Previous part of Escalation.
***
"You know, I'm not your personal messenger boy, Agent Hotchner." With those words the detective handed the small package to Hotch.
The profiler gave him a small apologetic smile and took the delivery. There was no dispatcher written an the brown paper, only the unit chief's name.
"Fan mail?" JJ giggled and eyed the package curiously.
Hotch shrugged his shoulders. "Hardly," he commented wryly and started unwrapping. He didn't get very far, however, because Morgan and Prentiss arrived at the police headquarters just then.
"Learned anything?" Aaron asked his agents and put the package on an officer's desk. The policeman who sat there didn't look very happy about his work station being used as interim storage. But Hotch didn't notice the man's angry stare. His full attention was now directed at Morgan and Prentiss.
"We met a guy there, owner and housekeeper in one person," Morgan began. "He's been at the club last night but he didn't notice anyone fitting Reid's description."
Seeing the resigned look on her boss' face Prentiss added quickly: "That doesn't mean anything, though. After all this place must have been pretty crowded. Surely he didn't look at every single guest."
Hotch merely nodded.
"How did the press conference go?" Morgan's question this time directed at JJ, who had put on her saddest face.
"Uhm, we released only basic information. Just enough to warn the people working on the street," she explained.
"In fact all we have are basic information," countered Wolfe who had joined the group silently from behind.
Which was true, Hotch noted inwardly. "Garcia sent us some facts about the six victims," he told the others. "Apart from their profession and the working area they have nothing in common. Male, female, brunette, blond, age between 18 and 29..." He stopped. Everyone had gotten the message.
"Looks like someone has a serious problem with prostitutes and feels like he's doing the world a favor by killing them," Prentiss suggested. "Remember the case in DC? That was similar."
"Maybe," Hotch replied quietly. "If this is a murderer on a mission he won't stop killing."
A female voice interrupted the conversation. "Excuse me, the forensic report is here. If you wanna take a look at it..." And she disappeared again.
The group headed towards another room to check the results of the report. Perhaps the Unsub had left some DNA traces.
Hotch, however, was called back by a somewhat annoyed sounding police officer.
"Sir, would you mind to take your package off my desk?"
Oh, the delivery. The team leader had almost forgotten about it, his mind occupied by so many other things. "Thanks," he simply said and gave the man no smile.
On his way to the other office Hotch continued struggling with the seemingly rather willful adhesive tape. Finally he managed to tear the wrapping open and took a curious look at the inside.
What he saw made him stop short right on the threshold to the other room.
His colleagues noticed the unhealthy white color on their boss' face and immediately interrupted their animated conversation.
Expectant glances thrown at Hotch. Finally Morgan broke the silence. "What is it, man?"
Hotch didn't answer, but shifted his stare away from the package.
A straight look at Detective Wolfe. "Do you have a video recorder here?"
"Hello, Dr. Reid! I hope you made yourself comfortable?" Tristan Stuart seemed to be in a very bright mood when he entered the white room again.
His captive didn't reply. No point there.
The guy with the suit watched the shivering figure in front of him and went on: "You are very lucky, you know," he said earnestly.
Though this statement screamed for a smart-ass response, Reid remained silent. He just looked at his tormentor through the strands of hair that partly hid his face.
Tristan explained: "I seriously considered to pay your mother a visit." He paused to let his words sink in, apparently enjoying this very much.
Reid held his breath and sent his captor an icy stare. He recalled the words written in the threatening letter he'd received in Quantico. The profiler had completely forgotten about his mom since this unpleasant situation had started. He couldn't help but feel a sting of guilt about that.
Tristan must have noticed the turmoil that raged inside the younger man. "No need to worry, Dr. Reid. Your mommy is still safe and sound in the nuthouse you put her in."
The profiler's involuntary wince wasn't lost on the other man, whose grin broadened even more.
"You should be glad that I don't like having mad people around me. I have to cope with enough stupid and incompetent guys already, so I can do without another loony very well."
Of course, Reid didn't like the way suit-guy was talking about his mother at all, but at least he left her alone. At the moment that was all that mattered.
With the creaking sound Reid knew all too well, the door opened. And Charlie stepped in. The agent could hardly suppress a groan. Not the most enjoyable memories were associated with that face. The young agent braced himself, mentally and physically preparing for the next beating.
Instead of attacking Reid the large man handed his boss a Polaroid camera.
"Thank you, Charlie," Tristan said and motioned his employee to wait in the far corner of the room, behind the chair.
Now Reid couldn't see what the big guy was doing. Disconcerting. Before he had a chance to worry about this too much, however, he was blinded by a sudden lightning. When he opened his eyes again all he could see were lots of little black spots.
"Oh sorry, should have warned you," Tristan chuckled, sounding definitely not sorry.
Slowly the spots faded and as his view became clear enough again Reid saw his captor holding a photo, smiling at it.
"Very nice," Tristan said with a pleased tone. "Now could you lift your head a bit? I do really have a thing for long hair but I'd love to see that pretty face of yours as well."
The restrained profiler did not like where this was going. He decided to refuse doing anything connected with photographing. He even let his head drop a bit more. Therefore he couldn't see the small encouraging nod Tristan gave Charlie.
Suddenly he felt strong hands take hold of his chin from behind, lifting his head forcefully. Just in time Reid noticed how the man in front of him raised the camera again. This time he closed his eyes tightly, trying to prevent those annoying black spots.
"No, no. That's not the way to do it, Dr. Reid," Tristan stated, getting slightly upset. "My clients need to see your beautiful eyes."
"E...excuse me?" Reid stuttered, unable to keep quiet any longer.
"Oh, right. We didn't talk about it, yet." Businesslike tone now. Suit-guy looked at Charlie who instantly let go of Reid and stepped back into his corner. Waiting.
"I guess you figured out already that there is no way we'll ever let you return to your team," Tristan said casually. "That's a no-brainer. After all you know our names, our faces, so..."
As a matter of course Reid had thought about it. He was aware that they wouldn't offer him a ride back to the hotel once this is over. Unless his team will find him soon, he was most likely going to die here...
"Of course, we are no barbarians," the kidnapper stopped Reid's musing. "I don't plan to kill something like you."
"S...something like m...me?" Once more the young profiler cursed his stuttering. It made him appear weaker than he was already.
"Yeah. It would be a shame to waste something like you," Tristan replied thoughtfully and eyed his prey with assessing glances.
Reid wanted to become invisible. But there was no hiding in the well lit room. He didn't want to even think about what this man's words implied. And there were still so many questions.
His captor noticed Reid's attempt to articulate something, but raised his hand, cutting him off nonverbally. "I'm afraid I have to go now. There's an important appointment this evening," he explained. "I'm going to meet an old friend of yours."
Tristan watched grinning how Reid's facial expression changed from highly frightened to simply puzzled.
"Charlie will keep you entertained as long as I'm away. Right Charlie?"
Reid couldn't see the other man's reaction because the goon was still somewhere behind the chair. But it was most likely a nod.
Tristan gave his captive a fake smile and left.
Charlie stayed.
Hotch stood alone in the backyard of the Las Vegas police headquarters. For the very first time in his entire life he felt the urge to smoke. He knew it was a disgusting and damaging habit but he'd heard about its calming effect once. That was exactly what he needed right now.
But, of course, he didn't smoke. First, because he was SSA Aaron Hotchner who wasn't supposed to do something like that. Second, he would probably be sick if he did. And third, well, he didn't have anything to smoke.
So Hotch simply stood there, trying to block out the pictures he'd just seen. Pictures of Reid. Pictures of Reid's suffering. A cruel video that showed a battered unconscious young genius lying on the floor.
How could I let this happen?
Morgan approached the team leader. Outwardly, Hotch seemed as composed as always. But the younger agent knew his boss better than to believe that.
Hotch didn't say anything, afraid that his voice would betray his shaken emotional condition. So he just continued fixing a meaningless spot in the distance.
Morgan placed gently a hand on the older man's shoulder. He didn't want to be a colleague now, but a friend.
"We'll find him, Hotch," he said, trying to sound as confident as possible.
Aaron nodded.
***
The video about Reid, or more specifically the beating he had to endure was not very long, hardly three minutes. The first thing the team could see was their youngest member sitting restrained to a chair.
The room was white painted and there appeared to be no windows. Given the angle of view, the camera must have been fastened at the ceiling.
Cut.
Suddenly they saw a large man approaching Reid. Then the onslaught began.
Cut.
The final sequence showed their genius lying motionless on the ground. The screen went black afterwards.
It had been a silent film until then. Which was worse actually. Reid's colleagues could only guess what noises came along with the beating. And sometimes one's imagination could picture crueler things than reality does provide already.
The first time the team and Wolfe had watched the video, they hadn't noticed that there was some sort of 'Easter egg' added. When playing it back once more they didn't stop the film immediately after the picture was gone, but let it go on a bit more.
Almost a minute of silence. Then they could hear a male voice. Only sound, the television screen remained black. It seemed to be the voice of a young man. Self-confident, comfortable with the situation, jovial, cheerful...
His instructions were straight to the point, unmistakable. The voice told them to retreat from their current case in Las Vegas if they wanted to see Reid again. Alive.
"So there's a connection between Reid's disappearance and the murders," Emily stated. True to type, the dark-haired agent was the first to recover from the shock. Her words brought the others out of their paralyzed state as well.
Morgan struggled hard with himself not to destroy anything within his reach. For the moment he was content with just clenching his fist painfully tightly. "Hotch, he can't do this. After Hankel..."
"Wait a second," Thomas Wolfe cut him short. "One of your agents is missing? Why didn't you inform me about this?" Addressed at Hotch who'd stayed silent all the time. Of course the detective had already wondered why the team had come to the office without the boy. Not that he'd missed the strange guy very much. His contributions at the crime scene hadn't been helpful at all. However, now the absence of the agent had become Wolfe's problem, too.
"We had no idea that Reid's been kidnapped," Morgan replied, stepping in for his boss who looked like throwing up anytime soon. "Nothing pointed to the possibility that his disappearance had to do with the case."
Wolfe snorted, apparently not pleased with the answer, but willing to let it drop for now.
"So what to do?"
After that all hell broke loose in the office of the Las Vegas police headquarters.
The profilers and the police officers started to analyze the short film feverishly, trying to extract any included information. Even the tiniest details seemed to be worth their attention.
Hotch had spent some time alone in the backyard of the building and finally managed to pull himself together. After all he was the leader of a team of highly capable profilers.
He was determined to find the Unsub. And Reid.
Jason Gideon was nervous. Though not an unfamiliar feeling, it was still unusual – at least by his standards. The retired profiler had always been known for his calmness even in extremely precarious situations.
Now, on his way to his 'date' with Reid's captor, Gideon found it hard to regain his composure. His hands were unpleasantly damp and even the thin shirt he wore made him feel all hot and sweaty. Jason knew better than to blame the declining sun for these symptoms.
There was a lot at stake. Reid's life could depend on his meeting with Tristan.
Shortly after Tristan Stuart had sent him the address via text message Gideon had decided to walk there. It wasn't so far away and he'd have the opportunity to think over his plan again.
Lost in his troubled thoughts, he went along the crowded streets of Las Vegas, oblivious to the busy people running into him, insulting him, throwing depreciative glances at him.
For more than thirty years Gideon's mind had been trained to block out all irrelevant stimuli and focus completely on the problem at hand. Now was the time to use that skill.
That's why the former FBI agent was almost surprised when he reached his destination. Frowning he eyed the restaurant. The rather exclusive looking restaurant. Well, Jason thought, Tristan is going to pay then.
He consulted his wrist watch. 6.56 pm. Just in time. Inhaling deeply, he went inside.
Dead silence engulfed the bright lit white room that wasn't so bright anymore now. A bluish smoke spread slowly and beclouded the light coming from the ceiling.
Reid lay on his back. He wanted to turn on his side, to curl up, to make the pain go away. But he couldn't move. He felt like a beetle, positioned on its back by some cruel kids, unable to get on his feet by himself. Funny image. Definitely not suitable to describe Reid's current situation.
Coughing. Trying to see where the stinking smoke came from. Reid managed to turn his head a bit to the right. Accidentally he made eye contact with Charlie who stood at the door holding a cigarette in his hand.
Charlie leaned against the wall, looking incredibly bored. When he noticed the younger man's glance in his direction he took one final drag from his smoke and let it fall to the floor.
"Ready for the next round?" Smirking at the agent's flinch, the larger man bent down to grab Reid by his upper arms and lifted him off the ground. Charlie had discovered how light the young man was and took delight in throwing him around.
Every now and again he sent a kick to the kid's stomach, ribs or back. Charlie avoided to use his fists too often. After all he didn't want to hurt himself by beating the bony freak.
With a small cry Reid landed in another corner of the room. On his front this time. He wanted to push himself off the cold floor. He gave it a try but didn't have the strength anymore. Shaking arms gave way and he collapsed onto the ground again.
Charlie watched the pitiful show with a grin on his face and lit another cigarette.
Tristan was already awaiting Gideon. The younger man sat alone at a table and scrutinized the menu. As soon as he noticed his partner arriving his face brightened.
"On the tick, Jason! Have a seat, please." Tristan gestured Gideon to sit down on the opposite chair.
When the older man remained silent, he continued searching for the right meal. "I consider to take trout meunière for dinner. Fish is supposed to be good for your health. Perhaps with some baked potatoes... What do you think?" He looked up again, apparently honestly interested in Gideon's opinion.
The older man didn't feel like eating or talking about food at all, but he had to act as normally as possible.
"Sounds quite delicious. I think I'll settle with a salad though. Not that hungry." In fact it was not the lack of hunger but the complete absence of appetite that was the cause for Gideon's choice. But who wanted to split hairs?
An equally exclusive looking waitress came and wrote down their order. She gave Tristan a meaningful smile. Did they know each other? Likely, Gideon mused. There were only a few attractive women in town the guy didn't know intimately.
After she'd tottered away the younger man spoke again. All the businessman now.
"Well, let's get to the matter of our last-minute appointment," Tristan said. The man didn't like to waste his precious time. "I guess it's about the pretty Fed. How the hell did he made it to the BAU?"
"As I said, he's got special skills," Gideon replied hesitantly.
At that the younger man laughed loudly. "Oh, I'm sure of that! I wouldn't have associated those skills with profiling though."
Jason swallowed. He knew the man's business. He was his partner after all.
Patiently he waited for the burst of laughter to fade. When Tristan had finally calmed down again, Gideon proposed tentatively: "I already told you that I know how these guys work. There are better ways to get rid of them. You don't need to kill the boy." Tensed waiting.
"And I already told you, Jason, that this is none of your business anymore," Tristan stated quietly, not angrily. "As for the boy... who says I'm going to kill him? I have big plans for him." A smirk. "And you will help me to make them come true."
***
Charlie re-entered the white room. He'd left for a little while to get himself a tuna sandwich and a bottle of orange juice. He'd always put great value on a balanced diet. That was the key to an excellent physical shape, as his dad used to say.
The thoroughly fit man also brought a small bottle of water. For the freak. The boss had called him earlier this evening and told him to give the boy something to drink. And to get him fully dressed again. Boss didn't want the Fed to get a flu. No further explanations. Had probably to do with business issues.
Charlie himself didn't care if the freak got the sniffles or not but he would never rebel against the boss. So he'd just put the ugly shirt back on the kid. In fact that made it even easier to throw him around.
The larger man didn't dare to grab the Fed at his thin neck, afraid to accidentally snap it. The boss wouldn't want that to happen. And Charlie knew better than to annoy the boss.
He put the sandwich and the two bottles on a small metal table and moved towards the still form lying on the floor near the opposite wall. Every now and again he had to check out if the freak was still breathing. Charlie bent down slightly and saw Reid's chest rising and falling slowly. A bit too slowly maybe, but regularly. Everything okay then.
Keeping his eyes glued to his prey, Charlie went back to get his unpretentious dinner and sat down on the metal chair. While greedily consuming the sandwich and gulping down the juice, he started to wonder where the hell the boss was. This was getting really boring.
Charlie consoled himself with the prospect of another hunting tour. Very soon. Been almost 48 hours since the last one. The boss had promised him another one. At least one. Perhaps more.
Without taking a break, Hotch and the team had been working all day - ever since they'd watched the video. Now it was almost ten o'clock in the evening and they sat together in the conference room of the PD. Most officers were already gone, but Wolfe had refused to leave the station. Of course.
"Alright, let's sum up what we can tell about the Unsub," Hotch said wearily. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been that exhausted.
He'd completely lost track of how many times they'd watched the short film, trying to gather as many information as possible.
Though Hotch didn't have Reid's memory, he was sure never to be able to forget those cruel pictures of their youngest member being hurt. They were imprinted on his mind for good.
"Well, we can't be sure if the guy who was beating Reid is the same man who spoke at the end of the tape," Prentiss stated. Even the brunette agent who was known for her almost exaggerated dynamism appeared to be very tired right now. Distractedly she ran her fingers through her hair. "The lack of sound during the attack makes it impossible to tell."
Morgan shook his head, disagreeing. "I think it's unlikely that it's the same guy," he said confidently. "The man who gave the instructions obviously didn't want to be recognized. Why keep the screen black if you can be seen very clearly for several minutes shortly before? That makes no sense."
The others nodded. They'd already come to the conclusion that the large goon was probably just a handyman of the guy who could be heard at the end.
They'd also tried to figure out by whom the package had been delivered. It'd been simply placed at the entry of the police station. There were surveillance cameras and Garcia had tried to isolate the person who'd put it virtually on the doorstep. But at that time of day the place had been pretty crowded and all her efforts to make out the messenger had been in vain.
"You're not going to step back from the case, are you?" Detective Wolfe's sudden question caused a lot of confused profiler faces. After some seconds of tense silence, Morgan, JJ and Prentiss looked at their team leader.
"Of course not," Hotch replied quietly. In fact he hadn't even considered that possibility. There was no way they would let themselves being blackmailed by some ordinary criminal. Unfortunately, there was one complication in this seemingly simple equation...
"We have to save Spence," JJ exclaimed excitedly. "How long is he supposed to hold out there?"
Gently Prentiss placed her hand on the blond woman's forearm. "Of course we'll save him," she said reassuringly, aware of JJ's sisterly feelings towards Reid.
Hotch preferred to ignore the media liaison's emotional outburst. He was busy enough with keeping calm himself and was grateful that Emily took care of the younger woman.
"Your officers will patrol in the crime scene area tonight?" The senior profiler's question was addressed at Wolfe who nodded in confirmation.
"Good," Aaron said. "Hopefully the high police presence will prevent the Unsub from striking again."
Wolfe's eyes narrowed. "You want to provoke him, right? Show him where he can stuff his threat?"
"It's our only chance," Hotch explained. "We need him to contact us again." Perhaps, he added inwardly, they could piss off the creep enough to make him stumble.
Once again Reid lay in the turned-beetle-position he'd found himself earlier already. The difference was that now he himself couldn't draw this analogy anymore. In fact he wasn't able to think at all. Not properly. Only muddled bits and pieces of what had been clear thoughts once.
He heard something ringing. Tinnitus? Maybe an after-effect of the blow to the head he'd suffered when they'd caught him?
There it was again. No, not inside his head. He was pretty sure. Perhaps a cell phone?
Reid heard steps, then the creaking door. Muffled ringing now. Then no ringing. Silence.
A minute passed. Reid decided to try to turn his head a bit. Only a tiny bit. After all his head was definitely not the main problem.
It worked. He took a look around, careful not to meet Charlie's gaze again. Last time he hadn't been careful enough...
However, now there was no one. No Charlie. Reid's eyes focused on a small metallic table that stood in another corner of the white room. There was a bottle on it.
Water! Oh god, he was so thirsty. His throat felt unbearably dry and sore. His whole body was screaming for some fluid. Not that he'd lost much. There was no blood to be seen on the floor. At the wall neither. Probably it was pure exhaustion that caused the staggering thirst.
The young profiler needed to get this bottle. Sluggishly, as if in slow-motion he turned around, trying to suppress the embarrassing whimpering noises that kept coming from his mouth.
His brain, unable to process the nervous conduction from so many different parts of his body, wanted to shut down again. Despite of the strong desire to just go back to sleep, Reid struggled to stay conscious.
With gritted teeth and watering eyes he slowly began to crawl towards the tempting fluid.
Groaning inwardly, Gideon stepped out of the restaurant. This had been the longest dinner he'd ever had. Tristan had deftly managed to avoid a conversation about Reid. After his first disturbing allusion the younger man had quickly changed the subject.
Therefore, Gideon had still no concrete idea what Tristan's 'big plans' for Reid were.
The retired profiler noticed a black SUV standing right in front of the restaurant. Quizzically he looked at his partner, one eyebrow raised.
"We go on a trip," Tristan said. "I'm going to need your help with the boy. There's just no better person to do it."
Gideon put on a forced smile. Now he knew his role in this play.
Another goon – Tristan had a lot of them – approached him, holding a blindfold in his hands.
The younger man gave Gideon an apologetic smile. "Rules are rules. No exceptions."
The former agent was getting nervous. "So you don't trust me?"
Tristan motioned the goon to blindfold the older man. "Of course not, Jason. I don't even trust my mother. Why would I trust you with something as valuable as the whereabouts of the kid?"
Without any further explanation, the now sightless Gideon was led to sit in the back seat. He heard the engine howl and started to mentally prepare for his reunion with Reid.
***
After what felt like an eternity the car finally came to a halt. Gideon could hear the engine being stopped. It was hard to appraise how long they'd been on the road but he guessed it must have been nearly an hour. A long journey in any case. Enough time for Gideon to drive himself over the edge.
Very soon he was going to meet Reid face to face. The thought of his former colleague being hurt and scared by these ruthless men made his guts cramp painfully. Plan A and plan B had already failed. There had been no possibility to persuade Tristan to let Reid go, and due to the blindfold Gideon had no clue where the young profiler was being kept.
So there wasn't much the retired profiler could do to help him. At least not tonight. He was sure there would be no way he could free Reid on his own. Tristan was very cautious when it came to business matters. Most likely this place was guarded like Fort Knox.
"Here we are," Tristan announced from the front passenger seat. The sightless Gideon jumped at the sudden noise and focused on the here and now again. "You may remove the blindfold now, Jason."
No sooner said than done. Immediately the older man took off the black ribbon and got out of the SUV. The first thing he noticed was the absence of light. Unusual for Vegas. Must be somewhere on the outskirts.
All Gideon could see were a lot of empty buildings. No residential houses, but only decayed factories. All in all this place appeared to be an old, deserted industrial area. The three men stood in front of one of those buildings. There were two very similar looking cars parked next to their own vehicle.
"It's getting chilly," Tristan said, pulling his jacket tighter as if to underline his statement. "Let's go inside."
Followed by Gideon and the nameless goon, the younger man entered the dark house.
At the same time Aaron Hotchner lay in his rather uncomfortable hotel bed. It was past midnight and even though totally overtired, the profiler found it hard to fall sleep.
As team leader he had to make the decision today. The decision how to respond to the threat. Objectively regarded, his choice was right. Hotch knew that. He had to take the chance and provoke the Unsub.
His heart, however, wasn't that convinced. After all, his decision could have bitter consequences - first of all for Reid.
Hotch had replayed his last dialog with the young doctor over and over in his mind. In fact, he thought, it had more been a monologue. Reid had tried to tell him something. Something about Gideon. Then he'd disappeared and they'd found a note signed with the initials 'J.G'. Coincidence?
With a frustrated groan, Hotch rolled over to lie on his right side, his favorite position to sleep. His mind went in circles without making any progress. He could as well close his eyes and gather new energy for the following day. Who knew what to expect next?
Gideon felt quite disoriented. Tristan had led him through the large, hardly lit building. At some point the driver must have taken another turn because he wasn't behind them anymore.
The route was very confusing. Upstairs, downstairs, several turns to the left and the right and finally a long distance straight ahead.
At the end of the corridor Gideon could see a seemingly heavy metal door. Since there was nowhere else to go, he assumed that they had reached their destination.
And indeed, Tristan stopped and turned around to face the older man. Grinning.
"Alright, Jason, ready for the much longed for reunion?" Obviously not expecting an answer, he moved to push the door open.
It made an odd creaking sound, almost painful to Gideon's ears. He watched Tristan stepping into the bright, white room and made an attempt to follow.
He didn't get very far, however, because the younger man stopped short right behind the threshold. Gideon saw Tristan kneeling down, making a strange noise which could have been interpreted as a muffled "Shit."
Highly alarmed now, Gideon pushed past him to see what was going on.
He saw it then.
An involuntary gasp escaped his lips at the sight of the unmoving figure lying on the floor near the door.
Reid lay on his front, arms stretched forward as if he'd tried to reach to something...
Something like the bottle of water that stood innocently on the small table in front of the unconscious young agent.
"I guess he wanted a drink," Tristan commented dryly, still checking for a pulse. "He's okay as far as I can tell." Not too gently he grabbed hold of Reid's shoulders and shook him, trying to wake him up.
"Stop it," Gideon demanded.
The man with the suit looked up, an eyebrow raised. He wasn't used to be ordered around.
"I'll handle things here," the retired profiler tried to appease. "You know how it works. I need to talk to him in private."
Tristan arose. He was about Gideon's height and looked him straight in the eye.
Finally he spoke in a rare quiet, dangerous voice: "I know he's an old colleague of yours but I trust you to do your job." He paused and glanced at the cameras on the ceiling. "I'll turn them off as long as you're in here. I know you don't want to reveal your special methods."
Gideon nodded. That was the deal. He was never to be watched when doing his job with the new 'employees'.
Tristan looked down at Reid once more. "Give him some water when he comes round. Don't want him to dehydrate." A smirk. "Do what's necessary. Break him."
Behind Tristan the door shut slowly.
Gideon closed his eyes briefly. Break him. That was what Tristan expected him to do. That was his part in this sick, perverse game.
He knelt down beside his beaten friend. Carefully Jason turned the younger man onto his back.
"Reid," he called him gently. No response. Gideon brushed the longish brown strands of hair out of the young doctor's face. There were no bruises to be seen. Of course not, the older man mused inwardly. A battered face would spoil the business.
All the more damage had been inflicted to the rest of the agent's body. The unbuttoned shirt hung loosely around his torso. Gideon tried not to look too closely at the darkening skin on Reid's upper body.
The thought that – at least indirectly – he had caused all that pain was almost too much to bear for the former profiler. If I hadn't told him to meet me at this damn club...
However, Gideon came quickly to the conclusion that feelings of guilt wouldn't do any good here. He put Reid's head on his lap and reached for the small bottle. Maybe some liquid would help to revive the younger man's spirits.
Cautiously he let some water drop onto Reid's lips, just enough to moisten them a bit.
And actually he noticed a tiny twitch on the genius' face. Encouraged, the older man tried again: "Reid, you need to wake up now." Stroking his hair back tenderly.
Reid's eyelids fluttered open. It took him a few moments to get his blurred vision clearer. When he could finally see the face above his head he jerked back, trying to get away from the other man, pressing himself against the nearest wall.
The sudden movement caused the prior pain to return with overwhelming power. Whimpering Reid brought his knees to his chest, an attempt to make himself as small as possible. Trying not to provide these violent men with a target.
"Reid, it's okay, I won't hurt you," Gideon soothed, his tone gentle.
The younger man reacted with pulling his legs even closer to his body. He rested his forehead on his knees. As if he could make all evil go away by pretending it wasn't there.
Sighing Jason scratched the back of his head. Apparently the young profiler didn't recognize him. Of course, he was the last person Reid expected to meet here.
Gideon crouched down right in front of the shivering man. "Reid, look at me, please."
He switched into his profiler mode. Quiet but intense voice, emphasizing every single word.
"It's me. Gideon."
He watched how Reid's grip tightened around his legs. The shaking had stopped, but still he refused to lift his head.
"We don't have much time, Reid." Jason glanced at the cameras. Still turned off. Tristan wouldn't wait too long, impatient man that he was. Gideon looked at his friend again. There was one last ace up his sleeve. "Spencer."
Reid's head shot up instantly. Very few people used to call him by his first name. None of them were supposed to be here.
For several seconds he just looked at the other man's face, his expression completely incredulous.
Finally: "What are you doing here?" Merely a whisper, or a hiss maybe. Hard to tell. No voice involved in any case.
"It's a long story. There's no time for explanations right now. Just listen," Gideon replied in a rush.
And to make sure the younger man paid attention: "Are you listening? It's important."
Dumbfounded, Reid simply nodded.
"As soon as I'm gone Tristan will expect you to co-operate," Gideon began. "Do nothing to defy him. You cannot win. He will only send his men in here to hurt you. Do you understand me?"
A nod.
"Do whatever he wants you to do. I'll get you out soon. You trust me, right?"
No nod.
An angry knock on the door.
Gideon sighed again. "Reid, I have to go now. I'll get help. Just hang on a bit longer."
"Take me with you," the younger man pleaded, this time with a small voice.
The older man got up. "I can't. Not yet. There are too many guards." He turned and reached for the door handle.
"Don't go! Gideon!" Rising panic.
The retired profiler shook his head. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
Without looking back, Gideon opened the door and left.
***
The world was black again.
Silently Gideon sat in the back seat of the SUV driven by the familiar mindless goon. Only the two of them. Tristan Stuart had preferred to stay with Reid for while... Those had been his final words to Jason before their farewell.
Now the blindfold was back and with it the darkness. Nothing to distract Jason from the disturbing scenarios that created themselves in the back of his mind.
It had taken his full will power to leave Reid behind in the cold white room. Like a wounded animal, the young profiler had huddled against the concrete wall. Frightened and confused. Abandoned once again.
But there was nothing more he could have done for his friend. Gideon knew that. Tristan had been waiting right behind the metal door, eager to hear the older man's report.
"How did it go?" Curious Tristan.
"He'll be compliant from now on." Earnest Jason.
"Good." Pleased Tristan.
"He needs medical treatment." Earnest Jason.
"If you say so." Bored Tristan.
"I'm serious." Earnest Jason.
"Don't worry. He'll see a doctor. I need him intact...to a certain degree." Amused Tristan.
After that short conversation Gideon had been led back to the car. They'd agreed to meet again at the restaurant the next evening.
There were always several sessions necessary to get the new employees subservient enough to be of value.
Now, in the middle of the night, sitting blindly in the back seat of the black SUV, Gideon made a decision what to do next. There was no other way anymore. It was the last plan he could think of. If he failed...
No, failing was not an option. He was determined to get Reid out of there. And he knew who would help him with that.
Hotch had finally fallen asleep. He'd spent about twenty minutes in this much needed state of unconsciousness when his cell phone rang.
Still lying on his front he awkwardly stretched his right arm towards the nightstand, fumbling for the disruptive element.
When Hotch got a hold of the noisy thing some seconds later he felt the overwhelming urge to smash it against the wall. Instead, of course, he answered the call.
"Hotchner." No need to sound friendly at 3 am.
"We got him, Agent Hotchner!" Excited, familiar voice on the other side.
"Wolfe, is that you? What do you mean?" Sitting upright now. Full attention.
"The kill...uhm, the Unsub. My officers caught him," the detective exclaimed and began to explain: "He was just about to..."
"I'm on my way," Hotch cut him short and quit the call. He was already on his feet, fiddling with his tie. Despite of his lack of sleep he was suddenly wide awake, his mind racing.
If this was true, if Wolfe had actually arrested the Unsub, then it won't take much longer to get to Reid.
Hastily Hotch put on his suit and left the hotel room to alert the other team members.
They had work to do.
The creaking sound again.
For the tiniest moment Reid hoped that Gideon had come back to take him along. Then he saw Tristan accessing the white room and let his head drop again.
The man with the jacket stood in front of the young agent who was still cowering on the floor.
"Dr. Reid, I hope you were enjoying the surprise," Tristan said. Cheerful, in spite of the late – or early – hour. "Since Jason is a mutual friend of ours I thought it'd be nice to invite him here."
Mutual friend? Reid was confused. Why would Gideon be chummy with someone like Tristan?
The profiler began to wonder what exactly the retired agent had been doing during the months since his retirement.
His captor remained silent, obviously expecting some kind of reaction, so Reid gave it a try.
"H...how do you kn...know him?" That appeared to be a justified question.
"Jason?" Tristan inquired. As if there were a variety of other potential common friends.
Reid merely nodded, neither in the mood nor in the condition to give a smart-ass answer.
"Well, to cut a long story short...He works for me. He's a very gifted man. Knows how to persuade people," Tristan explained.
Satisfied with the incredulous expression on Reid's face, Tristan went on: "It's also rather advantageous to have such well-informed people like Jason amongst ones staff. People who are willing to share their valuable insights."
He's lying, Reid thought and blurted: "Gideon would never reveal anything to guys like you."
Tristan's eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms and gave Spencer an assessing glare. "I'm not sure where all this faith in Jason's loyalty comes from," he said slowly. "How, do you think, I came to know all the private facts about your life, Dr. Reid?"
Reid swallowed. How many times had he asked himself the exact same question? But why would Gideon give away personal information to a dangerous criminal like Tristan? There had to be a reason. He just didn't get it, yet.
Spencer just wanted to ask where his mentor had disappeared when the door opened again.
That never bodes well, Reid noted inwardly. He couldn't take another beating from this Charlie guy tonight.
The person who joined them, however, wasn't Charlie.
"Dr. Howards, thanks for coming at this ungodly hour," Tristan greeted the tall, big and bald-headed man. They shook hands.
The new arrival looked at the skinny kid on the ground. "So this is the patient?"
"Yeah, he spent some time with Charlie," the younger man explained. "Got a little rough."
Laughing. Both men were apparently amused.
Terrified Reid watched how they enjoyed themselves at his expense. He protectively wrapped his arms around his bruised torso, even tighter than before. His knees were still drawn up to his chest.
The laughter finally faded. Two pairs of eyes now focused on Spencer.
"Let's have a look then," big guy finally broke the silence and approached the profiler.
Oh God.
Reid tried to move. Move away from this suspicious person who claimed to be a doctor. He did not want to be touched by this man, not for anything in the world. Why wouldn't they just leave him alone?
Tristan noticed his captive's pathetic attempt to crawl away and grabbed his weapon. He moved quickly.
For the second time since his abduction Reid found himself looking into the barrel of a gun.
"Where do you think you're going? Take off those hideous clothes and let Dr. Howards do his job," Tristan ordered in a very icy tone of voice. "It's for your own good, after all. And if it makes it any easier...It was Jason's idea to get the doctor here."
He took a step back again and put away the gun.
Warily Reid eyed Tristan, then shifted his gaze towards the bigger man who crouched only few inches away. Ready to fulfill his duty.
Spencer really, really wanted to protest again. The prospect of exposing himself again in front of these horrible people was anything but appealing. Then he remembered Gideon's advice not to defy Tristan.
"Do whatever he wants you to do..."
Wincing at the dull pain in his upper body and aware of the scrutinizing stares from his tormentors, Reid began to take off his shirt.
No-one spoke on the drive to the police station. Hotch had told his agents about Wolfe's call, but hadn't felt like discussing the situation any further.
He did notice of course that his teammates looked as tired as he did. None of them had been able to get much sleep. There was no way they could relax as long as one of their own was at the mercy of an obviously well organized, violent criminal.
The moment the car stopped in front of the police headquarters they jumped out and almost ran inside.
"Where's Wolfe?" Hotch asked a random officer without preamble.
With a slightly irritated expression the policeman indicated down the corridor. "He's in the interrogation room with the whore killer."
The profilers paid no attention to the inappropriate phrasing, but went straight towards the room.
Through the large window they could see Detective Wolfe talking insistently to the large man sitting restrained on a wooden chair.
"That's him," Morgan stated immediately. "Hotch, that's the guy who attacked Reid in the video!"
The team leader nodded. No doubt there.
Just in time he noticed Derek getting ready to storm into the room. Hotch grabbed hold of the younger man's upper arm and held him back.
"Stop, Morgan," he ordered with the most authoritative tone he managed. "You need to stay calm."
"Stay calm? After all what the bastard did you want me to stay calm?" Morgan inquired angrily. "He killed six people and beat the hell out of Reid. Give me five minutes..."
"No," Hotch shot back, desperately trying to maintain his composure himself. "He's our only link to Reid. We can't blow this chance."
He looked Morgan straight in the eye. Hesitantly the younger profiler turned towards JJ and Prentiss, wordlessly asking for their opinion.
A synchronous nod. A small one only. Both women seemed to be fond of Morgan's original plan, but reason won this round.
Sighing Morgan eyed the suspect behind the pane of glass. Fists clenched. Jaw set. Definitely pissed off, but willing to hold on his fire. For now.
"I'll handle things in there," Hotch said quietly and entered the interrogation room.
***
The floor was cold and hard. Reid lay flat on his back, his eyes fixing on a random spot on the white ceiling.
He could hear voices. Tristan and the other man were talking casually about everything and anything.
He didn't listen, though. Reid was way too busy with trying to block out the strong fingers that were touching his body. Groping, probing, pressing against tender skin.
They'd forced him to strip down to his boxers. Even though, in fact, his legs hadn't received much damage through the beating. This was malice in its pure form. Tristan took pleasure in constantly exploring new ways to torture his captive.
Sometimes humiliation was the most effective method to break a man. As an experienced profiler, Reid understood that only too well. On a rational level he knew that he couldn't give up. If he freaked out now that would only satisfy these bastard's sadistic desires. No, he had to keep calm.
Suddenly the young profiler felt the molesting fingers move from his collar bone down to his ribs, never losing contact to Reid's skin. Then the fingers stopped at a spot near the breast bone. And pressed sharply.
Reid yelped.
"Oh, did that hurt? I'm sorry," Howards said in an apologetic tone.
He pressed again at the same spot.
This time Spencer managed to muffle the potential outcry. Only a pained whimper escaped his lips.
The big man above him snickered. "Just wanted to make sure that I interpreted your strange noise in the right way."
The fingers moved again, probing the sensitive area just below Reid's costal arch.
The agent gritted his teeth, unwilling to show these men how painful this never-ending procedure actually was. Not only in the physical way. Reid had never felt so exposed and vulnerable before, not even during his first kidnapping. The thought that his team, especially Gideon, had been forced to watch the abuse was still enough to make feel sick. But at least he'd been allowed to stay dressed then.
Now this last piece of dignity had been wrested away from him.
Nevertheless Reid was determined not to reveal his weakness and fear any more. He wouldn't give them what they were seeking.
All of a sudden the fingers were gone.
Howards stood up again. "Charlie knows his craft," he announced, looking down at his shivering patient. "Some ribs are rather bruised, but I couldn't detect any fractures. There don't seem to be serious internal injuries either," the doctor stated firmly.
Tristan put on a pleased smile. "Yeah, Charlie knows how to inflict pain without wasting something valuable like this," he said, indicating to Reid.
"You should give him something to eat, though," Dr. Howards suggested humorously. "In my opinion he's way too skinny."
Both men's gazes directed at Reid again.
"Nah, doesn't really matter," Tristan commented dismissively. "Skinny or fat, tall or short...it's just a question of taste eventually. And this one has an exceptionally pretty face."
The bigger man snorted. "Though it's not his face you want to sell..."
Sell?
Reid's eyes widened. For the first time since the examination had started he tore his stare away from the spot on the ceiling and shifted his gaze towards his captor.
The small movement was not lost on Tristan. The smile broadened. "Oh, that's a pity. Now you spoiled the surprise," he exclaimed with fake disappointment. The statement was directed at Howards but his gaze remained fixed on Reid.
"Before I introduce you to your new field of work, however, I need to ask you some personal questions," Tristan explained. Cheerful voice once again. "That's protocol, you know."
The man with the jacket gave Dr. Howards a small nod, signalizing that the bigger man's presence was no longer required.
As soon as the door shut behind the doctor, Tristan's full attention focused on Reid again.
"Alright, the first question is a very basic one: Do you prefer male or female partners? Gideon uttered a certain suspicion, but wasn't quite sure."
Reid stared at his tormentor. He opened his mouth only to shut it again a second later.
Tristan drew his gun and stroked the barrel absent-mindedly. "Well?"
Aaron Hotchner sat across from the suspect that was not an Unsub anymore. For a few minutes the senior profiler didn't bother to look at the restrained large man, but flipped through the handwritten notes Wolfe had given him before exiting the room.
Actually it took only seconds to scan the tenuous information about the circumstances of the arrest. But Hotch didn't want to appear too eager, too excited. He had to keep calm if he wanted to get any clues about Reid's whereabouts. Empirically nothing was more effective to drive a suspect over the edge than obvious imperturbability.
Finally Aaron lifted his head slightly and looked the other man straight in the eye.
"What's your name?" Quiet, even voice of his.
The larger man tried to hold Hotch's gaze, but failed miserably. "Charlie," he replied truthfully, looking anywhere but at the profiler.
"Charlie," Hotch repeated, inwardly sighing with relief that the guy didn't refuse to speak at all.
"How old are you?" Easy questions to create an atmosphere of comfort. It was hard but Aaron needed to cozy the guy along in order to get behind his personal walls of self-protection.
"32," Charlie said, his voice betraying his current insecurity. He was still not sure how he'd gotten himself into this situation. Everything had been fine, he'd been hunting like so many times before. Then he'd seen this cute little rent boy... But when he'd tried to drag the kid into that damn alley he'd suddenly found himself surrounded by about a billion cops. More or less. And now he had to deal with this man in the suit who moved and spoke like some kind of robot. Tristan didn't pay well enough for this crap. That was for sure.
"Good. And you're from Vegas?" Aaron continued, noticing that this conversation wasn't so different from his early dating experiences with girls when he'd been an adolescent.
"Ehm, yeah, was born here," the arrested man confirmed, seemingly more at ease now. These questions weren't so bad, he thought to himself. He wasn't at risk to rat the boss out.
What Charlie didn't take into consideration was that there were more observers behind the large mirror. Namely Hotch's colleagues.
The moment their team leader had drawn out some basic information Morgan made the call. It was in the middle of the night but he was sure to reach his favorite tech girl. There was no way she would've left her office as long as one of their own was in danger.
"Goddess of wisdom speaking," Garcia greeted hastily.
"Hey baby girl, it's Morgan. Listen, we..."
The tech specialist cut him off. "Any news about Reid?" She couldn't imagine anything more grueling than sitting alone in Quantico, unable to do anything to help their genius.
"Maybe. I'll send you a picture of our suspect, along with some facts about him," Derek explained. "I need you to gather as much information as possible about the guy. Family, education, possible past crimes, things like that."
"I'm on it," Garcia replied curtly and hung up.
Meanwhile Reid was throwing up. In fact it was more some sort of violent dry retching - after all there were no stomach contents to vomit. Only stinging acid creeping up his esophagus.
With a disgusted expression Tristan watched the pitiful drama, hoping that it'd be over soon. He hated things like that.
"You're done now?" The man with the jacket asked harshly when the choking noises subsided. Who could've guessed that the boy's reaction to such a simple question would be so immoderate?
He saw Reid resting on his right elbow, desperately trying to get his body under control again.
Tristan sighed. It was late and he really wanted to call it a day. He was just about to bow himself out when his cell phone rang.
"Yeah," he answered the call, clearly irritated.
Listening.
Frowning.
"I see. Thanks for the hint," Tristan said thoughtfully and quit the call.
"Dr. Reid, I'm afraid we'll have to finish our conversation elsewhere."
Hotch was slowly getting to the point.
"Tell me what you were doing out there tonight, Charlie," he demanded in the same calm tone he'd used at the beginning of the interrogation.
This time, however, the suspect remained silent.
The senior profiler pushed further. "They caught you with the boy. Obviously you were trying to isolate him, drag him into a dark, deserted alley," he recalled, closely watching any change in Charlie's facial features. "Found a nice place to slaughter him?"
Still no reaction. Obviously this man had been programmed not to answer such questions. Hotch knew that Charlie was just a handyman working for someone else. For the real Unsub, so to speak. The profiler needed to get to the man behind the curtain if he wanted to find Reid in time.
Unfortunately Aaron had no clue how to get this information out of this stubborn goon.
Of course, he couldn't know that an old acquaintance was already on his way to help solving the riddle.
***
Two large, dumb blokes dragged Reid through the deserted building. Each of them took hold of one of his upper arms. The young profiler tried to keep up with their pace, but failed most of the time. Every now and again the goons lifted him off his feet in order to move forward more quickly.
Tristan was close behind the trio, urging them to hurry. Despite of his relaxed nature the young fashionable man was slightly worried now. One of his informants had just told him that Charlie had been taken in police custody. Caught in the act.
Stupid, stupid, stupid...
Although Tristan was pretty sure that none of his employees would ever spill any business secrets, he decided it'd be better to move. He didn't want to take unnecessary risks, especially now that he had this Fed in his pocket.
"Come on, boys, get a move on," Tristan ordered and pushed them with his hands. From behind he could take a good look at his captive who was still only wearing his boxers. There hadn't been enough time to get the kid dressed properly. And, in all honesty, it was much more fun to leave it that way.
Howards had been right, Tristan couldn't help but admit to himself – this boy was indeed very skinny. But not too skinny. The businessman had already some clients in mind who liked their goods to be bony.
The prospect of the large profit he was going to make with this one was enough to brighten up his mood – despite of the minor incident with Charlie. If the cops would blame the fool for the murders, then so be it. There were lots of other capable men amongst Tristan's stuff.
Finally the group reached the outside. It wasn't completely dark anymore. The floating transition from deep night to dawn.
The air was cool and caused goosebumps all over Reid's body. Not too gently the two large men pushed him into the back seat of another black SUV. One of them took a seat next to him to make sure that the captive wouldn't try anything during the drive.
Spencer looked out of the window. Tristan was talking to the other goon, obviously giving instructions. He watched his captor climbing into another car, then driving away. The agent was both relieved and terrified. On the one side he was rather fed up with the sadistic games Tristan loved to play. Then again, the thought of being left alone with these thugs wasn't a very comfortable one.
As soon as the second man had sat down behind the wheel, he started the engine. Reid wrapped his arms around his naked upper body, an attempt to hide as much skin as possible from the peculiar glances the goon to his right sent in his direction.
As the car bent into the street the young doctor closed his eyes, trying to block out the horrible scenarios about what his tormentors might have in store for him on the second day of his captivity.
Hotch stood in front of the oversized window, watching the pointless interrogation Wolfe was doing with their suspect. Apart from very basic personal information, Charlie had given away nothing. To the unit chief he didn't appear to be overly self-confident or comfortable with the situation. Quite the reverse: This man's behavior reminded of a little boy who'd got caught stealing candy bars in the grocery store. Charlie was insecure, nervous and definitely not the smartest guy.
But nonetheless he remained silent when it came to key questions regarding the case.
Frustrated Hotch watched the detective's failing attempts to get some answers. He knew it wouldn't work. Knew it since his first chat with the suspect two hours ago. The team leader rubbed sighing his tired eyes with the back of his hand.
"You alright, man?" Morgan's sudden question startled the senior profiler. Hotch didn't reply. Of course, he was far from being alright.
"Just brought you some coffee," Derek said soothingly, accepting his boss' wish to ignore the first question. "Though you could do with some caffeine."
Gratefully Hotch took the hot drink. Due to his lack of sleep he really needed something to wake him up.
Both profilers stood in front of the window, blowing at the surface of their coffee to cool it down.
The thoughtful silence was broken by the disturbingly funny ring tone coming from the inside of Morgan's trousers. Awkwardly he fished his cell phone out of the pocket.
"It's Garcia," he told Hotch hastily and flipped the phone open to answer the call. "Tell me you got something, sweetness!"
"Superfluous question, muffin," the team's tech girl replied. Morgan pressed the loudspeaker button of his cell, so Hotch could hear everything.
"Your suspect's name is Charles Barnes. Born 1976 in a shelter in Las Vegas. Lived in a children's home till the age of 15. Dad unknown, mom was a junkie and died shortly after Charlie's birth." Garcia paused to draw breath. "Long criminal record. He spent several months in prison. Battery, robbery, rape – all that the heart can desire."
"So he's a quasi-orphan," Morgan mused. "I guess there are no other relatives listed we could talk to?"
"Not as far as I can tell," Penelope stated regretfully. "There's also no information about an actual address available. Sorry."
"It's okay. Keep digging," Morgan said. He put the cell phone back into his pocket and faced his boss, waiting for a reaction.
"That's not very helpful." Hotch exhaled slowly and took another sip of his coffee. "Maybe we should show him the video, let him know that we have clear evidence."
Morgan thought about the idea. After some seconds he nodded his approval. "Let's give it a try."
Reid awoke with a jolt. Literally. The car stopped very abruptly. He could hardly believe that he'd actually managed to fall asleep only inches away from this potentially violent guy. Sure, he was severely exhausted. He hadn't been able to get much sleep ever since their departure from Quantico.
In the white room he'd passed out several times. But forced unconsciousness just couldn't provide the same restful effect that came along with some hours of real sleep.
Warily Reid looked out of the window. It seemed to be early in the morning, so they must have been on the road for at least one hour. Very far away from his previous imprisonment.
The young profiler had no idea what had brought on this rushed change of location. It wasn't hard to imagine, however, that this development wouldn't make it any easier for his team to find him.
A cold air draft startled him out of his musing. The door to his left was opened by the driver. The large guy grabbed Reid roughly at his already bruised upper arm and dragged him out of the car.
On legs that felt like jelly Spencer tried desperately to keep in step with the two men. He didn't want to be lifted again. That made him feel even more defenseless and pathetic. Reid began to wonder what Hotch or Morgan would do in this situation. Probably fight to the death. They would never allow these people to debase them like that. He was sure of it.
Suddenly he became aware of his environment. There were no buildings, no cars, not even a proper street to be seen. Obviously they were far away from any civilization. Outside of the city. In the desert? Why would they take him into the desert? Reid was confused.
About hundred feet away from the car the goons stopped. One of them was still holding Reid's meanwhile numb arm, the other man bent wordlessly down.
Now the profiler could see it. There was some sort of metal door set into the ground. The new hiding-place was underground then. He swallowed. How would his teammates ever be able to figure this out?
The first man opened the door and started to climb downwards.
Hesitantly Reid looked down into the seemingly bottomless abyss that was slowly devouring the large guy. The agent was pushed forward.
He faced the other man that stood close to him with a quizzical expression.
"Ladies first," the guy said smirking and indicated to the dark hole in the ground.
Reid looked around. Not a living soul that could possibly help him.
A silent groan.
Slowly Reid climbed down into his own personal hell.
Meanwhile the remains of the BAU-team and some officers from the local PD were discussing options. According to Hotch's suggestion they'd shown Charlie the video. The suspect had watched the beating with a facial expression that could only be described as pride. Apparently this man was admiring his handiwork. But even after being confronted with that undeniable piece of evidence Charlie had refused to answer any questions.
"He may have committed these murders, but he's not the man who's pulling the strings in this case," Morgan stated firmly. "Why would he abduct Reid? That seems to be far too complicated to be staged by him."
"I agree," Aaron said calmly. "Perhaps the killings will stop now, but we're nowhere near close from finding Reid."
Oppressive silence engulfed the office. No-one knew how to react appropriately.
"Maybe I can help you with that." The unexpected, casual offer broke through the silence like thunder in a peaceful night.
Everyone's eyes focused now on the man who stood in the doorframe.
"Gideon?" JJ shrieked.
But Hotch couldn't hear her. Neither did Gideon. The gazes of both senior profilers locked.
***
Four pairs of eyes were focused on the closed door. Three brains imagined what was happening on the other side, which words were being said. The fourth brain didn't imagine anything. It was filled with lots of fat question marks. This brain belonged to Detective Wolfe.
"What's going on? Who is this guy?" Two of the most urgent queries, addressed at no one in particular. The policeman was at a loss. He continued staring at the wooden door. He wasn't sure why, though. Probably just because everyone else did.
Since Agent Hotchner and the other man had wordlessly disappeared in the other room there hadn't been any further explanation. With a significant amount of will power Thomas Wolfe finally managed to shift his gaze away from the door.
Expectantly – and by now rather impatiently – he looked at the three remaining agents. All of them appeared to be completely thunderstruck.
"Agent Morgan," the detective began with an insecure tone of voice. "Would you tell me what this is about?" Waiting. Scratching the back of his head. "Uhm, please?"
Without taking his eyes off the door, Derek replied: "I have no idea."
Only few feet away, separated from the others only by the closed wooden door, were two veteran profilers who had worked together for many years.
It had been several months since Gideon's backdoor retreat from the Unit. The circumstances of his unexpected reunion with the team were regrettably unfavorable.
Jason was glad that he could talk to Hotch in private first. As soon as he'd shown up in the police office the team leader had silently led him to the vacant room. That was about two minutes ago. Tiredly the retired federal agent had slumped into the first chair available.
Hotch preferred to stand. With his arms crossed he leaned against the wall. He kept his eyes at his former colleague who – on his part – scrutinized the folded hands on his lap.
The team leader didn't know where to start. Actually he wasn't even sure if it was his turn to initiate the conversation.
The younger man was just considering which question would be the best one to begin with when Gideon finally raised his head.
"I talked to Reid." To the point. Straight look at Hotch.
Aaron didn't move. "When?" he asked instantly, trying to keep calm. No need to freak out. Not yet.
"A few hours ago."
Now Hotch moved. He pushed himself away from the wall and unfolded his arms.
"What did you just say?"
Gideon sighed. "I said that I talked to Reid some hours ago." Warily he watched the other profiler's reaction.
"I heard what you said," the unit chief stated impatiently. "But I don't understand. Where is he? How did you find him? What do you ..."
"Alright, stop it," Gideon interrupted the rambling interrogation. "I understand that you have a lot of questions and I've come here to tell you what I know."
Hotch looked Gideon in the eye for several seconds. An attempt to evaluate the skilled ex-profiler, to figure out if he could be trusted. It had never been an easy task to read Jason Gideon. Today was no different.
Some things never change, the profiler thought and moved slowly towards another chair. It was probably better to take a seat. Exhaling, he sat down.
"Go ahead," he said quietly, wondering what kind of information the older man was willing to reveal.
"The name of Reid's captor is Tristan Stuart," Gideon began. "Stuart is the head of the most powerful prostitution cartel in Las Vegas. I've worked with him for two months."
At this point Hotch had to raise all his will power in order to keep his mouth shut. He was sure there would be an explanation. So he took some deep breaths and listened.
"This organization, however, is not confined to Vegas. It expanded all over the country in the last couple of years," Gideon explained evenly.
He paused to give Hotch a chance to let the information sink in. He watched the younger man comprehending the facts.
"I see," Hotch said eventually. "But what exactly is your part in that game?"
Gideon smiled mildly. Justified question. "Shortly after I left the BAU I was entrusted with an undercover mission. It's my job to infiltrate the organization, gather information and evidence."
Hotch sighed, slightly relieved. There it was. The explanation.
"We have enough to get Stuart busted by now, but basically he's just a small cog in the wheel," the older man continued earnestly. "We need to get access to the persons behind the curtain."
Hotch nodded. That made sense so far. Still thousands of questions left, like the cause for the latest murders. They would have to discuss this special issue later. At the moment there was a more urgent aspect in need to be clarified.
"So what about Reid?" Hotch inquired. After all the state of their youngest team member was his primary concern right now. "You spoke with him? How is he? Where is he?"
"They're keeping him in a deserted building somewhere on the outskirts of the city. I don't know the exact location," the retired profiler said.
Hotch was getting ready to interrupt but Gideon lifted his hand to shush the team leader. The younger man shut his mouth again.
"They blindfolded me during the drive," his former colleague explained calmly. "Tristan just wanted me to do my job with Reid. There wasn't enough time to assess the situation properly..."
"Wait! Wait a minute," Hotch intervened harshly. "Your job with Reid? What's that supposed to mean?"
Gideon frowned. How to explain this without upsetting the other man too much?
"It's complicated," he started hesitantly. "I, uhm..., my 'job' is to prepare new...well, recruits. Stuart hired me to break down their personal walls and get them ready for their final purpose. It's really a matter of psychological treatment." Gideon watched his hands again, unable to meet Hotch's eyes.
Aaron stared at his old friend. He didn't even want to think about what Jason's statement implied. If Tristan Stuart was really a top-class pimp...
Oh God.
"What is he planning to do with Reid?" Hotch barely dared to ask the obvious question. In fact he had a pretty good idea already. Not so much imagination necessary.
Gideon looked at him. "For now," he began very softly. "He'll proceed preparing him. There are several phases..."
Like bodyguards the two large men escorted Reid through the barely lit underground labyrinth. However, their function was not to protect him, but to prevent any attempts to escape.
Even if they would leave him alone now, Reid knew he'd never find his way out of this confusing enclosure.
It was cold. Still only clad in his boxers the agent shivered violently.
He felt chilled to the bones, hungry, tired and absolutely terrified. The goons half-dragged, half-shoved him quickly through the corridors. Reid's legs just wanted to give way when the pacing stopped abruptly.
The guy to his right fumbled with an impressive bunch of keys. Nervously the young profiler watched how the large bloke opened a door, he hadn't noticed before, with a small silvery key.
Thankfully it didn't creak when the man opened it. The guy stepped into the surprisingly very bright room. Reid followed involuntarily – roughly pushed through the doorframe by the other man.
His eyes needed a moment to get used to the sudden lightness. The profiler blinked several times, then he took a look around.
A white room again, not dissimilar to his prior prison cell. This time, however, the walls did not simply consist of concrete, but were covered with plain white tiles. So was the floor. Reid looked up. And the ceiling.
With horror the profiler noticed that there were large mirrors attached to each wall. Therefore the room appeared to be much more spaciously than it was indeed. It took them only three big steps to reach the other side of the room.
There they stood a moment, each one staying silent. It would have been an almost comical situation were the circumstances not so very dreadful to Reid.
Finally the man with the keys decided to say something.
"Boss wants you to clean yourself up," he said, sounding incredibly disinterested. He gestured towards the silver shower head which was set into the ceiling. Almost invisible.
Reid looked up. And down again. Completely aghast he shook his head, but remained silent. Outwardly. In his mind he was screaming.
"Not a request, boy," the man with the key growled. He nodded to his colleague who left the room. Only few moments later he came back with several shower utensils. Soap, shampoo and even a sponge. He put the things on the ground.
Reid watched the whole procedure, unsure how to react. He didn't want to get wet with only his boxers covering his body. On the other hand he didn't want to provoke these goons. They would hurt him like Charlie had done. He was sure of it.
It turned out that the decision was not Reid's anyway. Wordlessly both men left the room. The shaking captive heard the door being locked again.
He had just enough time to notice the tiny red lights twinkling in the corners of the ceiling. Like in his prior prison cell.
Then the water came.
***
There was nowhere to go really. At first Reid tried to flee from the unwanted washing by pressing himself against the opposite wall. Unfortunately, there were more of those almost invisible shower heads set into the ceiling.
Such being the case, he could only stand and let it happen. After being imprisoned and pushed around all day and all night through Reid felt indeed extremely filthy and very sticky. Since there was no way to escape the water, he decided he could as well use the chance and clean himself up.
With trembling hands he soaped himself, being particularly careful with his bruised upper body. At least the water had a pleasant temperature. Reid was surprised by this - for some reason he'd expected it to be cold. Perhaps Tristan didn't want him to become ill.
While massaging the shampoo into his longish hair, the agent glanced up at the tiny cameras every now and again. The idea of being watched under the shower was almost enough to make him sick. He stood very close to the wall. Facing it, of course. At this point Reid was glad to wear dark blue boxers and not plain white ones.
Suddenly the water stopped. Startled, Reid looked up. The movement caused some of the shampoo to run into his eyes. It burned terribly and got even worse when he tried to rub the soapy liquid away with his hands.
Great, he thought wryly. Now he did not only look like a drowned rat, but was also as blind as a bat. He could hear, though, and right now he heard the door being unlocked, then opened again. Splashing sounds. Steps on the wet floor.
Silently a towel was handed to Reid. Quickly he pressed it against his eyes, trying to remove the stinging remains of the shampoo. He blinked several times and dared a look. Right into the dumb face of the guy with the keys. Not a nice sight, but a sight nonetheless.
The young doctor continued toweling himself. The goon watched. When Reid was done the larger man grabbed him roughly at his upper arm and led him out of the white room.
With wet shorts and damp hair the profiler was once more escorted through the underground maze.
Some minutes and lots of turns later the man stopped in front of another door. It looked exactly like the previous one, but on the wall beside Reid the young man noticed a small nameplate.
Matt.
The agent didn't have enough time to think about the tag because the guy shoved him unceremoniously into the room. It was also painted white, but without tiles.
Swiftly the captive looked up. No shower heads this time. Good. But again there were tiny cameras in each corner of the ceiling. Reid was getting really tired of those.
The small room was sparsely furnished. There was a wretched bed with a wooden frame and a time-worn mattress that had certainly known better days. Next to the bed stood a plain wooden table and in the far corner there was a toilet. At that view Reid suddenly realized that he hadn't felt the urge to use the bathroom until now. Well, no food and barely any water over the last thirty hours would be an explanation for that.
As if on cue the second goon entered the room. He was holding a plastic plate with some bread, a banana and a small bottle of water on it. Slowly the man put it on the table.
"Boss wants you to eat," he simply said and turned to leave. The guy with the keys followed.
Reid watched the door being closed. Sighing he sat down on the ragged bed. It squeaked.
Suspiciously the agent eyed the food. Then the toilet. Then the cameras.
His stomach rumbled.
He sighed again.
Morgan was fed up. More than thirty minutes had passed since Hotch and Gideon had disappeared in the vacant office.
That's enough, he thought impatiently. They had work to do. They had to find their youngest team member. Hardly the time for small talk.
Decisively he started to move towards the room.
"Morgan, what are you doing?" JJ asked alertly.
Her colleague turned around once more. "I wanna know what this is about. Don't you?"
Of course they did. JJ and Prentiss were just as curious as Morgan. Both women let their gaze drop to the floor. Detective Wolfe looked confused, still completely out of his depth.
Derek interpreted his teammate's silence as approval and turned again to open the door forcefully.
"Morgan!" Hotch hissed and stood up quickly. He was not happy about the uncalled-for interruption. "What do you want?"
Morgan stared at his boss in disbelief, then at Gideon who was sitting and watching.
"What I want?" he repeated his superior's question angrily. "You guys have been in here for ages, leaving us guessing and staring at this damn closed door! What I want is to know what's going on!"
Morgan looked Hotch straight in the eye, deliberately ignoring Gideon. "Why's he here?"
When Hotch replied, his voice was very low and icy. "First of all, you're completely out of line, Morgan. For once I'm going to let this pass because I know you're worried about Reid," he said in his most authoritative tone.
Morgan hung his head in shame, aware that he'd reacted far too heatedly.
Seeing this gesture of defeat, the team leader went on more gently. "Gideon wanted to talk to me in private first. He told me some interesting things which will be very helpful to find Reid."
Morgan felt hope raising inside his chest and looked expectantly at the senior profilers. "Go ahead," he encouraged. "I could do with some good news."
"Well, good is not exactly the word...," Gideon said hesitantly.
"Wait," Hotch interrupted quickly. "Get the others here first. It'd be of no use to repeat everything three times."
Hastily Morgan fetched the girls and Wolfe.
The group gathered around Gideon. The retired profiler began to tell his story.
At least parts of it...
"Dr. Reid! How's it going?" Cheerful voice was back.
Reid jumped. After a few bites of bread, he'd laid down on the squeaking bed. Had he fallen asleep? How much time had passed? Hard to tell with no windows, let alone a watch.
Confused he rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision. After a few seconds he recognized the man who stood in front of the bed.
"Tristan...," he stated with a hoarse voice.
"Indeed, indeed," the guy with the suit (a gray one this time) confirmed thoughtfully. "So you wanna be on Christian name terms. That's fine with me. Then, how's it going, Matt?"
What?
"My name isn't Matt. It's Spencer," Reid set his captor straight. He tried to sound confident, but suddenly remembered the name tag at the door. The thought caused an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Little correction: You're name was Spencer," Tristan said, smiling maliciously. "From now on you will answer to the name of Matt. It's more suitable."
Reid wanted to throw up again. Perhaps it had been a mistake to eat the bread.
The increasing paleness on the agent's face didn't remain unnoticed.
Tristan grabbed the untouched banana and placed it onto Reid's lap. "You should eat more fruits, Matt. You look so unhealthy. It's not good for the business." Shark-like grin.
The sight of the banana on his legs, combined with the direction this conversation took, was too much.
Abruptly Reid stood up. Just in time he reached the toilet and puked out his minor stomach contents.
With crossed arms Tristan watched his captive retching violently. Sighing he bent down to pick up the neglected banana. He put it back on the plate.
"You do have a vomit issue. We have to work on this," he said in all seriousness. From behind he could see Reid's trembling thin body, the spine clearly visible. Frowning Tristan eyed the remains on the plate once more. He came to a decision.
"We will continue with the next phase later," he announced finally. "Until then I want you to finish off the food. And keep it down!"
He threw the kneeling boy on the floor one last glance and left the room.
From a distance Reid heard someone talking about food, vomiting and a 'next phase'. Did he want to know the meaning of all that? He had his doubts. In fact he didn't want to think about it right now. Couldn't think about it.
His whole body was shaking. A feeling of entire emptiness spread within his chest.
Reid knew what was happening. They wanted to take everything away from him. His courage, his confidence, his clothes and eventually even his identity.
Slowly he dragged himself back to the bed and lay down, trying to calm down his body as well as his mind. He wondered if the team had any idea what had happened to him. Were they already on their way?
Hardly, he mused bitterly. How would they ever be able to find him in an underground labyrinth in the desert?
His thoughts went to Gideon again. How could he just leave? Reid didn't understand his mentor's actions.
With a disturbing feeling of utter betrayal the young agent fell asleep.
***
Gideon draw a deep breath. In a stroke he'd told his former colleagues the same things he'd revealed to Hotch before. All about Tristan Stuart, the undercover mission, even about the threat against Reid and his short meeting with the genius in the white room.
Completely drained Gideon sat back in his chair. The only thing he could do now was wait and see how the others would react.
For what seemed like an eternity, though it was really just few moments, no one spoke. Hotch had taken a backseat. The team leader leaned against the wall, wondering how his co-workers would take in the provided information.
"Was it a trap?" Like a sharp sword, Morgan's hissed question cut through the heavy silence.
Everyone's eyes focused now on the young agent.
Gideon frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Reid got kidnapped on his way to a 'secret meeting' you arranged," Morgan recalled, trying to keep his voice low. "Coincidence? Hard to believe."
The tension in the office became almost unbearable. Knowing his temperamental agent all too well, Hotch braced himself for the storm to come.
Morgan made himself clear. "I'm asking you, if you deliberately lured Reid into a trap, Gideon."
The older man rose from his chair and took a step towards the younger man. He looked his former colleague straight into the eye and stated calmly: "Of course not. I'd never endanger Reid or any of you on purpose."
Morgan exploded. "Is that a joke?" He was shouting now. "You knew about the threat against Reid. But instead of telling Hotch about it, you isolated the kid and practically presented him on a silver tray!"
True, the unit chief agreed inwardly. Although the team leader was worried about Morgan's heated reaction, he decided not to intervene yet, but to give Gideon a chance to explain himself.
The older man tried. "Look, I'm sorry that Reid's in trouble," he said emphatically. "But I had to find a way of warning you without putting the mission at risk."
"The mission?" Morgan repeated angrily. "What kind of mission are we talking about, Gideon? You didn't even tell us which organization it is you're working for."
"I can't talk about details. It's top-secret and there are strict regulations I'm obliged to follow," the retired profiler justified.
Morgan snorted dismissively. Hotch didn't like Gideon's statement either. He was aware that his old friend had offered his talents also for the CIA in former times. He didn't know, however, for how long and to what extent Gideon had been working for other organizations. Hotch had never been overly fond of his colleague's secretiveness in this regard, but had accepted it because he'd respected and, well, needed Gideon's abilities. Now this concession seemed to backfire fatally.
"What's going to happen to Reid?" JJ's soft voice interrupted the men's noisy clash. Gideon looked at the media liaison who added with a slight quiver: "If we don't get him in time, I mean."
"We will save him," he assured in a gentle tone.
"But if not," the blond agent pressed. "What will they do to him?"
Sighing Gideon rubbed his forehead. "Tristan won't kill him," he stated firmly. "He's not stupid. If there's a chance to make profit with Reid, he will jump at it."
"You mean by... selling him?" Prentiss inquired nervously. She placed her hand on JJ's shoulder – a faint gesture of comfort, to her colleague as well as to herself.
"Well, I doubt that Tristan will sell him completely. He rarely does," Gideon said. "Mostly he keeps them and, uhm, lends them temporarily."
Several seconds of uneasy silence followed. Again it was Morgan who put an end to it.
"So basically Stuart wants to use Reid as a whore."
The trenchant, disgusted statement caused Gideon to flinch. Hotch swallowed hard, the women let their gazes drop to the floor. Detective Wolfe looked perplexedly at Morgan, then at Gideon, then back at Morgan. He didn't know what to say. Figuring that the Feds didn't want him to interfere, the policeman kept silent.
"Am I right so far?" Derek asked angrily. It was a needless question, but he wanted to force Gideon into a definite answer.
"Yes."
Now that was clear.
With clenched teeth Morgan left the office. Quickly. He didn't want to destroy anything. He needed fresh air.
Hotch gave Prentiss a small nod. She guided JJ out, but knew better than to follow Morgan. Later, maybe. Not now.
Wolfe cleared his throat. "Uhm, I think I go and see if my men got any more information out of this Charlie-guy," he said and almost ran out of the room. To him this whole drama was more than awkward. Of course, he felt sorry for the geek boy, but didn't consider the Fed's abduction his problem. The head detective was just glad that he'd caught the killer. He didn't want to know about a nationwide prostitution cartel. They didn't pay him enough for crap like this.
The senior profilers were alone again. Wordlessly Hotch closed the door. Expectantly he looked at his former co-worker, though he wasn't quite sure what exactly it was he expected from him.
Gideon laughed humorlessly. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?"
The assault came out of the sudden. Reid didn't know how much time had passed since he'd fell asleep, but the wake-up call was anything but gentle.
The bed squeaked loudly as he was pinned down by a large man who put all his weight on the agent's slender body.
Reid squirmed, trying to push the assailant away, but it was a no-win situation.
"Keep still," the strong guy hissed. He grabbed the smaller man's left wrist and stretched his arm to the side.
"That's it," a familiar voice said. Tristan. "Now hold him in place."
He came closer to the bed, and stepped finally into Reid's field of view. He bent over and approached the younger man's arm with a syringe.
The moment Reid saw the needle, he freaked out.
"No! NO!" He was screaming now. Memories of his first kidnapping returned with full force. The young doctor strained every single fiber, gathered all strength he had left. He raised his knee and rammed it vigorously into his attacker's crotch.
Groaning and cursing the large man let go of Reid. He stepped back from the bed, covering the violated body part with his hands. The agent used the short moment of confusion to jump to his feet. The door was blocked by Tristan, so he fled into the most distant corner available. He pressed himself against the wall, never taking his eyes off his tormentors.
Reid was aware that he wouldn't be able to fend off another attack, but he was determined to at least give his best. He wouldn't allow them to drug him easily.
"You're being silly, Matt," Tristan exclaimed, sounding pretty patronizing. He was still holding the syringe in his right hand. "This is just to make the next phase easier for you."
With shaking fingers Reid shoved the long strands of hair out of his face.
"What 'next phase'?" Though he didn't really want to know the answer, he couldn't help but ask. After all, ignoring wouldn't prevent it from happening.
Tristan sat down on the bed, smiling at the squeaking sound. He motioned the goon to leave the room and put the needle on the table. For now.
"Let's make a deal, Matt."
"My name is Spencer."
"No, your name was Spencer. Told you that already. Now listen and don't interrupt me again." The captor drew his gun to underline his words. "Understood?"
Reid nodded. He slid down the wall, unable to stay any longer on his wobbly legs.
"So here's how it works," Tristan began. "Since your friends refused to grant my demands, I have to profit from you in another way. Considering your appearance..." He paused and gave Reid a winning smile. "Uhm, let's say you fit into my business pretty well."
"What do you mean?" the young profiler questioned, though he had a good idea already.
Tristan snickered spitefully. "That's cute. You're so naive." He shook his head in obvious amusement. "You will offer special services to my clients. In return we'll let you stay here, provide you with food and water and, uhm, the ,fun' comes with the job..."
"Not interested. Thank you," Reid spat in disgust. He didn't care anymore if he upset these people. To hell with Gideon's words of wisdom.
Slightly surprised by this new rebellious attitude, Tristan arose from the bed, fumbling with the syringe again.
"I won't take your drugs," the profiler said as firmly as possible. Anxiously he watched every movement of his captor, wishing he could just disappear in the wall behind him.
"OK," Tristan agreed. "It's just a mild sedative. But if you prefer to experience the next phase in complete awareness, that's fine with me."
Reid's heartbeat quickened. This sounded so not good. He was really frightened right now.
"Let's go then," the captor said, his weapon directed at Reid once more.
Hesitantly the young agent got up, bracing himself for whatever Tristan had in store for him.
He was almost at the door, when the other man spoke again.
"Oh, just to let you know... Since you didn't answer my question regarding your sexual preferences, I followed Gideon's assumption. I hope he was right," Tristan announced joyfully.
Reid stopped short, but didn't turn around.
Casually suit-guy added: "Your training partner's name is Jase, by the way."
***
Next part of Escalation.
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