the back door, but other than that nothing stirred. The front door opened into the large combined living room and study that took up most of the apartment. A short hallway on the left led to the bedroom and bathroom. The bedroom faced the back patio and the bathroom and some ample closets were across from the bedroom, facing the front. An archway across from the front door led into the kitchen.
Reid looked at the alarm unit that was mounted next to the front door. It wasn't activated. Morgan didn't set it until he went to bed or if he went out. Reid would have to remember to set it before they left. He wasn't supposed to know the code, but he'd seen Morgan put it in once, so of course he remembered it.
Reid briefly stuck his head into the bedroom. It looked untouched, as did the bathroom. The living room was a mess near the kitchen. Morgan's football trophies, which usually stood in a bookcase by the kitchen wall, had been knocked to the floor. Pictures hang askew, furniture had been knocked out of place and there was broken glass on the floor.
Reid looked into the kitchen. The glazier was gathering up his gear, having just finished. As Reid searched the kitchen for anything out of place, both the glazier and the police officer left. Reid locked the patio door behind them. He didn't find anything noteworthy in the kitchen.
"Do you notice anything that's missing?" Reid asked as he stepped out of the kitchen. Garcia was restlessly roaming around the living room.
"No, not really," she said. "I don't think so."
"Me neither. Well, at least we know that then."
"Know what?" She turned to him with big eyes.
"That it wasn't just a burglary gone wrong. It was a planned kidnapping."
"Oh," she said nervously looking around. "We should clean up, you know. He shouldn't have to come home to this." She bent down, grabbed the upturned bowl and started sweeping the spilt popcorn into it.
"We can do that later," Reid said.
"No, we'll fix it up nice and tidy so we can bring him home." Garcia's voice was edgy and anxious.
Reid frowned. "Garcia…"
"It won't take long," she promised.
"Garcia," Reid said again, harsher. She stood up and turned to him. "It's going to be okay," he told her gently.
She frowned at him, clutching the popcorn bowl to her chest. "You know better than to promise that, Reid."
"What? Yes, I- I didn't mean… It's just that we don't know what happened yet. We could still find him."
"I know that," Garcia said, affronted. "I haven't given up hope."
"Of course not." He stumbled over his answer. God, he really wasn't good at this. "I know that. I know you just want to help. I'm just saying that the first 24 hours of a kidnapping case are crucial. There are better things for us to do than to clean up right now."
Garcia looked around. "I just wanted…"
"I know," Reid said. "But we've done what we came here to do. Let's get back to the office, okay?"
She put the bowl on the coffee table. "Okay."
The cold night air hit Prentiss as the automatic doors of the convenience store whooshed open. She shivered and yawned simultaneously. It was well after midnight. For the last two hours the team had mainly been sitting around, staring at each other cluelessly until Gideon had called quits and sent them all home to get some sleep, himself opting to stay behind to man the phones.
To everyone's chagrin, today's progress had been slim. Forensic reports had been trickling in during the day, but they hadn't been very helpful. The only blood on the site had been Morgan's blood type. DNA matching would take longer. A few unidentified fingerprints had been found in the kitchen and bedroom, but not around the back door. Forensics couldn't find a match for the unknown prints in any of the databases available to them, but as professional kidnappers these days usually had the sense to wear gloves, the prints most likely belonged to one of Morgan's a temporary girlfriends. There'd been a smudged footprint outside the kitchen door, but all forensic could say about that was that it was from a sneaker.
Police officers had been going door to door to find witnesses, but this was a neighborhood where people went to bed early and minded their own business, one of the reasons Morgan had moved there. The neighbor with the dog thought he'd seen a dark SUV parked in the visitor's lot the night before, but he hadn't really thought about it, so he couldn't describe it or give any other vital information. Morgan's next door neighbor thought she might have heard sounds from Morgan's apartment around 10 p.m., but she couldn't be sure because her other next door neighbor had been playing very loud music.
Nor had there been any contact with the kidnappers, which was worrying. Gideon had suggested that perhaps they were drawing it out to create anxiety and tension. It wasn't unheard of. It was always easier to negotiate with desperate people.
There was also a chance that they hadn't contacted them because they already had everything they wanted.
Prentiss hadn't really been hungry when she drove home, but with a case like this she'd figured it was best to stack up, so she'd pulled over at her usual 24 hour convenience store. With her new job and the hours it entailed, its night clerk was fast becoming her new best friend. And he was kind of cute too. Much too young for her, of course, but considering how seldom she got out these days, a little harmless flirting was usually welcomed after the harrowing cases she worked. She'd known that the BAU worked on a lot of kidnappings, but she hadn't expected to be looking for a teammate on one of her first cases.
She had put her purse on top of the groceries in the bag, so now she hiked the grocery bag up on her hip and dug into her purse for her car keys. She scanned the parking lot. There were only two cars there, one of them hers and the other belonging to the clerk. Her pumps made her footsteps echo across the almost empty lot.
She opened the back door of her car, put the grocery bag on the seat and closed the door with her hip. Then she opened the front door and tossed her purse over onto the passenger seat. As she lifted one foot to step into the car, a beefy arm wrapped around her waist, catching her off-balance. Her scream of surprise was cut short as a hand covered her mouth.
Using her car keys she stabbed into the arm around her waist, which flexed and loosened, but didn't let go. He was wearing too many clothes to be hurt by her keys. She let go of the car keys and went for her gun, but a third hand was already there, pulling it out of its holster. Trying to break free she managed to step on her assailants toes and elbow him in the gut. Unfortunately he was wearing steel-toe boots, and while the elbow elicited a nice, satisfactory grunt of pain, the grip around her upper body didn't lessen. She was dragged backwards a few steps and a man in a ski mask appeared in her line of sight, holding a gun on her.
"Shh," the man holding her shushed in her ear. Reluctantly she stopped struggling. An SUV pulled up behind them and still under gunpoint, seething with anger, Prentiss was manhandled into it. She heard the tires squeal as the car sped out of the parking lot. As they drove the man sitting in the back seat with her wound duct tape thickly around her wrists and tied a blindfold over her eyes. The whole thing had taken less than a minute.
***
Morgan was startled awake as the door banged open and the lights came on. He sat up quickly, blinking against the sharp light, his blanket slipping unnoticed to the floor.
Two of the hired henchmen, as Morgan had started to think of them, pushed a blindfolded and bound Prentiss into the room in front of them and for a moment Morgan could only stare incomprehensively at her. What was she doing here? This wasn't how it was supposed to go, was it?
One of the hired henchmen pressed a gun to Prentiss' neck. "Don't move," he growled.
Prentiss immediately froze, but Morgan knew the man hadn't been talking to her. With clenched fists he sat on the cot and watched as the other man fastened a shackle he'd brought with him around Prentiss' ankle and then the chain was secured to the same u-bolt in the wall as Morgan's. What happened next took both agents by surprise.
The man who held the gun took a hold of Prentiss' shoulders and put his leg behind her legs, swiping them out from underneath her, felling her to the floor.
Prentiss yelped in surprise and Morgan protested with an indignant "Hey!", but the man didn't hurt her. Once she was lying flat on her back, the man put a foot on her chest to keep her down. He then pulled a digital camera out of his pocket and snapped a few shots of her with her hair fanned out around her head. Morgan wondered if they'd done the same thing to him while he'd been unconscious. Then the two hired henchmen left.
Morgan quickly got off the cot and knelt by Prentiss' side. He touched her shoulder, intending to help her sit up, but she flinched away from his touch.
"Easy, Prentiss," he soothed. "It's just me."
"Morgan?" she said, turning her shrouded eyes in his direction.
"Yeah, it's me. Are you okay?" he asked as he sat her up and removed her blindfold.
She blinked at the sharp light and squinted as she looked at him. "I'm fine. What about you?"
"I'm fine," he said, moving behind her to free her hands. "What day is it?"
Prentiss twisted to look at him. "Is that to check if I have a concussion or don't you know?"
Morgan gave her a tight smile. "I don't know. I was unconscious when I got here, I don't know for how long."
"It's Friday," she said bringing her now free hands in front of her. She peeled off the last of the duct tape from her wrist and looked at her watch. "Or Saturday, really. It's 1.45 a.m. Are you sure you're all right?" She'd just gotten a good look at the protruding lump on his head. "Here, follow my finger."
"It's been about 28 hours since I was kidnapped then," Morgan said, doing the math in his head. "And I don't have a concussion either." He batted her finger away and then took her hand to pull her up from the floor. "What did they hit me with anyway?"
"One of your football trophies."
"Oh man," Morgan groaned, sinking down on a cot. "Which one? Did it break? It wasn't the 1992 championship, was it?"
"Uh…" Prentiss stared blankly at him. "I- It was brown with a gold football on top… or something like that."
She sat down next to him, her hand once again going to his head. He winced and pulled away from her touch.
"It's not going to get better by you poking at it."
"Sorry."
They sat quietly for awhile, each lost in their own morose thoughts.
"So I assume you've been looking for me," Morgan said at length.
"Of course."
"And how's that going?"
The phone woke Reid at four a.m.
"Yeah?" He cleared his throat and rubbed his gritty eyes.
"Get dressed," Gideon said as a way of greeting. "I'm on my way to pick you up."
"Morgan?" Reid asked excitedly, sitting up in bed. "Do you have a lead? Did you find him?"
"No," Gideon said shortly. "Prentiss is missing."
"What?" Reid exclaimed unbelievingly as he got out of bed and started looking for clean socks. "How-?"
"Her car has been found abandoned on a parking lot, halfway between Quantico and her place," Gideon said. "It's unlocked and her things are still in it. It looks as if she's been kidnapped too. From now on none of us go anywhere alone, so wait for me. Hotch's picking up JJ and they'll meet us at the crime scene. I'm ten minutes out. And pack a bag, you probably won't be going home any time soon."
The parking lot outside the convenience store Prentiss favored was awash in red and blue strobing lights. Patrol cars were blocking off most of the parking lot and yellow tape had been roped in a large square around Prentiss' car.
An hour or so earlier the store had been empty of customers and the clerk had taken the opportunity to go out for a cigarette break. Prentiss was a regular during his shift, so he recognized her car. Knowing that it had been at least two hours since she'd left, he'd gotten worried. The car was parked underneath a streetlight, so it wasn't until he got close that he saw that the interior lights were on. Then he saw that the door wasn't closed properly, and when he saw both the grocery bag and purse in the car he called the police. The first patrol officer on the scene had looked in Prentiss' purse and when he found her FBI badge he had sounded the alarm.
Hotchner and JJ had beaten the other two agents to the site and when Gideon and Reid stepped out of Gideon's car JJ met them with two steaming Styrofoam cups of coffee. Reid gratefully wrapped his hands around the cup. The night was chilly and he'd forgotten his gloves.
"What have you got so far?" Gideon asked, sipping his coffee.
Hotchner, standing with his back braced against his own car, answered. "Prentiss' car was unlocked, the front door open. A grocery bag was in the back seat, her purse in the front. They just found her gun underneath the car. I'd say she's been kidnapped too. If she'd just left her car, to pursue someone for example, she would have had her gun with her. The most likely scenario is that whoever grabbed her also took away her gun and tossed it there."
"Can we assume that it's the same kidnappers?" JJ asked.
"We can never assume anything," Gideon said gravely. "But under the circumstances I think we can safely make that our working theory. The chances that there are two separate groups of kidnappers targeting our team at the same time are very small."
"That's a theory that marks all of us as potential next victims," Reid pointed out needlessly.
"Yes," Hotchner said. "We are to exercise extreme caution from here on. There's no need to give these people, whoever they are, any more ammo. Still no contact with the kidnappers?" he asked Gideon.
"I would've called you if I'd heard anything."
"Is there anything else?" Reid asked.
"Tire tracks," JJ said, pointing to the ground behind Prentiss' car. "It looks like someone accelerated hard there."
Reid walked over and looked at the black marks on the asphalt. "Will you be able to identify the make and model?" he asked the forensic tech that was photographing them.
"Probably," the tech answered. "But if it's a generic brand that's not going to help much. If you find me a car to compare it with though… See that?" he pointed to what in Reid's eyes appeared to be a smudge. "There's some kind of damage to the right back tire. A unique signature. But, as I said, I need to have a car to compare with."
The team stayed at the crime scene a little while longer, but it was soon obvious that they were superfluous there. They had already drawn their conclusions on what had happened, the rest was up to the forensic team.
The ride to Quantico was a quiet one.
Back at the office Hotchner took one look at Gideon and sent him off to get some sleep. While the others had gotten a few hours of sleep during the night, Gideon had pulled the night shift, and Hotchner wanted the whole team to be on top. Hotchner then locked himself into his office. He had some difficult calls to make. JJ too excused herself and disappeared into her office, leaving Reid alone in the empty bullpen. It was still an hour or so before the normal workday started.
Reid decided to start sketching on the victimology, because even though they felt confident to proceed with the theory that Morgan and Prentiss had been kidnapped because of their work with the BAU, Gideon was right to say that they should never assume anything. But no matter how Reid twisted and turned every thought, he always came back to the same conclusion. Except for work, Morgan and Prentiss had nothing in common. Background, social class, race, sex, hair color; they didn't share any of the focal points serial offenders usually zeroed in on.
But Prentiss hadn't been with them very long, they had only worked a handful of cases together. So if this was in retaliation to a case they had had since she joined them it shouldn't be too difficult to find out. But off the top of his head, Reid couldn't figure out which one. Unless the kidnappers had mistaken Prentiss for Elle. But that couldn't be, he deducted after some thought. Prentiss was taken from a parking lot in the middle of the night. That meant that her kidnapper would have to have been following her. Since it was highly unlikely that someone could've done that from within the Quantico area, that meant that they would have to have been waiting for her on the outside, in the dark, meaning that they had to have known what kind of car she drove and the license plate number. It was a planned abduction, and someone with that level of planning would know that Prentiss had replaced Elle on the team.
Around seven Garcia came in, a large, polka dot umbrella hanging over her arm. "Is there any news?" she asked breathlessly.
Reid faltered for a moment, not knowing how to break it to her. "I-, uh, something's happened."
Garcia looked expectantly at him. "Did you find him?"
"No," Reid shook his head, his eyes downcast. "It's Prentiss. She's been kidnapped too."
"What?" Garcia's face fell and she stared incomprehensively at him. "How could that happen?"
Reid told her everything they knew so far and she listened intently. "Surveillance," she said then. "It's a public area, there has to be surveillance. I'll look through all CCTV footage I can get my hands on. I'll find out what happened."
After lunch Garcia had put together a few minuets of footage from different surveillance cameras for them to view. She had found a camera that had, at an odd angle, filmed an SUV parked behind the corner of the convince store, and two men with ski masks who kept looking around the corner for something. Suddenly they walked out of frame and a few moments later the car started. It rounded the corner, but the camera cut the frame too high for the license plate to be visible.
Another camera showed, at a distance, the short fight between Prentiss and her assailants before she was unceremoniously dragged into the car and it sped off, leaving only rubber behind.
"I tried tracking the car through different cameras," Garcia said, "But I lost it after a few blocks. I couldn't make out the license plate. Sorry."
She used the remote control to bring up a few more images. "I also managed to follow them back for a few blocks. They were definitely following her."
The team looked at each other.
"This isn't good," JJ commented. "They probably have some sort of surveillance on all of us. How do we play this?"
"Very carefully," Gideon said.
"We don't go home for awhile," Hotchner said, ticking off the points. "We never go anywhere alone, we use the bureau's cars instead of our own and we keep our eyes open. Let's make it difficult for them."
The others nodded solemnly.
"Me too?" Garcia asked.
Gideon and Hotchner looked at each other, their eyes keeping a silent conversation.
"You're not an official member of our team," Hotchner said after a while. "It's much less likely that you're a target. But nevertheless, you should be extra vigilant. Do you have anyone you can stay with or who can stay with you?"
"Sure," she said. "Henry."
Hotchner nodded. "Good. And be careful. If you see anything suspicious, don't hesitate to tell us."
Garcia promised.
That night Henry quietly walked into Garcia's office.
"Hi kitten," he said as he bent down and put his arms around Garcia from behind and kissed her neck.
"Henry!" Garcia gasped in surprise, having been engrossed in her work. "What are you doing here?"
"Our date, remember?" Henry asked. "It's Saturday night. I've got reservations at that Italian place you like."
"Oh. Oh! I'm so sorry, I meant to call you." Garcia turned around and faced him. "I'm gonna have to cancel."
Henry frowned as he looked down at Garcia's upset face. "What's the matter, honey? Has something happened?"
Garcia nodded. "You know Morgan and Prentiss, right?"
"Sure," Henry said. "Prentiss is the new girl, right?"
"Right. Well, both of them are missing, or rather, both of them have been kidnapped."
"Oh my god," Henry said, a shocked expression on his face. "That's terrible! Do you have any leads?"
Garcia shook her head. "Not yet."
"Well," Henry said. "Don't worry about the date. We'll have a rain check when you have found them."
Garcia stood up from her chair, threw her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she whispered in his ear.
"For what?" he asked, half-laughing as he hugged her back.
"For saying when and not if."
He pulled back and looked at her. "You work with the best people in the business. Of course you'll find them. And don't worry about me. I'll get out of your hair so you can get back to work. But I want you to call me if you need me, okay? If you need to talk or need someone to bring by some food or something. I'm there for you. Or if you need a ride. Call me for a ride home at night, okay? I don't want you to go out by yourself. Not if there's someone out there kidnapping FBI agents."
"I'm not really an agent, you know," Garcia said, picking invisible lint off Henry's suit.
"But still." Henry took a hold of her chin and turned her face up so he could look her in the eyes. "I don't want anything to happen to you. So just humor me on this one, okay? Please? Just call me when you're ready to go home and I'll come pick you up."
"Okay," Garcia smiled. "I was actually going to ask if I could stay with you for a few days."
"Mi casa es su casa," Henry immediately answered.
"Thank you, Henry. You're the best." At that moment her cell phone beeped. She read the text message. "I have to go to a briefing, but I'll probably be able to go home after that. Wait for me here?"
Henry gave her a kiss. "Of course."
She smiled at him and started towards the round table room, leaving him standing in the doorway, watching her as she walked away.
***
Around eight o'clock Sunday morning, one of the henchmen opened the door, put two paper bags right inside the threshold and then pulled back to leave.
"Wait," Prentiss called before he had a chance to close the door. The henchman stopped, one hand resting on the doorknob and looked at her, his face completely void of expression.
"Listen," Prentiss continued, careful to keep her distance and appear non-threatening. "I don't know what Henry's been telling you, but we're FBI agents. Keeping us locked up here is a big mistake. Whatever he's paying you, trust me, it's not worth it. If you help us, then we can help you. We can get you a deal and…" The door shut in her face.
"Well, thanks for nothing," she called at the closed door, giving it a bash for good measure.
"Feel better now?" Morgan asked from where he was lying on a cot, one arm crocked behind his head.
Prentiss glared at him and picked up the paper bags, frowning at the smell coming out of them. "And to think I used to like hamburgers," she said, handing one of the bags to Morgan, who sat up to receive it. "This is the fourth consecutive meal consisting of hamburgers."
"Seventh for me," Morgan said morosely, taking the lukewarm French fries out of the bag. Always finger food, no utensils for the hostages.
"I'm just saying," Prentiss complained, pushing a straw through the slit in the lid of her cup of soda. "McDonalds has got a breakfast menu, how hard can it be to change up the order once in a while?"
"Could we just eat?"
"There has to be something we can do," Prentiss said after a few bites of her hamburger. "There has to be a way out we haven't thought about yet."
"Like what?" Morgan asked tiredly.
"Like… breaking the chains?"
"Tried it."
"Breaking the u-bolt?"
"Tried it."
"Breaking down the door?"
"Tried it. Twice."
"Gnawing off your own foot?" She was exaggerating and she knew it, but damn, she was frustrated.
"Tell you what," Morgan snapped at her. "Why don't you try that? If it works you can come back and get me."
They ate in silence, each mulling over their own thoughts. What would this day bring?
The rest of the team had spent the night in some of the facility's Spartan overnight quarters, just a chair, a bed – sometimes a bunk bed – and a few hangers on a rack. They had started their workday over breakfast in the in-house cafeteria before heading up to the bullpen.
Not long after they'd come up to the bullpen, JJ got the call they'd been waiting for. She collected Garcia from her office and headed up to Hotchner's office, where the three men were assembled.
"I've just gotten a heads up from the mailroom," JJ said, sticking her head into the office. "We've gotten a letter. The mailroom have checked it out and deemed it safe. It's on its way up now."
"Let's take it in the conference room," Hotchner decided and led the way out of his office.
They gathered in the round table room to wait impatiently. A few minutes later a man stuck his head into the room and handed JJ an ordinary manila envelope. "We've scanned it and x-rayed it and checked it for prints. It's a self-seal envelope, so no DNA. Now it's all yours. Hope it's good news."
Reid looked at the envelope as JJ handed it over to Hotchner who opened it. It looked so thin, so insignificant. Reid didn't know what he'd been expecting, but an envelope that might contain the lives of two of his friends should look more important, shouldn't it?
Hotchner shook a folded paper out of the envelope and a photo fell on the table, face down.
"Is that…" Garcia asked shakingly, staring at the photo.
Gideon picked the photo up and looked at it. "No," he said, before showing it to the others.
The photo was of two young men, looking to be somewhere in their late twenties. One was dark, the other blond. They had an arm slung around each other's shoulders and saluted the photographer with soda cans. They were grinning widely. It looked as if the photo had been taken on an outdoor patio of a restaurant.
"Who are they?" Garcia asked as the photo was passed around the table.
"My guess would be Robert Marquez and Donnie Nelson," Hotchner said before he started reading the ransom note out loud.
"Our brothers Robert Marquez and Donnie Nelson sit falsely jailed due to an unjust and corrupt system. The real crimes have been committed to them, not by them. The agents will also sit falsely jailed until our brothers have been returned to us. Should that not occur, the agents will forfeit their lives. You shall be contacted at noon tomorrow. It's signed HBM. Who are HBM? A gang?" Hotchner looked at the rest of them and passed the note on to Gideon who sat on his right.
They all shook their heads at his gaze. No one recognized the acronym, not even Reid, but Garcia had her laptop open on the table. She did a quick search.
"HBM… HBM… Ah, here it is. Humanity Before Money. It's a-" her voice suddenly faltered. "It's a terrorist organization."
Reid blinked rapidly a couple of times. "Terrorists?" he said completely baffled. "This is an act of terrorism?"
"According to the FBI database," Garcia said. "Their own website says they are patriots who take action."
"What does that mean?" JJ asked.
"Probably that they do more than write protest letters," Reid said as the letter ended up in his hands. "This is a strange ransom note. There's no video, no photographs of the hostages holding today's newspaper, no evidence that they have them. Their names aren't even mentioned."
Gideon agreed. "All the emotions are focused on their own people, but they're very cold towards Prentiss and Morgan. They don't matter."
"The language is strange too," JJ remarked. "Very formal. I wonder who wrote it."
"It does seem to be the work of one man," Hotchner said, "Not a group effort and yet it's signed by the whole organization."
"A strong leader perhaps?" Gideon said. "We need to find out more about this organization."
"Yeah," JJ said, "Like, what's the connection between us and HBM? Is there one?" She looked around at the shaking heads.
"None that we know of." Hotchner said.
"What about Prentiss?" Garcia asked.
"What about her?" Hotchner wondered.
"Aren't her parents diplomats or something? Aren't they susceptible to terrorist attacks?"
"Then the ransom demand should've gone to them," Hotchner said. "And Morgan wouldn't have been targeted. I spoke to Ambassador Prentiss this morning. She hadn't heard anything. But I'll call again and see if she remembers ever having heard of or had problems with HBM. I need to update the Director too." He rubbed his forehead. "She's gonna want to bring anti-terrorism in now. Reid? Garcia? Can you do the research on HBM?"
"Yes sir," Garcia readily agreed.
"Why didn't we get a ransom demand when Morgan went missing?" JJ wondered, "Why now?"
Reid shrugged. "Maybe they waited until they had an even trade. Two hostages for two prisoners."
"About the prisoners," Hotchner said. "Marquez and Nelson, who are they?"
Garcia soon had the details concerning their convictions up on her screen. "Two years ago the HBM had been making threats against a politician campaigning for a place in the senate. Apparently HBM didn't approve of the would-be senator's weapons platform. Nelson and Marquez placed explosives in the campaign bus, only meaning to destroy it and scare him, but unbeknownst to them two interns came to work early to stock up the bus for an upcoming trip. They were both killed and Nelson and Marquez ended up in a federal facility called Lincoln Correctional Center. It's-"
"I know it," Gideon said. "That's, what? Hour and a half drive from here?"
"Depending on traffic." Hotchner agreed.
"We need to go to there and talk to Nelson and Marquez," Gideon said. "JJ, do you think you can get us immediate access?"
"Sure." She immediately started going through her telephone directory.
"Can you do it from the car?" Gideon asked. "I want to leave now."
JJ and Gideon gathered up their things and left for the garage. Hotchner went to shut himself into his office to give the director an update.
Reid looked at Garcia. "So… research?"
"That's the magic word, baby."
"Everything's set up," JJ said, shutting her cell phone. "They're moving Nelson and Marquez into separate interrogation rooms as we speak and the warden's going to meet us at the door. He's arranging extra security around the prisoners too; he's worried about the added threat."
Gideon didn't respond. JJ looked at him. "Gideon?"
"I think we're being followed," Gideon said calmly, his eyes seeking out the rearview mirror.
"What?" JJ twisted around in her seat, looking out the back window. There was a black SUV with tinted windows, not unlike their own, driving about 20 yards behind them, neither gaining on them nor falling back. It did match the SUV that had kidnapped Prentiss, but then so did most SUVs.
"Are you sure?" she asked, turning back. "This is the only road to the prison, anyone with an errand there would be driving on this road."
"I'm driving five miles below the speed limit and there's no traffic," Gideon said grimly. "Most people would've tried to pass us by now."
JJ looked over her shoulder again. "Maybe we should check it out... You know, just in case? Can you read the license plate number?" She pulled out a notepad and a pen from her bag and put her cell phone in her lap.
Dividing his attention between the road and the rearview mirror, Gideon slowly read out the license plate number.
"That's it?" JJ asked as she read it back to him. At the confirming nod she said, "Okay, I'll call Garcia."
She picked up the cell phone, but was distracted as Gideon said through clenched teeth, "Here they come."
"What?" JJ looked back and saw the other SUV speed up. She couldn't help feeling a twinge of nervousness, especially as she observed Gideon's set jaw. She hoped it would turn out to just be paranoia on her part, but somehow she doubted it. "Gideon? What should we do?"
But Gideon was too focused on his driving to pay her much heed. He had sped up slightly as the other car closed in on them, mostly to spur them along. As the car came up alongside of them Gideon stepped on the brakes, only just avoiding a collision with the other car as it swerved in in front of them, its front wheels ending up hanging over the side of the road into the ditch. It was hard to say if this had been their intention, to cut them off, or if they'd tried to crash into them.
Gideon threw the car into reverse before it had even come to a complete stop and sped backwards. JJ had punched in the speed dial for Hotchner's phone, but only gotten a busy signal. She tried Reid's number, but before she could press the connect button, her cell phone and notebook slipped out of her hands at the sudden brake and as she bent down to retrieve it, she hit her head on the dashboard as Gideon swerved the car hard.
"Ow," she complained, moving a hand up to rub at the back of her head.
Gideon grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back into a sitting position.
"Leave it," he told her as he fought to control the SUV in reverse. "Forget the phone for now. Hold on."
She grabbed the handle above the door and held on for dear life.
The verge was wide and Gideon turned hard onto it in order to turn the car around, even as the other SUV got back up on the asphalt and turned around as well. Gideon knew that their only chance was either to outrun the other car, or somehow drive them off the road. The Lincoln Correctional Center was rather isolated. They were still fifteen minutes or so from it, but it would also take approximately fifteen minutes to get back to the nearest community. Traffic was very light on this side of the community, so even if they very well could meet another car, they couldn't count on it.
The road wasn't very curvy, so Gideon felt safe to press the accelerator deep into the floor, his hands gripping the steering wheel hard.
JJ had one hand on the door handle and the other clutching her seatbelt as she tried to keep from sliding across the seat from the sharp steering. She looked back through the back window. "They're close," she said.
"I know."
Then the other SUV rear ended them. The impact pitched them both forward, their seat belts jerking them back into their seats with a groan. The car was sent skidding, but Gideon skillfully steered around the skid until the next impact, this one much harder. Gideon fought to keep up with the car's movements and braked hard, but it was too late. They were already on their way across the opposite lane and into the forest surrounding the road. The tires lost contact with the gravel and sent the car hurtling off the road.
JJ's panicked scream was drowned in shattering glass and screaming metal as a thick tree branch met the windshield, sending pieces of glass raining down on the car's passengers, before the car came to a brutal stop as it impacted a tree.
***
Gideon pushed the deflating airbag out of his face and shook off the momentary daze
Gideon pushed the deflating airbag out of his face and shook off the momentary daze, coughing against a pressure in his chest and the soreness in his throat due to the powdery dust the airbag emitted. The kidnappers would be coming for them, soon. He ran the back of his hand underneath his nose. It came back bloody.
The heavy tree branch had by stroke of luck, or maybe divine fortitude, gone between the two front seats, obscuring his view of JJ, but not harming either of them, although smaller twigs were scratching at his face and neck. He called JJ's name, but there was no answer. He turned off the engine. The branch had helped slow the rapid deceleration, and while the sturdy car's front was smashed and buckled, the engine was still intact.
Twigs and leaves filled the space between them and Gideon had to stretch his neck to try and see over the branch and between the twigs. He caught a glimpse of blond hair, resting against the crackled passenger side window. Reaching under the thick branch, his hand blindly found an arm which he followed down to the wrist. JJ's pulse was strong, but she stayed unresponsive even as Gideon shook her arm and called her name again. Small slivers of glass stuck in his fingers, some cutting him with tiny, stinging cuts.
He pulled his arm back and drew his gun. Then he locked the doors. A futile attempt perhaps, a last stand sort of thing, seeing as there wasn't a windshield anymore. He held the gun ready, waiting… But they didn't come for him; they went round to the passenger side first. The door might be locked, but the cracked window was easy for the kidnappers to break. Gideon heard the shattering window and reached under the branch again to hold onto JJ, but she was soon dragged out of his hands and out of the car.
As Gideon prepared to follow them out, another masked man appeared outside his window, a gun pointed at Gideon. Gideon responded in kind, raising his own gun.
"You don't want to do that, Agent Gideon," the man said. "As you are aware, Agent Jareau is now in our custody and I dare say her continued good health depends on your cooperation. Please put down the gun and step out of the car."
"Okay." Gideon could see his disadvantaged position and decided to save himself a battle. He put the gun on the floor and unlocked the door. The man pulled it open for him and stepped back to allow him to get out. Gideon tried to unbuckle his seatbelt, but the latch had caught and wouldn't come out. He could sense the other man's impatience as he jiggled the latch.
"Come on." The man wagged the gun at him.
The latch finally came loose and Gideon stepped out of the car; twigs, leaves and pieces of glass raining off of him. As he set his feet on the ground his knees buckled and he had to grab the open door for support. He hadn't felt it before, but he'd banged his right knee pretty bad.
"Up against the car, please, and put your hands behind your back," the man ordered.
Gideon did as asked. Turning his head he could see JJ, still unconscious, being carried up the short slope towards the still running car by two men. The man behind him wound duct tape tightly around his wrists. Then a piece of cloth was tied over his eyes.
Blindfolded Gideon was pushed stumbling and limping up the slope and pushed up against the other SUV. He felt hands in his pockets, emptying them out. Then he was helped into the back seat of the SUV. He was secured by the seatbelt and then something fell into his lap. A head, he soon realized, and by the feel of the long hair, it would be JJ.
"Is she okay?" he asked, feeling warm blood soaking his sweater.
"She'll live," was the curt answer. "For now at least."
Hotchner stood in his office, staring out a window at the buildings below. The phone call to the director had quickly turned into a meeting as he'd been called up to her office. As he had suspected, the word terrorists had sent the director into a frenzy. She'd been quite adamant that the BAU was now in over their heads and that an anti-terrorism unit would be dispatched to them to help with the investigation. Hotchner had snorted at that. Help them, sure. More like railroad over them to claim the case as theirs, and there was nothing Hotchner could do about it. He'd asked if he could choose which anti-terrorism team that would be helping them. The director had simply stared at him and informed him that a team would show up at the BAU within a few hours. Hotchner was just worried that the anti-terrorism team would lose focus of the hostages in their eager to find and destroy a terrorist cell.
"Hotch?"
Hotchner turned around. Reid stood in the doorway to his office, looking anxious. Hotchner didn't expect good news.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Gideon and JJ never arrived at Lincoln and they aren't answering their cell phones."
Hotchner looked at his watch. "They're not that much overdue, they could've just hit traffic."
"Then why aren't they answering their phones?"
Hotchner took a deep breath and let it out again. "Okay, let's not panic. Just try again."
"I have," Reid said. "I've called several times."
"Keep trying," Hotchner said, but in his mind he was already going over who he could call to find out what had happened.
Morgan was doing sit-ups on the floor, working off excess energy. Prentiss had curled up on a cot with her back towards the room. Morgan didn't know if she was asleep or not.
When the door opened, Gideon was ushered in first, blindfolded with his hands tied behind his back, just like Prentiss had been. There was a large bloodstain on the stomach of his sweater and some on his pants.
"Gideon," Morgan said, sitting up straight and then scrambling up on his feet as the room suddenly felt crowded. Gideon turned his head towards him, but didn't speak.
Gideon was subjected to the same treatment as Prentiss had been, being shackled, put on the floor and photographed, without protesting. The henchmen allowed Morgan and Prentiss to help him up, but made it clear that they shouldn't untie him yet. Morgan did, however, slip off the blindfold.
A moment later the third henchman came in, carrying JJ over his shoulder. He put her down on the floor surprisingly carefully, supporting her unconscious body as he lowered her down. There was a large, bleeding gash at her hairline, the soft tissue around it swollen and purple. The henchman arranged her hands to lay splayed limply around her face. He then left the room without a word, letting the other henchmen take care of the shackling and photographing.
As soon as the door closed behind the last henchman, Prentiss knelt on the floor next to JJ and checked her pulse and breathing. JJ's blond hair and pink blouse were dark and sticky with dry and drying blood. Morgan tore the duct tape off Gideon's wrists and then joined Prentiss on the floor while Gideon tiredly and with a grimace of pain sank down on one of the cots and watched them.
"What happened?" Prentiss asked.
"They ran us off the road," Gideon answered, rubbing at his chest where the seatbelt had left a deep bruise. "How is she?"
"Unconscious," Prentiss said. "But it looks like the bleeding has almost stopped. Morgan, help me get her up on the cot. How long has she been out?"
"An hour maybe," Gideon answered.
Together Prentiss and Morgan lifted JJ up on the cot. Prentiss disappeared behind the screen and Morgan sat on the floor, leaning against JJ's cot.
"What about you?" Morgan asked Gideon. "Are you okay? Were you hurt?"
"No," Gideon said, his hand still on his chest. "I just banged my knee a little."
"But the blood…" Morgan indicated Gideon's sweater.
"Not mine."
Prentiss came back out, hanging her dress jacket on the screen, buttoning the last button in her blouse. In her hand she held the chemise she'd been wearing underneath it.
"Tear this up, will you?" She handed it to Morgan and picked up one of the cups lying around from one of the meals.
"Looks expensive," Morgan commented.
"Just tear it up," Prentiss said as she went and filled the cup with water.
"What do you know so far?" Gideon asked. He sat on the cot and watched as Morgan and Prentiss tended to JJ.
Morgan's story was short and cool, except for the vehemence in his voice when he told Gideon that Henry was behind their kidnappings and once they'd reminded Gideon who Henry was he became thoughtful. How much information had Henry been able to gather? Serial offenders often wanted to inject themselves into the investigation, but that wasn't the feeling he had gotten from his kidnappers. And it didn't tie in with the terrorist organization.
"So where were you when they grabbed you?" Prentiss asked as she wiped blood off JJ's face and washed the wound, making fresh blood well up in the cut.
"On our way to the Lincoln Correctional Center." Gideon answered. "We were about fifteen minutes out."
"And you said it was about an hour ago?" Prentiss was pressing a folded piece of cloth hard against JJ's wound, kind of glad that she was unconscious for this.
"Maybe an hour and a half," Gideon amended his earlier statement.
"It took about an hour for them to take me here too," Prentiss said. "Assuming they drove straight here. So I'd say we're still in Virginia."
Gideon looked thoughtful. He was the only one who'd been to both kidnapping scenes. "That would mean that we doubled back from the prison and are somewhere between Quantico and Lincoln. Good. Morgan?"
"I wouldn't know," he answered as he tugged off JJ's shoes and spread a blanket over her. "I was unconscious when I got here." He went around to the top of the cot and carefully held JJ's head up so Prentiss could wrap pieces of the shredded chemise as a bandage around it.
"I think we're in a basement in a residential house," Prentiss said once she'd washed the blood off her hands. "We definitely drove into a garage and I was taken from it directly into a stairwell that led down."
"I got the impression that you stepped from the garage onto a landing," Gideon added, "And that the stairs went both up and down. The door we came in through was on the opposite side of this door, so we're underneath the house, not the garage."
"So probably a residential area somewhere between Lincoln and Quantico," Morgan said, getting up from the floor and standing next to Prentiss in front of Gideon's cot. "That's still a lot of houses to search, if they can even figure out where to start looking for us. Can they?"
"No," Gideon shook his head. "No, we… they can't."
"Why were you going to Lincoln anyway?" Morgan asked.
"We got a ransom demand this morning," Gideon said.
"You did?" Morgan and Prentiss said in unison.
"A terrorist organization called HBM is claiming responsibility for the kidnappings. They want two of their members released from prison in exchange for your, or now our, release."
"Terrorists?" Morgan echoed.
"HBM?" Prentiss frowned. "I've never heard of them."
"Humanity Before Money," Gideon said. "It's a small organization."
"But why would they-" Morgan started.
"We don't know," Gideon admitted. "Do either of you know the names Robert Marquez or Donnie Nelson?"
Looking at each other, they both shook their heads.
"Reid and Garcia were looking for a connection between us and them when we left," Gideon said. "I don't know if they've come up with anything, though."
"And how does Henry fit in?" Morgan wondered. "I never pegged him for a terrorist. Gideon, why do you keep rubbing your chest? What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing."
JJ groaned and Morgan turned to her, crouching at the cot, Gideon's aches and pains momentarily forgotten. "JJ? You awake? Can you hear me?"
Prentiss also moved closer to the cot, hovering over Morgan's shoulder.
JJ turned her head and squeezed her eyes tightly together, pain lines spreading across her forehead.
"JJ?"
"Owww," she moaned, a hand flailing up towards her head.
"JJ? Come on, open your eyes." Morgan called, tapping her cheek.
She squinted at him. "Mo'ga?" she slurred.
"Yeah it's me. How're you doing?"
"You back?" She reached out a wobbly hand as if to touch him to see if he was real, but he caught it in his own hand and put it gently on her stomach, keeping his hand loosely curled around hers.
"No, sorry, I'm not back. It's you who've been kidnapped. Do you remember what happened?"
"Acc… Accident?" she mumbled, her eyes once again closed.
"That's right," Morgan encouraged her.
"My head hurts," she complained.
"I know. Anything else?" Morgan asked. "Do you hurt anywhere else?"
JJ looked as if she was trying hard to feel something. "I don't know," she finally said. Suddenly she openedher eyes wide in fear. "Gideon."
"I'm here," Gideon said, moving into her line of sight. "I'm fine."
Prentiss also moved herself into the small space. "We're all fine. Get some rest, JJ. We'll figure this out… somehow."
***
A state police trooper guided Hotchner and Reid around the accident site. It wasn't as bad as Reid had feared. When Hotchner had put down the phone with a somber face and told him that Gideon and JJ's car had been in an accident, Reid's overacting imagination had immediately envisioned a burning wreck and his friends' bodies charred beyond recognition, but the car just stood at the bottom of a short slope with its banged up backside towards the road and its grill smashed against a tree.
"It was called in by a prison guard on the way home from work," the trooper explained. "The site was empty when we got here. We've got Search and Rescue coming to organize a search party through the woods."
"You're not going to find them," Reid said, zipping up his windbreaker. The wind was picking up.
"Reid," Hotchner said warningly.
"I'm just saying…"
"Reid, please." Hotchner turned to the trooper. "Did the prison guard see anything else? Did he meet any cars on the way?"
The trooper shook his head and looked off into the forest as if trying to recall the conversation he'd had with the guard. "No… no, I don't think so. It's pretty deserted here on Sundays, he hadn't seen anyone since he left Lincoln and there was no one here."
Reid shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. "I'm gonna take a look at the car."
A few minutes later Hotchner joined him beside the wreck. Reid gave him a look and then walked away giving him some privacy. He'd seen all he wanted to see anyway. The blood, the glass, that huge branch that could so easily have gone through a human body. He was almost glad Gideon and JJ had been kidnapped, at least if the alternative had been to be pierced by that thing.
Hotchner stood for a long time looking at the blood splattered over what was left of the passenger side window and his mouth tightened into a thin line, as if he couldn't quite curb his anger this time. In his own way, Hotchner was the most compassionate of them all. With his silent support he could make any victim feel comforted and safe.
Reid came back and stood at his elbow, having taken a look at the ground around the car. "Do you think she's all right?" he asked. They both knew that Gideon would've been driving.
Hotchner opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted.
"Hotchner," a man called from the road. Hotchner looked up and groaned inwardly.
"Dobson," he greeted the other man coldly, climbing up the slope with Reid on his heels. "What are you doing here?"
Close to six feet tall, Special Agent Simon Dobson was well fit and well dressed, with a bulge on his suit jacket that hid the gun resting at the small of his back. His age was somewhere between Hotchner and Gideon's and he had razor-cut, black hair with a reseeding hairline and graying sideburns. He was clean-shaven with a once broken nose and brown, piercing eyes.
"Terrorism is my turf, remember?" Dobson had a mischievous glint in his eyes. "The director called me in to take over the case."
"No," Hotchner said simply. Dobson was the reason he'd asked the director to be able to pick the anti-terrorist unit of his choice. Dobson had a great success record, but he was rude, stubborn and difficult to work with. The two agents had rubbed each other the wrong way on every case they had had the misfortune to work together on. Luckily it had been a few years since the last time.
"Ah, relax, Hotchner," Dobson said, self-satisfaction shining in his face. "I'm not bumping you from the investigation, I'm just bumping you from the lead. Besides, I hear you're running low on staff anyway. But don't worry, I've brought my own team. They're the best in the game."
Running low on staff…? Reid blanched at the wanton insensitivity. Hotchner saw his reaction and discreetly shook his head at him before he made the introductions.
"Reid, this is Special Agent Simon Dobson. Dobson, this is Dr. Spencer Reid."
Dobson glanced at Reid. "Yeah, hi, what's up Doc?" He turned back to Hotchner and popped a piece of chewing gum into his mouth. By the smell Reid deducted that it was a nicotine gum and Dobson's fingertips and teeth told the tale of a long addiction.
"You still want to go to the prison?" Dobson asked.
"Yes, Reid and I are on our way now."
Dobson shook his head. "No. From now on you and Doc stay apart. I don't want you to keep presenting yourself as easy targets. I've brought bodyguards for you, courtesy of Director Strauss. Don't go anywhere without them. Always take separate cars. Hotchner, agents Marcus and Miller are yours. Doc, agents Lee and Jensen will be with you. They will take you to and from the prison. Yes," he said, holding up a hand to forestall Hotchner's question. "I'll let you do the interviews yourself."
Hotchner's eyes narrowed dangerously, he didn't look happy at being given permission to go ahead with his own investigation.
Dobson waved at four agents, standing a little way away. They separated into two pairs, each pair claiming responsibility for a BAU agent.
Reid shook hands with his bodyguards, a little disturbed by the necessity of their presence, as they led him off to a waiting car.
Standing barely five foot one over the ground and thin as a rake, but still muscular, agent Elisa Jensen was hardly a stereotypic bodyguard, but Reid had long since learnt not to judge an agent's skill based on their looks and if she met the bureau's requirements then who was he to argue? She looked to be of Polynesian heritage with a wedding ring that explained her Nordic sounding last name.
Agent Ethan Lee was roughly the same height as Reid, but much heavier with wide shoulders and a body type that told of hours and hours in a gym. A blond, unruly mop of hair adorned his head and he had a healthy dose of freckles covering his snub nose. He looked like an overgrown version of Dennis the Menace and had a friendly, slightly cheeky smile to match. He immediately started chatting with Reid about anything and everything. Reid figured Lee and Morgan would get along great.
Lee put Reid in the back seat and let Jensen drive. Hotchner was also ushered into an SUV which was kept half a mile behind Reid's, with a third car in between them.
When they arrived at Lincoln Correctional Center they discovered that the warden hadn't bothered to move Nelson and Marquez out of the interrogation rooms he'd organized for Gideon and JJ, so the inmates had now been waiting for several hours without being told what or who they were waiting for. Looking at the two men from the observation room that was placed in between the two interrogation rooms, they decided that Reid would talk to Donnie Nelson and Hotchner would talk to Robert Marquez while Dobson observed them both.
Reid sat down across the table from Donnie Nelson and fiddled with a notebook and a pen for a few moments before looking up at him.
"Hello, I'm Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI's Behavioral Analyses Unit," he introduced himself, feeling the need to push his full title in hopes of a little respect from the older, more hardened man.
"Yeah?" Nelson raised his eyebrows, not looking impressed. "So?"
"You are a member of the terrorist organization HBM, aren't you?"
Nelson snorted. "Terrorists? Nah, Special Agent Doctor, you've got that wrong. We're freedom fighters." He leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest and a smug grin on his face.
"But you are a member of HBM," Reid said unfazed.
"Yeah, so?"
"What skills would you say you possess that makes you an invaluable asset to the HBM?"
Nelson's face scrunched up. "Huh?"
Reid simplified. "Why do you think you're important to the organization?"
Nelson looked suspicious. "Why? If you're looking to send in an undercover agent or something, you're not gonna get any info outta me."
Reid regarded him for a moment with a slightly tilted head as if he were sizing him up. "HBM has kidnapped four federal agents. In return for their release, they're demanding that you and Robert Marquez are set free."
For the briefest moment Nelson looked absolutely flabbergasted. But in prison, a good poker face is a survival skill, and Nelson's was soon in place.
"Well it's about time," he said arrogantly, breaking out in a wide grin. "When do we leave?"
"You don't," Reid said expressionlessly "I'm just trying to figure out why they want you back so badly."
"They're my brothers," Nelson said, leaning over the table to look Reid in the eyes. "It's about loyalty."
"I want to know who's behind this, how we can get a hold of them and I want to know where my missing agents are!" Hotchner yelled, slamming his hand on the table, making Marquez jump.
Marquez had given him nothing but lip since the moment he sat foot in the room. He'd practically been oozing glee at being used as leverage against the FBI. And even Hotchner's patience had its limits.
He regretted his outburst the moment it was over. He always relied on being calm and collected when he interviewed a suspect. Never let them get to you, never let them see your emotions. Even let them believe you're on their side if it'll help. That had always been his strategy. But now four members of his team were missing and there had been blood on JJ's seat. A lot of blood. He took a deep breath and reeled his emotions it. But the crash site was still fresh in his mind. Calm and collected turned into calm, collected and ice cold and he fastened his eyes on Marquez.
"Let's try this again," he said with a steely voice.
"What do you think?" Reid asked Hotchner when they met up in the corridor outside the interrogation rooms.
Hotchner, with his arms crossed over his chest, shook his head. "Marquez doesn't know anything about their plans. He acts arrogant and all-knowing, but he doesn't have a clue."
"Neither does Nelson," Reid said. "He looked very surprised when I first told him, but then he composed himself quickly. Is it strange that HBM hasn't told them what they were planning?"
"Not necessarily," Dobson said, stepping out of the observation room. "Terrorist cells are usually built up so that no individual member, except the leader, knows more than the part of the plan he has to execute. Nelson and Marquez don't have to do anything, they just have to wait for the rescue. But I'll have some of my men stay behind and talk to them a little more. Not that I think they'll know all that much, they've been in prison for two years and probably haven't had much contact with the organization during that time. The rest of us are going back to Quantico so we can get the ball rolling on this investigation." He turned on his heels and started towards the exit, confident that the others would follow.
Hotchner looked at Reid and bit back the comment that the investigation had been well on its way for four days now, without Dobson. "Let's go," he said to Reid, disappointed that their trip here hadn't yielded anything, meaning that Gideon and JJ hadn't had to make the trip.
***
Back at Quantico Hotchner called a meeting for his remaining team members in his office. When Reid and Garcia came in he was on the phone, but he quickly finished the call with "Love you too."
"That was Haley," he explained needlessly. "She's taken Jack to her sister's, but that's mostly because she knows I won't be home for a while, and I think she likes company when she has to worry about me."
Reid smiled bleakly. He knew that even though there was no reason to suspect that the kidnappers would bother their families, Hotchner still worried, probably more than Haley did.
"Anyway," Hotchner said, gesturing for them to sit down in the visitor's chairs. "I just wanted to let you know what to expect now that the case isn't ours anymore."
"Not ours?" Garcia said, looking surprised. "What do you mean by that? How can it not be ours?"
"Well, first of all," Hotchner said, "There are only two of us left, that doesn't make for a very strong team, at least not in the director's eyes. And secondly, with the recent development, the director strongly feels that the case belongs to the anti-terrorism department. Now, with Dobson in charge things are going to be different from what we're used to. You shouldn't expect too much cooperation. I've worked with Dobson before. He has a lot of good qualities and an excellent track record, but it's always a challenge to work with him. He doesn't want others to interfere with his investigation, and he doesn't believe in profiling."
"Doesn't believe in profiling?" Reid echoed. "Then how are we supposed to-"
"There's nothing we can do," Hotchner interrupted him. "Dobson is in charge, whether we like it or not and no matter what, he'll be the one to make all final decisions. All we can do is argue so that he makes the decisions we want him to make."
"But you just said that he's not going to listen to us," Reid protested.
"No, probably not," Hotchner sighed. "But we have to try anyway."
Garcia looked between the two men. Hotchner had taken off his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. In shirt and tie Hotchner and Reid were almost mirror images, except Reid always looked much sloppier as he never buttoned the top button of his shirt and his hair was rather unruly compared to Hotchner's slick hair style. But still, there was a likeness between them, especially in the determination in their eyes and Garcia suddenly felt a lot better than she had just moments ago. Maybe there only were two of them, but they were two of the best agents she'd ever met and she had the utmost confidence in them.
There was a knock on the door and without waiting for an answer Dobson stuck his head into the office. "Briefing in the conference room in five. Are you coming?"
It had been decided that even if the case now officially belonged to anti-terrorism, their headquarters would be the BAU since it was with them the kidnappers communicated, even if a large number of Dobson's agents would be working from their own desks a few floors away. So late Sunday night they all crowded into the round table room for their first joint briefing.
They started off with Hotchner filling the new agents in on what had happened so far and what evidence they'd collected. Reid thought it was disheartening to hear just how little they actually knew.
Then Hotchner took his seat and Dobson took charge, a position he clearly took for granted. Reid, Garcia and Hotchner had unconsciously grouped together at the table. The 'stay apart' order was only enforced outside the headquarters.
Dobson started off with introduction. Besides the bodyguards, who they had already met, and six other regular agents there was Leona Swartling, who was the bureau's expert on HBM and other small time terrorist cells, and Landon Jones, who was Dobson's team's computer expert. When Garcia heard this she turned worried eyes on Reid and Hotchner. Did this mean that she wouldn't be allowed to work on the case?
Dobson then invited Agent Swartling to tell them about HBM. Leona Swartling was in her forties, with short, styled brown hair, designer clothes and a dark facial expression.
"I'm actually the one who put Marquez and Nelson in prison," Swartling started her presentation harshly. "And I have no intention of ever letting them out again."
Taking the remote for the plasma screen she started clicking through tree-diagrams, mug shots and newspaper clippings as she spoke. "HBM or Humanity Before Money. They started off in the 70's and in the beginning they kept things peaceful; protest, sit-ins, the occasional hunger strike. At the start of the last war in Iraq, however, a more violent phalange broke off. Their new slogan was that a militant government breeds militant citizens. Basically, what goes around comes around. They have since recruited several extremist and radicals to their cause. They're still a rather small group, only a hundred members or so, alldomestic terrorists. The original HBM has dissociated themselves from them and changed their names to The American People for Peace and they are still peaceful. HBM's attacks have always been on a small scale, things like car bombs outside military recruitment offices and threats to different fundraisers, like elections fundraisers, support our soldiers' benefits, etc. They're not religious terrorist, they're political. Their pet peeve is still capitalism. They want their tax-dollars spent here, improving American lives, not spent overseas killing civilians. A few years ago they would've been called political activists, now they're considered leftwing extremists and terrorists. So far only one of their attacks has resulted in fatalities, incidentally the same attack that sent Nelson and Marquez to jail. Two years ago two 20-year-old interns were caught up in an explosion designed to take out a senator candidate's campaign bus."
Reid and Garcia looked at each other. Their research this morning had already given them most of the information Swartling was now presenting, but it seemed to be new information to most of the anti-terrorist agents. But then, HBM was a small organization and not a very active one.
"As I said," Swartling continued. "It's a small organization. As far as we know they only have about a hundred members, of which only about thirty or so are really active. After the incident that put Marquez and Nelson in jail they calmed down a lot, became dormant. There haven't been any new actions during the last two years, barely even a protest, but about six months ago they got a new leader, Eric McNamara, who has started them up again. It could very well be he who wrote the ransom note too. I've had some dealings with him and he talks like every word out of his mouth is part of some grand speech. He's really rallied the organization up. And I guess the new funding helped too."
"What new funding?" Hotchner asked. "I was wondering if they have the competence and economy for this kind of operation. The planning, execution, it costs a lot of money. They're not asking for a ransom, so they're not expecting to get any of it back. Can they afford it?"
"Financially, yes," Swartling answered. "We've always had their main account under discreet surveillance. A few months ago, a large sum of money appeared there. Normally that account holds about ten thousand dollars at the most; HBM has never been a financially steady organization. The new money has been impossible to trace. I've had some guys from the economic crime division on it, but all they could tell me was that the money was wired from a Swiss bank account that doesn't appear to exist. We haven't been able to determine who the money comes from or their purpose. Money laundering has been a theory, as well as payment some kind of job. Now-"
"How much money?" Hotchner interrupted.
Swartling looked at him. "2.5 million dollars."
Hotchner's eyebrows rose.
"That's a lot of money," Garcia commented.
"And as for the competence…" Swartling continued answering Hotchner's question. "I don't know. Initially I wouldn't have thought so, but I can't ignore the evidence. And McNamara is very resourceful, it's difficult to say what he's been teaching the others."
"Why would an organization claiming to fight for humanity resort to kidnapping?" the computer expert, Jones, asked.
"I don't know," Swartling said again, shaking her head. "I don't understand why HBM have suddenly turned to kidnapping. They never have before. It's a huge escalation for them. But their history shows that loyalty has always been a big deal for the members, so even if it is unexpected, it isn't unbelievable."
"That's what Nelson told me," Reid mumbled to Hotchner.
"I still don't understand what do they have to do with us?" Garcia wondered out loud. "We've never had any dealing with them, have we?"
Hotchner, who had been with the unit the longest, shook his head. "No, I can't think of a single case we've had where HBM have been involved. Maybe we've met an individual member during a case sometimes, without knowing he was with the organization, or maybe one of our old suspects have since joined them. But right now, I have no idea why they've targeted us."
"We've thought about that," Swartling said, "And right now we're cross-referencing every known member of HBM against the members of your unit. Hopefully we'll find a connection. I'm also taking a team to start rounding up certain members for questioning."
"Can we help?" Reid asked.
Swartling looked at Dobson who shook his head. "Thanks," she said, "But I think it's best if we do it ourselves. We know a lot of these guys already, we know how to deal with them. I'll tell you if they give us any pertinent information."
"Okay," Dobson finished the meeting. "You've got your assignments. Let's get to work."
By midday Monday, when they were all waiting for the promised contact with HBM, Swartling took the opportunity to brief everyone on the fact that most of the HBM had gone underground and were impossible to find. The few members they had found were now in custody and interviews had been going on throughout the night.
"Well, what did they have to say?" Dobson asked, putting a new nicotine gum in his mouth.
"Nothing," Swartling shook her head. "They're claiming innocence."
"No surprise there," Garcia muttered to Reid.
"They all say they don't know anything," Swartling continued, "But they're arrogant and not very cooperative so who knows. We've searched all of their known premises, but so far, nothing. There is of course the possibility that only a few of them are in on it."
"Excuse me, sir." A man stuck his head through the open doorway. It was the man from the mailroom who had delivered the last ransom note. He held something in his hand and Dobson waved him in.
This time it was a package, addressed to the BAU. Even though it had been declared safe, Dobson opened it very carefully. Reid stretched his neck to see the content.
Inside the small box lay a folded note and a cell phone. Dobson immediately handed the phone to Jones. "Check it out."
The note started out with a short manifesto which Dobson read out loud. "Our county is at war and civilian casualties are tragic, but expected and accepted. Remember that as you think of your agents. How many civilians have our troops mauled down during our foreign affairs? This is hypocrisy at the highest level. Robbie Marquez and Donnie Nelson are soldiers, fighting for the return of uncorrupt democracy in our country and should not be subjected to this treatment-"
"That sounds like McNamara," Swartling commented, and other anti-terrorism agents who had had dealings with the terrorist nodded their agreement.
Dobson shot her a look before continuing. "We now have four of your agents. And in our infinite generosity we are willing to trade these four lives for only two of our own. If you have any sense of loyalty towards your own you will accept our demands. If not, we will keep taking your agents until you can no longer deny us that which we want."
Reid clenched his fists under the table. They couldn't let Marquez and Nelson go, so what were they going to do?
Dobson kept reading. "At four o'clock this afternoon you will bring our brothers to the south entrance of the Garden Park. When we have confirmation that you've brought Robert Marquez and Donnie Nelson we will call you on this phone with the further instructions. Signed HBM. Jones?"
Jones looked up from his scrutiny of the phone. "It's a pre-paid, disposable cell phone. Without the original package it'll be difficult to tell where it's been bought right away. There are no numbers or anything programmed into it. We'll try and put a trace on it, but most likely they'll be calling from another disposable phone, which will make it impossible to find."
"Four o'clock," Dobson said, looking at his wrist watch. "That doesn't give us much time."
"Which is their intention," Hotchner said.
"What?"
"The less time we have, the smaller the chance is that we'll be able to set a trap," Hotchner explained.
Dobson smiled crookedly. "We'll just see about that. Swartling, call SWAT, have them send a team over. And someone get me a map of the Garden Park, wherever that is."
***
With the many agents that would now be involved in the operation, the round table room was too small for the briefing so they had set up in the BAU bullpen. White boards had been set up and were already being filled with maps and aerial shots of the Garden Park and blueprints of the surrounding buildings. Reid had been sitting at his desk, watching as the bullpen was quickly and efficiently turned into a command center with a growing sense of irony. Usually it was his team invading an unsuspecting bullpen and turning it upside down.
Since bringing Nelson and Marquez with them for a hostage exchange was out of the question, Dobson had decided that they were going to use two agents as a decoy. The two agents that were going to play the prisoners stood side by side, already dressed in orange jumpsuits. The younger of them, Roscow, had a bit of a nervous manner, chewing gum and tapping his foot. His partner, Linner, had a much more relaxed stance, leaning back against a desk with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for instructions.
Dobson was having a low-key conversation with Roger Witchell, the captain of the SWAT team, over in a corner and Hotchner stood on the outskirts of their conversation, almost like a boy in a schoolyard who desperately wants to be in the cool gang, though by looking at the men's body language, it was clear that Captain Witchell respected him a lot more than Dobson did. This cautious demeanor wasn't like Hotchner at all and Reid was glad to know that it was only a part he was playing. He kept unobtrusive in order to gather intelligence and he knew that the best way to get his two cents in was to keep it subtle.
"All right people, gather around," Dobson called after awhile, bringing all the agents to the center of the room. Garcia pushed a chair close to Reid's and Hotchner came over and perched on the side of Reid's desk.
"Okay," Dobson called the room to order. "In less than three hours the HBM are expecting us to hand two convicted terrorists over to them. Obviously that's not happening. Roscow and Linner over there are going to be our stand-ins. We can't put two guys in prison clothes out in the open without getting a lot of attention, so we'll be keeping them inside a van where we can keep their faces in the shadows, but with an open door so they're visible from the outside. Mike, you'll be the driver," he said to one of his agents who nodded. "I'll be with the van too, but that's all. The rest of you will be spread out around the area. Remember, we're not expecting the exchange to take place at the Garden Park. The HBM will be calling us with instructions, so I want a separate team ready to move quickly when we have a location."
He started pointing to people and assigning them roles and places all over the park and the surrounding buildings. One would be a jogger, one would be a traffic police, one would pose as a hot dog vendor and so on. Snipers would cover all roof tops and SWAT would be ready to swarm the park at a moment's notice.
"There's heavy traffic around this corner so if their plan is to cruise by and check us out we might have a hard time spotting them," Dobson finished.
Reid suddenly realized that everyone had been given an assignment except for him and Hotchner. "What about us?" he asked.
"Only one of you can go, Doc," Dobson said, loudly chewing his nicotine gum. "Keeping you apart, remember."
Reid and Hotchner looked at each other. It was no question about who would go.
"That's what I thought," Dobson said. "Okay Hotchner, you, Marcus and Miller will be posted in this apartment here." Dobson circled a third-story window on a building across from the park with a red marker and wrote their names next to it. "You are surveillance only and you will be covering this area here." He indicated the north-bound road. "You are not to leave that room until it's time to go back to Quantico or I call you down. Understood?"
Hotchner nodded reluctantly.
"Okay, best case scenario," Dobson said. "Is if the terrorists bring the hostages to the rendezvous point or somewhere close where we can spot them and free them. Second best, we spot the terrorists and follow them back to where they're keeping the hostages. So keep your eyes open, all of you, and be ready to move at the drop of a hat. This might be our one chance."
More details were discussed, and Reid was getting antsy. If he'd been the kidnappers he would've kept the park under surveillance for a while before the exchange would take place, possibly ever since the ransom note was sent. He felt like they were cutting it a little too close for comfort. Apparently Dobson shared his apprehension, for he soon called the briefing to an end and told everyone to meet in the garage in a few minutes.
"Good luck," Reid said to Hotchner.
"I'll call you as soon as I know anything," Hotchner promised solemnly. Reid smiled bleakly at him.
"Be careful," Garcia added.
As all the agents crowded in front of the elevators, waiting for their ride down to the garage, they met Henry coming off. He and Hotchner nodded curtly at each other as they passed. Reid and Garcia were still in the bullpen, quietly talking to each other, while Lee and Jensen sat a few desks away in order to give them some privacy.
"Hey kitten," Henry smiled as he suddenly stood in front of them.
They both looked up. "Henry!" Garcia's face brightened as he pulled her up from the chair and into his arms, holding her tight.
"How're you doing?" he asked quietly. Her only answer was to tighten her hold on him and bury her face in his neck. "That bad, huh? Are you getting any closer? Do you think you'll find them soon?"
Garcia pulled back. "I can't talk about the case, you know that."
"Oh. Of course, I didn't mean it like that." Henry looked uncomfortable as he let his eyes wander aimlessly around the room, careful to not linger too long on the schematics for the plan. "Well, it looks like you have something going on anyway… Anyway, I brought food." He held out the large paper bag he'd been carrying.
"Yeah? What is it?" Garcia took the bag and opened it, seeing quite a few aluminum foil containers.
"Leftovers, from the conference I organized today. We had great caterers for lunch," Henry said, pointing to the top container. "That one's my favorite."
"Oh right, the conference," Garcia said, mentally berating herself. Since the kidnappings had begun she hadn't been a very attentive girlfriend. "How is it going?"
"It's going great," Henry said with a huge smile. "Everything's going so smoothly, just as planned. The management is really impressed."
"So…" Garcia fished for information. "The promotion?"
"As good as mine," Henry looked exceedingly pleased with himself. "They can't say no now. Like I said, my boss is really pleased with me right now. As soon as that factory is up and running, it's going to be mine. I just need this big project I'm working on to be successful."
"I'm sure it will be. Congratulations, honey." Garcia hugged him again and then looked at Reid meaningly.
"Yeah, congratulations," he said slightly bewildered. "Sorry, what is it you do again?"
"Thanks man," Henry grinned. "I work for the Danwal Cooperation, you know it?"
Reid shook his head.
"Well, the company is expanding their operations in Virginia and I'm up for the CEO position of a new branch office and factory they're opening. Anyway, I have to get back, the afternoon session will start in a half-hour. Penny? Is there… is there any way you could sneak away with me for a few minutes?"
"I- uh…" She looked at Reid.
"Go," he said, "It'll be awhile before we hear anything."
Garcia smiled at him and mouthed 'thank you' before turning to Henry. "I'll walk you to your car."
"See you, Reid," Henry said. "And enjoy the food."
Henry gave Garcia one last kiss before sending her on her way. "I'll be back to pick you up tonight."
"See you then," she smiled.
He waited by the car, smiling, until she'd turned around and waved one last time. Then he got into his car and pulled out his cell phone. He hit speed dial and waited impatiently for the person on the other side to pick up.
"'lo?"
"I know where he's going to be."
Hotchner stood at the window at his assigned lookout point and let his binoculars sweep the area around the van, again and again. Even though the van's back door was only partially open, he could clearly see the orange jumpsuits in the back seat. Maybe they were so obvious to him because he knew they were there, but he hoped they would be obvious to the terrorists as well.
Maybe dressing the two agents in prison jumpsuits was overkill and cliché, but Dobson and Witchell hoped that it would fool whoever was coming for them into not looking so closely at the prisoners' faces until they got close enough to be detected by the FBI agents. Sometimes people really did only see what they wanted to see.
Hotchner raised the binoculars to his eyes again and scanned the cars driving up and down the north-bound road, hoping to spot a familiar face behind a steering wheel. He somehow felt that he should know whoever it was that was snatching his team. But he couldn't really see the drivers from up here. He knew there was someone on the ground filming the traffic so that someone else could go through it later, matching license plate number to driver and pull backgrounds. Maybe a job for Garcia, he thought. He knew she'd been feeling left out lately. Yeah, he'd ask Dobson to let Garcia handle it. After all, with a case like this it was only natural for her to want to be involved, even if it was just routine jobs. He knew from experience that a lot of the times it felt better to keep busy in a situation like this.
A sudden sound behind him caught his attention. It was the sound of the supposedly locked door opening. He quickly turned around…
***
Agents Roscow and Linner sat in the back of the van, manacles loosely fastened around their wrists and ankles. Their orange jumpsuits shone brightly through the crack where the door to the back had been slid open. The driver, Mike, sat uncomfortably with his hands clenching the steering wheel at ten and two. He didn't like all the dead angles he was forced to endure from his position. Dobson was pacing in front of the van's grill, the disposable cell phone clutched in his hand. He looked at his watch and dug in his pocket for a pack of nicotine gum. The terrorists had overshot their own deadline by ten minutes. Where were they? Why hadn't they called?
He looked around the park. Many of the people walking dogs or eating ice cream on the park benches were agents in civilian clothes, but not all of them. Neither were the cars that drove past him. The situation made him nervous. Too many things could go wrong. People could get hurt.
His eyes swept the park again and its surrounding buildings. He knew which windows hid his teams, though nothing from the outside distinguished them. His radio was quiet. No one had spotted anything or anyone. His eyes landed on Hotchner's hiding place and he squinted. With the sun reflecting in the glass it was hard to tell, but he thought he saw… mist? Smoke? What was that? He raised the radio to his lips.
"Unit four, report please."
Chewing his lip he waited, but there was no answer. He tried again.
"Unit four, respond."
Mike turned in his seat and looked towards the window in question before exchanging glances with the mock prisoners in the back. Dobson spoke into his radio.
"Units three and six, check on unit four's position. Use extreme caution." A lump of dread was beginning to form in his gut. Without losing focus of his surroundings he kept his eyes turned to the room that should hold agents Hotchner, Marcus and Miller. Within minutes he had his answer.
"We need paramedics up here," someone shouted over the radio. "Miller and Marcus have been shot."
Quickly checking the street for oncoming traffic, Dobson crossed the street at a fast pace, banged open the building's door and barreled up the stairs to the third floor, three steps at the time. He heard coughing on the third-floor landing and carefully poked his head through the door into the hallway. What he saw was his agents pulling Miller and Marcus out of the apartment, smoke trailing them, evaporating in the spacious hallway. Most of the agents held their hands or pieces of cloth across their mouths. Then he was pushed out of the way by the paramedics they had kept on standby.
Agent Swartling, who was squatting by Miller's side, was also asked to give room for the paramedics. Standing up she saw her boss and walked towards him.
"Tear gas, sir," she said, hiding a cough in her hand. "But it's dissipating quickly now that we've opened the door and the windows. Miller has taken a slug to the shoulder, it doesn't look too bad. Marcus was shot in the gut… I don't know…"
"And Hotchner?" Dobson asked.
Swartling shook her head. "Missing."
"God dammit." He absentmindedly scratched his nose as he tried to come up with a new plan. "All right, take units two and three and search the outside. How long ago do you think they were here?"
Swartling shrugged. "No more than a couple of minutes."
"Okay, go. And check if there are any cameras around that might have captured them on tape. Traffic cameras, ATMs, store surveillance, anything you can think of."
"Got it." Swartling jogged down the stairs, calling the designated units over the radio.
Dobson went over to his injured men. Miller was conscious and fighting his paramedic, trying to get a good look at his partner. Dobson knelt beside him and put a hand on the blond head to force him back down.
"Sir," Miller panted as he clawed his oxygen mask off, deaf to the paramedic's protests, tears streaming from his red and swollen eyes. "Sir, how's Marcus?"
Dobson looked over at his other agent, lying unconscious and bleeding on the floor. The paramedic working on him looked up and shrugged, not willing to commit to any kind of diagnosis just yet. Dobson turned back to Miller.
"Just worry about yourself for now," he said evasively. "What happened?"
"The door opened," Miller said between coughs. There was a small cut on his lower lip as if he'd bitten himself. "And a canister rolled in, gas already leaking from it and then it exploded. It all happened so fast, sir, we didn't even have time to pull our weapons. There were three of them, with gasmasks. They had guns with silencers. They shot Marcus first. I drew my gun, but took a slug to the shoulder before I could fire it. I fell to the floor, there was smoke everywhere. I saw them overpower Agent Hotchner, then I don't remember anything…"
The last part of the sentence was drowned out in gut wrenching coughs and Dobson gently maneuvered the oxygen mask in place again as another group of paramedics entered the hallway with a second stretcher. He called for another agent to accompany the fallen men to the hospital and to contact him regularly with updates.
Dobson then entered the apartment that was now sufficiently aired out, even if a sting to the air still remained and hitched in the breath of the agents surveying the room.
Captain Witchell stood over by the window, looking at some overturned equipment. He looked up as the other agent entered. "They must have called our bluff. But how did they know where to find him? We only finalized this plan two hours ago," he said bewildered.
Dobson's lips thinned dangerously as he drew the only possible conclusion. "It was a trap. They've got someone on the inside."
Tension was running high in the basement. JJ was running a fever and slept fitfully, mumbling incoherently in her sleep. The others tried to wake her up every now and then, but it proved more and more difficult each time.
The fever had started yesterday and had made for a sleepless night for the rest of them as they worried about what an untreated concussion toppled with an untreated infection might do to her. Last night, as Henry had performed his nightly visit, Morgan had gone so far as to beg for help. That had resulted in a few sterile wipes, some actual bandages and two Tylenols. Not nearly enough, but still better than nothing.
Now it was late afternoon. Prentiss sat on the floor by JJ's cot, dozing lightly with one arm pressed up against JJ and her head resting on the arm, while Morgan paced the floor, his chain rattling with every step. Gideon was behind the screen trying to wash his sweater, his t-shirt and himself in the sink to get as much of the dried blood out as possible. His plan was to offer his sweater, once it had dried, to JJ so she could get rid of her blood soaked blouse. With nothing but toilet paper or his own clothes to dry with, Gideon's chest was still damp as he hung the wrung-out sweater over the screen to dry and limped heavily into the main area of the room again. He had a seatbelt shaped bruise across his chest and abdomen, JJ had a matching one, and also a deep contusion over his ribs on the right side.
"Calm down please, Morgan," he requested.
Morgan glared at him. "Why? Face it, there's nothing we can do. We're stuck here."
"There's always something we can do," Gideon said, lying down on the free cot and putting his leg up on the pile of blankets he'd been using to elevate his swollen knee. He sighed contented. It felt good to be off his feet again. "We do what we always do. We build a profile."
Prentiss cracked open an eye. "Sure, no problem," she said with a sarcastic tint. "Let's start with victimology: Us. But why? What have we ever done to Garcia's boyfriend? If this is revenge for something, it would be nice to know what it is."
"No," Morgan said, "This isn't an act of revenge."
"Why not?" Prentiss asked.
"Because if it were," Gideon answered, "Then Henry would've probably killed Morgan before kidnapping you and you before kidnapping us. He would enjoy sending photos or videos of him tormenting us to those still free, to instill fear, to show what we could expect when it was our turn. Had it been revenge he would've been present here with us, torturing us, forcing us to watch each other suffer. Revenge is always messy and always personal."
"He wouldn't have given us medical supplies for JJ either," Morgan said. "There's another agenda here, he's got something planned for the future."
"I know," Prentiss said. "But why didn't they just grab all six of us when we were all together?" she asked, sounding as if she was just thinking out loud. "Why this outdrawn procedure... why draw it out and give us all the warnings we need. It just makes it more and more difficult for them each time."
"Logistics." Morgan suggested. "It takes a lot of people to take down six agents and there are only four of them. Henry probably wants to keep this tight, the less people that know about it, the better."
"It's also part of the game," Gideon said. "This whole show has been put on for our benefit. To catch us is just that, a prey caught. But to outwit us, make us fail, show us how weak and helpless we are; that's part of his game. And we are meant to be impressed by this. We are meant to be impressed by the level and sophistication of his plans. It's to show us that he's not some two-bit kidnapper, he's our equal, or even superior as he has no problems getting to all of us."
"Yeah, but how did they plan the other things," Prentiss asked. "Like, how did they know when you we're going to the prison to interview Nelson and Marquez?"
"An expected reaction to the ransom note," Gideon said.
"They're getting bolder and more violent with every abduction," she commented.
"That's not really so strange," Morgan said. "In the beginning they relied on stealth. We didn't know they were coming for us, and that was the way they liked it. But now that we know they're after us, there's no need for stealth. Also as we become more aware, we become more suspicious and careful and it becomes more difficult to overpower us."
"We still don't have a motive," Prentiss pointed out.
"He's collecting us," Gideon said. "I don't know why, but we're all still alive. That means that if he wants to kill us, he probably won't do it until he's got all of us or has lost the hope of getting all of us."
"Then it's all up to Hotch and Reid," Prentiss said slowly.
Just then the door opened and Hotchner was forcefully pushed into the room, bound and blindfolded like the rest of them had been, an armed henchman keeping the others immobile.
Once Hotchner's shackle had been secured around his ankle, he was put on the floor and had his picture taken. As soon as he'd been freed from the duct tape and blindfold and his captors had left the room, Hotchner turned to his team. "Is everyone okay?" he asked, cataloging the various cuts and bruises showing on their bodies.
"Yeah, we're good," Morgan said. "You?"
Hotchner touched his sore nose, brushing away some flakes of dried blood and then moved his hand up to his red and puffy eyes. "I'm fine," he said. "I can't believe I let them get the drop on me."
"Well, you're in good company," Morgan said wryly. "What happened?"
Hotchner sighed and rubbed his eyes again. "We got instructions for a hostage exchange, the four of you for the two of them. We were supposed to take them to the Garden Park and get further instructions there over the phone. Marcus, Miller and I were in an empty third-floor apartment, keeping watch over the north-bound road. A minute after the deadline our door was opened. It was supposed to be locked, but I don't know, maybe it wasn't. I went for my gun, we all did, but they'd thrown in tear gas canisters. The room filled up fast, I could barely keep my eyes open. I hardly heard the shots, they had silencers, but I saw Marcus go down, then Miller. Then someone punched me in the nose and I blanked out for a moment. When I came to they were dragging me down the back stairs. They stuffed me in the back of a car, tied me up and blindfolded me."
"So it was a trap," Prentiss said.
"Looks that way," Hotchner agreed.
Prentiss frowned. "Don't they want their people back? What would they have done if you'd really brought the prisoners?"
"I don't think they're stupid enough to believe we'll free Nelson and Marquez that easily," Hotchner said. "They probably never expected that they would be there."
"This is getting ridiculous," Morgan said. "They're just picking us off one by one without even breaking a sweat, and we can't even figure out why."
Hotchner's eyes turned to JJ, who was moving restlessly on one of the cots. "Is she…?"
"Sleeping," Morgan said somberly. He sat down on the place on the floor Prentiss had just vacated and put a hand on JJ's forehead to calm her. "She does that a lot."
"Here." Prentiss handed Hotchner a leftover piece of the chemise that she'd wet under the faucet and Hotchner gratefully put it over his still stinging eyes.
"What have you learned so far?" he asked, his head tilted back to keep the piece of cloth in place.
"That Prentiss gets cranky without her coffee," Morgan joked.
Prentiss made a face at him and then proceeded to fill Hotchner in on everything they'd seen, heard and theorized so far.
"Henry Caswell? Garcia's boyfriend?" Hotchner said, letting the wet cloth slip off and looking at them. "I met him getting off the elevator on the way to the hostage exchange. He would've seen the plans in the bullpen. No wonder it was so easy for them to grab me, he had all the information. Has he said anything to you about what this is about?"
"We hardly ever see him," Morgan said. "He only comes down sometimes in the evenings. I suppose he has to keep up appearances with his day job."
"And he's been picking Garcia up from work every night," Hotchner added. Morgan's face turned grim at that thought.
"What's happening on the outside?" Gideon asked.
"The investigation has been turned over to anti-terrorism," Hotchner told them. "Simon Dobson is in charge."
"Dobson? No, not him," Morgan complained.
"What?" Prentiss asked. "What's wrong with Dobson?"
"He's an egotistical, career hungry, narcissistic know it all," Morgan fumed. "And, oh yeah, he doesn't believe in the psychological mumbo jumbo we do. Hotch, how could you let him get involved in the investigation? And what about now? You and Gideon can hardly get him to listen, how's Reid gonna have a chance to stand up to him?"
"I didn't let him do anything," Hotchner said, "He was forced on us by Director Strauss. But at least Reid isn't alone."
"Is Reid…" Prentiss began and then stopped. She looked down at her hands as she tried to find the right words for what she wanted to know. "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but since the kidnappers managed to get all of us with relative ease, what chances does Reid have of avoiding them?"
Gideon gave her a skewed smile. "Don't underestimate Reid, Emily."
"Or Dobson," Morgan said. "He's not going to let him out of his sight. If I know him, he's taking this very personally and is probably furious with himself for letting them walk away with Hotch right under his nose. He'll lock Reid up in a broom closet if he thinks it'll keep him safe."
"If you don't mind, I think I'm gonna worry anyway," Prentiss said, throwing a look at JJ.
"We all do," Gideon said.
***
Reid still sat at his desk, he hadn't moved since Hotchner and the others had left. He was resting his forehead in his hand, his eyes staring unseeingly at his cell phone lying on the desk in front of him. He was unconsciously tapping a pen against his lips as he willed the phone to ring. Garcia was sitting next to him, her feet propped up on another desk chair. She had come back from her meeting with Henry with rosy cheeks and glittering eyes. Now she was busy playing solitaire on her laptop, her thoughts miles away.
Dobson had entered the bullpen without either of them noticing, dismissing his team at the elevators. Now he carefully walked up to Reid's desk. "Dr. Reid?" he said politely.
Garcia looked up from her game, alarmed. She had never heard Dobson call Reid anything but 'Doc' before. But Reid, lost in his own thoughts, didn't move until Garcia tapped him on the shoulder.
"Huh? What?" Reid jerked and looked up, puzzled. Then he saw the grim look on Dobson's face and paled. "Hotch?" he asked, fear coloring his voice.
"I'm afraid so," Dobson confirmed solemnly.
"Is he…" Reid trailed off, not quite knowing what he wanted to ask first.
"He was kidnapped," Dobson said, his face unreadable. "But there was nothing that suggested that he was injured in any way."
"How could- I mean, what happened?" Reid asked shocked. "He had bodyguards; he was supposed to be protected. You were supposed to protect him."
"Yeah," Dobson defended himself, "I did. But somehow the terrorists knew where Hotchner was going to be. They used tear gas and overpowered my men. Marcus and Miller are in the hospital, they've both been shot."
Garcia gasped and put her hand over her mouth. "Are they okay?"
"Marcus is in serious condition, but Miller's going to be fine," Dobson answered, spitting out a piece of gum and dropping it in the trash can next to Reid's desk.
"I don't understand," Garcia said bewildered. "Why would the kidnappers do such a thing? I thought they were coming for a hostage exchange, not another kidnapping."
"Well, either they called our bluff and decided to make the best of the situation," Dobson answered. "Or they had set it up as a trap to be able to kidnap Hotchner or it was a test run to check out how we would react and what kind of manpower they would have against them."
"And Hotch has just disappeared without a trace?" Reid asked, hoping that the kidnappers had messed up and left them something worthwhile.
"I still have people out looking," Dobson said, putting a new piece of gum in his mouth, "But so far there is no sign of Hotchner anywhere in the vicinity and we haven't been able to pick up the trace. And that just leaves you, Doc," he finished pointedly.
"Reid," Garcia said, suddenly gripping his hand hard in both of hers. "Don't leave, okay? They're gonna come after you too, I just know it. Don't leave the office; don't go anywhere, just stay here, please."
"Garcia…" Reid pulled at his hand uncomfortably, wanting it back, but she wouldn't let go. "There's work… The others are still missing. I can't just-"
"No, Ms. Garcia's right," Dobson said, once again unusually polite. "You really have to stay here."
"But-" Reid started to protest. He wanted to be proactive, he wanted to be out there, he wanted to look for his team, he wanted to find his team.
"Listen to me, Doc, I'm going to make this very clear." Dobson put his hands on the armrests of Reid's chair and leaned over him, lowering his voice, but still keeping the tone harsh. "I'm in charge. Hotchner is missing. Gideon is missing. You have no one to run to anymore. We're going to do this my way and if you're not prepared to cooperate, then fine, I'll take you off the case."
"You can't," Reid gasped.
"Yes, I can," Dobson said coldly. "But in this case it's entirely up to you. And just to make it clear, on or off this case, and I don't care which, you're not leaving this building and even while you're here, you're not going anywhere without at least two of my men with you."
"But-" Reid tried to protest again.
"No buts, Doc," Dobson said sternly. "No one else is going to disappear on my watch. As of now you're not even allowed to use the men's room unsupervised."
Reid swallowed around the nervous lump in his throat. He had no choice, he desperately wanted to stay on the case. "Okay," he said meekly.
"So we're agreed?" Dobson asked. "No fieldwork, no interviews, no work that you can't do from that chair you're sitting in right now."
Reid nodded mutely.
Satisfied with his compliance, Dobson turned around to leave.
"I have to call Haley," Reid told Garcia, who nodded sympathetically.
But Dobson turned around to face them again. "Already taken care of, Doc. I sent a couple of my guys to her sister's. She was informed an hour ago."
"What?" Reid looked surprised. "Why?"
Dobson cocked his head and studied Reid for a moment. "You still don't get it, do you Doc?" he said condescendingly. "I'm in charge. I'm the SAC. Notifying next of kin is my responsibility. Because I'm in charge. And the sooner you realize that, the better we'll get along."
But all Reid could think of was Haley, getting the bad news from complete strangers. In this case Dobson was wrong. It had been Reid's responsibility. As a friend.
"JJ? Come on, time to wake up. Dinner time! JJ?"
JJ heard Morgan's sing-song voice as from afar, and even though her body protested vehemently, she followed the voice into consciousness. It wasn't a pleasant experience, it never was. She felt hot and uncomfortable and her head felt ready to split in two every time she opened her eyes. And yet, every time they called her, she answered.
She cracked open her eyes to see a double exposure of Morgan's face floating in front of her. Quickly she squeezed her eyes together again before the sight could make her nauseous. When she opened them again, there was only one Morgan smiling down at her.
"Welcome back, stranger. How're you feeling?"
"I'm fine," she tried to say, but the sounds that came out of her mouth didn't really resemble words.
"Okay," Morgan said, winking at her. "Do you think you can eat something? We've got a nice selection of hamburgers or hamburgers. Which do you prefer?"
She appreciated his efforts to keep things light, she really did, but at the same moment as he started talking about hamburgers the greasy smell assaulted her nostrils and she gagged. Large, floating specks of color invaded her sight as she retched miserably. She felt someone's arms around her, lifting her and turning her on her side, steadying her as her body revolted, but she wasn't sure who it was until she could finally breathe again with small, hiccupping breaths and heard Morgan's voice chanting, "It's okay, it's okay," above her painfully throbbing head.
She felt herself being lowered down onto the cot again, though not all the way. An arm stayed behind her neck and kept her head tilted up. The rim of a paper cup touched her lips and she tried to turn her head.
"Shh, it's only water," Morgan said, pressing the cup more insistently against her lips. "Just a little, then you can go back to sleep again. I promise."
The cold water felt wonderful on her lips and in her mouth. She was hot and parched and a vile taste fermented in her mouth. On the way down her throat, her stomach protested a little against the water, but not enough to expel it. She drank a little more before the cup was removed and her head was put down and she closed her eyes again. She actually felt better, only marginally, but still better.
Morgan had been sitting next to her on the cot. She hadn't really noticed before, not until he got up and took the warmth of his body with him, but she was already floating back towards sleep and didn't protest.
"It's okay, at least she drank the water." It was Prentiss' voice, coming from the other side of the room. "And I think her fever is coming down."
"She should be in a hospital." Morgan sounded much harsher than when he'd been speaking to her.
"We'll just have to do the best we can," Prentiss answered him.
The room fell quiet, all that was heard was the rustle of paper bags being opened and hamburgers being unpacked and it somehow sounded homey. JJ felt herself drift further and further away until Gideon's voice suddenly yanked her back out of the tranquility.
"Penny for your thoughts."
JJ frowned and stirred. He wasn't talking to her, was he?
"It's the pictures."
JJ's frown deepened. That was Hotchner's voice. He wasn't supposed to be here, was he? In her muddled mind she couldn't quite remember why, but she remembered that it was very important that he shouldn't be here.
"What pictures?" Prentiss asked.
"When I first came there, they took my picture, right?" Hotchner asked. "I thought I heard them use a camera while I was lying on the floor."
"That's right," Gideon said.
"Have they taken pictures of all of you too?" Hotchner asked.
The conversation interested JJ and in spite of herself she cracked open one eye and got a blurred, sideways vision of the other four sitting on and around a cot, sharing French fries and slurping sodas. She saw Morgan and Prentiss nod at Hotchner's question.
"I'm just wondering what they are doing with the photos," Hotchner continued. "There haven't been any photos in any of the ransom notes. You would've thought that they would've wanted us to see them."
Morgan frowned. "They haven't sent them to you? I was sure that that was what the pictures were for."
"I wondered about that too," Gideon said. "But if they aren't sent to us, then they are probably sent to someone else."
"You mean that the photos are to prove to someone else that they have us?" Prentiss asked.
Gideon nodded.
"You're talking about the HBM, right?" Morgan said. "That Henry is sending them on to the leader or whoever he reports to."
"That's a fair guess," Hotchner said.
"So is he working for them or is he a part of them?" Morgan wondered.
"Terrorist organizations wouldn't hire someone from the outside for a job like this," Prentiss said. "They always keep things close to the family, so to speak."
"Henry has to be a member then," Hotchner said. "Even if we haven't been able to find him in any of the membership registers. Not that we were looking for him specifically, but his name would've raised a red flag."
"He doesn't really fit the profile for an extremist though." Morgan said. "But then again, he doesn't strike me as a mercenary either. Isn't he upper management at some cell phone company or something?"
"Well," Gideon said. "The photos are either sent to HBM or there's a third party we don't know about."
"What kind of third party?" Prentiss asked.
Despite herself, JJ could feel herself drifting away again. While her mind would've loved to have stayed with this discussion, her body had other ideas, and she was soon asleep and never knew if Gideon had a theory about a third party or not.
***
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