DATE: April 2010
AUTHOR: LosingInTranslation
(losingntrnslatn, Jennifer)
DISCLAIMER: Don’t own anything associated with the show… I just like
playing with the characters in it from time to time. Dance Monkeys! Dance!
RATING: T - Teen
FANDOM: Crossover Fic between Criminal Minds & The West Wing
PAIRING:
CM = General Team & light Prentiss/Rossi - TWW = Charlie/Zoey
SPOILERS: Through US Aired Episodes of Season 5
WORD COUNT: 13,894
SUMMARY: The BAU is called in by the Secret Service to profile an old
case, once thought closed.
A/N: This one is almost
epic, but the request sort of demanded it. With Darth Real-Life constantly
getting in my way, it took me a long time to finish this one. It was written by
special request as part of the Help_Haiti LJ Comm.
REVIEWS: Reviews are the way I know if people are enjoying the work or
not. So, if you leave one, THANKS! And if not, I hope you found at least a
little something to brighten your day, and thanks for taking the time to read.
REICHSADLER REPRISE
CHAPTER ONE
The
only sound to be heard in the darkened office is the rapid, deliberate tapping
of the computer keys. Fingers swiftly roam across the keyboard, causing a
stream of words to appear on the monitor glowing in the night.
When
the man at the desk stops typing to review the words he has just written the
room goes silent. With a satisfied sigh, he leans back in his office chair and
grabs the coffee mug beside him. The printer spools up as he presses the print
button and then lifts the cup to his lips. A single page shoots out of the
printer and the man reaches for it as he sets the mug back down on his desk.
Carefully
folding the paper and sliding it into the envelope, his rubber gloved hands
move with a practiced efficiency. As he
presses the self-adhesive stamps to the front of the letter the only witness to
his act is the distinctive coffee mug, emblazoned with an official looking
seal. At first glance, the seal would be mistaken for some governmental agency,
but upon closer inspection the truth is revealed. In the center of the seal is
a German eagle clutching a laurelled Swastika; the Reichsadler. The symbol of
the Nazi power during the Second World War. A symbol adopted by many
nationalist hate groups throughout the world. And this particular version has
been used before.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A
voice from the front door calls out through the Brownstone. “Hey! I grabbed the
mail on my way in.”
Her
hands full up with a wriggling infant, Zoey calls back over her shoulder,
“Thanks, Ellie! I’ll be down in a minute.”
She quickly snaps the onesie back up and hefts the curly haired, smiling
bundle of giggles onto her hip before heading for the stairs.
Looking
over the railing, Zoey finds her sister pulling tiny arms out of a coat in the
foyer, “I’m so glad you guys could come over.
We’ve been a little lonely the last couple days, and I needed some adult
company before I lose it.”
“When’s
Charlie due back from Montreal?” Ellie turns her little one loose before she
opens the closet door to stow their coats.
Walking
down the stairs, Zoey rolls her eyes. “Not for two more days. Which is total
crap, but he insists that laying down the framework for the most important
international civil rights law in history is worthy of spending two entire
weeks five hundred miles away.”
Ellie
shakes her head and laughs, “Glad to see motherhood hasn’t changed you at all.
Still throwing fake hissy fits when you don’t get your way.” Holding her arms
out, she takes the baby when he giggles at the sight of her. “Don’t worry,
Jack… Mommy only pretends to be a brat.”
Zoey’s
face screws up into a frown, but before she can say anything a streak of light
brown curls barrels into her legs. “Auntie Zoey! Auntie Zoey!”
Reaching
down, Zoey makes a big show of picking up the little boy. “Ugh! You’re getting
too big, Eddie. I’m not going to be able to pick you up pretty soon.”
“Momma
says I can go to big boy school soon.” The little boy beams as he speaks to her
and Zoey is powerless not to smile back at him.
“Oh
my! That’s huge! We’ll have to go shopping for school supplies together. You’re
Momma isn’t good at shopping, so you and me will have a date for that.” The boy
kisses her on the cheek and she melts.
“Can
I play a game?” And there it is. She was being buttered up for something.
“Okay…”
He is already out of her arms and halfway down the hall when she finishes.
“Just make sure you don’t mess up any of Uncle Charlie’s saved games.”
His
hasty ,“Yes, ma’am, I ‘member,” leaves both sisters laughing as they move into
the parlour to sit down.
At
the last minute, Zoey stops at the entry table when something catches her eye.
Ellie notices her sister staring at the mail sitting atop the table. “That’s
your mail. I grabbed it from the box on my way in.”
When
Zoey fails to respond, Ellie shifts the baby to her other hip and asks, “Zoey?
What is it?” Without a response, Ellie walks up to her sister and looks back on
the table to see what the problem is. The mostly non-descript envelopes are
splayed out on the table where she dropped them, but the one causing her
sister’s sudden paralysis is plainly evident.
Ellie
quickly pulls her phone from her pocket and juggles the baby as she scans her
contact list for the right number. The phone rings several times as she stares
at the tell-tale eagle clutching a Swastika and the words, “To: The Mud Loving
Whore.”
A
voice on the other end of the phone cuts through her horror and Ellie simply
asks, “May I speak with Director Toscano, please?”
CHAPTER TWO
He
has been staring at the same case summary for ten minutes and he still finds it
hard to take it all in. He has seen the case file before, but it still does not
make sense. The voice of the woman responsible for bringing the file pulls him
out of his thoughts as she tries to explain her presence. “Look, officially, my
hands are tied.”
Agent
Hotchner shakes his head to show his understanding. “Of course, after Congress enacted
Public Law 103-329, protection details for the families stop once the president
leaves office and they are over the age of sixteen.”
“Right…
So, while my office is still in charge of protecting President Bartlet and his
wife for the next six years, his daughters are not part of that detail.” She
hands him another folder, this one bearing an F.B.I. seal. “The girls called
me, because I was part of the original case. Because they know me, and because
they’re scared. I want to help them, but like I said…”
“Your
hands are tied.” He taps the folder with his pen. “So, am I getting this
information officially, or unofficially?”
She
hands him an official looking envelope and when he sees the seal of the
president on it he knows this is serious. “By executive order the president, I
am turning over the complete case file for the attempted assassination of
President Josiah Bartlet.”
Hotch
nods. He knows the case well. The BAU was tapped to profile the unknown group
responsible for the threats being made against President Bartlet’s youngest
daughter and her boyfriend. While he was not personally involved in the case,
the BAU had given recommendations based on that profile which eventually led to
the discovery and capture of the spotter, but not before the group acted on
their threats, leaving numerous people severely injured, including the
president. Even with the quick capture and successful prosecution of the
spotter and two other members of the West Virginia White Pride organization,
the profilers considered it a failure on their part. Their profile was
ultimately incorrect, and a lot of people suffered for it.
“So,
this is an official request to investigate an officially closed
case…unofficially.” Hotch knows the party line better than anyone. “But why are
you bringing this,” he holds up the executive order, “to me?”
“That’s
a little more complicated.” Hotch smiles, because he knows that problem all too
well. “First and foremost, your director and I don’t exactly have a great
history of working well together.”
Hotch
rolls his eyes at her admission, “That is a club with a rather large
membership, Director Toscano.”
“Yeah,
well, I’m also bringing this to you because the BAU was involved in the
original case and I knew you’d want to finish it right this time.” She seems to
have an inside track on his unit and that leaves Hotch wondering how, and why.
“This one left a bad taste in a lot of people’s mouths. And I was one of them.”
“Oh
right…” Hotch flips open the case file again and scans it for the agents of record
and that is when he finally sees it. “My apologies, Director Toscana. The BAU
has done a great many profiles for the Secret Service since this case, so it’s
hard to remember each of the parties involved. You were part of the First
Family Detail, is that correct?”
She
nods; her hair is tied back and tight, much different from the youthful agent
Hotch remembers from the media coverage. “I was assigned as Zoey Bartlet’s
personal agent. She was my detail.”
“Then
you did your job, Director. Your assignment was completely unharmed and you
ID’d the shooters for elimination.” Hotch gives her the same speech he has
given to countless agents, even though he knows how useless it is. If a person
feels as though they have failed, no amount of kind words and pointless
platitudes will change that perception.
“And
yet, that doesn’t seem to make a bit of difference.” The weight of that
knowledge is visible in her eyes. “I still run this case through my head and
try to figure out where we missed the clues, how we could have stopped them
before all of those people got hurt, how we failed to protect the president
from a stray bullet meant for a kid who was only standing up for his right to
care about another human being.”
“We
all have those cases, Ma’am.” He closes the file and stands up from behind the
desk. Walking around with his hand outstretched, he declares, “I will present
this to my team.”
The
director rises to meet him when the door to the office swings open. “J.J. said you
needed to see me.” Rossi stops in mid-stride when he looks up to find the woman
in Hotch’s office. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had comp-” When
Director Toscano turns to face Dave, Hotch watches as his colleague’s face
transforms into shock. “Gina?”
Dave’s
face softens from shock and confusion into recognition and…pride? “Gina, why
didn’t you tell me you were coming by?”
Breaking
out with a broad smile, Dave steps forward and wraps Director Toscano up in a
very familiar hug, a hug she returns with just as much familiarity. Hotch is
the one confused this time, but he is forced to wait for his answer.
“Well…”
She takes a deep breath and gives him the truth. “I’m here to bring an old case
back to the BAU.” Hotch can actually see the understanding fall across Dave’s
face, and apparently Director Toscano can read his expression as well. “Yeah,
the Rosslyn case.”
His
arms drop to his sides and Dave shakes his head. “What happened?”
“A
new threat was delivered to Zoey a couple days ago…” She pauses to give impact
to the information. “To her home in Georgetown.”
“How
do we know it’s the same group?” Dave immediately switches over to his profiler
mode.
“They’re
using the same seal, but it’s more than that.” Dave scrutinizes the woman’s
face as she tells him the news. “Linguistics confirmed it yesterday…it’s the
same writer.”
“Damn.”
Hotch’s suspicions are confirmed as he witnesses Dave going instantly back into
the case. He had always wondered if their failure to earmark a group soon
enough to prevent the attack was the real impetus behind David Rossi’s early
retirement. It was Dave’s last case at the BAU, and Hotch had felt like it was
his final test for making the retirement decision. If things had been different
in Rosslyn, would Dave have ever left the BAU? And now, it was looking like
their original profile might not have been as far off as they believed at the
time.
“I
can’t officially do anything about the case now, but I would really appreciate
being kept in the loop.” Director Toscano looks at Hotch as she speaks, but it
is Dave who answers for them. “Of course, Gina. This case was yours and I know
how you feel about it.”
“As
soon as we have something, you’ll be our first phone call.” Hotch picks up the
folder from his desk, hands it to Dave, and then shakes the director’s hand.
“In the meantime, how are we to handle protection for Ms. Bartlet?”
The
director nods and takes on an official air as she explains, “Because of the
possible mail fraud, and a direct threat on a member of President Santos’
staff, the Postmaster General and the President have made formal requests to
assign a protection detail to Mrs. Young
and her family.”
Dave’s
face betrays his confusion when he asks, “Mrs. Young? Wait, she married the kid
from the Rosslyn case?” Toscano smiles and Dave seems amused by this
information. “Okay then…but who’s working for the president?”
“That
would be ‘the kid,’ Senior Deputy Assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff
Charles Young.” Hotch muses to himself over the ridiculous titles that have
become such a mainstay of government life. After all, each member of his team
is introduced almost daily as Supervisory Special Agent this or that. His
amusement must have shown on his face. “Yeah, I know. The titles have gotten
out of control again. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get ‘Regina J.
Toscano - Deputy Assistant Director of the Office of Protective Operations,
United States Secret Service, Department of Homeland Security’ on a business
card?”
“A
little like trying to get “SSA Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief, Behavioral Analysis
Unit, Federal Bureau of Investigation, United States Department of Justice.’”
They all laugh at the insanity of it all.
Dave
picks up his questioning by asking, “So, if your Secret Service guys are providing
protection, there shouldn’t be any trouble with inter-agency communication?”
Gina
shrugs non-committally, “If it were only up to my boss and your big boss, I
would say yes… But we have a problem.”
Simultaneously,
Dave and Gina both say the name like a curse, “Erin Strauss.”
Hotch
knows that Strauss is an ambitious woman and his problems with her stem from
more than his headstrong and independent leadership style, but also because
that reputation puts him in direct competition with her desire to advance in
the Bureau. But he has never understood why she has such an intense dislike for
Dave.
Pointing
at the envelope bearing the official seal of the president, Gina concludes,
“That’s the only guarantee I can give you with this case. I only hope it’s
enough to keep the wolf at bay.”
Dave
nods and shrugs, “Maybe having me on the first case will be enough
justification for the Deputy Director to override any impediments she might try
to put in our way. That, and…” His pause is punctuated by the raise of his
brow.
“And
what else?” Gina is far too quick in catching Dave’s cue not to make Hotch
suspect there is a great deal more between these two.
“The
fact that he still owes me a new duck blind after our last hunting trip
together probably doesn’t hurt either.” Dave’s smile is warm and comfortable,
with the corners of his eyes creasing gently together. Now Hotch is sure he has
been had.
Gina
shakes her head as she picks up her coat and walks to the door. Stopping to
turn back she says, “Well, good luck with the Deputy Director, and with
Strauss. I know she doesn’t seem to have much use for us military types, but
I’ve never gotten why she has such an axe to grind with you, Uncle Dave.”
Hotch
stands in shock as Dave waves the woman out the door with his parting remarks.
“Take care of yourself, kid. And don’t forget about our poker game this time.”
When
Dave turns back to him he can only repeat the name as a question, “Uncle Dave?” But Dave only smiles and
takes the folder with him as he leaves Hotch’s office, chuckling to himself.
Once
again, just for his own benefit, Hotch shrugs and says, “Uncle Dave.”
CHAPTER THREE
“In March of 2000 the BAU was contacted by the Secret Service to profile a
potential threat to the youngest daughter of then President Bartlet. Based on
the content of the letters she was receiving, it was determined by the Secret
Service that the threat was viable and the Protection Service took appropriate
actions to limit the danger.” Hotch drones through the briefing with all of the
facts in a way that only Hotch could. Many times J.J. wished he would just
allow her to present all the cases, but the ones that came from official channels were not available to
her. “However, they were not in a position to root out the source of this threat
with their limited resources at the time, and enlisted our assistance in
getting a lead on the threat.”
Rossi
picks up the remote for the screen and continues the briefing. “The letters were
all written by the same person using a standard ink jet printer. They all
contained an element of racial hatred being directed at Zoey Bartlet and her
relationship with the presidential aide, Charles Young, a black man.” He
scrolls through the screens depicting each person involved and then brought the
first letter up into view. “As you can see here, they also contained a
distinctive seal; the Reichsadler.”
Processing
the information as it is relayed to the team Spencer interrupts, “A German
eagle clutching a laurelled Swastika in its talons; the Nazi Reichsadler.
Though, this symbol has been used dating all the way back to the Holy Roman
Empire in the twelfth century, and used again in the German Empire from 1888 to
1918, as well as the Weimar Republic, immediately preceding the Nazi Party’s
takeover of the German government in 1935. And a double headed version of the
same German eagle was used in the coat of arms for the Austrian Empire from
1804 to 1867.”
From
the heat in his glare, J.J. can tell that Rossi is not interested in one of
Spencer’s history lessons. His words confirm his frustration. “And none of that
is pertinent to the case at hand.” Spencer shrinks away from Rossi’s glare as
the rest of the team shakes their heads. “As I was saying… This seal was
present on each of the letters intercepted by the Secret Service. Once it was
determined there was a real threat, they did some preliminary investigation,
which eventually led them to look at the West Virginia White Pride. This was
one of the countless skinhead groups littering the impoverished areas of the
country in 2000.”
Rossi
clicked the remote revealing a map showing hundreds of dots in the Mid-Atlantic
region alone. “Narrowing it down to any single group was a feat in and of
itself at the time. Thanks to the work of analysts like Garcia, that is no
longer the case.”
“Right,
we’ve set up a sniffer program that tracks the activity of any variety of
extremist groups all over the world based on their net traffic and digital
transactions. It’s almost impossible for these kinds of groups to grow and
prosper without Big Brother getting a whiff of their foul stench.” Garcia’s
pride bleeds through in her schpeel as she confirms Rossi’s statement.
Hotch
steps back into view and picks up from there. “Our unit was not involved in the
investigation itself. We only profiled
the unsub based on the written threats being made. We determined that this was
a racially motivated action, but that the specific person responsible for
making the threats was likely working alone, and possibly working under the
delusion that he was in some position to assert a moral judgment over Ms.
Bartlet’s life. While we suspected that this person was involved with a White
Supremacist group, and pointed the Secret Service at the groups we believed he
could be a member of, ultimately we were not completely accurate in our
analysis and a loosely organized attempt was made on the life of Ms. Bartlet’s
boyfriend, thereby injuring President Bartlet, a member of his staff, a Secret Service
Agent and a bystander in the crowd.”
Morgan
shakes his head and sighs, “Rosslyn.”
“I
read the follow-up on that case when I was in St. Louis. It was crazy. They
used all the wrong weapons, so they completely missed their target and nearly
took out three other people in the melee, leaving themselves totally open to
the snipers. Never underestimate the stupidity of kids raised on hate and
violence.” Emily adds in her own analysis on the case.
“Exactly.”
Hotch scans through the rest of the case file images. “After the shooting, we
helped the Secret Service and local authorities to locate and apprehend the
spotter IDed by one of the protection agents on the scene. We also assisted in
locating other members of the West Virginia White Pride in order to prosecute
all the parties involved in the assassination attempt.”
“And
the reason we’re getting all this information now?” Spencer is quick to ask his
question.
“A
new letter was delivered to the Young household in Georgetown yesterday
afternoon.” Hotch’s answer confuses them.
Garcia
is the first to ask, “The aide? They’re still after the aide?”
Instead
of Hotch answering, Emily speaks up, “Yeah, Zoey Bartlet and Charles Young got
married a few years ago.” Everyone stares at Emily trying to figure out how she
knows something like that. “What? My mother was in town for the wedding. Her
family and the Bartlets have known each other for like a couple centuries.”
Morgan
tosses a, “Figures,” in Emily’s direction before he asks, “Okay, since there’s
a new letter, are we to assume they’ve already checked out the original
suspects?”
“Yes.”
As always, Hotch is all business and quickly dismisses the more familiar
conversation. “Two of the suspects are serving out life sentences in the U.S. Penitentiary
Florence ADMAX Facility in Colorado and the third was killed in a conflict
between the Aryan Brotherhood and one of the other gangs while serving his
sentence at the Red Onion State Prison in Pound, Virginia.”
“Why
was he being held there?”
Everyone
is making notes as Hotch answers their questions. “Special deal made with the
U.S. Attorney that allowed him to serve a lesser sentence at a Virginia
Supermax so that his dying mother could visit him in exchange for his testimony
against the other two.”
“So,
this West Virginia White Pride,
what’s their current status?” Prentiss rolls her eyes with her question.
“They
don’t have one.” Hotch is quick and to the point, just like always. “They were
completely routed by the investigation and prosecution of the case.”
“The original profile, did it include anything
else in regards to a single person theory? I mean, was there ever an option put
forth that this whole thing was the work of a single individual?” Derek looks
through the folder in front of him as he questions Hotch. Looking around the
table, J.J. can tell they are off at the races with the case, each one trying
to get a firm grip on what needs to be done.
Hotch
immediately launches into the party line, “With the information available at the
time, and given the time involved with our preliminary analysis, as well as the
accelerated nature of the investigation and capture of the spotter-”
“We
considered it, but given the nature of the threats being made, it was thought
to be an improbable scenario.” Rossi let slip the unspoken truth, confirming
the suspicions of everyone there.
J.J.
decides to end any of the doubt with her question, “You were on the original
case?”
Rossi
nods solemnly with his answer. “Yes. It was my last case with the BAU. As a
favor to the Secret Service, I worked the case.”
“Did
your analysis include a profile of the writer?” Emily quickly throws him a
lifeline.
“It
did,” Rossi pauses to thank her with his eyes, and then he forges ahead. “But
it proved inconsequential for apprehending the suspects, and did nothing to
prevent the attack in the first place.”
Hotch
picks up the life-saver mantle when he continues. “I think, for the purposes of
this investigation, we should throw out the previous profiles. No offense to anyone
on the original case, but we’re dealing with an entirely different animal now,
and the current information tells us a great deal more about the unsub than the
original case allowed us to know.” The screen changes to show the letter as
Hotch presses the remote. “This letter changes everything. So, let’s just start
fresh.”
Spencer’s
gaze is transfixed on the screen as J.J. turns to him. “What is it?”
“Hotch,
can you bring up one of the letters from the first case and split screen them?”
Spencer begins to look through the file as he calls out his request to Hotch.
“Yeah…”
Hotch does as requested. “What do you see, Reid?”
“The
Secret Service’s comparative linguistics report says that these are most likely
written by the same person, but there’s something else.” Spencer looks to his
left. “Garcia, do you have digital transcripts of each letter?”
“I
do, but there’s like thirty letters on their highly suspected list and more
than hundred others tied to the same investigation.” Garcia starts to click
keys on her laptop as she answers Spencer.
“Can
you run a search for similar word usage and phrasing?”
“Mon
Ami, I can do that and a little more.” Her fingers are flying over the keyboard
as Spencer walks to the screen on the wall. “Kevin has been working on this new
comparative linguistics program that can actually pull out an eighty-eight
percent accuracy match to the author even when there are thousands of pages.
The only trouble is that it requires a significant known writing sample to run
the comparison. He’s still working some of the kinks out, but if we take the
current letter and use it as our known sample, we can compare it to the
previous samples on a case by case basis and determine the likelihood that they’ve
been written by the same person.”
“The
final threat before the assassination and this new letter are most definitely
written by the same person. And it’s not just the language, it’s the syntax and
grammar. But there’s a problem…” Spencer glances quickly, back and forth
between the two letters trying to qualify his analysis.
“What
problem?” Rossi is on his feet and standing beside Spencer by the time he
speaks.
“It’s,
ah… Well, it’s almost like the writer is deliberately trying to portray
themselves as an angry, uneducated young person. See here,” Spencer points at
the same phrase found in both letters. “’Your not gonna get away with polluting
our blood.’ It’s colloquial, but at the same time, it’s grammatically correct,
betraying an education in formal writing. And the use of ‘your’ in place of
‘you are’ or the contraction ‘you’re,’ but other places in the letter they use
the correct form.”
“That’s
not always an indicator of deliberate action. Many people get those confused.”
Rossi is trying to counterpoint Spencer’s argument.
“Right,
but the use of contractions only occurs with an incorrect usage, and nowhere
are there any correctly utilized contractions to truly denote untrained and
informal writing.” Rossi scans both letters as Spencer goes through his
analysis. “Garcia, are you finding matches?”
Nodding
her head with a dumbfounded look on her face, “Um, yeah, but ah, I didn’t sort
out the letters directly associated with the case, I let the linguistics
sniffer program sort out the whole Zoey Bartlet file and it’s coming up with
unrelated matches.” Garcia looks up from her screen in shock. “Like… a lot of
matches.”
“Yeah,
that’s what I was afraid of.” Spencer hangs his head with the acknowledgement.
“Reid,
I’ve already got close to six hundred letters matching the same patterns. And
they all have different names associated with them, including women and fan
mail, not just the evil stuff.” Garcia’s shock transfers to everyone else in
the room.
Rossi
continues to stare at the screen, seeming to completely ignore Garcia until
Emily speaks up. “Garcia, what about the love letters?” Everyone turns to Emily
in an instant.
“Yeah,
there’s quite a few actually, but there are different postmarks and signatures and…”
Garcia stops mid-sentence and then looks as though a light has gone off over
her head. “You sneaky little freakazoid!”
“What
is it?” Hotch quickly questions her outburst.
“The
postmarks… They’re all fake!” Garcia uses her laptop to take over the view
screen and points for everyone to notice. “Take a look. Each one was made with
the exact same bar-code at the bottom. So, while the postmark is different, the
post office wouldn’t notice because their routing is done with those handy
dandy little bar-codes. They were all printed off of the same printer, because
you can see the same print drum mark on each one.” She zooms in on the
postmarks of six different letters and there is a single line of ink marring
the edge of the counterfeit postmark.
Shaking
his head, Hotch pulls out his phone. “Congratulations, Garcia.” He walks just
out of range and begins talking into his phone.
“What?
What did I do?” Garcia looks around frantically.
“Nothing…”
J.J. shakes her head as well. “You just made this more of a federal case… Now
it’s a confirmed case of mail fraud, so Hotch has to inform the Postmaster
General.”
“Shnikeys!
I was just following the clues, honest.” Garcia pulls her hands away from the
keys as though she has just touched a hot stove.
“It’s
an important thing to know, Penelope, because it totally changes our profile.”
Emily stands up and moves to sit next to Garcia. Gesturing for her permission
she turns the computer to her view. “See, we’re no longer dealing with a
disorganized group of angry kids, and we’re not dealing with a delusional fan.”
“No,
we’re dealing with something far more insidious than that.” Rossi drops down
into his seat again.
“Then
what are we dealing with, if not the white supremacists?” As evidenced by
J.J.’s question, Garcia is not the only one having trouble following the team’s
train of thought.
“J.J.,
we’re definitely not talking about any kind of hate group.” Prentiss interjects
to translate their conclusions for her. “We’ve got a seriously obsessed stalker
here. Based on the content of the threats, the level of deceit they’ve gone to
in hiding their actions, and given that they’ve also professed concern and
affection for the target, it would appear that they’ve got some kind of twisted
morality based sense of being a guardian angel for this girl.”
“So,
an erotomanic, then?” J.J. may not be a qualified profiler, but she does know
her unit and her understanding goes a lot further than press briefings and
soothing ruffled feathers in the local law enforcement communities.
Reid
considers her question for a moment as he lays the side of his index finger
over his lips. “That’s certainly a possibility…but I’m leaning more towards
someone falling into the Love Obsessional
category.”
Hotch
continues to handle the business of the case as everything sinks in for the
entire team. With a lull in the conversation, J.J. decides that she can finally
slip out of the room. Standing up, she nods and says, “You guys obviously have
a lot to sort through, so, I’m going to leave you to it and start monitoring
channels to make sure the press isn’t catching wind of it, yet.”
Before
she makes her escape, Hotch stops her when he closes up his call. “Hold on,
J.J.” He reaches for the victim profile and hands it to her. “We’re going to
need you to act as a liaison with the target on this one.”
J.J.’s
face involuntarily scrunches up into a question. “I don’t understand.”
“Our
target is intimately familiar with the press, and it’s only a matter of time before
they figure out something is up. She’s also very resistant to the idea of being
stuck in a protection detail and she’s going to need some hand holding.” He
gestures at the file for her to open it. “And she’s a new mother. Quite
frankly, we need someone who can connect with her and keep her from doing
anything foolish while we work the investigation.”
“You
want me to babysit the daughter of a former president to keep her out of
trouble?” Her face no longer shows confusion. It is replaced by incredulity.
“No,
I need you to help the target understand what we’re doing, and help us
understand her better.” Hotch struggles to explain her role in the case.
Rossi
picks up for Hotch when he adds, “And we need someone who can communicate with
a woman who has lived her life in the public eye, so that we can try to
understand exactly when this person started their campaign to, quote, unquote,
save her from her destructive lack of morality.” Rossi looks pensively for a
moment before he continues. “We need you to develop a rapport with this woman,
and help Prentiss question her without having her go off half-cocked to
confront this stalker.”
“Me?”
Prentiss is surprised by Rossi’s suggestion.
“Can
you think of anyone else in all of the F.B.I. better qualified to debrief the
daughter of a former president than someone who literally grew up behind the
curtain of the State Department?” Rossi’s point is valid and not only does J.J.
know it, she can see the acceptance on Emily’s face as well. “Not to mention
the fact that your families have ‘known each other for like a couple
centuries.’”
The
smug look on Rossi’s face is immediately met with a heated glare from Emily.
She obviously does not appreciate his low blow.
CHAPTER FOUR
Emily
felt like an unwelcome guest from the moment they walked in the door. Though
not an uncommon feeling for her as an F.B.I. agent, it is the first time she
has ever been on the other side of a coin she has experienced, first hand. As
the daughter of an ambassador and legal attaché for the U.S. State Department,
Emily Prentiss knows exactly what Zoey Bartlet-Young is going through.
Her
mother and father were the frequent recipients of credible threats throughout
her lifetime. Many were the times various security agents were advising her
parents about yet another threat. And just like Zoey, there were also several
actual attempts on their lives. She still believes her father’s early stroke
was a direct result of the stress and strain of their lives in the State
Department.
Bringing
herself back into the moment, Emily busies herself surveying their surroundings
while Hotch runs down the facts of the case, as they knew them. For all intents
and purposes, it is just like every other Georgetown townhome. The width is
narrow, the floors a highly polished hardwood, cornices and moldings are
plentiful and tastefully displayed. The tall ceilings and black walnut
banisters can practically be found inside every house in the Northwest part of
the District. The delicate balance of Early American antiques and soft modern
furniture is what gives this townhome a distinctive feeling. And the
contrasting blend of Herbes de Provence and baby powder tells her this is the
home of a new mother from the modern breed.
Emily
is drawn out of her observations when Mrs. Young voices her disbelief with a
little more passion.
“I
just don’t understand how you people could have missed all of this. I mean,
isn’t this what you’re trained to do? Figuring out the sick twisted minds of
the maniacs before they hurt people?”
“That’s
what we strive for, Mrs. Young. But when we’re faced with such a highly
organized unsub, especially one who has hidden away from sight for such long a
time, it’s more about identifying and protecting their targets as we learn what
makes them tick.” J.J. is the best at her job, putting on just the right spin,
even in the most difficult cases.
“So,
what, you plan to use me as bait for this nut job? Are you crazy?” Mrs. Young’s
voice reaches another decibel level.
“That’s
not what she’s saying, Zoey.” Director Toscano steps in to diffuse the young
woman’s anger. “But this is not a typical case. It has a level of
sophistication that none of us could have anticipated. So, it’ll require a
unique set of tactics.”
“Well,
you people can strategize all you want, but I am not about to put my son in
danger to help you do what should have been done almost ten years ago!” Her
anger is ramping up and Emily understands exactly what her frustrations are,
and she knows it is time for her to step into the fray.
“Mrs.
Young, no one is asking you to put anyone in harm’s way.” Emily sits forward on
the couch and puts her case file on the coffee table in front of her. “We’re
asking you to allow us to complete a full profile of this case, with your
assistance, while the Secret Service and the F.B.I. protect you and your family
from this threat until we can figure out exactly where it’s coming from. But we
need you in order to do that. You know this person, even if you can’t see it
yet.”
That
gets her attention and she locks eyes with Emily. “That’s not possible.”
“I
know it seems that way, but this person has intimate knowledge of your family,
your personal and professional lives, and your habits. This person is connected
to you, or your family, in some way.” Emily knows that Hotch wanted to keep
that information to themselves for a while longer, but she also knows if they
want to find out who that person is, it means they have to get Mrs. Young’s
help. And to get that, they need her trust.
“It
could be as simple as a gardener, or a piano teacher, or a tutor. Or…” Looking
at Hotch, she sees his disapproval glaring at her, but she still chooses to
forge ahead. “Or it could be someone close to you, like a friend or family
member.”
“Now
I know you’re crazy!” Mrs. Young jumps to her feet and flails her arms in the
air. “There is absolutely NO WAY
anyone in my family would ever do something like this!”
“That
may be true…but as profilers, we have to look at all of the possibilities to
find the truth. That’s where we failed ten years ago.” And there is the
bombshell. Emily would never dare say it with Rossi around, but the truth
everyone kept in their hearts is out there now. As she turns to look at Hotch
and J.J., she can see the confirmation in their faces. However, she finds
something else entirely in Director Toscano’s face. In her eyes she sees guilt
and shame, and it makes Emily regret her admission for a moment.
“But
you caught them before…” Mrs. Young looks between Hotch and Director Toscano
before dropping back down to the couch. “And Gina spotted them before the shots
started, because of the profile back then, so I don’t understand.”
Emily
can feel the pain in Zoey’s words and it makes her pause. Before she can speak
again, Director Toscano answers. “She’s right, Zoey. We found a likely target
and never widened our search. We were so focused on the hate crime angle, it
never dawned on us back then that the skinheads were nothing more than hired
thugs.”
Hotch
steps up to take some of the heat away from the situation. “There are also the
technological advances we’ve made in forensic linguistics in the last ten
years. Ten years ago, the letters were read by behavioral analysis students and
flagged for the attention of a specialized group of Secret Service agents, and then
by the agents in charge of specific protection details to determine their
credible danger.”
“And
now?”
J.J.,
sitting next to the young woman, takes out a report detailing the key phrases found
in the hundreds of letters flagged by the comparative linguists program Garcia
has been using on this case. “We have software that scans through the
transcripts of each letter for word usage, syntax and grammatical pattern
similarities. We now have the capability to scan thousands of transcribed
letters in a single day, which would have taken months in the past.”
“And
you found matches in more than just the hate mail for me and Charlie?” Her
eyes, betraying her shock at such a revelation, also hold a depth of sadness
that surprises Emily.
“Yes…”
Hotch brings out another report, detailing the dates and addressees of each
letter matching the one Mrs. Young received the day before. “Six hundred
seventy-two letters and post cards during the time of your father’s presidency,
and we have technicians in Manchester going through the archives from his time
in the Governor’s mansion. If we can determine a timeline for when these
letters began, we might be able to help narrow down the suspect pool.”
Her
eyes are glued to the page as the information sinks in. “That’s…that’s just… My
God. The level of obsession something like that would take…”
“In
a typical case, we refer to this kind of unsub as an erotomanic, but given the
level of organization, and their ability to avoid detection, forces us to
revise that classification.” J.J. tries to explain the team’s conclusions to
the young woman, but Emily can see that nothing is going to get through until
she can digest what she has already been hit with.
When
J.J. attempts to maintain eye contact with the woman, they are interrupted as
the front door is thrown open and a voice bellows throughout the house. “ZOEY!”
In
a flash of movement, Mrs. Young is off the couch and flying through the room.
As she reaches the doorway she is enveloped in the arms of her worried husband.
“Zoey, are you okay? Where’s Jack? I got here as fast as I could. Why didn’t
you call me?” His questions spill out in a stream, without regard to any
answer. Emily can tell his words have probably been cycling through his brain
for a while. “What happened?”
When
no one answers his last question, he speaks again, but in an angry voice this
time. “What the hell happened?!”
Hotch
tries to bring things down a few notches before they explain the case to the
young man. “Mr. Young, perhaps you’d like a few moments to collect yours-”
“Forget
that! What happened and what the hell do you plan to do to protect my family?”
The man’s anger is seething from every pore in his body.
“Charlie,
you need to get a hold of yourself. We’re here to help.” Director Toscano puts
her hat into the ring, hoping to calm him down.
“I
don’t want to hear it, Gina. You told us it was over. You said your
investigation was thorough and there were no loose ends. I was standing right there
when you told Zoey’s father it was over.” Mr. Young holds his wife a little
tighter before his anger explodes. “And there I am sitting in a hotel in
Montreal when I get a damn phone call, A PHONE CALL from some low level flunkie
saying my family has been threatened, but I shouldn’t worry because you’ve got
it under control?”
Director
Toscano desperately tries to calm the angry young man. “Charlie, I know you’re
upset right now, but-”
“Upset?
Upset?! Look, I don’t know what you folks over in the Secret Service are
smoking these days, but you obviously need to knock it off and rejoin us here
on Planet Pissed the Hell OFF!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There
was no point trying to continue the interview after Mr. Young arrived. Both of them
were far too worked up for anything to get through. Director Toscano drew the
short straw and was busy working to calm the couple down.
“It’s
gonna be a while before they’re ready for any more.” J.J. looks over her
shoulder in the direction of the parlour. “If he’s anything like Will, it could
be a long while.”
“It’s
not easy when your family is in jeopardy and you feel powerless to protect
them.” She could feel the pain in Hotch’s words. And the look she finds on
J.J.’s face tells Emily she can feel it, too.
In
an attempt to throw the focus off of Hotch, J.J. asks Emily a question. “Emily,
did you really mean that? Does the profile actually point to the possibility of
a family member?”
“It’s
a longshot, but at this point we really don’t want to discount anything.”
Begrudgingly, Emily confirms the most difficult aspect of the profile. “Whoever
it is knows this woman’s life with an intimate detail reserved for very few
people.”
“Emily’s
right. This person has access to information available only to a select group.
When we finally reveal the unsub, it’s going to be a real shock…” Hotch’s face
turns into a perfect stone when he concludes, “To everyone involved.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The
images playing out in her head as she slept drag her back to consciousness, but
her wandering hand fails to find the comfort Zoey is seeking. Instead, there are only cold sheets beside
her. Raising her head, she tries to focus in the darkened room. The only
illumination she finds is the arch of lights on the baby monitor; first one and
then two, in the slow and steady pattern of Jack’s breathing. The comfort she
takes in that fact turns the corner of her mouth up.
Sitting
up the rest of the way, she turns to look around, hoping to find Charlie
lurking in the darkness. The chair at the window is empty, and the blinds are
still closed. Zoey sighs as she throws off the duvet and toes around for her
slippers. The chill in the air has her reaching for the heavy terry robe on the
chest at the end of the bed as she moves around it in search of her missing
husband.
At
the doorway, she looks down the hall to find the bathroom dark, and a look in
the other direction only hints at the soft nightlight in the nursery. Pulling
the robe closed and tying it off, Zoey peers over the railing, hoping to find
Charlie’s office light on, but it was just as dark as the rest of the house.
With a deep sigh, Zoey resigns herself to going downstairs.
Stepping
onto the landing, she peers around the corner and finds nothing but darkness.
Zoey begins to worry that Charlie has gone when she hears the squeaky hinge on
her grandmother’s china cabinet. Softly, she pads through the house to the
dining room as she follows the sound.
The
muted light from the kitchen filters into the dining room, allowing her to make
out the silhouette of her husband at the back of the room. His back is to her
as he only stares into the antique china cabinet. Even without being able to
see it, Zoey knows what Charlie is looking at when she comes to stand behind
him.
Gently,
she lays a soft touch to middle of his back. “Charlie?”
His
gaze never falters, but his sigh tells her that he knows she is there. “You
know…when he gave me this, I-I thought he was crazy.” Zoey peers over his
shoulder to see the carving knife box resting in the same dead center spot it
had since the day after they were married. That knife means a great deal to her
husband, and it is one of the many things she loves about him.
She
knows the story of the knife almost as though she had been standing with Charlie
when it happened. But, she only rests her head on his shoulder blade and wraps
her arms around his waist as Charlie begins to the recite the story once more.
“The
bolster is fully tapered, so you can sharpen the entire edge of the blade.” She
can feel his arm move and Zoey knows he is tracing the signature marking. “It
was made for your family by Paul Revere. A silver carving knife made by a
Colonial father and famous silversmith and he just hands it to me like it was
another one of the knives I’d been parading in front of him for weeks.”
Zoey
chuffs at his shock. “He’s always been like that. Makes a huge deal out of not
taking math classes, and then brusquely tells you congratulations for
graduating with honors or giving him a grandson. It’s just Dad.”
“Yeah,
I know…” His arms finally drop and he grasps her hands, bringing them up to
rest higher around his middle as he holds onto them tightly. “But we weren’t
even dating anymore, Zoey. This was, just out of the blue… ‘Charlie, my father
gave this to me, and his father gave it to him, and now I'm giving it to you.’
Why would he do something like that?”
“Because…”
Zoey slips under his arm and swings around in front of him, “with or without
me, my Dad loved you, Charlie. He always has. You impressed him, and he’s not a
man easily impressed, believe me.” His gaze lowers with her praise and Zoey
takes his face in her hands. “Whether he’s ever said it or not, that’s how he
feels, and we all know it. Why do you think it was so hard for me to keep my
distance, even when I was with Jean Paul? You were everything my father always
wanted, and that’s a hard thing to walk away from.”
“I
thought that’s why you did walk away?” There is a tiny spark of mirth in his
eyes and that delights her. Even in their darkest moments, Zoey always knows
Charlie will shine through.
“Well,
yeah, because who wants their Dad to be right all the time?” When she is done
playfully rolling her eyes, Charlie wraps her up in a genuine embrace, burying
his face in her hair.
They
stand in the dining room, their arms tightly wrapped around each other for a
long while. Zoey is about to suggest they try to get some sleep before the real
fun starts in a few hours, but Charlie’s next words stop her heart.
“I’ve
let him down. I’ve let everyone down.” The pain he feels flows through every
syllable and it hurts her to hear them.
She
pulls out of his grasp and pulls him to the chair at the end of the table. Zoey
swipes her palm down along the side of his face before asking, “What are you
talking about?”
“I
told him… I promised him…” Charlie swallows hard, each word a trial. “I swore
to him, that I’d never hurt you… That I’d never let anything hurt you
again…even if it meant I had to stand in front of the bullet myself. But I
failed.”
“No.”
Zoey shakes her head with the force of her conviction. “No, no way. Charlie…”
She grabs his arms and squeezes, “you haven’t failed at anything. You did
everything right. Ellie and I called Gina and got nothing more than an ‘I’ll
look into it’ because we didn’t know what else to do, but you… You were
hundreds of miles away and got on the phone to the right people and there were
ten agents on our doorstep in fifteen minutes. You protected us with your wits,
just like you always have.”
“I
called Josh, he took care of everything.” Charlie’s voice is distant, even
though he is standing right before her. “I couldn’t even get out of Canada
until this morning.”
Zoey
huffs with exasperation and falls into chest, “Oh please! Even on Dad’s best day,
he couldn’t change the weather over the Northeast in the winter to make planes
take off in no visibility blizzards Charlie.”
She
relaxes into his embrace as he wraps his arms around her back. “Yeah, well...”
He relishes in the moment of comfort as she feels the tension leave his body
when his hand begins to stroke her back. “I would’ve flown the plane myself if
they would’ve let me.” She giggles into his chest with his joke.
“Yeah,
I can believe that.” Zoey looks up into Charlie’s face and adds, “But we should
probably try to get some sleep. The little
president is liable to be up extra early since he hasn’t gotten up
tonight.”
Charlie
stops her from turning out of his embrace and shrugs, “Nah, he was up earlier,
so I changed him and gave him a bottle. Back to sleep in no time flat.”
Her
brow crinkles with confusion when she asks, “How did I not hear him wake up?”
The
look on his face screams “busted” when he screws up his mouth and admits, “We
might’ve been in the kitchen playing after you went to sleep.”
Shaking
her head, Zoey can feel the smile turning the corners of her mouth. “C’mon,
‘let us to bed, that forthwith we may take our joy or rest beneath the spell of
sweet sleep’ for tomorrow is bound to suck.”
A
chuff of laughter leaves Charlie as he turns them out to the hallway. “You
better not let your Dad hear you do that.”
She
shrugs off his admonishment, “Whatever… If Odysseus were here dealing with this
crap, Penelope would totally agree what that suggestion.”
“Oh,
I’m definitely not disagreeing with you.” He steps out of the way for her to
climb the stairs ahead of him. “’Lady, we have not yet come to the issue of all
our labours; but still there will be toil unmeasured,’ the least of which will
be the interrogation from the F.B.I. tomorrow.”
“Yeah,
I know.” Zoey stops at the top of the stairs until Charlie stands right behind
her, an arm draping around her shoulders. “We still have to talk to Dad.” His
groan is muffled by her hair when his head drops to her shoulder. “The greatest
labour of all the ancient tales: my Dad.”
CHAPTER SIX
Signing
the paperwork being held by an assistant as he walks through the room filled
with desks, Charles Young speaks at the same clip as his footsteps. “I hope you
don’t mind, but we’re going to have to do this on the run. I missed a whole day
yesterday and there’s just too much going on to spend all day on this.”
“You
don’t have the time to spare for your family?” Morgan is shocked by the man’s apparent
laissez faire attitude about their investigation.
“Excuse
me?” Mr. Young stops only long enough to glare at Morgan before another folder
is thrust in front of him. He looks down at the file and then addresses the
assistant it belongs to, “No, send this back to the counsel’s office and tell
them I want that comma removed this time, before they promise to give two
billion dollars in foreign aid money to a bunch of warlords on account of a
typo.”
His
glare immediately finds Morgan again when he spits out his response, “My family
gets all of my spare time, and some I can’t spare, but you… You don’t get my undivided attention.”
Hotch
quickly steps up to try to soothing the man’s anger. “Mr. Young, we need to be
able to ask you some very sensitive quest-”
“You
think the whole world hasn’t heard your very
sensitive questions already?” He shakes his head as they begin to descend a
flight of stairs. “My wife is the daughter of one of the most controversial and
influential politicians in recent history. She’s been shot at and kidnapped, while her father was in
office, no less. Our first dates made every newspaper in the world… What the
hell do you think you can ask me that hasn’t been asked a thousand times
before, and lied about a thousand times more than that, Agent Hotchner?”
Morgan
wants the man to know how serious they are, but as they climb down into what
can only be described as the subterranean wing of the White House, he realizes
that his words are probably meaningless. This man has stood behind the most
powerful person on the planet, been privy to state secrets he could not even
begin to fathom, and has been the target of more threats than Morgan could read
about in a year.
Their
questions probably are nothing in the face of a life like that. And yet, to do
their job, they still need to ask them. But before Hotch can mount a reasonable
argument in their favor, the man stops in front of two Marines standing post
near the end of the corridor.
Mr.
Young holds his hand out to Morgan and Hotch, but they are clueless to what it
means. “Your badges?” They both reach into their pockets for their credentials
when he stops them. “Those don’t mean squat around here.” He points to their
chests and like a pair of trained monkeys they look down in unison to see their
White House Visitor’s Badges. They quickly remove them from around their necks
and hand them to Mr. Young. The man, in turn, hands them to one of the Marines
and simply says, “Bookbag.”
With
a click of their boots, the two Marines part and one turns the knob on the door
they are guarding. It is an impressive, albeit intimidating display. Coming in
on Mr. Young’s heels, they find another set of stairs and they turn to walk
down them behind Mr. Young. He stops and gestures to Morgan and Hotch when he
says, “Gentlemen, Agents Hotchner and Morgan from the F.B.I.”
They
are struck dumb with the sight before them.
Seated
behind the table in the middle of the room is a gray haired man with an
ominously commanding presence, and coming to his feet on his left, a striking
figure of a man buttoning his jacket as he waits for their approach. Both men
nod subtly. “Agents, may I present Presidents Santos and Bartlet.”
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
“I’m
sorry, but there’s just no way that anyone in my family, or any of our friends
could be this insane.” Zoey stands up, taking their empty cups and stacking
them on the serving tray. “Crazy, sure. We’ve got a long standing and very
well-known history of being out of our minds about a lot of stuff, but mostly
when it comes to politics and human rights.” She calls back over her shoulder
as she walks toward the kitchen. “You know, defeating the King or standing up
to terrorists, or telling congressmen to take long walks off short piers…but
not racist, violent, obsessive stalker kind of crazy.”
“Zoey,
I know this is hard to swallow, but all the evidence is pointing this
direction.” J.J. tries to reason with the woman already banging around in the
kitchen.
“I
just don’t buy it. I know these people and they aren’t like that.” Zoey
continues to speak from the kitchen, leaving them at the table to mount their
defense.
Emily,
without worrying about the young woman’s feelings, launches into the best line
of argument she can conjure. “Is it anything like how you knew that kid at
Georgetown who was busted for drug dealing three more times after you defended
him?”
“That’s
not fair. He had a serious drug problem and I thought I was just helping an old
friend.” Her voice is muffled by the clanking of cups as she calls out from the
kitchen again.
Going
in for the kill, Emily delivers the final salvo, “And Jean-Paul?” The silence
that follows tells them both that the message is driving home.
Zoey
appears in the doorway with a solemn look pasted onto her face. “That’s a
really low blow, Agent Prentiss.” Emily is on her feet in a heartbeat, ready to
defend her comments and apologize for any offense. Zoey holds up her hand and
closes her eyes shut. “No, it’s okay. You’ve made your point and I understand.
Just…” She stretches her neck to the side and opens her eyes. “Just give me a
minute…and I’ll answer your questions.”
The
young woman disappears into the kitchen once more, leaving Emily to deal with
J.J.’s glare. “You shouldn’t have gone there, Emily.”
Emily
shrugs guiltily and whispers back, “She needed to know…this isn’t guess work.
Rossi and Reid have already traced letters back to the Governor’s mansion. But
I guess I probably could’ve been a little more gentle.”
Shaking
her head, J.J. checks the messages on her phone. “To say the least.”
After
a couple minutes of uncomfortable silence, Emily is about to go to the kitchen
to make a personal apology when there is a clatter coming from the front door.
Before she or J.J. can speak, the commotion breaks into a roar.
They
both stand, their hands immediately going to their side arms as they move into
position in the hall while Emily tries to call up the agents outside the door.
J.J. takes her stance at the entry to the kitchen, as Emily mans the opposite
end on the corner leading to the front entrance. With a silent shush, J.J.
motions for Zoey to stay out of sight.
With
no answer from the forward agents, the front door blasts open and two agents
come falling backwards, as they try not to trip over each other. Emily sticks
her head out just in time to get hit with the commanding voice of one seriously
pissed off woman. “ZOEY!”
Seeing
the formidable Dr. Abigail Bartlet bulldozing her way through a handful of
federal agents, Emily contemplates keeping her side arm out. But against her
better judgment she snaps it back in place and gives J.J. the all clear.
“Would
you get the hell out of my way? Where is my daughter? ZOEY!” The agents do
their best not to be frightened of a five foot three inch, aging mother of
three with a vicious handbag right hook. But as they continue to stumble and
teeter out of her way, they fail miserably.
Zoey,
with J.J. now out of her way, cautiously pokes her head out of the kitchen.
“Mom?” The confused look on Zoey’s face tells both of them that this was not a
planned visit. “Mom?” Zoey steps into the hall and is finally granted a view of
the rampaging woman charging toward her. “Mom, what are you doing here?”
Anything
else she might be saying is muffled when her mother’s arms wrap her up in an
extremely protective hug.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
“I
won’t keep you from the task at hand.” President Santos nods to the young man hiding
just out of sight at the top of the stairs. He reaches a hand out to Hotch,
“Gentlemen… I hope I don’t have to tell you that I consider this case a top
priority. An essential factor for any of us to be able to do our jobs here is
that we know our families are safe. If this kind of thing could have happened
while President Bartlet and his family were in the White House, then the
possibility exists it can happen again. Not only do I expect you to resolve this case, but I want the gaps in our
combined systems closed off…permanently.” Santos is an imposing man under
normal circumstances, but the way he squared his shoulders and lowered his brow
to assert his point to Hotch makes him feel about three feet tall.
“That
is our assignment, Mr. President.” Hotch keeps his jaw even tighter than usual
with his marshaled response. And just like that, the president and his cadre
slip out of the room, leaving Morgan and Hotch alone with President Bartlet and
Charles Young.
Morgan
steps in and takes point when Hotch hesitates. “Sir, I’m not sure how much you
know about the ca-”
With
a wave of his hand, President Bartlet dismisses Morgan. “I was briefed by
Director Toscano this morning and I had a very long talk with my son-in-law
last night. I know as much as any of you at this point, so let’s not waste time
with pleasantries and protocol. I am here to answer any questions you might
have while my wife attempts to convince our very stubborn youngest daughter to
do the same.”
Mr.
Young holds the chair and the elder man’s arm as he returns to his seat. “We
decided that since you were looking back farther than I’ve been involved with
the family, it was probably better if he was available for your questions. I
wouldn’t know much beyond the time I’ve spent with Zoey and the family.”
Hotch
quickly returns to the conversation, reaching out for a chair. “Thank you very
much, Mr. President. We were concerned about having access to discuss this
matter with you and your wife.”
“And
that’s why we are here, under cover of night, and in the guise of visiting our
granddaughter Annie for a private recital that does not exist.” He pulls a pair
of glasses from his coat and gestures for Morgan to pass him the file folder in
his hand. “Your theory is that this has been going on since I was in the
Governor’s Mansion in New Hampshire?”
“Ah,
yes, sir, it is.” Hotch nods to Morgan and he hands the folder over.
“And
this is based on what?” The elder man begins to examine the pages inside the
folder with a skeptical eye.
“Our
analysts have found matches to the threatening letters dating back to that
time, sir.” When Hotch looks over his shoulder, he finds that Morgan has chosen
to match Mr. Young by choosing to stand back and observe from a close distance.
He is unable to tell if it is due to a sense of competition with the young man,
or if he attempting to profile him as a subject of interest.
“But
all of the threats made against my family were thoroughly investigated.”
“Yes,
sir, but not all of the letters in question were threats. Many of them appear
to be fan mail, if you will, letters of praise and encouragement, with a few
bordering on obsessive. Taken individually, these letters mean nothing, but by
tying them together, based on the information we have now, it paints a very
clear and rather disturbing picture.” Hotch waits for the man to leaf through
several of the letters before making his final point. “In its entirety, sir,
this shows us an organized, highly sophisticated, deeply obsessive personality.
But more than that, it very clearly shows that this unsub is somehow connected
to your inner circle.”
“I
am still finding that very hard to believe, Agent Hotchner. Gina tried to
explain it to us when we arrived this morning, but it is a difficult pill to swallow.”
The man removes his glass as he shakes his head in disbelief. “To think that
someone we hold in confidence could do such a thing, could even be capable of
it…it’s just beyond my realm of reasoning.”
Morgan’s
attempts to stay back fail when he joins the conversation. “Sir, we may not be
talking about your best friend, here. It could be someone that friend trusts,
or that they talk to without thinking. But it is very clear that this unsub
knows intimate details about your lives. Times, dates, activities that only
someone close to you would have access to. Can you think of anyone that stands
out as being maybe a little too interested in your daughter’s life from when
you were the governor?”
“Honestly,
I really cannot even dream of anyone.”
“Someone
who asked a lot of questions? Someone who might have been too forward with your
daughter? Anyone who might have made a possessive comment about her that set
off an alarm for you, but that you dismissed immediately?” Hotch tries to draw
the answer out with a barrage of questions based on their profile.
“There
aren’t many things that could be said about a man’s daughter that wouldn’t
bring out the alarms for him, but for the life of me, I can’t think of anything
in specific.” Hotch can see that the man is struggling to search his memories
for the answer, but to no avail.
Morgan
tries another tactic. “Mr. Young, can you recall, at any time, someone making
comments about your wife that might have gotten your cowl up?”
“You
mean, other than the press, or that crazy frog?” Morgan nods and the man
appears to think about it more seriously. “I’ve been thinking about this all
night, and truly, I can’t think of anyone that really stands out. Yeah,
there’ve been a couple creeps over the years, but-”
“That’s
what we’re looking for.” Morgan interrupts him, trying to make him understand
what they want. “It doesn’t have to be huge like the French guy, just something
that made you feel like it was wrong. This person wouldn’t stand out in a
crowd, but they would give you the creeps, as you put it. And don’t get hung up
on gender. Man or woman, this person would fade into the background most of the
time. Their confidence level won’t allow them to shine. That’s why they have to
hide their true feelings in these anonymous letters. Why they have to get
someone else to do their dirty work. It’s why they may be totally
inconsequential, but significantly attached to someone in your circle which is
where they are getting the access these letters suggest. And they’ve been
around a lot longer than you.”
Morgan’s
last comment seems to have sparked some recognition for both men. Hotch
immediately follows up, “You have someone in mind?”
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
“This
is ridiculous. There is no one in our circle capable of setting into motion the
series of events you believe this person has wrought. It’s impossible.” Dr.
Bartlet had been railing with the same cry for nearly an hour and everyone was
growing very tired of it.
“Dr.
Bartlet, maybe you would like to take a break?” J.J. did her best to separate
the mother from the daughter, but it proves fruitless.
“I
don’t have much time left before we have to fly back to the farm and escape
scrutiny. Tell me what your plan is to catch this deviant and protect my
daughter and her family.” She was indeed a formidable woman, and Emily could
see why her own mother had said so on several occasions. But this was not the
time for her to invoke the rights of a protective mother. They need to catch
this unsub before their obsession with Zoey Bartlet-Young reaches its
disastrous peak.
Emily
pushes the bangs aside and rubs her forehead for a moment, attempting to keep
her cool in the face of her attack. “Dr. Bartlet, with all due respect, Ma’am…
Your daughter is the most well-protected person on the planet at the moment,
but in order to keep her that way, we have to discover the identity of her
stalker. This person is not going to be satisfied until she belongs to them,
whatever the cost, even if that cost is her life. So, please…if you really want
to help protect your daughter, we need you to think.” When she stops, Emily can
see that the impact of her words has gotten through.
Taking
a deep breath and forcing it out in a rush, Emily goes back to explain. “Ma’am,
I’m not trying to frighten you. I just want to find this person and stop them.
So, I need you to think…is there anyone in your past who stands out as being a
little too concerned about what Zoey is doing from day to day? Someone who
asked a lot of questions? Someone who might have been too forward with Zoey
when she was younger? Anyone who might have made a possessive comment about her
that set off an alarm for you, but you dismissed it as being ridiculous?”
“Members
of the press, a few hangers on over the years, but I can’t think of anyone who
specifically set off any alarms.” Dr. Bartlet appears to be searching her
memory for a viable answer.
Emily
then turns to Zoey. “Was there anyone who just made you feel wrong? It doesn’t
have to be huge and obvious, just something that didn’t feel right. This person
isn’t going to stand out in a crowd, but they’ll give you an uneasy feeling.
And don’t consider gender in your answer. Man or woman, this person is likely
to fade into the background most of the time. Their lack of self-esteem isn’t
going to let them shine. They’re hiding themselves in these anonymous letters,
because their fear of rejection is so high. That’s why they have to get someone
else to do their dirty work.” She can see the wheels turning for both women as
Emily delivers the profile of their unsub.
“It’s
why they may be totally inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but they
might be significantly attached to someone in your circle, which is where they
are getting the kind of access these letters are suggests. And they’ve been
around a long time. Maybe even since your childhood. And as they’ve watched you
grow, their interest has increased. They might have even attempted to engage
you a time or two, but you probably felt very awkward about it and shied away
from the attention right off the bat. This person probably retreated from you
at that point and-” Emily stops when the two women jerk their glances to one
another. “You have someone in mind?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Emily
just finishes debriefing with the U.S. Marshals when she heads back to the
unit. The case was closed, and the rest of the team had already packed it in
for home. Everyone else was gone, everyone but Rossi.
Staying
behind to get the final report from the Marshals was Emily’s excuse to hang
back when the others left for the night. She knew Dave would never leave until
it was done, until the subject was in custody and locked down. As they
suspected, the subject immediately invoked his right to council, so there would
be no chance to interrogate the man. Dave would have to find his closure from
another avenue. That appeared to be filling out all of the paperwork for
transferring the case file to the U.S. Attorney’s office in the morning.
That
is where she finds him, elbow deep in files and forms in the BAU briefing room.
Standing in the doorway for a moment, Emily watches him struggle through a
chain of evidence form. His brow furrows a little deeper than it did the week
before, and the lines around his eyes appear a little more prominent. This case
has been hard on him and it hurts her to see him suffering so much.
She
decides to make her presence known when she says, “Hard to believe this guy was
operating all this time from inside the family like that.”
Rossi
keeps his gaze on the paperwork before him when he responds to her, “Most
likely, he would have continued to operate that way, but his brother’s
separation was about to sever the connection to his obsession.”
She
tries to use a little humor to break him away from the forms. “Yet another
strike against marriage; you can’t choose your in-laws.”
It
works and backfires on her at the same time. He looks her right in the eye and
sternly says, “You don’t get married for the in-laws, you do it in spite of
them, because you love the other person that much.” His answer takes her breath
away.
Awkwardly,
Emily steps forward and attempts to hide her discomfort by boxing up some of
the documents laying out on the table. As she reaches for one of the evidence
inventory forms, Dave anticipates her need and holds it out for her. Taking the
form, Emily is looking for something to say, but she only manages to squeak out
a “Thanks.”
What
follows can only be described as an uncomfortable silence. Before Emily can
work up the courage to try again, their silence is interrupted by the
appearance of the Director Toscano. “This is going to be a tough one to close
out.”
Dave
looks up and asks, “Has he been processed?”
“Yeah,
he’s in a holding cell in the Devens Federal Medical Center up in Massachusetts
on suicide watch.” She pulls out a chair and drops down into it. “The family is
a total wreck, but at least the guy is in custody now.”
“I
can’t imagine what they must be going through right now.” Emily shakes her head
as tries to wrap her brain around the facts of the case.
“Chad
Weston was never on anyone’s radar. He was just Liz’s husband’s weird little
brother.” Director Toscano pulls the tie out of her hair and lets it fall. “The
only indication anyone ever had there was something wrong came from Zoey. I
guess when they were getting ready for her sister’s wedding, Chad made some
inappropriate comments to her and she just decided to keep her distance from
him.”
“A
perfectly logical act for a young girl.” She can see Dave working out the
details in his head as he speaks. “Did she mention the incident to anyone
else?”
The
director nods, “Yeah, she told her older sister Ellie. And, in true sisterly
fashion, she shared the experience with someone who would tell their parents,
in order to remove any guilt from herself. The girls’ godmother shared the
information with the Bartlets, who had already gotten an uneasy impression of
the young man. There wasn’t a lot they could do, he was just the brother of
their new son-in-law, so the likelihood of any further interaction was very
limited. They trusted their daughter’s instincts and made sure to limit her
contact with him even further.”
“Which
inadvertently triggered his obsessional spiral.” Emily would never cease to be
amazed at the deranged behaviors of their subjects. “The initial relationship
with Charlie probably interfered with his delusions about his connection to
her, and as public as it was, plus his race, afforded him the perfect
opportunity to engineer his elimination by using the skinheads.”
“The
CSU team actually found a coffee mug with the West Virginia White Pride emblem
on it. Along with the printer, countless press clippings and family photos of
Zoey. They also found several items we believe may have actually been Zoey’s,
but we have to wait for her to calm down before she can identify them.” The
director appears disgusted by the information she shares with them. “But we’ll
have to wait until the courtroom to hear a word from this guy. He’s clammed up
tighter than a bank vault.”
“Well,
he’s had time to think about this. Reid found a few more letters which he used
to get the actual location of their home in Georgetown.” Dave hands her the
folder containing the letters in question. “His brother’s separation has slowly
been eating away at his access to their lives. So, when Elizabeth Weston filed
for divorce, he knew it was all about to come to a devastating end. Desperation
is the only thing that would convince him to fall back on the previous tactics,
because they had been successful before.”
Director
Toscano stands up from the table shaking her head. “We can speculate all we
want, but without him we’ll never know what really motivated this guy. The only
thing that matters now is that we have the evidence necessary to put him away
for a very long time, and the Bartlet family never has to worry about Chad
Weston ever again.”
Dave
leans back in his chair and sighs. “Between the analysis of all the
correspondence and what your CSU team unearths, plus making the connection to
the assassination attempt perfectly clear…I can’t see this guy ever knowing
freedom again.”
“The
only wild card is if he tries to cop an insanity defense.” Emily frowns at the
prospect, but the director is not finished. “But with your unit’s testimony,
and the connection to the assassination, there’s just no way he’ll ever get out
of that hospital, even if a jury does manage to give him insanity.” She walks
around the table until she can put a hand Dave’s shoulder. “This one can
finally be moved into the win column, Uncle Dave. You and your guys did good.”
“Thanks,
Gina. You should probably get home and get some rest.” He pats the hand she is
resting on his shoulder. “I’m sure you’re going to be doing a lot of briefings
tomorrow, starting off in that funny shaped room.” When he looks up at her,
Dave gives a playful wink that brings a smile to the director’s face.
The
director turns to leave, but before she walks through the door she stops to
regard Emily with her parting words. “Make sure he doesn’t spend all night
getting paper cuts, will ya?”
The
knowing look on the director’s face brings a slight blush to Emily’s cheeks as
she nods her head in agreement.
Once
the woman is clearly out of sight, Emily turns to Dave and says, “You heard the
lady. Let’s get this packed up, so I can take you home.”
“And
you would be doing this why?” Dave’s cocked eyebrow always makes her smile, but
it can also stir up other emotions, depending on its use.
However,
Emily simply begins putting the remaining files into the box beside her as she
explains. “Because you haven’t left this room in almost two days, you’re in no
shape to drive, your truck is still parked at my place, and if I don’t keep a
very close eye on you, I just know you’ll start messing with these case files
again.”
Dave
shrugs off her reasoning, but he also continues to put the files away. “Well,
there is that…”
After
they seal up the last box and sign the label, Emily walks to the coat rack and
takes their overcoats down, draping them over her arm. As she turns around to
wait for him, Dave is standing right there, with his hand reaching past her for
the light switch. “Shall we?”
She
furrows her brow and tries to put on a scowl when she says, “I’m still
driving.”
The
tone of his voice drops into smooth and deep rhythm, “I have never complained
about that.” Her laughter is the response that finally brings a smile back to
his face and it makes her glad that neither of them has to go home alone.
When
the reach the elevator, Dave slips the coats from her arm and helps Emily into
hers before shrugging into his own. The doors open and he touches the small of
her back to gesture her into the waiting car. They turn into the elevator and
Dave presses the button to go down when Emily asks him, “So, Uncle Dave?”
He
chuckles as the doors close and says, “That’s a very long story.”