Criminal Minds 1. Chapter 1

_Author's notes: I don't own Criminal Minds nor the characters within, nor do I own anything to do with Star Trek. I'm borrowing from both those worlds and promise to return all when done. I do not consider this a crossover since no Star Trek characters appear. Enjoy._

**Gamesters**

By Mele

"Morgan, you and Reid go visit the crime scene, profile it, see if you can determine its importance to the Unsub," Hotch ordered the two agents, looking up from the files spread out on the table in front of him. "Five murders at the same location indicate that the locale is part of the profile."

"On it," Morgan replied tersely, grabbing up the keys to the rental car with more vigor than would seem necessary. The team had been in Reno, Nevada, for two days and so far there had been no breakthrough in the case or the profile. The ages, races, societal backgrounds and even sexes of the five victims were divergent. No common denominator could be discovered, outside of the location of the kills, in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountain range, just outside the city limits.

Though the location was less than fifteen miles from the police station where the BAU had set up shop, it took thirty four minutes to reach the kill site. Isolated and slightly elevated it gave a panoramic vista of the city below.

"Nice view," Morgan commented as they exited the SUV, glancing around cautiously.

"Probably better at night," Reid countered in his quiet manner. "The lights of the downtown area are pretty impressive I'm sure."

"Like Vegas?" the older man asked with a grin.

"Probably. Las Vegas is only beautiful at night, and preferably from a distance," the Nevada native answered.

"I dunno, Reid, the city does have its charms," Morgan grinned with a wink.

"So I've heard," the younger man replied from his position hunkered down beside the bloodstained sand where five bodies had been discovered.

"Come on, man, it's the only state with legalized prostitution," Derek noted, walking an ever expanding perimeter around the kill site. "Though, come to think of it, I haven't seen any signs of a brothel around here."

"You won't. It's only legal in counties with a population of under 700,000, which disqualifies Reno. Also, Carson City, the capital just 25 miles south of here doesn't allow it. But go about five miles west of Carson City and you get to Mound House, home of some of the most famous brothels in the state," Spencer reported in his matter-of-fact way.

"I'd ask why you know this, but what would be the point?" the elder agent commented, striding over to stand by his companion and survey their surroundings.

"People always seem to assume Nevada is like the most lawless state in the union, but they very strictly monitor the legal sex industry. Illegal prostitution is as rampant here as in any state, however," Reid informed his friend, straightening up from his inspection of the kill site.

"You're destroying my illusions, man," Morgan grumbled good naturedly. "Leave me some pleasant fantasies."

Whatever reply Spencer Reid might have had was cut off by a sharp pain in his neck. He instinctively reached up, his brown eyes widening in fear when he saw the small dart he pulled from his neck. Darkness followed so quickly he didn't have a chance to see Derek Morgan grab at his own neck even as he'd turned to his friend in concern.

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George Wilkes and Charles Landshaw were surprised when the two men wearing FBI vests arrived in their hunting area. They had been hoping for a couple of joggers or hikers, but federal agents were an unexpected bonus. Seeing the two agents' collapse the shooters grinned at each other and hurried to the van to secure their prize.

Every few weeks George would receive a phone call requesting 'new players'. They knew the requirements: both men and women were accepted, they needed to be in good physical shape and preferably no more than forty years old. Two or three at a time, to be delivered to a remote location outside Winnemucca.

They stopped the van by the SUV and quickly secured Morgan and Reid with zip ties. George put on gloves and carefully removed the FBI agents' badges, phones and guns, putting them all under the SUV's passenger seat. He drove the rental vehicle behind the van, parking it in a Target parking lot before joining Charles and their two prisoners. Within minutes they'd merged onto Interstate 80, rocking the nondescript van up to 70 mph as they passed the Sparks city limit and headed into the open desert of northern Nevada.

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"I may have something here, Hotch," Rossi exclaimed, moving five sheets of paper into a line and studying them intently.

"What?" the team leader asked, standing beside his old friend and trying to see whatever it was that David saw. Close up he could easily discern they were three credit card statements and two bank statements.

"With the prevalence of using debit cards as often as credit cards, it's sometimes easy to miss cross references," the older man explained.

"And what exactly did you find here?" Hotch encouraged him, a bit less than patiently.

"Our five victims favored the same barber," Rossi said with a satisfied look. "See these charges here, that just reference a number? I had Garcia track down what that was, and it's the Eastside Barbershop. Not that far from the preferred kill site."

"Good work. I'll call Morgan and have him and Reid check it out on their way back. Call Garcia and have her send the address to their phones," Hotchner ordered, nodding to JJ and Kate who had just returned with lunches for the whole team.

Punching in the speed dial code for Morgan, Hotch frowned in displeasure when it went straight to voicemail. Annoyed, he tried Reid, only to get the same result. Behind him he could hear Rossi still talking to Garcia.

"Dave, have Garcia trace Morgan's cell phone, will you?" he requested. Garcia had heard him clearly enough and was already running the trace before David could finish relaying the request.

"Oh, this is odd. It appears they are at a Target. Maybe needed some supplies?" the tech reported, her fingers still moving over her keyboard. "It appears the phones are both turned off and still in the vehicle. Curious."

"Send us the address, Garcia," Hotch ordered, grabbing his vest and keys. "Lunch is going to be delayed," he announced as the other three quickly got ready to head out. None of them missed the fact that turning off their cell phones or going to an unexpected location without checking in was against protocol and not like either of the two experienced agents.

Something had to be wrong.

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Derek was the first to regain consciousness, groaning at the painful headache the sedative had left him with. He sat up slowly, finding himself in a bare room, with a faded linoleum floor and plain walls with what appeared to be one-way mirrors on three sides. Frowning, he realized he was no longer in the slacks and dress shirt he'd been wearing, but instead found he had on a mesh tank top that fit snugly, and dark blue sweat pants. His comfortable oxford shoes had been replaced with sneakers. Feeling something odd at his neck he reached up careful fingers, finding a leather collar with a box attached. He encountered nothing that felt like a way to release the uncomfortable device. Lying a few feet away was a similarly attired Reid, still unconscious.

Morgan quickly scrambled over to his friend's side, turning the younger man onto his back and looking him over for injuries. Spencer was breathing evenly, and his pulse seemed strong, if quite slow, so the agent turned his attention to the collar on Reid's neck, studying it for a way to release it. He found nothing that looked like it would help and was about to explore the room when Reid began to stir.

"Kid! Come on, Kid, wake up. I think we may need your brain power here to figure this out," Derek encouraged him, helping Spencer into a seated position as the younger man became more aware.

"What happened," he asked quietly, placing his right hand over his forehead as if it hurt. "Where are we?"

"Don't know the answer to either one, yet."

"It was a dart," Rein mumbled, fingering the collar around his neck.

"What was?"

"What they shot us with. I pulled a dart out of my neck right before it went dark," he explained, frowning at his change of clothing. "This is so weird."

"Yeah, I can't argue with you about that," Morgan agreed, getting to his feet. A wave of dizziness staggered him, but after a moment things settled and he reached down a hand to assist Spencer to his feet.

"One-way mirrors?" the younger man asked, peering closely at one.

"Appears to be," Morgan agreed, tapping firmly on one. "They feel pretty unbreakable, too."

Any comment Reid was about to make died on his lips as the door to the room opened and two men dressed in jeans and flannel shirts entered.

"Today we are offering a rare treat indeed," the larger man announced, seemingly to empty air. "Two FBI agents, which means they will bring special skills to your games. And as you can see, the black one is impressively muscled. Toothpick there may not look like much, but I'm willing to bet he's agile and creative. Who wants to start the bidding?"

"What the hell…" Morgan muttered, moving quickly toward the two men. He'd barely taken two steps when pain originating from his neck took him down hard. He thrashed on the floor in pain as Reid hurried to his side in horror.

"Stop this," Spencer called out to the unseen observers he was sure were behind the windows. Morgan abruptly stopped his pained movements, lying still and gasping, grasping Spencer's lower left arm in a steely grip. "Morgan, are you okay?" Reid asked urgently.

"Oh, God. Have you ever been tasered?" he gasped out. At Reid's negative head shake, Derek groaned. "Well, that was pretty much the same. Came from this thing on my neck."

"A shock collar. I should have realized it," Spencer muttered. "Usually they are used for training dogs. Probably modified to deliver higher voltage as well."

"Nice. Help me up," Morgan requested.

"They do have potential," a disembodied voice announced. "I bid ten quatloos for the pair."

"Let's get real here, folks. These are FBI agents, not some wimpy joggers. You'll get your money's worth for sure," the big man said.

"Fifteen quatloos," came a different voice from behind the mirrors.

Morgan frowned and glanced over at Reid, who had a look of shocked disbelief on his face.

"Any idea what is going on here?" he asked the genius.

"Unfortunately."

"And?" Morgan's expression was anything but patient.

"Later."

Derek's frown deepened as a third voice chimed in. "Twenty quatloos."

"Twenty five."

"Thirty."

"Forty."

"Seventy five!" it was the first voice again, sounding very decisive and satisfied. There were no further bids.

"Excellent, you are now the possession of Provider One. You will be taken to your new quarters shortly. As for you two hunters, you will find your payment in the usual place." The two men nodded, leaving with no further comment. They could hear the clink of a locking device engaging after their exit. Some undefined sense told the two agents that the men behind the windows were also gone.

"Okay, Kid, spill it. You know something, I can see it. What's a …. quatloo?"

"Um….money."

"I figured as much, Reid. Money from where?" Morgan prompted him, huffing out a deep sigh of exasperation.

"Triskelion."

"What? What is that, a new name for an old country or something?"

"No, it's a planet. From Star Trek," Reid replied.

"Are you trying to say we've been sucked into an episode of a television series that's been off the air for forty years?" Derek asked in disbelief.

"Forty five years, actually," Spencer corrected absently.

"Reid," Morgan growled in warning.

"This is so far a credible recreation of the circumstances of a classic Star Trek episode, the Gamesters of Triskelion. Kirk, Uhura and Chekov are zapped away to a distant planet, Triskelion, where disembodied brains kidnap and enslave beings from all over the universe. The victims are trained to fight and used in gladiator type games to amuse the captors, who are known only as 'Providers', since they provide for the slaves' basic needs." Reid explained.

"And people wonder why that show barely lasted three seasons," Derek muttered. "So, how'd they get out of it?"

Before Reid could explain a huge man wearing a black leather uniform entered. At least six foot seven and probably weighing a well muscled three hundred pounds, he glowered at the two captives before speaking.

"Come with me, and don't try anything," he instructed them.

Sharing a look that clearly telegraphed that this was not the time or place to attempt an escape, the two agents quietly headed out with their guard, hoping a way out would present itself soon.

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Despite the parking lot being crowded, it was quick work to locate the SUV Morgan and Reid had taken a couple of hours before. Sheriff Adams provided the spare key, then stepped back to let the FBI agents do what they needed to do. Rossi gave a soft 'uh-oh' as he pulled out the guns, badges and phones that had been stashed under the passenger seat.

"Wherever they are, Aaron, they're unarmed and we can't trace them," the elder man announced, setting the items on the seat itself and looking to see if anything further could be found.

"Hopefully they are together, that'll give them a fighting chance at least," Hotch replied. He stepped back, considering the agents and sheriffs, formulating a plan.

"Okay, Adams, can you and your officers dust the SUV for prints and look for other evidence?" At Adams' nod of agreement, he continued. "Dave, you and JJ go to the barber shop you found, we still need to keep working on the case. Kate, you and I will go to the kill site, see if we can find any clues to what happened there."

"Do we even know they made it there?" David Rossi asked practically.

"For now we assume they did. We should be able to tell once we get there," Hotch said grimly, waving Kate to the SUV they'd taken. "We'll be in touch."

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Hotchner and Callahan drove their SUV up the dirt road until they spotted the stacked stones that marked where the kill site was located. Hotch brought the black vehicle to a stop and opened his door without comment. Kate also exited and joined her boss at the front of their vehicle.

"Two fresh sets of tracks, probably not more than 2-3 hours old," Aaron noted, pointing to the faint tracks in the hard packed dirt road. "Adams said this road was mostly utilized by joggers and walkers during the week, with hunters and four wheelers using it on weekends. These tracks are over the footprints, indicating they are recent. Most joggers and walkers get their miles in in the morning or after work."

"Agreed. Shall we walk on and see what the tracks can tell us further?" Callahan asked, looking up the road with a frown.

"Why don't you do that, and I'll look around the kill site?" Hotch decided, veering off to the left without a backward glance. Kate nodded and headed up the road on the shoulder, watching the tracks carefully.

Hotch pulled on the requisite latex gloves as he approached the large red/brown stain in the desert sand. He saw multiple sets of footprints, so many and so overlapping it was impossible to read the story of the activity there. No signs of anyone being dragged however, and no additional blood outside the central stain caused by the stabbing of five victims over ten days. Moving carefully and watching every step, the senior agent searched for any clue that his two younger agents had been there.

A glint of sunlight on metal caught his eye, and he reached out to remove the source, finding he'd picked up a small dart. Opening an evidence bag he deposited the small missile before carefully inspected the soft soil, noting where it appeared a person might have been lying down. Noting definite, but markings that could be an arm or a hip, or the blurring caused by a prone body being shifted. He was so deeply absorbed in his observations that Kate's return startled him.

"I think I can see what may have happened there," she said, carefully ignoring her superior's start of surprise at her arrival.

"And that would be?" Hotch prompted her.

"One vehicle, which I'm thinking was Morgan and Reid, made a U-turn less than 100 feet further up the road. The tread matches the newer tracks on the road. The other vehicle went maybe a quarter mile further, pulling in by that clump of trees up there," she reported, indicating the green copse of trees in the distance. "At some point they backed back out and came back down the road."

"So you're thinking Morgan and Reid walked into an ambush?"

"Maybe. But who? Our killer? Wanting to capture those who are working to capture him? That changes the whole tentative profile, doesn't it?" Kate asked with a frown.

"What are we dealing with here?" Hotchner wondered, looking around with a sigh. "And where are Morgan and Reid now?"

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Part two **

Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid found themselves in separate cells in a dank, dungeon like part of the facility. During the walk down there they'd noticed numerous off shooting corridors, as well as doors that lead to who knew what. It was obvious the facility was extensive, old, and the faded – but still legible – notations on the doors and walls indicated it had once been a military base of some sort. Perhaps a precursor to the extensive facility that now existed outside of Hawthorne, Nevada, a couple hundred miles away.

"Okay, Reid, I'm ready to hear whatever theories you have here. How do we get out of this?" Derek queried, pacing the compact cell. There was a small pallet on the floor, and an open shower and toilet at the back. 'All the comforts of home' his mind provided as he paced.

"I'm pretty certain we are being monitored, if only via audio," Spencer replied softly, looking around his cell for signs of cameras or microphones. "That's what the Providers did on the show," he added softly.

"Gotcha," Morgan replied, understanding that any talk of potential escape scenarios would have to wait for now.

"If this follows true to the show, we will be assigned trainers to get us ready to compete in their contests," Spencer added, not looking at all pleased with that idea.

"Contests? What kinds of contests?"

"I don't think the episode ever showed a normal contest, but they were training with nets, whips, knives, and spear/staff things. Apparently the battles were to the death. Also, it appeared that smaller, weaker slaves – actually, they weren't referred to as slaves; they were called 'thralls' for some reason – would be used as practice targets. Same for those who broke the rules." Reid couldn't help the worried look at the thought of being used as a practice target, but he was well aware of his physical prowess, or lack thereof.

"Kid, you're going to be fine," Derek assured him, reading his expression well enough. "Just train hard, you know the team will find us. We just have to avoid getting dead until then."

Whatever else Morgan was going to say was interrupted by the arrival of a tall, muscular man who stopped in front of Morgan's cell. He tossed in a bright blue tank top and spoke in a voice that had a bit of a British accent. "Put this on."

"What's going on, man?" the agent asked, even as he gratefully pulled off the mesh tank and donned the more comfortable blue cotton one.

"I've been assigned to you. This is the color of our team. I will assess your fighting abilities today, then set up a training schedule. You are not to ask questions, you will do as you are told or feel the pain of the collar." He unlocked the cell and indicated Morgan should exit. "Come with me."

With a worried glance back at Reid, Morgan followed the big man, both stepping aside when a petite African American woman entered with a nod at the other trainer.

"Put this on," she ordered Reid, handing him the blue tank top she'd brought. "It's time to determine if you can be trained as a fighter," she added, unlocking the cell door as Reid changed his shirt. She was barely over five feet tall, but her blue tank top revealed well muscled arms, liberally sprinkled with bruises and other injuries in various stages of healing. Her attractive face was marred by a scar that ran from over her left eye to just below her right ear.

"Where…where are we going?" Reid asked anxiously, stepping out of the cell.

"To a training room. Don't ask questions, just do as you're told and you'll survive," she informed him, indicating he should follow her.

Taking her advice Spencer quelled any further inquiries and shadowed the small woman through several corridors, carefully noting which turns they took and taking in as much detail of the layout as possible. He almost stumbled over her when she stopped abruptly and turned to open a door.

They entered a spacious room with a large square of mats in the center and several multi-purpose weight training machines and treadmills along the perimeter. One wall was dominated by a rack of assorted odd weapons, most of which Spencer did not recognize.

"Come, we will test your strength level first,' the woman said, indicating one of the machines.

Spencer approached the machine tentatively, looking at it with a puzzled expression. "I, um, I'm not familiar with the functions of this particular device," he admitted at last.

"Sit here, straddling the bench and facing out and I'll show you how it works," she replied. For the next hour she walked him through the use of the machines, working on the tension to determine his baseline strength. She made no comments, but her expression was increasingly unhappy.

"Can we take a break now?" Reid asked at last, having worked up a sweat and feeling like his muscles had all the strength of cooked spaghetti.

"Sit up and rest, then," she agreed, having acquired a clipboard and making notes.

"How'd I do?" he finally asked as she paused in her writing.

"You're stronger than you look, at least, but that's not saying much," she reported.

"Oh. Sorry," he mumbled, studying his feet. "What's your name?"

"Two Forty Three."

"That's not a name, that's a number," he noted with a frown.

"At some point during your training period you will be given a designation which will be your new name," she informed him, her voice softer than before.

Matching the quiet tone he asked again. "But, what's your name? From before?"

"Aisha," she whispered, wincing as if admitting that hurt. She sat down on the machine's bench beside the FBI agent.

"I'm Spencer," Reid replied, matching the still lower tone. "How did you end up here?"

She was silent so long he figured she wasn't going to answer, but eventually her soft voice continued. "We'd been hiking in Yosemite. Me and my sister and brother-in-law. We were walking back to the car, joking about the best place to get a full on carb loaded dinner after hiking all day, when we were each shot with a tranquilizer dart. We woke up here." A tear meandered down her unscarred cheek, and she wiped it away angrily.

"Is you family still alive?" he asked gently, guessing the answer before she spoke.

"My sister, Anne, she had a heart condition. That's why she was so into hiking and exercise, it all helped along with the medications. But…she made a mistake….they used the collar…" her whisper trailed off with a stifled sob.

"I'm so sorry," Spencer said, putting a comforting hand on her arm.

She took a deep, steadying breath before continuing. "My brother-in-law made it until last week, when he was fatally injured on one of the stupid ass contests. Me, I've been a practice target until they promoted me to trainer. You're my first, if I don't do a good job they'll likely demote me to target again," she admitted, looking up at him with anxious eyes. "You have to do well, Spencer. For both our sakes." She paused, and then stood up with a determined expression. "Next we'll see how you do with the punching bag," she ordered, handing him some thin gloves to protect his hands at least a little.

Spencer nodded in agreement, his own expression solemn as he pulled on the gloves. He approached the hanging bag apprehensively, wishing with all his heart he'd been more interested in fighting and physical endeavors, feeling the weight of responsibility for two lives as he threw his first punch, barely making the heavy bag quiver.

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"It certainly appears that Morgan and Reid made it here, based on what you saw on the road and the number of newer footprints. And of course, this," Hotch said, showing Kate the dart he'd found. "Did you see anything around those trees?" he asked.

"I didn't actually go in there, I wanted to see what you found here first, to determine if we need to bring in reinforcements and cordon off a crime scene," Callahan replied.

"Let's go on up there and do a preliminary search, then we can determine if we need to bring in the Reno Sheriff's crime scene unit," Hotchner decided, heading over to the SUV.

They parked short of the trees, wanting to preserve the tire tracks, then walked well above the stand of trees and tiny creek that happily burbled through them. Keeping the kill site in view, they carefully scanned for footprints and debris as they approached the most logical observation points.

"Hotch, I have something," Kate called over to the boss, gesturing for him to join her.

"What is it?" he inquired as he came to her side.

"Looks like one of our unsubs is a smoker," she grinned, indicating four cigarette butts snubbed out in the soft desert sand. The spot was well hidden, but still allowed for a good view of the road, including the area where Morgan and Reid had probably been taken.

"Good job. See if you can bag them without disturbing the scene too much and I'll check in with Rossi, see if Adams can spare a CSI team to go over this," Aaron requested, turning away and pulling out his cell phone.

Taking two carefully placed steps toward the cigarette butts, Kate was able to extract each of them, bagging them individually, and back out using the same steps. Hotch was just closing his cell when she joined him, holding the four bags aloft with a grin. "Got 'em."

"Great, let's head in. Adams is going to send a CSI team right away, and Dave has good progress on the stabbings. He and JJ are standing by so we can meet and plan our next steps," Hotch said, hurrying to the SUV and climbing behind the wheel. He barely allowed enough time for Callahan to take her seat before he turned the black vehicle around and sped down the dirt road toward civilization.

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Spencer was once again sitting on a weight machine bench, his blue tank top drenched in sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. They finished the strength testing before moving on to endurance, and he'd just completed a five mile run. Aisha approached, handing him a paper cup of water.

"Thank you," he gasped, downing most of the contents in one long pull.

"Hey, slower, or you'll be cleaning up your puke," she warned shaking her head at him.

"Yes, ma'am. Well, how bad is it?" he asked.

"Bad. No strength, sucky endurance. What were you? A librarian or something?" she wondered in exasperation.

"No, actually, I'm an FBI agent," he informed her, finishing the water.

"In your dreams, maybe," she scoffed.

Spencer favored her with one of his small smiles. "They didn't hire me for my physical abilities."

"What did they hire you for?"

"I have three PhD's, an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read 20,000 words per minute."

"Hate to tell you this, but that ain't gonna help you any here. That fella you came in with? He's got a much better chance," Aisha told him with a wry look.

"Then I'll have to call on what I learned as a twelve year old senior in a Las Vegas public High School; be invisible. And when that doesn't work; endure."

The young woman gave him a warm smile, shaking her head slightly. "This means I have to train you in how to maximize the training for those who are actually fighting in the contests. How to minimize your injuries. I'm actually sorry, Spencer, I'd hoped you'd test out better." She shook her head, as if to dispel her thoughts, and then spoke in her usual businesslike manner. "Those in training have chores. Normally you and your friend would be doing facility cleanup, but a couple of newer arrivals are being punished with that, so you got lucky and were assigned to assist in the kitchen. Come, it is time to go," she announced.

"Aisha, how long have you been here?" he asked softly as they headed toward the door.

"I think about three months. But in all honesty, it feels like forever."

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Hotch and Kate hurried into the Reno Sheriff's office, seeing Dave, JJ and Adams in the conference room conversing quietly around the table, which was covered in assorted files. Joining them, the conversation came to an end as Rossi spoke in the sudden silence.

"They'd gotten there?" he asked.

"It appears so. I found a dart at the kill site, and Kate has some cigarette butts from where it appears the shooters were hiding. JJ, contact the local FBI satellite office and find out where and how for the fastest DNA and chemical analysis please. Dave, what did you find out on our serial killer?" Hotch asked, handing the five evidence bags to JJ, who hurried out with them.

"All five of our victims used the same barber, and his coworkers confirmed that four of the victims either complained to the owner about him or stiffed him on a tip or both. The fifth one they didn't recognize, but there are times he works the place alone. The suspect's name is Ernest Valdivia, a native of Reno, forty seven years old. Minor record with the PD; couple DUI's, a trio of domestic disturbance calls. Boss and coworkers describe him as okay to work with when he's in a good mood, but difficult when things don't go his way. Quick temper. And carries a grudge. Once he's mad at you, he stays mad, despite any overtures."

"Any idea of customers he's currently complaining about?"

"He has been angry about one or two, but they don't know the names, just the faces. We did get a copy of his appointment list, and Garcia is compiling driver's license photos to match the names, then we can go back and see if that jogs any memories. Adams here has officers standing by, along with support from the local PD, to protect potential targets," Dave reported as Sheriff Adams nodded his agreement. "She said she'd have the photos to us within the hour. She is also doing a deeper background on Valdivia."

"That's great, Dave. I didn't see anything special about the kill site, but then again, I was more looking for signs of Morgan and Reid." He held up his right hand, forefinger extended as he pulled out his cell phone. He punched in the code and hit the speaker function.

"Garcia, you're on speaker," he said into the small device.

"Sir! Did you find any sign of our boys?" she asked anxiously.

"Nothing definite yet. We found some evidence, but need DNA and chemical analysis before we can say for sure."

"Oh, I can't stand this," the tech said, her distress evident over the phone. "They just have to be okay."

"Let's not borrow trouble, Garcia. In the meantime, can you do one more thing on the case? You have the coordinates for the kill site, right?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do some digging, see if that location has ANY connection to Valdivia," he requested.

"I'm on it. Please tell Rossi to check his inbox in five minutes, he'll have the photos he'd requested. And, please, Sir, let me know as soon as you have any news on Derek and Spencer?"

"I promise, Garcia, you'll be the first person I call." He closed his cell gently then sat down wearily.

JJ was still gone, and Adams and Kate had both departed for personal reasons, leaving Hotch alone with his older friend. The two shared a worried look before Rossi spoke gently.

"We'll find them, Aaron. We have to. And I'm feeling hopeful the original case will be finished quickly. Oh, and Adams said he'd provide any assistance and personnel needed to search for Morgan and Reid. We aren't alone out here."

"Adams is a good man, I appreciate his support," Hotch replied. Before he could say anything else, JJ hurried in accompanied by Kate.

"The agent at the local office just came by to get the samples," JJ reported. "He's going to personally fly them to the Las Vegas main office and stay until the information has been processed and he has results. Seems he went to one of the lectures you and Reid gave last year," she said, smiling at Rossi. "Spence spent some time with him afterwards, and he was impressed. Guess you never know when putting in some extra effort will pay off, right?"

"Great," Rossi agreed, distracted by a beep from his phone. "Ah, Garcia has come through with the pictures. You ready to go see our friends at the Eastside Barber shop?" he asked the blonde woman.

"Absolutely." JJ agreed with a nod and grabbing her jacket as they headed out. "Sooner we finish this, the sooner we can concentrate on finding Derek and Spence."

To Be Continued


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Notes: First off, thank you to all who have read this little tale, I appreciate you all. However, don't expect me to do two chapters a day again any time soon. This was an exception. And a very special thank you to Goldspy for the info on FBI Forensics labs…I researched if there was a _Reno_ office of the FBI, but not the Forensics Labs. So, to facilitate the story as I want it to go, I created a fix for that. I appreciated the info very much. The assorted stats for kidnappings in the various states is fully fictional...I have no idea how to find such specific details and if I tried searching it I'd probably trip some sort of monitoring program and end up being a guest of the FBI for real. K_

Part 3

Aisha led Spencer to the food preparation area, a huge commercial kitchen, surprisingly modern and spotlessly clean. An obese dark haired man stood in the middle of the area issuing orders to workers in various colored shirts who scurried around energetically. Aisha called out to the man to get his attention.

"Silas. This is a newbie, assigned to help here," she reported, urging Spencer forward before retreating out the way she came. "I'll be back for you in two hours," she told him just before ducking back out the doors.

"Newbies!" the man spat in disgust. "Get over there and help that moron," he ordered, pointing to a far corner where Morgan sat surrounded by bags of potatoes.

Spencer simply nodded before hastening over and sitting down on the other low stool provided. Morgan glanced up, his frown immediately smoothing out to a look of relief at the sight of Reid.

"You okay Kid?" asked with a searching look at the younger man.

"For the time being, yes," Spencer replied, picking up a potato peeler from a nearby counter and grabbing a potato. "How about you?" His nimble fingers made quick work of neatly peeling the potato.

"Great. Tomorrow I get to start learning all the ways I can maim or kill other victims of whatever the hell this is," Morgan grumbled, peeling energetically if not particularly well.

"Morgan, you are taking off more potato than skin there," Spencer noted quietly. "Let's not give that giant over there a reason to shock you, okay?"

Derek huffed out an exasperated breath, but slowed down the pace enough to be more efficient. "Right. Got it. It's just….I hate feeling so powerless."

"Can you….I don't know….slow down your learning?" Reid wondered.

"Not really, my trainer isn't the sort who will be easy to fool. Plus, if I do that and get caught, he's in trouble too."

"You have a chance to find out anything about him?" the younger man asked very quietly.

Morgan glanced around to be sure no one else was close. "Yeah. He's a Karate instructor. He and his wife were grabbed from their morning jog near Medford Oregon about a year ago. The wife only survived a couple of months. Lance thinks he's about the longest timer here. It sucks, man. When he lets his guard down, you see it. Victim's eyes. They just don't sit well on such a powerful man," Derek sighed. After a moment he spoke again quietly. "How about your gal?"

Reid quickly related Aisha's story, and her assessment of his abilities. "So tomorrow I get to start learning how to be a target, it seems. Funny, thought I already knew that," he quipped in an attempt to lighten the mood just a bit.

"Reid, you learn everything she teaches you!" Derek instructed intently, leaning closer to his friend. "You do everything she says! If she's lived three months as a practice target, she knows what to do. Remember, we must keep alive if the team is to find us. No matter what."

"Yeah, but at what cost? Killing other innocents?" Reid's eyes clearly showed his horror at the thought.

"Reid, you can't approach it that way. Look, it's survival time now. You take it day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute if you have to. Whatever it takes so when Hotch and Rossi and JJ and Kate storm this place they find two living agents to rescue. We owe it to them to survive. You owe it to your mom, I owe it to my mama and sisters. I owe it to Savannah," he added more quietly, his eyes distant and sad. "Survival is our job at the moment."

Spencer considered his older friend carefully, considering what he'd said and didn't say. Reid wondered if thoughts of Buford crossed Morgan's mind while he was speaking. If simply surviving minute to minute is how Derek survived the atrocities visited upon him by a man he trusted in his youth. Forcing his mind away from those disquieting thoughts, Spencer spoke solemnly. "I'll do what I have to do to survive, I promise."

"Good. Oh, hey, you were right, by the way. According to Lance this place is wired all over for sound, though probably safe speaking softly in places like this with lots of background noise. And for visual in most of the public areas. He doesn't know anything at all about the so-called 'providers', but he is familiar with the Star Trek episode. Pisses him off, actually," Morgan reported with a small grin for his friend.

"Yeah, there's something wrong in creating something so evil from something so….harmless," Reid agreed, flinching back when Silas appeared suddenly.

"That's enough potatoes for tonight, get over there and assist Six Thirty Seven with the vegetables," he ordered, indicating a blonde woman in a red top.

Both men nodded silently and hurried to the indicated prep table, grateful they'd had the chance to speak freely, however briefly.

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Hotch was restlessly pacing the conference room while he awaited information from all sides, it seemed. Rossi and JJ were back interviewing the barbers where their suspect, Ernest Valdivia worked. Kate was on the phone with the CSI group going over the area where they suspected the shooter or shooters had been waiting. Garcia was working on the kill site history in relation to the suspect. Only Hotch himself had nothing particularly important to do.

He glanced up to see Rossi and JJ hurrying in his direction, joined by Kate a few feet before the door. The door knob turned just as his cell phone went off, with the display showing Garcia's name. He held up his hand to the trio just entering the room and answered the call.

"Garcia, you're on speaker. Did you find anything?" he asked tersely.

"Don't I always? Don't answer that. Okay, yeah, not under Valdivia's name, but his mom was a Buckner before she married Raul Valdivia. A Buckner as in Harvey Buckner, who made a fortune in the stock market then invested it in a thriving chain of gyms in California during the health crazy early 80's. He sold them for an even larger fortune and retired to the High Sierra to live out his life in splendor. That particular spot where the bodies have been found is where his daughter, Gloria Buckner was to have a home built for her. But she fell for Raul, and daddy disinherited her. The old man knew how to hold a grudge, that's for certain. Even after she divorced Raul he refused any contact with Gloria or her son. Gloria turned to alcohol to cope, it appears, given her death from cirrhosis at forty-six. My guess would be that little Ernest was Mommy's audience whenever she needed to vent about her father's treatment. Just a guess, of course. When old Harvey died he left his entire estate –greatly reduced, by the way, thanks to a fondness for gambling - to his sister's only daughter. She's sold off most of it, but that particular area she still owns, about twenty acres. Not sure why she's hanging on to it, maybe waiting for the market to improve," Garcia concluded.

"Any idea if Ernest and the niece have ever had contact?"

"The niece, Bridgett, has lived her entire life in Maine. She was born with muscular dystrophy, she doesn't travel. At least I find no record of it."

"Thanks, Garcia," Aaron said, starting to close his phone, only to stop as Garcia called out to him.

"Still no word?" she asked anxiously. "I know you promised to call and all, but you've been busy so…"

"Nothing yet, Garcia," Hotch replied.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Hotch considered it carefully. "Start a search of missing persons taken from remote locations such as hiking trails or paths frequented by joggers. Cases where two or more are taken. Men and/or women. Unsolved. Look for them in Nevada, California, Oregon, Utah and Arizona for now. I'll check back with you later on that."

"I can do that, Sir, I can do that. Thank you," she babbled as she hung up. Aaron allowed a small smile for the woman who thought of the whole team as her family, then turned to the rest of the team.

"Rossi?" he prompted.

"We may have him, especially in light of Garcia's findings. The barbers identified four potential victims, and Adams already has teams going to each of them. The plan is to put the folks up in a motel and officers will take the place of the targets. One of Adams' undercover guys has eyes on Valdivia, by the way. He's in the Atlantis Casino enjoying quite the losing streak it appears. If things go our way we will settle this in the next three to five hours," the dark eyed agent reported with considerable satisfaction.

"Good news, thank you," he said to Rossi and JJ, then turned to Kate. "What does the CSI team have to say?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. They did determine that it appears there were two men, waiting in separate locations. Close enough to communicate. They found no shell casings, no other debris, but indentions in the sand indicate they had rifles they rested against nearby bushes, and their shoes are sturdy hiking boots. They took plaster casts of the footprints and the tire tracks, but it's not likely to be especially helpful," the team's newest member reported.

"Any word from the agent at the local FBI satellite office?" Hotch asked.

"Just spoke to him," JJ replied, looking at her notes. "He is still in Las Vegas, and the samples are all being run, so it's a matter of wait and see. He said the Las Vegas office has a…hmmmm…casual working relationship with a fully functional private lab capable of testing and tracking DNA and doing the chemical analysis we need. Given the circumstances they called upon that to facilitate getting the answers we need. As it turns out, the tech there had known Reid back in high school, and promised to stay on duty until they either get results or all options have been exhausted. Spence apparently gets around," she smiled fondly.

"Who'd a thunk it?" Rossi grinned.

"Given the status, I think we need to focus on the Valdivia case for the moment. I want reports from all the undercover teams every fifteen minutes, and confirmation the actual potential victims are safe," Hotch ordered.

The group quickly dispersed to carry out the orders, anxious to be able to put 100% focus on finding their friends. Hotch watched them go enviously, and then removed his cell to make the call he didn't want to make.

Cruz.

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Morgan shifted restlessly on the thin pallet in his cell, then glanced across the corridor at his friend, who was still sitting up on his 'bed' staring at the floor of his cell.

"Hey, Reid, you need to try and get some sleep," Morgan advised him quietly. "Tomorrow is going to come soon enough."

"I know. It's always hard for me to sleep in a new place, and let's face it, this 'new place' isn't exactly inviting," Reid sighed, lying down on the pallet.

"I know. Don't you have any tricks to help you sleep?"

"Sure. Reading. Got any books on you?" the younger man asked with unusual venom.

"Hey, we're together in this, Reid," Morgan reminded him sternly.

Spencer let out a deep sigh. "I know. I'm…I'm sorry, Derek. It's…it's….good night," he sighed again, rolling to his right side and curling up some under the ratty blanket.

"It's what, Kid? What's brewing in that noggin of yours?" Derek prompted him.

"I don't see how the team is going to be able to figure this out," Spencer confessed at last. "Those guys weren't after us, we just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Look at all the people here, even just the ones we saw. That's lots and lots of missing persons, and they've not been found either. And Lance was in Oregon, Aisha in California and we were in Nevada, so it's multi state. We don't even know what state we are in now. I just can't see how they will be able to find enough to track us down," he concluded, closing his eyes.

"Hey, we work with the best. They WILL find us. They will. Those guys who grabbed us, they didn't appear to be rocket scientists, they probably left clues behind, they will find the shooter's location and find something to track us with. And didn't you pull the dart from your neck? Those idiots probably left it there. That's enough to get a start. Penelope will find some sort of common denominator. This is what they do. What WE do," Morgan concluded with fire in his eyes. "Don't you dare give up on our team or on us."

There was a pause, then Reid spoke softly. "Garcia's probably already compiling lists of all multi victim unsolved kidnappings in remote areas," he noted, an absent smile on his face. "Creating charts and graphs of when and where and how often…" he trailed off.

"Yep, no one does data like my Baby Girl," Morgan agreed happily.

"Thank you, Derek, you gave me my talisman to let me try to sleep," Reid said sincerely. "Thank you."

Derek closed his eyes, the image of Penelope in his mind, giving him peace and hope, and slowly the discomfort faded and deep sleep came.

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The call came at 10:56pm. "We got him," Deputy Stephen McCay announced happily. "Son of a bitch climbed in the window and hit the mannequin in the bed with a tire iron."

"Make sure everything is done by the book," Hotch advised. "And good job, I'm glad he was stopped before any more lives were lost."

"Well, I may lose my life tomorrow when Janet sees the damage to her mannequin," McCay laughed, referring to the fiery owner of a local boutique who had agreed to loan the Sherriff's Office some mannequins to set up the sting.

Hotch chuckled at that comment, then added. "I'm sure she'll agree it was for a good cause." He closed his cell and turned to the team.

"Look, it's too late to do anything further tonight, so let's head to the motel and get some rest and start early tomorrow," he advised, knowing the team wouldn't like the idea much.

"We can at least check with Garcia, see if she's figured anything out," JJ suggested.

"JJ, it's almost two in the morning at home. I think it's safe to say Garcia should be home in bed," he told her firmly. "Come on, all of you. We can't be at our best for Morgan and Reid if we are asleep on our feet."

There was some minor grumbling, but they all knew at least intellectually, that Hotch was right. Still, it didn't seem right to go back to a comfortable motel room when their two friends were out there somewhere going through who knew what.

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Garcia was not in bed, but at the airport waiting for her flight to be announced. Shortly after her last call from Agent Hotchner her office door opened to admit Section Chief Cruz. The blonde tech looked at him with an odd guilty look before stammering out a greeting.

"Good evening, Sir. What brings you down here?"

"I just received a call from Agent Hotchner regarding two missing agents: Morgan and Reid. You are gathering data for him?" he asked.

"Yes sir. Hotch asked me to compile lists of similar unsolved kidnappings in California, Nevada, Arizona, Utah, and Oregon. I'm doing them by state, currently I'm doing California, which is still compiling," she reported.

"It would probably be more efficient if you were on site to assist, wouldn't it?" he suggested.

She looked up at him slightly open mouthed. "I…I certainly think it would be, yes Sir."

"I don't have a private plane available this time, so commercial will have to do," he informed her. "I'll have my assistant find you a flight."

"Uh, Sir," she said hesitantly, minimizing some of her screens to show an airline home page. "I found a flight leaving in three hours. Best I could find." She waited anxiously for his response.

"Send the link to my assistant and she'll take care of it. Why don't you bring in that fellow you work so well with? Lynch, is it?" he suggested mildly.

"Kevin? Sure, that's a good idea. I'll get him in here and…" before she could finish, Kevin waked through the door.

"Hey, Pen, I'm here to the rescue," he announced jauntily, before noticing Cruz's presence. "Oops."

Cruz gave in to the laugh that had been brewing since he first walked in the door.

"Clearly we are all on the same page. Since we have a few minutes, what have you found so far?" he asked as Kevin came up to his side, also obviously curious.

"Okay, well, I did Nevada first since that's where they are and were Derek and Spencer were, and I haven't had a chance to really research the historical figures, but these do seem awful high. I found 83 kidnappings in the past two years, with 204 total victims. And that's considering I specified kidnappings from remote areas," she announced.

"Pen, you ever been to Nevada? The whole state is a 'remote area'. Outside of Las Vegas and Reno, it's like endless miles of…nothing. HUGE stretches of remote nothingness," Lynch informed her.

"Even so, Kevin, look at this. It's like a listing of every one horse town in the entire state," she noted, showing them the list filtered by town. "This just doesn't look right."

"That is pretty weird, I have to agree. Look, why don't you get ready for your trip, and I'll stay here and take care of the kids," he joked, indicating the computers and monitors. "I'll run the other searches and do what I can to refine the data. Set your phone to forward here in case Agent Hotchner calls," Kevin suggested kindly.

"That sounds like a solid plan to me. I'll have my assistant email your confirmation to your phone," Cruz agreed, turning to leave.

"Sir? Thank you Sir," Penelope said with shining eyes.

"Help bring our agents home safe," he ordered, closing the door behind him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Garcia flopped back in her chair. "Whew, I was sure I was going to be fired. That man is … well, he is. Look, let me go over this real quick before I go," she said, nodding her approval when Kevin pulled up the extra chair and took out a notepad.

"So, this is what Hotch wanted…."

To be Continued


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

Morgan leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat from his eyes with a small towel. He'd been training since right after the morning meal, with only a brief break for lunch and a few short breaks when he needed to catch his breath. Endlessly cycling between weight training, running, and lessons in all the assorted weapons. Lance was a tireless taskmaster, but still an incredibly efficient teacher. Most of the weapons were 'safe' versions: plastic blades, hollow staffs, whips made of paper. Morgan was very grateful for that; had the weapons been real he wouldn't have survived to lunch.

"It may not seem like it, but you're doing incredibly well," Lance commented, sitting down at Derek's side. "I'm going to assume you have no experience in weapons of this nature?"

"You have that right. Fists and guns are my usual weapons of choice," Morgan agreed. "Sure I've seen these kinds of things in movies or TV shows, it always looked so…easy."

"The magic of filmmaking," Lance grinned. "It's much harder than it looks, as you are finding out. And so much of it is up here," he added, tapping his forefinger against his temple. "Fights are won here, first and foremost."

"Heh, then maybe they missed the mark with Reid. Up here," he continued, tapping his own forehead. "Up here, he's ten times what I am. Don't get me wrong, I'm not stupid, but Reid, he's a freaking genius."

"Ah, but from what you've indicated, and from what I heard, the communication between here," he tapped his head again. "And here," tapping his arm. "Isn't all that good. That's where you have him beat. I've tried to train some incredibly strong, athletic men, but they couldn't get the mental part. When I taught Karate, I had some students – several in fact – who were genius level intelligence but could not even correctly do a simple Kata. You have to have both: smarts and coordination."

"Right now I feel about a coordinated as a three day old puppy," Derek complained. "And here I had thought I was in good shape."

Lance chuckled. "Well, there's shape, and then there's SHAPE. However, you will be relieved to know we are done for the day. Me, I get to go rest for a while. You, well….you get to go help out in the kitchen again."

Morgan groaned theatrically, trying to ignore the wave of affection he felt for this man who under different circumstances he probably would have called 'friend'. "Hmph, something else they missed the mark on. If they'd ever tasted my cooking they'd keep me far away from the kitchen."

"Look at it this way, at least you'll get to see your friend. I know full well you've been worrying about him, spent your entire lunch trying to spot him in the cafeteria," the trainer noted with a wry look. "The lower level eats after we do. The fighters are always given preferential treatment."

"You could have told me that then," Derek griped without malice.

"I could have. But I wanted to see how worry about your friend would affect your training," the other man explained.

"Why?"

"Because in a day or two you will be moving out of the cells you are in and in with the 'general population', so to speak. And you two will not see each other much after that. You'll be in the fighters' area, and Reid in the other area for targets and workers. You might see him at breakfast, but won't be allowed to sit with him, that's against the rules. And you may encounter him in training fights. You need to prepare for that and accept it," Lance explained as gently as he could.

"Why? This makes no sense," Morgan argued, his breath quickening with his distress.

"Actually, strategically it does make sense. They did the same thing to me and my wife. She was a runner, but not particularly strong and quite small. So I do understand how you feel, but it's going to happen. You need to deal with it, and make sure your friend knows what is coming as well. And I do suppose I should let you know what is happening tomorrow afternoon," he added reluctantly.

"What's happening tomorrow afternoon?" Morgan asked suspiciously.

"You and Reid will see your first contest. It's a free style, two against two, weapons choice by lottery."

"Okay, I'll warn Reid, just in case Aisha hasn't told him. Thanks, Lance," the FBI agent replied slowly.

"That's another thing, you need to forget names. I'm One Twenty. You and Reid will be assigned your designations probably tomorrow, and if you want to avoid feeling the collar, remember to use them!" Lance ordered sternly.

"Right. Got it," Morgan sighed, suddenly weary as he climbed back to his feet.

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

'You'll make it, Derek."

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Aaron Hotchner had insisted the BAU team have a full breakfast before returning to the Sheriff's office to resume work on finding their missing friends. JJ in particular glared at the team leader when he herded them to the hotel's restaurant, but he ignored her anger. He'd fought his own urge to call Garcia the moment his eyes were open, knowing if the tech had any information she would have called already.

It was almost ten when they walked in to the Sheriff's office and took seats around the table, their attention on Hotch.

"Okay, I'll call Garcia now and see what she has so far, then JJ I want you to call your local office contact and get an update on the testing. Then we will hopefully have a direction," he explained as he punched in the number for Garcia.

"Penelope's office," came the distinctly masculine voice over Hotch's phone.

"Lynch?"

"Yes, Sir. Kevin Lynch here. Pen should be at the Reno airport in about 15 minutes last time I checked the ETA on her flight. Sir." Aaron could practically see him fidgeting in his mind.

"Why is she coming here?" he asked.

"Uh, Section Chief Cruz felt she would be more helpful on site, I'm coordinating with her from here," the dark haired tech explained.

"Send information on the airline and flight number to Callahan's cell, she'll pick her up. And stand by to present a full report as soon as she's here," Hotch ordered.

"Absolutely. Will do. Sir." The line went dead.

"Sometimes that young man makes me fidget just listening to him," Rossi commented wryly.

"Kate, please go to the airport and pick up Garcia, you should have the information by the time you get there," Aaron requested. "JJ, go ahead and make your call. Dave, let's clear off the boards here so we have room to work with."

It looked like it was going to be a long day.

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Morgan was once again directed to the corner of the kitchen where more bags of potatoes awaited peeling. Grateful to be sitting down, he grabbed a peeler and set to work, glancing to the entrance periodically in anticipation of Reid's arrival. It was nearly forty five minutes before the younger man limped in and collapsed on the other stool.

"What the hell happened to you?" Morgan demanded sotto voice.

"Being a target is easy, getting out of the way is not," he replied with a sigh. "It's high school all over again."

"Reid, this isn't funny!" Morgan was aghast at his friend's condition. Reid had a vicious bruise on his upper left arm and a small cut surrounded by bruising on his left cheek.

"Have I ever indicated that I found high school fun?" Spencer asked wearily. "I honestly don't find any of this particularly humorous."

"What happened? You and your trainer sounded like you hit it off. Why did she do…this…to you?"

"She didn't. That leather bound behemoth we met the first day decided to check on our training. Apparently he didn't feel she was being tough enough, spent an hour or so showing her the 'right' way to train. I did notice something, though," Reid commented.

"What's that?"

"He's not wearing a collar. Even the head slave handler in the Star Trek episode wore a collar of obedience. That guy doesn't. I'm thinking that means he's more of a regular bad guy, not an innocent person being forced to behave a particular way. Even Silas over there is collared," he nodded toward the head cook.

"Good point. Maybe we can find a way to use that. Look, Kid, I found some stuff out today," Morgan began, leaning toward his friend. "Tomorrow we'll have to watch one of their contests. And…possibly as soon as tomorrow we will be sent to permanent quarters. Separately," he reported.

Reid's half smile was rueful and a bit sad. "I had figured that. You're a fighter, the elite. Aisha is doing well letting me know how things work. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I'm not the one being trained to fight with lethal intent."

"Elite, huh?" Morgan grinned. "If you'd seen some of my so-called 'moves' today you'd change your mind."

Spencer held his arms out to the side, a peeler in one hand, a potato in the other. "Do I look like I was having a graceful day," he smiled back. "Like you said last night, we just have to survive."

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Penelope bustled into the conference room in a swirl of bright colors and cheerful greetings, pushing some files aside to allow room to set up her laptop.

"Let me just get this set up and we can see what the scans came up with," she said, sitting down and typing energetically. "Any news?"

"Yes," JJ said coming into the room with a triumphant smile. "Sorry it took so long, I wanted to be sure the faxes all made it through. Their machine is a bit dated. But the good news we got a DNA match on the cigarette butts," she announced.

"And our mystery guest is?" Garcia prompted her, fingers poised over the keys.

"Charles Landshaw of Elko Nevada."

"Well, let's see what Chuckie's records have to say. Oh, he appears to be a delight," Penelope smirked, bringing up a picture of a scowling Landshaw in a two year old mug shot. "Ah, we have four arrests for fighting, three DUI's, one weapons charge and six domestic violence calls. Wife filed for divorce nine months ago, and his last employment was at a mine, over a year ago. Hmmm…wonder how he's paying his bills, there's no employment record and he's not getting unemployment or Social Security. He's the registered owner of several hunting rifles. I'll do some digging and see what I can uncover," Penelope told them, making a couple of notes on her pad.

"They also got the DNA from the dart," JJ added quietly. Looking around at the expectant faces she sighed sadly. "It's Spence's."

"Were they able to identify any chemical from it?" Rossi asked.

"Yeah, it appears it is kind of a designer mix, they sent a list of the individual chemicals. The composition doesn't match any known commercial sedative." She handed him a list from the sheets that had been faxed over.

"Okay, Garcia, get Lynch on the line, I'd like to see what the searches turned up," Hotch requested.

A quick flurry of keystrokes and a decidedly scruffy looking Kevin appeared on the laptop screen.

"Oh, hey, good to see you guys," he greeted them self-consciously. "Glad you made it there okay," he added looking at Garcia.

"Me too. What were you able to determine from those scans?" She smiled at her ex fondly.

"Well, let's start with Nevada again. Last night you noted that there were 83 kidnappings in two years, with 204 victims. But, I looked at each twelve month period individually, and wow…major weird. In the older twelve month period there were 14 kidnappings with 34 victims. So that means in the last twelve months there have been a whopping 69 kidnappings with 170 victims total. That's insane, man," Kevin reported, getting more into it as he spoke.

"How did no one notice this?" JJ asked, turning to the others.

"Glad you asked," Lynch replied. "Probably because it's happened in pretty much every town, but so spread out that it really wouldn't be noticeable until or unless you are looking for it. I started to try to map them by date, and it was crazy. First one was in Wellington, then in McDermott then Ely then Reno…um, really, you need a map for it to make sense."

"You have all the reports ready to go?" Hotch asked.

"I do. And now you all should have them in your inbox. I separated them by state and by twelve month period. Each state had the same spike in kidnappings in the past twelve months, though none quite as severe as Nevada. So that got me thinking, and I analyzed the increase in the surrounding states, and the spikes are primarily in northern California, southern Oregon, and western Utah. As a bonus I checked out southern Idaho and found a spike there, too. Arizona not so much, really. And the Nevada activity is much, much stronger in the Northern area. You guys could actually be in the epicenter, so to speak," Kevin concluded.

"Good work, Lynch. Now, go get some sleep. We'll take it from here," Hotch said, holding up a hand when the younger man started to speak. "It's obvious you worked through the night. Rest. We will call you if we need you. And thank you."

"Just…let me know, okay?" Kevin asked with atypical seriousness.

"We will," Garcia assured him warmly. Kevin nodded then the screen went dark.

Hotch stood for a moment in thought, then turned to the tech first. "Garcia, I need you to get all the data you can on Landshaw, history, associates, anything that might help us find him. Then search for suppliers of the chemicals on that dart, see if you can find a supplier who recognizes Landshaw perhaps. So start around Elko,"

"On it, Sir."

"Dave, you and Kate do what Kevin suggested, map out the kidnappings, see if you can find a pattern. JJ, you and I will head to Elko, maybe we can locate Landshaw. Time is of the essence, people. Garcia, send the data you find on Landshaw to us as soon as you have it. Let's hit the road."

JJ made no comment as she grabbed her coat and followed her boss out the door.

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"Ugh, small towns!" Garcia grumbled as she pushed the disconnect button on her cell and set it down. "And this is one of those times I really wish I had an old fashioned phone I could actually hang up!" She added.

"Frustrated, are you?" Rossi asked facetiously.

"I found out the chemicals on the dart are a combination of things that can be purchased without a prescription, some from pharmacies, some from feed stores or veterinary supply places. But none of the ones I've called will talk to me. They want to see my badge, or their fax machine is broken or the one grumpy old gal who threatened to back trace my number and tell my mother!"

Kate couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped at that last one.

"Well, the jokes on them. If they won't talk to me, then they can talk to Agent Hotchner." Her nimble fingers flew over the keyboard as she sent all the information to JJ's phone with a satisfied look. "They will probably get better results anyway. So what are you kids doing?" she asked the two agents.

"We took Kevin's reports, and combined Nevada – northern Nevada – with the other portions of the surrounding states and are mapping by date the cases," Rossi explained, indicating the map of the western states.

"Oh, my God, that many cases in a year?" Garcia asked in shock.

"A year? No. Not quite. We only have 8 months up so far," Rossi told her as he stuck a post-it arrow on Yosemite National Park. "We may have inadvertently uncovered the most prolific kidnappers in history."

"And they have Derek and Spencer," Garcia added looking stricken.

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Elko Nevada was a small town stretched out over a large area. The sheriff's office was not hard to find, however, and Sheriff Vargas was a big, welcoming man with an open manner.

"What can I do for you folks today?" he asked as he waved the two FBI Agents into his office. "We don't get the FBI up this way much."

"We're looking for this man," Hotch said, showing the sheriff the picture of Landshaw.

"Well, hell, if the FBI was going to come looking for a local, Charlie would have been as good a guess as any," the big man said, shaking his head. "Bad news since the day he took his first steps."

"How do you mean," Hotch asked as he and JJ took seats in the wooden chairs opposite Vargas's desk.

"If there was trouble to get into, Charlie could find it. He's not an evil sort, I'd say, but not real bothered if what he does doesn't fit the definition of legal. I guess you could almost say criminally lazy. Always wanting the easy money, the no-work job. Add in a fondness for beer and a quick temper and he's had his problems over the years."

"Do you know where he lives? Who he hangs around with? Where he works?"

"He was renting a place over on 4th Street from Sadie McMurry. I think she kicked him out a while back, though. She may know where he went, but she won't be home until 5:45 or so, works in Wells," Vargas said. "Charlie doesn't work far as I know, and as for pals, well, he's usually hanging around with George Wilkes, and last I heard George was living in his van wherever he found to park it. Sorry, I can't be more help, but small burgs like this, we have our Charlies and Georges – folks you don't really want to see, so you don't see them. Give me some time and I'll ask my deputies, call them at home if I need to, to see what they know."

"I'd appreciate that Sheriff. In the meantime, we need to stop by the feed store and pharmacy, see if Landshaw or…Wilkes?...has been buying some particular chemicals. We can meet back here a little after five to meet Charlie's landlady?"

"That sounds like a plan Agent Hotchner. Can I ask what it is you think our two miscreants have done?" Vargas asked.

"We are investigating a string of kidnappings," Hotch informed him. "Where the victims were shot with tranquilizer darts."

"Damn." He huffed out a breath, considering. "See you around 5 then."

As the two agents walked toward their SUV Hotchner came to a decision and pulled out his phone.

"Dave? Look, we may have some leads here, but by the time we track them down it's going to be late. We'll get a room here, that way if we need to check out any other communities out this way we are in position. How's it going on that end?" He listened quietly for a few moments while JJ watched anxiously from the other side of the SUV.

"Okay, keep going on that. Oh, could you have Garcia run information on a George Wilkes of Elko, and send the data to our phones. Thanks, we'll see you tomorrow," he said, closing the phone.

"They are tracking the path of the kidnappings, and Garcia is getting detailed reports on each one to try to develop a profile. Let's go see if we can find out who is buying chemicals."

To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

"Man, I can't remember the last time I felt so stiff and sore," Morgan complained, trying to find a comfortable, or at least less painful, position on his pallet. "I've got sore muscles where I didn't know I had muscles."

"Well, I'll trade you your sore muscles for my bruises," Reid countered absently.

"Sorry, Kid, guess I shouldn't complain."

Spencer waived off the apology, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Morgan waited for Reid to speak up, but when he didn't the older agent decided to push it. "What's on your mind, Reid?"

"Oh, just wondering what kind of loser nerd freak would go to such lengths to create all this. I mean, really? Based on a second rate science fiction show from the 60's? And THIS episode? Normal guys, even normal nerds, fixated on Shahna, the buxom, leggy thrall Kirk seduced, not the enslaving of beings to fight like ancient Romans. Don't they know how that turned out historically?" Reid commented.

"Reid, for God's sake!" Morgan hissed at him.

Spencer waived a hand at the other agent, his expression clearly showing he knew what he was doing.

"Look at me, in high school, I was like the King of the Nerds: too smart, too young, too small. But now I'm an FBI agent. I don't have to get my sense of worth from a manufactured world that is nothing but a cheap copy of someone else's creativity. It's really quite pathetic," he concluded, settling down on his pallet and pulling his blanket up. "Good night, Morgan."

Morgan stared at him, realizing the younger man had just effectively issued a challenge to their captors. If it worked he might get a chance to see who was behind all this, information that could prove useful. Or, he could have just signed his own death warrant. "Jesus, Kid," he muttered softly, torn between admiration and fury.

"You damn well better have been right about this."

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"Okay, Dave, I'll give you another hour, then I want the three of you eating dinner and then getting some sleep. If I find out any of you worked all night heads will roll," Hotch ordered before disconnecting the call.

"Please tell me they're having better luck than we are," JJ asked, walking around to the back of the SVU.

"They're assembling all the photos and pertinent details of the kidnappings and trying to determine a pattern if possible," Hotch reported, handing JJ her bag then grabbing his. He'd had the foresight to stop by their motel in Reno and pick up their bags, knowing Elko was four hours away, making a return trip in the same day unlikely.

They had visited the pharmacies and feed store Garcia had sent them, and all three confirmed that Wilkes had purchased some of the chemicals on their list. But they had no further information, and only one clerk had indicated he knew them beyond recognizing them as a customer, but he'd said he broke off contact almost a year before when he got sober and they didn't.

Sheriff Vargas had been true to his word and met them at the office before taking them to meet with Sadie McMurry. She was a sweet faced middle-aged woman who admitted she'd evicted him over a month before.

"He was good about paying his rent, but I saw him coming and going with guns, and I had specifically said I didn't allow any firearms on my property. He went peacefully enough, left the place in good condition. Made me feel a little mean, actually," she told them.

Vargas also told them he'd asked all his deputies about the two men, and they all reported that the pair had been remarkably law abiding recently and none of them knew where they were 'hanging their hats' and the sheriff phrased it. Thanking the man for his efforts, Hotch and JJ had headed back to the motel.

They strode through the lobby, heading toward the elevators and the rooms they had secured earlier. JJ glanced into the good sized casino area on the right, then grabbed Hotchner's arm.

"What?" the team leader said, turning to look at the blonde agent.

"Look over at the bar and tell me what you see," she requested.

Arron surreptitiously glanced over then looked back at JJ. "Unbelievable."

Sitting at the bar was Charles Landshaw, restlessly rolling a drink between his hands. Nodding toward the elevators JJ indicated they needed to continue that way, stopping when they were out of sight.

The pretty agent shrugged out of the tailored black jacket she wore on duty, revealing a semi-sheer cream colored fitted blouse. She handed the jacket to Hotch then tousled her long hair. "I think I need a drink before dinner. Care to join me?"

"I think that's a good idea, but I should change into something more casual, don't you think?" he commented in his serious way.

"Agent Hotchner, did you pack 'casual'?" she asked with a grin.

"I'll see you shortly, give me a couple of minutes" he replied, favoring her with one of his rare smiles. "And JJ, be careful what you say. We want a clean case."

"I'm always careful what I say in a bar," she grinned, turning to leave.

Hotch quickly got on an elevator, punching the third floor and pulling out his cell. Sheriff Vargas had given him his home number earlier, and the big man answered on the second ring. Outlining his plan quickly he secured Vargas's backup then opened his suitcase, grabbing two articles of clothing he always packed but rarely needed. A well-worn pair of jeans and a dark maroon long sleeved button down. Changing quickly he headed to the casino to back up JJ.

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"Okay, folks, we only have another hour," Rossi announced after speaking to Hotch.

"How did they do?" Kate asked.

"Nothing definitive. " Rossi reported.

"It'll take less than an hour to print out the rest of the victim profiles, unless Kev has to leave?" Garcia turned it into a question.

"No way, man, I'm here until you say we're done," Lynch reported over Penelope's laptop.

"Okay, then, where were we?" Rossi asked, sitting back and watching Callahan and Garcia pin up printouts that featured pictures, ages, location and dates. Even though each individual kidnapping was reduced to one sheet nearly every inch of wall space was covered by the time they were finished. The huge map of the western states was liberally dotted with post-it arrows coded for specific months.

"Okay, so what are we seeing here?" Dave asked at last as the final sheet was pinned up. "I think Hotch was right, we need some rest to process all this. Kevin," he started, speaking toward the laptop via which he other tech had communicated, "go home. Rest. Call us tomorrow morning." He turned to the two female FBI employees. "Dinner ladies?" he asked graciously.

"How can we eat knowing they are still out there?" Garcia wondered, gesturing with frustration.

"They need us at the top of our game, and we can't be there is we are exhausted and hungry," Rossi explained patiently. "Shut everything down, lock the door, and walk away. That's how we can best help them."

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JJ walked up to the bar, making a show of checking out everyone around before telling the bartender "A longneck please."

She took a long pull from the frosty beer, glancing around the bar as if looking for someone.

"What's a total babe like you doing in a place like this?" Landshaw asked, sitting on the stool beside her and eyeing her assets with obvious appreciation.

JJ considered the suspect, choosing her words carefully. "I'd been told this is the place to go to meet new friends," she replied.

"Friends, huh? I can be a friend," he offered.

"Well, there are friends, and then there are 'friends'," she replied, trying not to stare at the sight of Agent Hotchner dressed in jeans and a button down sitting at the bar a few seats down. "And I'm particular. I like friends who can afford to show me a good time, you know?"

"Oh, no worries there, Babe. I have a sweet money making deal like you would not believe. Five, six hours of work that is more like pleasure, and I'm set for a week or more. Just finished a job that paid a little extra, so I am sit-tin pret-ty," he told her in a singsong manner. "So, what do you have to offer me?" he asked, his gaze firmly south of her face.

"Well, I think you can see what I have to offer. Besides friendship, of course," she demurred.

"I think we can be GOOD friends," Landshaw professed, putting one meaty hand on the back of JJ's delicate neck.

The FBI agent ducked out of the hold, turning to face the suspect. "A little too fast there," she informed him.

"Fast is good," he insisted, attempting to pull her in for a kiss.

He found himself kissing air as his prey was wrenched out of his grasp.

"Charles Landshaw, you are under arrest for suspicion of kidnapping," Hotch ground out, cuffing the man. JJ smiled at her boss over the suspect's bent body.

Sheriff Vargas arrived with two deputies, and took possession of the suspect. "I have just the place for you," he announced, nodding to the two FBI agents. "Let's let him stew overnight and see what he has to say in the morning, huh?" The big man suggested.

"Sounds good to me, we can't question him while he's under the influence" Hotchner agreed, turning to his subordinate. "Ready to call it a night?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, God, yes," JJ replied, turning toward the distant elevators. "You know, it just never works picking up guys at bars."

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Rossi gave in to his female teammates the next morning when they asked to simply grab a fast food breakfast, rather than spend an hour eating in the restaurant. He couldn't find an argument even he would buy; every minute they were not working the case was another minute Morgan and Reid were in danger. As they ate the breakfast sandwiches they wandered the perimeter of the conference room, reviewing the multitude of victims that had been kidnapped in the past twelve months.

"Look at this," Garcia said, indicating a sheet with three pictures. "These guys, two sisters and the husband of one of them, go for a hike in a popular national park and are never seen again," she read, shaking her head. "Aisha Rogers, and Anne and Leroy Anderson. It's overwhelming. All these people are gone, and they were someone's son or daughter or wife or husband or father or mother…"

"Garcia!" Rossi interrupted her, speaking sharply but trying to be kind nonetheless. "You need to back off, don't get too personal. I know it's hard, but we have to be objective, and you can't do that if you personalize it."

"Okay, okay, I understand. Objective, I can do that," she agreed, stepping back. "So what do we see?" she asked absently.

"No one is old," Kate commented suddenly. "They are all in their twenties and thirties, looks like." At the look the other two gave her, she elaborated. "Look, I jog most mornings, and I see teenagers, adults, and some seniors. My grandfather still jogs and he's pushing ninety. It's probably WHY he's pushing ninety. Lots of seniors jog and hike, but the unsub isn't taking them."

"Okay, good, they are going for young," Rossi confirmed, picking up a pad and jotting down the note. "Anything else standing out?"

They continued to study the victims, with Rossi stopping to review the large map of the western states, where they'd flagged the locations of the kidnappings.

"I do hate an anomaly," he stated suddenly. "Unless, of course, it helps solve a case."

"What are you talking about?" Garcia wondered.

"What do you see here?" he asked, tapping the map.

Penelope peered more closely before replying. "A town with a truly unfortunate name?"

"Well….yes. Perhaps I should have asked: what DON'T you see?"

"An arrow. No one's been taken from there!" Garcia hastened to her laptop and began to type rapidly. "Winnemucca, actually named for a chief of the Paiute, and boasts just shy of 74 hundred residents. Compared to some of the other towns where people were taken this place is huge. Why was no one taken from there?"

"Law of the wild," Rossi noted. See puzzled looks he elaborated. "You don't shit where you eat. From what I can see here it is the only town with no kidnappings. It has to mean something."

"Holy Mother of God, what is all this?"

The three BAU agents looked up at that, to find Sheriff Adams standing just inside the doorway and looking around in amazement.

"Kidnapping victims, Sheriff. Most of whom were taken from towns with 300 miles of here."

"You have got to be kidding. All these?" Adams began a slow circuit of the room, occasionally stopping to run a curious finger over a picture. "My God. And no one noticed?"

"Look at how scattered it is," Rossi pointed out, indicating the map. "And most of the abductions took place outside an actual town proper. Dirt roads, trails, back roads. The majority were joggers, the rest mostly hikers, backpackers, campers. The victims frequently were not residents of the town from which they disappeared."

"Still….this is my backyard, so to speak. Two missing from Luning? What the hell, there's like less than 100 residents there. They took 2% of the population and no one noticed?" Adams was outraged.

"It was noticed, but the victims were actually from Phoenix, just passing though when they went missing," Dave pointed out.

"You think this all has something to do with your missing agents?" Adams asked carefully.

"We do. And we think we may have gotten the shooter, or at least one of them," Rossi added, having spoken to Aaron earlier.

"Good deal. What can I do to help?"

"Tell us what you know about our kidnapping free township here. Winnemucca."

"Winnemucca? What's to tell? It's at a crossroads, if you stay on Interstate 80 you'll end up in Utah, if you take 95 north you'll land in Oregon. Take 95 south and you'll eventually end up in Las Vegas. Kind of makes it the definition of the 'middle of nowhere' so to speak," the sheriff grinned.

"You know the sheriff there?" Rossi asked.

"Sure, Nate and me go way back. We did the police academy and our first assignments together in San Bernardino in California. Those were the days…" he trailed off with a slight smile. "Why?"

"Wondering if anything odd had been going on there in the past twelve months or so," Rossi replied. "It's really about the only town in northern Nevada that didn't report any missing persons in the last year. And you know what they say."

"You don't shit where you eat," Adams replied, unconsciously echoing Rossi's earlier comment.

"Indeed," Rossi agreed. "If you don't mind giving your friend a call, that would be most helpful.

To be continued


	6. Chapter 6

_Note: Sorry for the long delay, I was going along great guns, then I wasn't. Happens to all of us at times, I expect. Anyway, I'm hoping to get the momentum up. Enjoy and as always reviews are appreciated._

Part 6

"Thanks, Dave, I'll let him know," JJ said into her cell phone as Aaron Hotchner pulled into the Sheriff's Station in Elko.

"Rossi says they think that Winnemucca may be the focus point of the kidnappings," JJ explained as she exited the vehicle. "There have been no kidnappings from there, and it's fairly centrally located in relationship to the bulk of the kidnapping cases in the last twelve months. Sheriff Adams is going to contact the sheriff there and see if anything unusual has been going on recently."

"Thanks, JJ. Let's see if a night in lockup has had any effect on Landshaw. And if there are any leads on Wilkes," Hotch commented and they strode up the steps into the building.

"Good morning," Sheriff Vargas greeted them, indicating the coffee urn in the corner. "Help yourselves," he offered. "A couple of my deputies are bringing Landshaw over from lockup. Also, they located Wilkes' van. He has the van and a Ford pickup, which is not accounted for at the moment. Once the courts open I think I can get a search order for the van. I've already put out a statewide BOLO for the pickup, and Landshaw's truck is in the lot ready to be searched," he explained, taking a sip of his coffee and looking satisfied with the situation.

"Thank you," Hotch replied with complete sincerely. "Our team in Reno has determined that Winnemucca may be the focus. Any thoughts on that?" he asked respectfully as he accepted the cup of coffee JJ handed him.

"Well, it's hardly central to Nevada, so I'm thinking you'all found kidnappings in the nearby states?" He turned it into a question.

"California, Oregon, Idaho and Utah, and mostly in the areas nearest the Nevada border," Hotch confirmed, taking an appreciative sip of the strong brew they'd provided. "Hmm, better coffee than we usually see outside our own office," he noted.

"One of my deputies has 'connections'," the sheriff grinned. "We don't ask, we just enjoy." He took a longer drink from his coffee, and then turned serious again. "Winnemucca isn't that different than most of the small towns in this state. Nevada isn't exactly overrun by rocket scientists. Our primary industries are agriculture, mining and gaming. They tend to attract a multitude of lesser educated folks. A few weeks ago my son was doing a report for school, he found some surveys, and darned if Nevada didn't make the 'worst' lists for drunkenness, lack of belief in God, and lack of education. Actually called that last one the 'Top Ten Least Intelligent States'. Bottom line, made us sound like a state full of dumb, drunk atheists."

"I'm sure that's overstating it a bit," JJ protested.

"Could be, but we still made those lists. The truth is, we were enjoying the boom when the economy went south in 2007 or so, and we are not rebounding nearly as well as other areas. It IS a state with a large percentage of frustrated people just trying to get by. I have no idea what the stats might be, but it sure seems we see more domestic violence, suicides and general acting out." Vargas let out a sigh, and then gave the two FBI agents a rueful look. "Sorry, I get to talking about the situation in this state and my mouth runs away from me. I see Douglas back at his desk, so I'm figuring Charlie is waiting to meet with you. One question, if you don't mind me asking."

"Of course," Hotch replied. "If we have the answer."

"How'd you'all suss to the kidnappings? Someone finally see the pattern and call you in?"

"No, we were called in on a serial killing in Reno. Our team is the Behavioral Analysis Unit, or BAU. I sent two of my team out to the kill site to look for additional information, and they went missing. Since then our technical analyst found the significant increase in kidnappings in the area," Hotch explained, setting his cup down.

"Well, damn, I'm sorry to hear that. I'll have Douglas take you to see the prisoner, and I'll go see Judge Davidson, get the warrant for Wilkes' van, and the pickup he's probably off in. Her daughter ran afoul of Wilkes a few years back, I expect I'll have no problem with the warrants," he explained as he opened his office door. "Hey, Douglas, take these agents back to see Charlie," he ordered, grabbing his hat and coat and heading toward the exit.

Douglas was a paunchy, middle aged man with a mild mannered way that made him seem more like a librarian than a deputy. "Come along with me," he said, heading toward the back of the building.

"How's the prisoner this morning?" JJ asked, remembering his whiskey breath and glazed eyes from the night before.

"Surly. He's cuffed to the table, which is bolted down. The door doesn't lock, but there are no windows, and no way out the back. His only exit is through a room full of deputies," the man explained.

"I'm sure it's fine," Hotch said, briefly wondering what it would be like to live in a town where interrogation rooms doubled as conference and break rooms, as he noted the couch in the corner and a well stocked vending machine.

"Mr. Landshaw, my name is SSA Aaron Hotchner of the FBI's BAU," Hotch said, showing his badge to the hung over man. "This is SSA Jareau."

"Oh, the uppity bitch from last night," Charles growled. "I owe you for that performance."

Ignoring his comments, the two agents sat at the opposite side of the table and studied the man carefully. He was in his mid thirties, well built, with just a bit of softness beginning to be apparent in his midsection. Dark hair with the faintest touch of grey at the temples, and regular, handsome features beginning to show the signs of bloat associated with heavy drinking.

He shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, and then snapped. "What?"

Aaron decided to go right to the point. "We'd like to hear about the deal in Winnemucca," he stated simply.

Landshaw flinched, and then sat back in his chair. "I want a lawyer."

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"Okay Two Seventy Nine, you may take a break," Aisha announced, indicating a bench by the wall.

Reid frowned, already hating his new 'name'. That morning during breakfast he and Aisha, and Morgan and Lance had been ordered to stand up. A voice over the intercom, the same voice which had placed the winning bid for them, informed them of their new designations: Two Seventy Nine for Reid, One Fifty Five for Morgan. "Do you have to call me that?" he asked.

"Yes. Of all the things you are going to have to deal with, this is the least of your worries," Aisha said bluntly. "Now, in a couple of hours we will be called to witness today's contest. You MUST watch it. Keep your eyes on the battle, don't look down, don't look away. Look AT the fighters and pay attention. If they catch you trying to avoid watching, you will be punished, and right there in front of everyone. Do NOT take that chance," she informed him, her voice and attitude showing how intently she wanted to get her point across. "No matter WHAT happens in the arena, you keep watching. Understand?"

"I'll do my best," he promised.

"NO! You will do it!" she insisted, grabbing his arm tightly. "You don't understand how bad the punishments can be. My sister? The 'mistake' she made was looking away during a contest. When the activated the collar, the shock stopped her heart. She died right there in the crowd, and there was nothing that could be done. Don't take that risk. Please."

"I won't," he said, placing his hand over the one she had on his arm. "And if I do screw up, well, I don't have a heart disease."

Aisha sighed in exasperation, but let it go. "Tomorrow you will start working with actual fight trainees. I was informed of this before I met you this morning; they are moving you along very quickly."

"Oh," Reid replied, worry clear on his face. He knew he had nowhere near the skills needed.

"Sometimes they seem to determine that actual experience will teach some better than the safer lessons," she explained.

"May I ask a fairly obvious question? Do they offer any sort of medical treatment for those who are injured? I kind of figure they do, based on the fact you appear to have suffered a significant injury," he said quietly. He reached out as if to touch it, but stopped at her flinch. "It appears to have been stitched, and professionally at that." He hated to ask, to point out the disfiguring injury, but he had to know if there was a potential for being removed from the facility, and perhaps contacting the outside world.

"Yes, they do, right here in this facility. One of the earliest victims turned out to be a surgeon, so the story goes. They saw the advantage of having his services, so he's not part of the contests, just as Silas is not. They are the only two I know of who were captured but not trained to fight. Anyway, the doc has a pretty sweet setup, can take care of most of the injuries he gets. Except those in the contests. Very often those are fatal. But it is better to avoid injury, so keep your eyes on the contest!" she concluded sternly. "Now, let's work on your defense against the nunchucks."

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"I talked to Nate, he says the town's been quiet the last year or so," Sheriff Adams announced, entering the conference room where Rossi, Callahan and Garcia were still poring over information. "And the two kidnappings reported were both committed by non custodial parents."

"We just don't know enough yet," Dave muttered, staring around at the multitude of pictures that lined the room. "So much information, but still the answer is not quite there."

"Do you think they are keeping them? Or just killing them?" the sheriff wondered, somewhat unnerved by the walls of innocent victims that all seemed to stare at him.

"Could be either. But that's a powerful lot of graves to successfully hide, even in the vastness of the desert," Dave mused. "Where are they taking them? Keeping them? I can't see it being done in a neighborhood home. Too many prying eyes around. Most small towns, people are more aware of what their neighbors are up to. Did you ask your friend about rumors? Folks talking about odd goings on?" Rossi asked.

"He said there was nothing new. We got to jawing, you know how it is with old friends, I reckon. He did mention that about five, six years ago an old military base outside the city, about five, seven miles out I believe, was sold to some fancy schmancy group from California. Rumor had it they were going to open some sort of themed resort or something, but it never got off the ground. They did have work done, kinda pissed off the locals because all the work was done by out-of-state companies. But nothing ever developed, and folks have pretty much forgotten about it."

"Garcia…" the elder agent began, turning to the blonde woman.

"I'm all over it, Sir. It'll take some time, but I'll see what I can find," she promised, pulling up data quickly and speed dialing Kevin to coordinate with her.

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Underneath the sagebrush dotted desert seven miles from Winnemucca, three men sat in their custom made, throne-like office chairs, each in front of as many as ten monitors, showing various scenes from within their domain. Dylan Musch pushed back his perpetually oily hair and picked absently at a pimple on his neck, staring intently at the monitor that showed Spencer Reid and Aisha talking quietly on a bench. The assorted microphones in the room could not quite pick up their conversation, but he knew it was likely about the upcoming contest. He could not wait to start exacting his punishment from the cocky FBI agent. All three of them had listened to Reid's rant before he'd gone to sleep the night before. They had all promised that by the end of three days the agent would be very well aware of just how little they appreciated his comments.

Another monitor showed Derek Morgan sparring with Lance using padded staffs. Morgan was fast and strong, exactly the sort of fighter Musch wanted to possess. And really, it would help to focus the agent if his friend was no longer around to distract him.

"He's looking good. Can't wait to kick his ass in the arena, though," Ronnie Calloway commented, leaning over Musch's chair and looking more closely at Morgan. He was a tall, rail thin man of thirty four, with striking pale blue eyes.

"Oh, really? And exactly who will be kicking his ass?" Musch asked derisively. "After today's match you're going to be short two of your fighters," he sneered.

"You don't know that. Three Thirty Five is still a good fighter, and fully recovered from his last bout. And Three Eighty is ready, more than ready," Calloway countered.

"Your oldest and your newest, not the best combination. I'm putting my money on Dylan's pair," chimed in the third man, William Carson, the oldest of the trio at forty three. He was obese, with a mildly misshapen mouth that he was constantly wiping due to a tendency to drool.

The three men had met over eight years before, at a seminar in California. They'd each been speakers for classes on how to make a living on the internet, as each had found a niche during the heyday of internet development, resulting in their being multi-millionaires at a relatively young age. During that first lunch together they'd found an instant kinship based on a lifetime of being outcast from the people around them.

The friendship continued to grow over the next couple of years, as did a plan to create the ultimate adult playground for those obsessed with gaming. They'd discovered the underground facility for sale by the government near Winnemucca, a once in a lifetime chance. They formed a corporation named for a favored episode of an old television show, and purchased the facility and land, working over the next three years with contractors to modify it. They carefully used distant companies, and different ones for the various aspects of the upgrade, so none would really be able to discern the complete scope of what was being done.

As the years of modification passed, the plan slowly changed from being for a resort, to being their own personal ultimate game. It started one afternoon, in Musch's motel room. They had just finished lunch, and were going over some of the plans when the familiar theme for Star Trek came from the TV in the corner. The trio smiled, turning their attention to watch a show each of them had watched growing up, in the days when it seemed to be on every day in perpetual reruns.

They shared a look of amazement as the episode 'The Gamesters of Triskelion' began, and the proud owners of 'Triskelion Enterprises Inc.' took it as an omen that they were on the right path.

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Hotch straightened up from his search under the seat of Landshaw's Chevy pickup, and watched the tow truck maneuver the faded blue Ford van into a slot in the Sheriff Station's parking lot. Vargas had encountered no problem getting search warrants, and already Hotch and JJ had uncovered a wealth of evidence from Landshaw's truck. Most damning for the suspect was the box of darts, and a vial of what they expected to test out as the sedative. Four rifles were found tucked behind the seat, as well as a .45 in the glove box. JJ had found a number of receipts, two of which were for chemicals needed for the sedative.

"I'd say we have more than enough to hold him for probable cause, at the least in the disappearance of Morgan and Reid," Aaron commented. "Let's see if we can get some sort of confirmation on the contents of the vial, and start in on the van."

The van was set up to act as living quarters, as well as transportation. A mattress filled much of the floor space, stacks of clothing were piled at one end, as well as two boxes filled with food and grooming items. JJ searched the front area, while Hotchner worked on the cargo area.

"I've got more darts and another vial," Jareau announced, putting them in evidence bags. "And another .45. Oh, and a receipt from In n Out Burger in Reno, dated the night before Morgan and Reid went missing." She continued to sift through a wad of crumpled receipts.

"JJ." Hotch's voice sounded strained, and the blonde went to the sliding side door and peered inside. Hotch held up two bullet proof vests emblazoned with 'FBI'. "We really need to find Wilkes."

TBC

_Author's Note: The referenced surveys are real. I found them via Yahoo one morning when web surfing. As many have probably guessed, I live in Nevada, and I was less than happy with my state's results. Honest, we aren't all dumb, drunk atheists. Updated because Morgan and Reid's badges and guns had already been found in their abandoned SUV. Oops._


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter Note:**__I don't like to do a lot of warnings, but I think one may be in order this time: Somr fairly graphic violence happens, along with some Reid whumpage and Morgan angst. You know, the good stuff. :) Thank all of you who tune in to this little tale..._

Part 7

The loud sound of a klaxon echoed through the facility, and all occupants set aside whatever they were doing and headed toward the large arena at the north end of the complex. Reid walked alongside Aisha, feeling an odd trepidation. He'd seen the weapons the fighters were trained to use, and easily recognized how much damage they could inflict in the hands of someone who knew how to use them. He'd seen people shot, been shot himself more than once, but violence such as he expected would be part of the contest was something that roiled inside him, creating an instinctual urge to escape. He kept reminding himself of his trainer's instructions, and began to practice a sort of disconnect he sometimes utilized as a child when the bullying got too hard.

He spotted Morgan far off to his left, feeling a fleeting comfort when his friend caught his gaze. At least so far the plan of not getting dead seemed to be working.

"Remember, keep your eyes on the contest at all times," Aisha hissed at him as they took a seat one row back. The arena was enclosed on all sides and top by a chain link fence, with a single, wide entrance near the room's only doorway. The flooring was a geometric design with four colors, the entire area approximately fifty feet per side, with bleachers on three sides.

For the first time the two FBI agents had a chance to see how many other hostages there were, and they unobtrusively looked around. Reid's quick mental calculation put the number at approximately sixty, fairly evenly distributed between the Providers' individual team colors. Their surveillance was halted by the arrival of the four warriors who were to battle that day.

Each of the four men pulled a folded slip of paper from a bowl held by the huge, leather clad man they'd encountered when they first arrived. The combatants then picked up a single weapon from the table beside the guard, and entered the arena, facing each other at the center.

The guard joined them, indicating to each one which color flooring he would be assigned to, then the big man turned to the audience.

"This battle is to the last man – or last team – standing. Each contestant must keep to his assigned color, failure to do so will result in the loss of their weapon. Contestants are allowed to take an opponent's weapon if the opportunity arises. If the bell sounds the contestants are to suspend fighting until it sounds again. Commence at the sound of the bell." He headed toward the entrance, stepping out and turning to face the enclosure. The door behind him opened to admit a slight man in a white coat.

"Who's that?" Reid asked softly.

"The doc. Now, shut up and watch," she hissed back.

The bell sounded and the four fighters sprang into action. It was obvious that the blue team had been the luckier ones in the weapons lottery. The bigger man had the battle staff, which was a weighted 'bubble' at one and, and a curved blade at the other. His teammate had the regular staff, weighted at both ends. The elder member of the red team had nunchucks, while his teammate had the whip which consisted of seven tails, each knotted and approximately three feet long. Contestants could also choose one kind of protective gear. The two elder fighters and the blue youngster all chose chain mail for their upper bodies, while the other red combatant had opted for a helmet.

The first few moments were spent in sizing each other up, and getting accustomed to moving between their respective colors on the floor. Finally the older red contestant leapt past the younger blue one, striking him with the nunchuck and staggering him.

The fight was on.

It was clear from the first that the youngster in red was over matched. With only the whip, and with the others all wearing protective body gear, he had little effectiveness. He did his best to try to target the legs of his opponents, hoping to trip them up, but they were both spry and lucky. And it was obvious the young man was reluctant to target their faces. Meanwhile the elder blue fighter had scored several damaging blows to the first timer, slowing him considerably. The older red fighter had scored his fair share of hits, and the elder blue took a hard swipe at him with the blade end of his staff, missing him by inches.

Unfortunately, he hadn't realized the younger red fighter was just behind him to his left. The carry-through caught the younger man mid body, disemboweling him quite effectively.

Reid looked away in horror as the contestant fell to the ground screaming, his hands scrabbling to try to stop the flow of blood and entrails. Immediately the FBI agent felt a painful jolt from the collar, and gasped.

"You looked away, didn't you?" Aisha whispered urgently. "Dammit, keep you eyes on the fight, don't make it any worse!" she ordered.

Meanwhile the bell sounded and the doctor walked into the ring, accompanied by two smallish slaves, both in green. As he knelt by the fallen fighter's side, the young man gave one last gasp then stopped moving entirely. Looking sickened, the doctor draped a white sheet over the body and assisted the two slaves in moving it to the stretcher. They exited the fight area and set the stretcher down by the exit door, returning to their previous position near the arena.

The bell sounded again and the remaining three combatants returned to the battle. The surviving red fighter made a series of quick strikes, the final one hitting the younger blue one in the head and knocking him out. Quickly the red one grabbed the staff, discarding the less effective nunchucks. He turned to face the remaining blue fighter, both of them breathing hard and trying to ignore the pain from several blows.

Once upon a time the red contestant had been Greg Olson, a CPA in Tonopah, Nevada, with a nice apartment, a beautiful fiancée, and a calico cat named Rags. His opponent had been Robert Wilson, an X-Ray technician from Red Bluff, California, with a wife, three children, a mortgage and aging parents. But those lives were months, and a world of pain, removed. Now all that existed was training, fighting, and focusing on surviving day to day.

They circled each other warily, having faced off in the past. Finally they attacked simultaneously, in a flurry of thrusts and parries. Eventually the blue fighter landed a devastating body blow, taking down the red contestant, who curled up in agony, unable to get back to his feet. The blue warrior stood in his spot, forcing himself to not go to the other's aid. He knew from experience that would be ill advised.

"The red team concedes," came the voice of Provider Two.

"Everyone back to their duties," added Provider One. "As soon as I take care of one small matter."

Spencer Reid cried out in agony as his collar was activated, falling to the seat of the bleacher and thrashing wildly. Two others in green, helped Aisha keep him from falling though the metal steps, but otherwise did not interfere. Across the room Morgan flinched, fighting the urge to rush to his friend's aid. Thirty seconds later it finally ended.

"Just breath deeply, it'll get better," Aisha urged him as the helpful green clad slaves exited, leaving Reid and Aisha alone. "Now you know why I told you to not look away."

"I…I didn't expect THAT," Reid countered, cautiously sitting up.

"The death or the punishment?"

"Either, actually. Both were worse than I expected," he admitted, still breathing heavily and unsteadily.

"It usually is."

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Hotch strode back into the bullpen area of the sheriff's office, closely followed by JJ. Vargas looked up, and easily read the agents' expressions.

"Lawyer clammed him up?" he asked, jerking his chin toward the de facto interrogation room.

"Demanded to be taken to Reno and charged with the felonies and given a bail hearing, or be cut loose," Hotch replied with a sigh. "Good play by the lawyer, actually, but not helpful to our cause. How soon can he be transported?"

"We can have him in Reno by early afternoon. Frankly, you two need to go back there as well," Vargas noted. "If you can pull together enough for a search warrant, the court there will be the one to issue it."

Hotch nodded in agreement. "We'll go grab our gear and head back. Sheriff, we appreciate all the assistance you've provided," he added, shaking the larger man's hand.

"Do me one favor?"

Hotch nodded his agreement.

"Call me when you find your men. Let me know how it turned out? Hardest part about being outside the main hub of the system is often we don't get to know how it all turns out."

"I'll call you as soon as we know for sure what happened," Aaron agreed as JJ approached, phone in hand.

"It's Garcia, says it's important," she explained.

"Put her on speaker," he ordered.

"You're on speaker, Garcia," Jennifer said, pushing the appropriate buttons.

"Glad I caught you still there. Wilkes just rejoined the wonderful world of electronic reporting," she informed them.

"In what way, Garcia?" Hotchner prompted her.

"Used his Visa card to pay for a motel room in Gerlach, Nevada. Somewhat north of Reno and east of you. Looks like the middle of nowhere. Seems 'nowhere' has a lot of middles in this state," she couldn't help but note.

Vargas chuckled at that comment. "That's purely the truth. Gerlach is a community of about a couple hundred souls. Good hunting in that area, so no surprise George would go there. He probably got his deer, and wants to clean up and rest before coming home. If you two hurry, you can probably catch him sleeping, literally. You can pick up the road to Gerlach in Winnemucca, then cut down to Fernley, and back to Reno. You have the warrant for his truck, and reasonable cause to collect him, right?"

"We do." The team leader turned to the phone still nestled in JJ's hand. "How's the search coming on that facility in Winnemucca?"

"Only a bit found so far, but evidence there is much more. Kevin and I are both working on that, but much of what we have to do involves calling companies and speaking to the actual contractors."

"Have Callahan help with the calls, and have Dave contact our local office and the court, get us an appointment with a judge late this afternoon. Landshaw is being transported to Reno later today for arraignment, and we'll pick up Wilkes on our way back. By three have all data you've gathered organized and ready to present, I want a search warrant this afternoon," he ordered.

"We'll get on it, Sir," Garcia replied, cutting the connection.

"Whew, maybe I should be glad I'm not in the hub after all," Vargas grinned. "Good luck, and if you manage to miss the town, give me a call. I hunt there a lot, I know the area well."

"Thank you." Hotch said simply, turning toward his blonde companion. "Let's get on the road."

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Reid had caught his breath, and now shakily stood up, with Aisha providing much needed support.

"It actually helps dissipate the aftereffects if you walk it off," she offered, steering her charge toward the exit. "And since we need to spend the next two or three hours preparing you for tomorrow, the sooner you recover the better."

They were only two steps from the door when Provider One's voice came over the speaker. "Two Forty Three, take Two Seventy Nine and report to Sparring Room Seven immediately."

"Yes, Sir," Aisha replied automatically, but Reid had seen her initial reaction, which appeared to be an intended argument. Wisely, he remained silent.

"This way," she said as they passed through the doorway and headed to the left.

"So they decided to speed things up?" he asked finally.

"You must have really done something to piss them off," she countered. She held up a hand when it appeared he was going to speak. "I don't want to know. Really. And they don't need to hear whatever it is again. Just try to remember what I've taught you. Don't fight back with intent to injure, if you hurt a fighter, even just a trainee, your punishment will make what happened after the contest seem pleasant. Try to promote them extending their skills. Your main focus is essentially to bait and evade." She paused before the door marked S-7. "For God's sake, Reid, be careful."

They walked in, surprising the pair who had been talking in the middle of the room, backs to the door. They turned and two people audibly gasped.

Morgan and his trainer, Lance, found themselves face to face with Reid and Aisha.

"Oh, come on, no. I can't do this. I won't do this," Derek protested with a pleading glance at Lance.

"You can, and you will. You must," the other man replied, not looking at all happy with this development. He urged Morgan over to the weapon's rack, and consulted the paperwork he'd been provided earlier by their owner. He noted that Aisha had taken her trainee to the other rack as well. He handed Morgan the short, many tailed whip. Not a training one, but a competition one. "This is what they've ordered first. Look, you have to do your best. For your sake, and for mine as well as your friend and his trainer. Any attempt to do less and we could all be punished," he explained with quiet urgency.

Reid was standing at the center of the training area, holding a long staff. His weapon was a training version, with padded ends that delivered a very low voltage shock to the opponent when a blow was successful. Morgan approached him reluctantly.

"Don't worry about me," Reid said quietly. "It's my fault anyway, I guess my little rant was heard and not appreciated. Do what you have to do, protect your trainer and us. Whatever happens, I'll be fine," he said sotto voice.

"If Hotch and Rossi don't show up soon I'll put THEM in the arena," Derek growled, quirking a rueful half grin that died all too soon. "Let's do this," he announced, taking a ready position.

Less than two days was far from enough to get Reid ready to efficiently handle a staff in battle. He swept at Morgan's legs, and the other agent used the whip to grab Reid's weapon and wrench it out of his grasp. He swung – softly – at Spencer's upper body and the younger man tried to grab it to protect himself. He ended up with the stinging strands wrapped around his right arm, leaving painful looking welts.

Aisha picked up the discarded staff and tossed it back to Spencer. "Pay attention, don't let him get whip OR hands on the staff!" she ordered. Reid nodded his agreement and got back into ready position.

After four more times of losing his weapon, Spencer was getting frustrated, and had felt enough of the whip's bite to be more than a little sore. He opted to try a more aggressive approach, and almost smiled when a quick jab landed on the intended mark, delivering a brief sting to Morgan's side. The older man reacted instinctively, a long past of street fighting and more formal training coming to the fore. He whirled away, swinging the whip with more force than he intended. It caught Reid full across the back, and the younger man went down with a cry of pain, writing about as the welts almost visibly rose. Derek dropped the weapon in anguish, noting several spots that appeared to be bleeding through the thin tank top. He rushed forward to assist his friend, only to be intercepted and wrested away by Lance.

"Don't. Never offer assistance to the opponent. They will punish HIM for that," he hissed at the anguished FBI agent. "That is FAR from a fatal injury, and you may have done him a favor, he should be done for today."

Aisha eventually was able to help Spencer to stand, but he could barely move, and she spoke to the room at large as she struggled to keep him upright.

"Permission to take him to Sick Bay."

"Granted," came the bored tones of Provider One. "Make sure he's ready to resume in the morning."

"As you wish," Aisha replied, turning Reid toward the exit without a backward glance. When the door closed, Morgan sat down heavily on a nearby bench.

"How the hell do you deal with this?" he asked.

Lance considered a moment, then lifted up the front of his tank top, showing Derek a tattoo of the word 'Jason' inside a stylized heart. "This is how," he said quietly.

"Your son?"

"Yes. He was staying with my sister when my wife and I went for our run. The thought of getting back home to him is what keeps me going. That's what you have to find, Derek. Your reason. Doesn't matter what it is: wife, child, job, parents, dog. All that matters is that you want to get that back more than anything else. Grab onto that and survive each and every day as it comes. All you can do."

Morgan nodded grimly, letting out a deep sigh. "I can do that. Reid can to, I know. And we both know something else: our team will find us. Somehow, someday, they will find us," he said softly.

"They won't fail."

To be continued

**Author's Note: **I don't know what courts have what authority, however, a quick search online seemed to indicate two major courts in Nevada: Reno and Las Vegas. So I figure something huge like kidnapping FBI agents and/or a couple hundred other folks would likely be handled by the major court in the city, and the smaller stuff, like a search warrant for the local ne'er-do-wells' vehicles could be done locally. Yeah, I know, applying logic to the government.


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8

Less than an ten miles outside Gerlach, Hotch's cell phone rang; the number on the display was a Virginia prefex, but unfamiliar to him.

"Agent Hotchner," he answered it brusquely.

"Hello, um, my name is Savannah Hayes, and I've been trying to reach Derek Morgan since yesterday, but his phone appears to be turned off. He gave me your number as who to reach in an emergency. Is something wrong, Agent Hotchner?" she asked anxiously.

"Agent Morgan is currently in a situation where he is out of contact, was there a specific reason you were trying to reach him?" Hotch countered.

"My father is having surgery tomorrow morning, and I'm heading home to be with him. It's not a really dangerous surgery, gall bladder removal is fairly routine, but you know anything can happen and I wanted to let Derek know so he wouldn't worry if he came home and I was gone," she explained.

"Ms. Hayes, I will pass on that information as soon as I can, and have him contact you. Is this number you're calling from a good contact number?" he asked.

"Yes, it's my cell, and I always have it with me. Derek has the number."

"Very well. I will let him know and we all hope your father's surgery goes well," Hotch said gently.

"Thank you. Um, I guess I had better go. Good bye." The display on Hotch's cell went dark.

JJ stayed silent for a few moments, then quietly asked. "Why?"

"Why not tell her the truth?" At JJ's nod he continued. "Because Derek specifically asked me not to. A couple of months ago we happened to be together in my office when a report on a school shooting came on the news. It was a follow-up report on a shooting that had occurred the day before. It showed footage of dozens of parents frantically racing to the school in search of their children, and it featured an interview with one hours after she'd found out her daughter was fine and well and had been far removed from the actual shooting. The lady talked about how for two, three hours her world was in limbo, poised between normal and completely shattered, how it gave her a new perspective on what parents of kidnapped children went through. Hours, days, weeks, even years of nothing but limbo. She gave this half laugh, half sob sound and said 'Limbo? Hell is more like it.' Derek watched it silently then turned to me and said, 'Hotch, if I'm ever missing, and you don't know if I'll be found or not, don't notify my family or Savannah, or tell them what happened until you absolutely have to. Spare them as much as you can.'" Hotch sighed, as he dropped their speed at the city limits of Gerlach. "I made that promise."

"Then I guess we'd better find them before you have to tell her," JJ said with an encouraging look. "The motel should be up on the right."

They pulled into the parking lot of the Sunny Side Motel and immediately spotted the twenty year old white Ford F150 in the far slot. Hotch and JJ stepped into the surprisingly neat and inviting lobby and greeted the middle aged man behind the counter.

"What can I do for you folks," he asked politely, pulling out a clip board and setting it on the counter. "A romantic getaway?" he continued with a smile.

"Not exactly," Hotch said as they both presented their badges.

"No offense intended," the man said gently, setting the clipboard back on the inside counter. "How may I help you?"

"Who is the guest in the far room?" JJ asked, pointing to the white truck.

"George Wilkes, one of my few regulars. Usually see him every three to five weeks, I'd say. Comes here to hunt, then after he's bagged his catch he spends some time at Roy's bar down the street, then takes a room for a day. Never causes a mite of trouble," he explained. "He in trouble?"

"We need to talk to him, probably take him to Reno for questioning. Can you give us a key to his room? And not alert him to our presence?" Hotch requested with a stern glare at the man.

He stood up tall at Hotch's look and implication. "I am a law abiding citizen, a former marine and a father. I appreciate my few regulars, but if he's done something to get the interest of the FBI I would be the last one to interfere," he stated stiffly, handing over a key to room 17.

"I meant no offense," Aaron offered mildly.

"Well, some taken. Just leave the keys in the room," the man said simply, sitting down and picking up the book he'd been reading. Hotch and JJ departed without further comment, grabbing and donning their vests as they strode to the room.

"Nice going, Hotch. Looks like you can cross this off your list of future vacation spots," JJ noted with a sparkle in her eyes.

Hotch met her grin with a rueful look. "Jack will be devastated."

JJ snorted at that, then pulled her sidearm before inserting the key. She stood to the side , prepared to open it as Hotch pulled his own weapon. JJ turned the key and pushed the door open gently, in case a chain lock was engaged. They didn't want to alert the suspect with unnecessary noise. The door opened without any problem, and Hotch stepped into the small room, aiming at the lump on the full size bed, with JJ taking up position behind and slightly to the left of him.

"George Wilkes, FBI! Put your hands where I can see them," Hotch ordered loudly, while the man on the bed opened his eyes and looked about groggily.

"Huh? Wha?" Wilkes muttered, struggling to sit up.

"Hands, in the clear NOW!" Hotch ordered again.

George flinched and raised his hands in confusion. Hotch holstered his gun and quickly cuffed the suspect, pulling him out of the bed roughly._ "_You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?"

"Yeah, I understand and no, I don't want to talk to you. Can I at least get dressed?" the man growled, glaring at the two agents.

Hotch walked over to the clothing piled on a chair and tossed the jeans and shirt on the bed, followed by the cowboy boots and two grey socks. Nodding to JJ to cover him, he released one cuff and indicated the clothes.

"Put them on."

Wilkes got dressed quickly and submitted to being re-cuffed without protest. The two FBI agents marched him to their SUV and secured him in the back seat. A quick search of the vintage pickup yielded nothing beyond two rifles, a .38 in the glove box, and a four point buck in the bed.

"It appears he does his other 'hunting' out of the van," JJ noted, locking and closing the door. "Should I call Vargas to come get this one? Or do we want it in Reno?" she asked.

"Vargas would be best, that way all three are in one spot. Let's get on the road," Hotch ordered as JJ placed her call to the helpful sheriff in Elko.

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Aisha stood in the corner of the examination room as the doctor gently probed the welts on Reid's back. Four of them were bleeding in places, and all were swollen and angry looking.

"Well, not too much damage, actually, young man," the brown haired medic reported. "I'll put some salve on the open ones, otherwise, limit your bending and stretching for a day or two and you'll be fine. That's the report I'll give your Provider."

Aisha stepped closer, speaking with mild disgust. "Great, now I have to include zero pain tolerance to my report," she sighed.

"But that's not right," Spencer argued mildly. "I've been beaten before, not with a whip exactly, but with fists, a chunk of wood, a belt or feet and it never affected me like this."

"Probably hasn't happened after being tasered before," the doctor commented, carefully applying a soothing salve to the wounds. "Your nerves were still affected by that when you took this hit. The effect was probably twice, three times what it would have been had you not been punished prior. Probably why your Provider ordered you face that particular weapon."

"I didn't consider that, it makes sense," Reid agreed, accepting the clean tank top the doctor held out. "Thank you for your treatment."

"Do me a favor, don't come back anytime soon," the man replied, putting away his supplies.

"Come on, we can do some weight and stamina training, at least," Aisha said, ushering her trainee out the door and into the corridor.

They walked in silence for a bit, before Spencer spoke quietly. "Sorry. I guess I'm pretty much a failure for you."

Aisha sighed softly. "It's not that. You seem like a really nice guy, and I don't want to see you die. What did you mean about being beaten before? Was it your parents?" she asked

"What? Oh, no, my mom was great; she always protected me from all she could. I was…well…I was a twelve year old child prodigy, attending a Las Vegas public high school. It was….difficult. I didn't exactly fit in."

"Oh, what you told me before, about the memory and IQ and doctorates and all? Makes sense I guess. High school is hard on everyone, but to be twelve and kind of a 'freak'? Yeah, that would explain it," Aisha said mildly.

"'A freak'?" Reid countered.

"I'm sorry, that was unkind. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"Aw, no offense. I've been called much worse," he grinned at her ruefully. He was silent for a moment, then asked. "What were you? Before?"

"Oh, about a hundred years ago it seems I was an elementary school teacher. Second grade," she informed him wistfully. "It's the thought of being one again that keeps me going," she added.

"I want to see you be one again, too," the agent replied as they stepped into one of the training rooms. "I want us both back in our old lives."

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"Excuse me, Agent Rossi, we may have a problem," Penelope Garcia said as she interrupted the conversation between Rossi and Sheriff Adams.

"What is it?" Rossi asked, turning them toward the conference room they were using as their headquarters. Adams trailed along behind.

"We've been talking to all the contractors who worked on the facility in Winnemucca, and I just got off the phone with the guy who oversaw the installation of security, and it's massive. Overkill in the extreme. Cameras all along the exterior fence line, ten foot high chain link fence with barbed wire, more security cameras at random places on the property, motion sensors, infrared, you name it and they have it. The gates are electronically monitored and can only be unlocked from inside," she added, pointing to various points on the sketches of the facility she'd acquired.

"So if we 'storm the gates' they will know well ahead of our arrival," Rossi muttered, looking critically at the diagrams. "What about coming in by helicopter?" he asked.

"I was getting to that. He said that by air was by far the best bet. HE didn't put in any sort of air surveillance system, and that if you wanted to try that he'd recommend targeting this entrance," she said, pointing to the northern area of the facility. "He said it had the least amount of security, and I can see at least that it is nearer the areas where the owners would most likely spend their time," Garcia explained.

"Okay, then, Hotch and JJ are still an hour or more away, and we don't meet the judge until four, so I guess I'll see what I can arrange for air transportation," the senior agent said.

"I'll help you with that," Adams offered, glad to be able to assist.

"One massive air raid, coming up," Rossi quipped as he walked out the door.

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Hotch checked his phone, reading the message from Rossi regarding the need to go in via helicopter. He glanced over at JJ, who was taking her turn driving, answering her questioning glance with a nod.

"Things look to be coming together," he noted. Behind him George Wilkes made a show of being disinterested.

"They get anywhere with Landshaw?" the blonde asked.

"It's moving along," Hotch replied, intentionally vague. He knew that, despite appearances, Wilkes was listening to every word they said. His reply to JJ wasn't a lie, he knew Landshaw was most likely in transit between Elko and Reno.

JJ caught on to her boss's intentions. "Well, suspects who cooperate do make the best deals when it comes time to prosecute."

"And the more we know about that place in Winnemucca, the better it is." Out of the corner of his eye Hotch saw Wilkes flinch at that comment and his confidence they were on the right track with the investigation grew.

"Son of a bitch," the hunter muttered.

"Everything okay back there?" Hotch asked nonchalantly.

"Fuckin' wonderful, Fed," the prisoner growled.

"Good to know," Aaron replied, picking up the folder of evidence from Wilke's truck. Each slip of paper was bagged and tagged, and Hotch wanted to take a final look at what they had.

Receipts for components of the sedative, meal receipts from various towns, and one scrap of paper with six numbers on it, which JJ had found in the door pocket. It was somewhat tattered and crumpled, and their first idea had been it was numbers for a lottery ticket. With the info Rossi had texted him a new idea came to mind.

"JJ, I'm thinking these numbers may not be lottery numbers, but a code to get in somewhere. More and more places are using electronic locks which require numbers, rather than a key." Again Hotch noticed a flinch, confirming his idea. "I wonder if that place in Winnemucca uses electronic locks?" This time Wilkes turned his attention to the passing scenery, feigning being bored.

JJ gave Hotch a smug little grin at their prisoner's reactions, as the miles passed swiftly on the narrow, little traveled road.

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Morgan looked around the small room, taking in the narrow bed, small wash basin, toilet in the corner, and bedside table with a cup, brush and razor on it. Taking a seat on the thin mattress, he sighed in resignation then settled back, resting his head on the small pillow. The door was reminiscent of a horse stall door: solid on the bottom half, vertical bars on the top half. Like a prison, they could be locked all at once electronically, or when needed, locked or unlocked with a key.

"Hey, new guy, what's your name?" the voice was deep, with a tinge of southern accent.

"One Fifty Five," Morgan replied with a sigh.

"No, man, you name. Down here at night we can use our names. I'm Robert," the voice said with a hint of amusement.

"Derek."

"Well, Derek, I'd say nice to meet you, but somehow I think we'd both prefer to not be here."

"You have that right," the FBI agent agreed.

"I'm Antoine," came a new voice from his left.

Five more voices chimed in, one for each of the eight 'rooms' in that wing. The conversation that followed was soft, but informative. All of them 'belonged' to Provider One, all were fighters. Walt had been there the longest, he estimated it to be six months, the others all less than three months. Antoine had arrived only two weeks ago.

"The person you were taken with, they didn't make it as a fighter?" Robert asked.

"No, he didn't."

"Bad luck for him," Robert sympathized. "I'd been hiking with my brother; he didn't make the cut either."

"He still here?" Derek asked quietly.

"Yeah, not in great shape, but I saw him yesterday."

"We just got to keep the faith, man," Morgan replied, not sure if he was trying to encourage the others or himself. "Keep the faith."

To be Continued


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's notes: Getting close to the end now, this part is mite shorter than prior ones, but it seemed a natural stopping point. I need to thank Rivermoon1970 for the reference to the Criminal Minds episode involving the use of live people to play a game, "The Wheels on the Bus". I'd forgotten all about that episode, but it turned out to be a useful reference. Thanks! As always, reviews are much appreciated._

Part 9

Hotch and JJ hurried into the now familiar Reno Sheriff's station, striding directly to the conference room they'd been using. They found Kate, Rossi and Garcia hurriedly assembling various stacks of paper, their comments and questions coming fast and furious. At the sight of their boss the trio quieted, and turned to Hotch.

"Our meeting with the judge is in fifteen minutes," Rossi explained, indicating the paperwork they'd been working on. "We've been informed that she usually demands solid proof to make her decision, so we are going to hit her with all we have. Sheriff Adams and I have made the arrangements for four helicopters and a dozen officers as backup, all pending the approval for the warrant," he reported.

"Good job. We dropped off Wilkes at the station, nothing new was discovered in his pickup, he obviously uses the van for any abductions," the team leader replied, going to the corner and getting a cup of coffee.

At precisely 4:00 p.m. they were shown into Judge Judith McCay's chambers. She was a tall, sturdy woman with deep brown hair beginning to show gray and a no nonsense manner.

She indicated they seat themselves around the large table in the middle of the room, than sat down herself, turning to Hotch. "Okay, let's look at what you have."

Hotch and Rossi took turns recounting how and why they had been in Reno, and the circumstances that led to Morgan and Reid disappearing, with Kate and JJ chiming in as needed. Garcia then took her turn recounting how she'd discovered the horrifying increase in unsolved abductions in the surrounding areas, at which point Rossi put up the map they'd used to track the kidnappings and Garcia handed the judge the stack of pictures of the victims.

As the team and the sheriffs had been, she was astounded that no one had noticed the pattern. "How could this have happened without anyone noticing?"

"They are spread out, and also cross state lines, so unless someone specifically looked for the pattern – as we did – it would not 'jump' out," Dave explained.

"What made you think the kidnappers weren't simply killing them outright?" the judge asked, obviously getting caught up in the situation.

"Well, at first we did, of course," Rossi replied. "But there were so many, and no bodies had been found anywhere near the abduction sites. If they were being killed, it wasn't there. Our initial profile indicated that the unsub, or unsubs, had a distant kill site. Then we identified Landshaw and Wilkes, and a search of their activity via credit and debit card use showed them at only a relatively minor number of the locations at the time of the kidnappings, and also clearly showed they had NOT been at many of them. That led us to believe that there were several 'hunters', not just the ones who grabbed our agents."

JJ took a turn explaining. "When I encountered Landshaw at the bar at the motel, he commented that he had a 'sweet deal' which paid him well and only took a few hours every other week or so. It fits well into what we were beginning to believe was the situation."

Rossi took up the narrative. "Meanwhile, I noticed an anomaly on the map." He stood and pointed out the one community without an arrow. "Winnemucca. No kidnappings that fit the pattern occurred there. Considering smaller communities, such as Bishop California, here, had more than one, a town the size of Winnemucca should not have been excluded, unless the kidnappers wanted to be sure the local LEOs would not start investigating. You understand, they'd want to be sure to keep suspicion out of their back yard, so to speak."

McCay nodded in agreement, then Dave continued. "Sherriff Adams called the Winnemucca sheriff, they've know each other for years, and it was mentioned the only oddity in recent years was the sale of an abandoned military facility a few years ago. The sheriff mentioned rumors that it was to be turned into a themed resort, and knew that many modifications had been made, all by out of the area contractors. But nothing ever actually opened out there."

Hotch continued at this point. "Small communities tend to have more of a tendency to watch neighbors than large cities do. So we concluded that the unsubs would need a secluded location to prevent detection or suspicion. This facility suited that need perfectly, so we had Garcia investigate. So, Garcia, walk us through what you found," he ordered, sitting down and turning to the tech.

"Right. Okay. A little over four years ago an abandoned military facility outside Winnemucca was sold to a California corporation called Triskelion Enterprises, owned in equal parts by Ronnie Calloway, William Carson and Dylan Musch. All three made millions from innovative internet programs, which had been subsequently sold, leaving them their leisure and way too much money. Over the next three years no fewer than ten contractors, all from other states – one as far away as West Virginia, took out permits to work on the facility. According to the dates, there was never more than one contractor on site at any given time, and each one did only very specific tasks," she paused a moment.

"Could one contractor have done the entire job?" McCay queried.

"I asked about that. I was told the norm is to hire one general contractor, who then sub contracts out for those jobs his company is not qualified for. For instance, the general contractor might be able to do the frame, the roof and floors, the walls, but has to have an electrician come in for the wiring, a plumber for the pipes, etc. He said it was very odd for there to not be a general contractor overseeing the entire project. Bascially the owners acted as the general contractor," Penelope explained.

"So they did some of the work themselves?" Hotch asked.

"Oh, God, no. According to the contractors I spoke to, they would have difficulty operating a hammer. Total nerds, is how one guy described them."

"Did you get a full idea of what was done?" JJ wanted to know.

"I did indeed. So, hold on to your hats, because it's gonna start getting creepy," Garcia said, unrolling a blueprint copy, which she put up over Rossi's map. "The facility is completely underground, two levels, in a decagon shape. The top floor has larger rooms, which is where staff would have been working, this level is actually smaller than the lower level, and more regular. The lower level was intended to be for munitions storage, and has ten main corridors, each lined with small rooms, sixty five total. The facility was abandoned in the 70's, never was put in service even, but had been completed. This is what Triskelion Enterprises bought."

Garcia paused, considering the blueprint, before continuing. "When I compiled all the information from the assorted contractors, I was able to get a fairly good idea of what they accomplished. The whole place had electricity, but the owners had it upgraded in these areas," she said, indicating four rooms at the north end of the facility. "These three rooms were set up to be living quarters, and this larger room like a technical hub. There is video and audio surveillance throughout the place, and it all feeds to here from what we can tell. These rooms around the perimeter were mostly left as is, and this one was converted to a commercial grade kitchen, there is a shower room, and one room had a two way mirror installed. The really weird part on this level is here," she noted, indicating the central four rooms. "They knocked out walls to create one huge room, then added walls to create a smaller room within the larger one. And the walls all have giant windows of break resistant glass."

"What in the world are they doing there," Rossi wondered.

"Getting to that. As for the lower level, they had all the rooms plumbed for sinks and toilets, and the doors were replaced. Here is one of the weirder notes. The doors that were installed are electronically controlled, and can be manual as well, of course, but the doors installed are the oddity. They were purchased from a farm supplier. They are stall doors like in horse barns. Very, very heavy duty ones, too. Weird."

"This is fascinating, and a bit disturbing, but I still don't see any connection to the missing persons issue," the judge noted, looking at her watch.

"Let make one last comment on the improvements. The local building inspector had to sign off on the completed modifications, which he did a little over a year ago. He turned in the paperwork, then two days later died in a single car accident," she informed them. "And, no, there was no suspicion of foul play. While we were learning all this interesting stuff, I kept digging into the lives of the trio of owners. None of them have any criminal record at all, in fact Musch and Carson have been victims of crime. Bullying kinds of crime," at this point she tacked up three pictures, obviously driver's license photos.

"I googled Triskelion and found it to be a Celtic symbol – pretty cool one, too. Or it is the fictional building used by the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. in comic books. Then I scrolled further and found it is also a fictional planet from Star Trek, the old 1960's version of Star Trek. That caught my attention because when I'd been looking over their activities in recent years I'd noticed they had attended a Star Trek convention in Las Vegas together a few years ago, and several Sci Fi conventions as well. And, get this, what's the name of the starship on Star Trek? Enterprise, of course. Coincidence? I think not."

"Still not enough to warrant the expenditure of time and resources this is supposed to require, or disturb citizens who have not done anything to merit the suspension of their rights," McCay decided.

"Wait, just another moment, I promise," Garcia said, as the judge settled back down on her chair.

"So, I watched the episode, and well, basically the plot is these three bodiless brains – they had evolved beyond the need for bodies, it seems – kidnap beings from all over the universe. They put collars on them, buy and sell them between themselves. They are housed in small rooms, and trained to fight with a variety of medieval weapons such as the staff or mace. Then the owners pit their fighters against each other in battles to the death. And, this is what really convinced me," she turned her lap top toward her audience. On the screen was a picture of a young, fit William Shatner, standing alongside a green haired woman in what appeared to be a bikini made of foil.

"This is a screen cap from the episode; notice the door of Kirk's room behind them. And the contractor who installed the doors in Winnemucca sent me this picture from their files of the doors they installed," she added, putting the two images side by side. The resemblance was obvious.

"They are recreating the world and activities from that episode," Hotch said, "Getting to live it for real."

"Just like the Moore brothers did," Rossi concurred.

"You've seen something like this before?" McCay was torn between amazement and dismay.

"Two brothers hijacked a school bus, and selected 8 classmates to act out a live version of their favorite online role playing game, Gods of Combat. Oh, and they had no criminal records prior to that either," Dave replied with a meaningful look.

"Congratulations, you got your warrant," the judge announced, signing the document. "You just better not come back tomorrow with egg on your faces," she added sternly.

"I don't think that is going to happen," Hotch assured her and the team gathered their stuff and prepared to leave.

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Reid hated having a roommate, and found he really hated having three. Two bunk beds were crammed in the small space, and the toilet and sink barely fit in the corner. The room reeked of old sweat, blood and fear. Two of the others in the room went immediately to sleep, but the third one quietly spoke to Reid.

"Hey, man, you've already picked up some nice bruises, and you just got here. Did you do something to piss them off?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I did. Tried to challenge the providers, and I doubt they appreciated that. My name is Spencer, what's yours?"

"Patrick O'Hara, at your service. And, yes, I'm Irish, see the red hair?" he quipped, bringing a smile to Spencer's face.

"You haven't been here long either, have you?" the agent asked.

"Little over a week, I think," Patrick agreed. "I may not be able to fight physically, but I am determined they won't kill my spirit. I had cancer a few years ago, and it taught me that life is a gift, whatever turns it takes, and being alive is a gift to be cherished. So I'm cherishing it, even if it is pretty stinky at the moment."

Reid appreciated his bunkmate's attitude, feeling his own spirits lifting despite the situation. "You have any idea where we are?"

"Not a clue. Me and my buds had been hiking near Mammoth Lakes, California, when the lights went out for me and we woke up here. How about you?" the redhead asked.

"My partner and I were at a crime scene, I know I was hit with a tranquilizer dart, but same thing, no memory until we woke up here," Spencer informed him.

"'Partner', huh? Well, I suppose they accept all kinds here, but you may want to keep that quiet," Patrick advised him.

Spencer wouldn't help but smile at the misunderstanding. "Morgan and I are FBI agents, that kind of 'partner'," he clarified.

"Oh, well, okay. You're FBI huh? Gotta be kind of embarrassing to be caught like that, huh?"

"We were at a remote crime scene, it was the last thing we expected," Reid said mildly. "Not exactly embarrassing, but definitely annoying."

"Well, I have to say, 'annoying' is definitely one way to describe this," the other man agreed. Before Reid could reply another voice joined the conversation.

"If you two don't shut up I'll have to give a demonstration to show why they should have made me a fighter, using you two idiots as targets. Get it?" the man growled.

Sharing the rueful look Spencer and Patrick settled back down on their bunks and waited to see if sleep would ever come.

To be continued...


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's notes: I really expected I'd only have one more chapter, but it got wordy - I got wordy - so I'm posting this part now. Still...almost there. Hope folks enjoy and if you do please let me know. _

Part 10

The conference room at the Reno sheriff's office was filled to capacity with a dozen officers, four helicopter pilots and the five remaining members of the BAU. All eyes were focused on Garcia as she started projecting images from her laptop onto a portable screen.

She quickly outlined the layout of the facility and the known security conditions, providing the exact coordinates to the pilots. She then turned the meeting back to Hotchner.

"Our team will be on the first chopper in," Aaron explained. "We will set small charges on the northern entrance to remove the door, then proceed immediately to the living quarters and main tech room to secure the facility. We need to assume the occupants are armed and dangerous, so proceed with caution. Team Two is to land next to our helicopter and follow us into the facility. Team Three is to land here," he said, indicating a western side of the facility. "There is an emergency exit located there, and your job is to ensure no one escapes. Similarly, Team Four is to cover the southern exit. Any questions?" he asked.

"Do you think they have any 'hired muscle' there?" a deputy asked from near the back of the room.

"Given what we know of the unsubs' physical prowess, that is highly likely. For our own safety, we should assume so. However, we want to make every effort to not use deadly force. Our ultimate goal is to extract the unsubs and any hostages they may still have with no loss of life. We don't want this turning into a situation where the unsubs use the hostages as protection," he added grimly.

"You don't want us going in the west or south entrances?" a different officer asked.

"No, your task is to prevent any unsubs from escaping. If we have people coming in from three directions, it may cause more confusion than anything else. We have no idea how many people are in there. Could just be the three owners, or it could be over a hundred people. Until we know the scope of the situation, we need to limit the confusion."

Giving a moment to allow for further questions, Hotch continued. "Garcia, you will be coming in with Team Two, you are to remain with a deputy outside the facility until the all clear is given," he advised her.

Penelope's face paled a bit as her mouth fell open. "I…I….me? You want me there?" she asked in confusion.

"From what you reported, there is a lot of technology being used to run the place. You're our best bet at figuring it out," he explained.

"I understand, yes Sir."

"We have decided on a strike time of 3:00 a.m., when it is most likely that the residents will be asleep, so I advise all of you to go have a meal, get some rest. We will meet at the airport at 2. And thank you, all," Hotch said sincerely, nodding his thanks to various people as they headed out to take his advice. With only his team left in the room, he turned to them with a sigh.

"We need to take the same advice," he noted, indicating the door. "Dinner, then some rest."

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Penelope reclined on her bed, dressed in her black pants and dark top, her hair bundled into a neat ponytail, and her vest waiting on the chair beside the door. She knew sleep would be impossible, but she still tried to relax. But worry about her favorite non romantic boyfriend, the man who always seemed to 'get' her, no matter what, filled her mind and body with unease.

Then there was the memory of what went down the last time she was in 'the field'. She'd shot a man, something that still horrified her. Oh, sure, it was to protect an injured Spencer, and it saved both their lives, but still….she'd shot a man. SHOT him. With a gun. On purpose. And the man she shot had ended up being executed. Well, technically not her fault, and she'd done all she could to prevent it. All to no avail: he'd died as scheduled, and she'd been there to see it happen.

She turned to her side, reaching for a stuffed unicorn that sat on her bedside table. She always tossed Hubert in her luggage when she traveled to a case. The small toy had been given to her by her mother when Penelope was twelve. By chance she had read 'The Last Unicorn', and young Garcia had fallen in love with the mythical beasts. The idea of them being able to exist, unchanging and unsullied, in an ever changing world appealed to the child. She swore she'd be like a unicorn, and not let the things that happened in life make her forget who and what she meant to be.

Of course, tragedy – in the form of her parent's deaths – and time had proven the futility of that idea, but still, she clung to Hubert as a talisman against the evil that bombarded them daily. And she still tried to be like the unicorn in the book, who told Schmendrick that unicorns never regretted. They could sorrow, but that wasn't the same thing.

JJ hung up the phone, a small smile still playing around her lips. She'd called her 'boys' at home, and enjoyed a spirited report of their day. Henry was growing so fast! And every day it seemed she missed something. He'd innocently asked about his godfather, and JJ didn't flinch as she lied that Spencer sent his love and looked forward to seeing him soon.

With Will, however, she could tell him the truth, and she appreciated his attempts to buoy her spirits. It helped that she knew Will genuinely liked Derek and Spencer, and he respected her fellow agents' abilities and resourcefulness. Still, the truth was, they really didn't know if the unsubs were keeping the people taken alive or not. It might end up with them finding their friends in a shallow grave.

Pushing the disturbing thoughts aside, JJ settled on her side, checking the alarm was properly set, and began the deep breathing exercises she'd learned when struggling with morning sickness years ago. She'd found it also helped bring sleep, when that seemed an impossible task.

Kate clicked through the dozen channels their motel provided, finally settling on an episode of "Friends" to while away thirty minutes, at least. She might be new to the team, but she'd quickly grown fond of her coworkers, and Derek and Spencer in particular. Derek, with his mercurial changes in manner: grinning prankster to tormented profiler deeply empathizing with the victims. The man had a depth often overlooked when confronted by his good looks and easy charm.

As for Spencer, she felt his welcome from even before she was hired, and she couldn't help but like the gangly, nerdy genius, who didn't even seem to realize how handsome he was. Never noticed the admiring glances from assorted women, wherever they went. Just thinking of his clueless meandering through social situations brought a smile to her face.

She absently checked her gun, shield and vest, anxious to get going and rescue her coworkers. Her new friends.

Aaron had called Jack, enjoying his grumbling about tests in school and soccer practice. But, then he'd reported that Beth had come by and taken him and his aunt out to dinner, which he'd enjoyed a lot, since he was allowed to order whatever he wanted. And he'd wanted a steak with French fries and no broccoli. And two scoops of chocolate ice cream for dessert. Hotch made a mental note to thank his girlfriend for her generosity.

Hanging up the phone at last, the team leader picked up the thick file, filled with Garcia's research and assorted other information, and began to read it through again, making sure nothing had been missed.

He knew full well his missing agents' lives, as well as the lives of the rest of the team and a dozen deputies, depended on it.

Rossi opened his own file, not filled with case notes, but with the latest chapters of his new book. He still preferred to do his proof reading on paper, and with that intention, took out the requisite red pen and began to read. But within moments, he realized he couldn't do it. The chapter dealt with a long ago case that went very wrong. He had completely believed that they would find the missing brothers, ages ten and eight, alive. The evidence had been that the unsub kept the children alive for five to eight days, and it was only day three. But when they got there, they found the unsub in a hidden room off his basement. Along with the bodies of the two boys, who had been tortured to death.

His mind, blessed with an all too vivid imagination, easily superimposed Derek Morgan's face on the elder brother, who had bled out internally from a ruptured spleen. The younger brother became a smaller version of Spencer Reid, dead as a result of electric shock.

Groaning, Rossi tossed the file back in his suitcase, and looked longingly at the bottle on the dresser. But that wasn't going to happen, not with him going out in the field in a few hours. Normally he despised television, but there was little else to distract him, so he turned it on, eventually settling on a HBO special about the prostitute trade in Nevada. Appreciating the irony of it, he settled in to watch, anxious for it to be time to go.

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Outside Winnemucca Ronnie Calloway shut down his computer, stretching out his stiffened muscles. He was the 'night owl' of them. William rarely made it more than an hour or two past dinner, and Dylan was usually gone by midnight. But Ronnie was often up and about until two or three in the morning. It was now 2:16, and the facility was quiet and peaceful. He slipped out of the room and padded quietly down to the kitchen, where he found his stash of fudgesicles. Happily grabbing the icy treat, he headed back, shutting down the lights in the main room and entering his quarters.

Fifteen minutes later the last light in the facility darkened, even as in Reno the teams were preparing to head out.

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"You, Deputy McCay," Hotch said, singling out a young deputy. "I want you in charge of Ms. Garcia," he ordered.

At his side, Rossi noted the name and had to ask. "Are you related to Judge McCay?"

"Yes sir, she's my aunt. Is she the one who signed the warrant?"

"Indeed."

"McCay," Hotch barked, getting the young man's attention. "Ms. Garcia will be unarmed, so it is your job to protect her. If things go bad, it's your duty to get her to safety and keep her safe. Understood?"

"Absolutely, sir. And if things go well, I don't bring her inside until you give the all clear, correct?"

"Yes. Good, you understand your orders. Go join Team Two," Hotch confirmed, checking his notes.

Each team had been assigned and briefed. The pilots had been ordered to drop their team, then fly to a specified area outside the fences, thus eliminating the possibility of an unsub getting control of one. They were all wired for communication and the system had checked out perfectly. Everyone was in a vest, emblazoned with their organization's identity, and everyone was armed – except Garcia – and carrying extra ammunition.

They were prepared for the worst and hoping for the best.

Everyone was hyper aware and ready, and Hotch knew they were as ready as they were going to get. They'd assembled in a conference room at the airport, and were now standing in four distinct groupings.

Aaron took one last look around, then gave the order.

"Let's head out."

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Brian Smithers was a light sleeper: a lifetime of living on the wrong side of the law had ingrained that in him. This past year had been the easiest he'd ever had it. "Bodyguard" to three spineless geeks, and controlling 60-70 prisoners who could be taken down with a simple press of a button. Oh, and the weekly grocery runs. For all that he'd pulled in over a hundred grand. Plus said geeks had provided him with a computer and access to the wonderful world of online porn. As close to heaven as the thirty three year old had ever gotten.

Still, he was a realist, he knew it would take very little to kill this particular sweet deal, and he'd carefully arranged for that eventuality. He had no illusions regarding his employers' loyalty: if an authority looked at them cross ways they'd spill their guts. And he'd be the first thing given up. So he did what he had always had to do: plan for disaster.

When he awoke, instantly and fully aware, and recognized the sound of distant helicopters he threw on his clothing and grabbed his .38, hurrying with surprising stealth for so large a man. He knew the corridors of the facility like the back of his hand, and had no problem getting to the south exit, turning at the last moment at the distant sound of an explosion. Sounded like the cavalry had blasted the front door. Well, good luck to the cowardly trio, he'd be in Nebraska before the authorities knew who to look for.

To be continued


	11. Chapter 11

_Author's Notes: Whew, when I started this I figured four, maybe five chapters, I never expected this monster. Yikes. Anyway, for better or worse, it's done now, except an epilog, which is mostly written already. Need to tweak it a bit before posting. For all you lovely folks who have read, favorited, followed and/or reviewed: I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You're the best. K_

Part 11

Hotch watched the placement of the explosives around the heavy metal door, remaining well back and letting those officers with that specific training take the lead. Rossi, Kate and JJ flanked Hotch, with the contingent of deputies behind them. The trio who wired the door scurried back behind them, warning all to duck. Seconds later the blast took out the door, which thumped to the ground.

The group moved in quickly guns at the ready. Hotch led one group to the area believed to be the living quarters, while Rossi led the remainder on a search of the rest of the floor.

JJ reached out to open the door to the tech room, with the rest of the group standing at the ready. She twisted the knob, pleased to find it unlocked. The blonde agent quickly opened the door, and the group entered the room in silent haste. There were three doors spaced along the back wall of the large room, and the team split up between them, opening them simultaneously on Hotch's signal.

Hotch crept into his chosen room, while the deputy with him located and turned on the lights. The figure on the bed sat up in confusion as Hotch called out.

"FBI! Put your hands where I can see them!"

William Carson squinted in the general direction of the FBI agent, while raising slightly shaky hands. "I'm not armed," he quavered.

As the BAU team leader watched the deputy cuff the suspect, reciting his Miranda Rights, he heard distant gun fire, and his heart sank. He knew it had been too easy.

"This is Team Four, we have an officer down and the armed suspect has gone back into the building!" came the report over the communications system.

Hotch's companion shot him a worried look, even as he dragged the suspect from his bed.

"Let's move him to the other room," the FBI agent ordered, stepping out to find the other two suspects were also cuffed and sitting along the wall between doors, guarded by JJ and the other deputies.

Aaron nodded his approval and spoke into the small device at his collar. "Make sure the two stairways to the lower level are guarded, we don't want him going down there if we have hostages," he ordered. "McCay, get Garcia to a defensible location and stay alert."

"Already done sir."

Hotch looked at his companions, singling out two of the deputies. "You guard these three, you take the door," he instructed them. He indicated JJ and the other three deputies. "We'll spread out and look for the shooter. He's likely feeling trapped and desperate, and will be unpredictable. Take every precaution, if you have to shoot, do so."

He glanced over at the three cuffed suspects, all of whom looked downright terrified at the sight of the armed officers. He strode over and hauled Calloway to his feet, getting right in the man's face as he growled out his question. "How many guards do you have here?"

"Ju…just the one," the thin man stuttered, eyes rounded in fear. "Just him."

Hotch pushed him back down, and stalked toward the door, speaking into the microphone again. "Confirmed that there is only the one guard."

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Smithers moved through the familiar maze of corridors with confidence. He was still in the area where lights had not been turned on, so he could move quickly. His new plan was to get to the lower floor and get himself a hostage. Or sixty three. He slowed as he saw that the lights were on in the intersecting corridor, which happened to be the one he needed to use to gain access to the lower level. He carefully approached and peeked toward the stairway.

The career criminal pulled back and breathed out a near silent curse when he spotted the deputy guarding the stairwell. He'd been fortunate the young man had been looking the other way when he'd checked, but that was the only lucky thing about it. Brian leaned back against the wall and considered his options.

He was a crack shot, so he knew he could take out the deputy, but he didn't know where the officer's support and backup might be. He couldn't get to the other stairway without getting too near the northern area, which he realized is where the law enforcement personnel had entered. Hiding in one of the rooms behind him would buy him some time, but there was no way to escape from them; he would eventually be found.

A sort of icy calm came over the man as he made his decision. Pulling his gun he cocked it, taking a calming breath with his eyes closed, envisioning exactly where the deputy had been standing, then he released the breath as he stepped out into the corridor, his gun aimed at the precise spot the deputy had been just seconds before.

Deputy Kenneth Snow would forever count that day as one of the luckiest of his life, because as Smithers came out and shot at his location, the young deputy was no longer standing in the same spot, but had moved to the other side of the corridor, and was now facing toward where the unsub appeared. While Smithers attempted to adjust for the new location of the deputy, the officer snapped off his own shot and darted to the opening for the stairway.

Brian Smithers cursed and took two steps toward the stairwell before a stern voice spoke up from behind him.

"FBI, drop your weapon!"

Brian raised his hands, gun still in his right one, and slowly turned to face the FBI agent. When he saw the officer – older, a bit paunchy, with a kind of hound dog look to his face – he knew he'd have to decide if he could take him. This was no youngster facing him, and Smithers hoped the older man would be slower to respond than a youthful one would be.

Rossi watched the unsub's face with all the years of profiling and reading people informing his interpretation. And he saw the exact moment the man decided to try his luck. The gun had just started to move into position when Rossi fired his own weapon, the bullet tearing into Smither's chest and severing the main artery. The man was dead as he hit the floor.

"Suspect is down," Dave reported into his mike, striding over and kicking the suspect's gun away. "You okay deputy?" he asked the officer at the stairs.

"Yes sir. Thank you. Your timing was excellent," Snow replied.

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Hotch stopped searching when Dave's announcement came over the communications. Turning back toward the tech room, he spoke tersely into the microphone.

"McCay, bring Garcia in now. Rossi, JJ, Kate, take some deputies and check the lower level. I want at least two people finishing the search of the upper level as well. I'll be in the tech room," he ordered.

He got back to the computer filled room at the same time McCay and Garcia arrived, and he ushered his analyst in ahead of him. "I need you to figure out what we have here," he requested.

Garcia looked around with wide eyes, moving quickly to start up the systems and turn on the various monitors. What she saw filled her with awe, and she sat at the middle chair, studying the information intently.

Hotch walked over, watching her actions but not asking questions. Rossi's voice came from the communications system again.

"Hotch, we have people down here. LOTS of people. But the cages are locked, and we need a key or for Garcia to do her thing and open them all."

"I can do that, give me a minute," she said to Hotch, her fingers flying over the keys.

"Dave, when the doors are unlocked, have them all go upstairs to the big room in the middle," Hotch instructed him.

"It looks like they call it the 'arena'," Garcia provided, pointing to the label on one of the monitors, which showed the large room.

"Tell them to go to the 'arena'," Aaron revised his orders, looking down at Garcia.

"Almost got it, sir," she said to his unspoken question. "Just another minute. There!"

"They're open," Rossi confirmed.

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Kate and the deputies went up and down the assorted corridors, shouting out to the occupants of the tiny rooms to 'go to the arena', seeing with a sense of amazement how many people they were freeing. Rossi and JJ stood at the base of the stairways, looking for their missing teammates.

Morgan was in the group that went to Rossi's stairway, and the two agent's eyes met, relief filling them both.

"Damn, Rossi, I didn't think it would be possible to be this happy to see you," Morgan said, taking the older agent's hand and putting his other hand on his shoulder.

"The feeling is mutual, my friend. Are we going to find Reid as well?"

"You should. I saw him earlier today," Morgan replied, a shadow in his eyes despite the good tidings.

"I have Morgan, Reid should be showing up," Rossi said into his microphone, still scanning the people going by.

Spencer was plodding in the group heading toward the stairs when a familiar voice caught his attention.

"Spence!"

Reid turned toward the source of the sound, a smile suddenly lighting up his face when he spotted JJ's smiling visage. Hurrying over to her side, he was promptly enveloped in a welcoming hug.

"Oh, my God, it's so good to see you," JJ murmured, giving one last squeeze and stepping back to examine her friend. Seeing bruises and welts, she felt a sense of fury, even as she ran gentle hands over his arms.

"Whoever did this to you, we'll get them," she assured him.

"It's fine, JJ. If you got the masterminds behind this, then you already got them. Oh, and the big guy who was like their enforcer or something," Spencer assured her.

"Oh, that's probably the suspect Rossi shot," the blonde informed him.

"Ah," Reid said vaguely, his eyes on the freed hostages going by.

"Come on," JJ urged him, her hand on his arm. "I know the others are anxious to see you," she said, herding him up the stairs.

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Hotch and Garcia shared a relieved glance when Rossi's announcement came, and Deputy McCay added his own congratulations. Then their attention turned to the monitor showing the arena, which was beginning to fill up with very subdued men and women all dressed in sweatpants and tank tops of varying colors.

"My God, so many of them," McCay breathed, turning to look at the trio of suspects being guarded by two deputies. "What kind of monsters are they, to do this?"

"Caught monsters, the best kind," Garcia answered gently, still engrossed in discovering the secrets in the computer system. "Oh, ew," she said.

"What is it Garcia?" Hotch asked.

"Looks like they recorded their contests," she said, bringing up a file. It showed two fighters – one red, one green – fighting in that same arena now filling up with rescued hostages. Less than eight minutes in the red fighter landed a massive blow to his opponent's head, and the man fell to the ground and lay unmoving as a puddle of blood blossomed under his head.

"Oh, God," Penelope groaned, turning it off. "There are dozens of these files."

"I think we can safely say it will take the local authorities some time to identify all the victims who have passed through here," Hotch said. Any further comment was forgotten as Garcia gasped and leapt to her feet, to rush over and grab Reid in an enthusiastic bear hug.

"Oh, Baby G Man, you're okay!" she gasped out, releasing him only to put her warm hands on either side of his face. "You have to stop scaring us like this!" she scolded him gently before hugging him again.

Spencer caught Hotch's amused gaze over Garcia's head and gave his boss a slightly bemused smile.

A bit of commotion at the door caught their attention and Penelope abruptly released Reid to rush over and grab Morgan fiercely.

"Damn you! You ever do this again and I won't try and find you," she threatened into his broad chest.

Morgan gently moved her away so he could look into her face. "Baby Girl, you will always come looking for me, and that's what helped me survive," he said gravely. "You don't ever give up."

Her eyes were suspiciously moist above her bright smile. "True, but you're still in trouble," she noted, hugging him again.

"Mama, you think you can find a way to get this off?" he asked, fingering the collar around his neck.

"But of course," she assured him, already searching the system. "Hmmm..this looks like it might be it, but there are no names, just numbers," she muttered.

"They assigned us numbers," Reid explained from behind them.

"Ah." She looked up at Morgan. "And may I have your number, my precious?"

"Baby Girl, you've always had my number," Morgan grinned. "One fifty five."

"Oh, well, it appears I can activate or I can remove. Which do you prefer?" she asked with a smirk.

"Let's go with remove," Morgan requested with a glare.

"Remove it is." She hit the button and the collar on Morgan's neck immediately unsnapped.

"Thank you, Mama," Morgan said, running his hand over his neck.

"Garcia, number two seventy nine, please?" Reid asked plaintively.

She moved the cursor again and Spencer's collar also snapped off. Turning back to the screen she began to methodically remove each and every collar number.

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Fifteen minutes after the BAU had been reunited a deputy who'd been among those searching the lower level arrived to announce that there appeared to be no other people down there.

"Did you do a head count?" Hotch asked.

"Yep. Sixty one. Your two guys meant they had sixty three people here," the younger man answered with a disgusted look at the suspects. "Some are in pretty rough shape."

"We need to arrange for transportation out," the BAU leader commented.

"Sheriff Adams had a suggestion for that," McCay said, handing Hotch a business card. "The Amador bus line has a bus in Winnemucca, they drive a group of miners to the mine and back every day. He said to call the guy on the card, and mention his name, and he'd make sure the bus came to get anyone you needed."

Hotch gave one of his rare smiles. "Adams is a good man," he noted.

"Yes he is " McCay agreed.

"I've already deactivated the security system and opened the gates," Garcia added, smiling at the deputy.

"We should call in the remaining helicopters and get going back to Reno," Hotch noted. One of the helicopters had already been dispatched with the deputy wounded earlier. "This is a local matter now."

"Uh, Hotch, could I have a few minutes? There's someone there in the arena I want to talk to," Morgan requested.

"Me, too," Reid chimed in.

"Of course," Aaron agreed, watching the two younger men carefully. They'd all noticed a seeming tension between the two of them, and it concerned them all.

They silently walked to the large room, entering and scanning the faces assembled. Morgan spotted his trainer first and hurried over.

"Is this the doing of the FBI?" Lance asked Morgan with a broad smile.

"Yep. I told you, my team is the best," Derek grinned. "Look, man, we're leaving soon, we end up leaving all the follow-up to the locals, but I just….wanted to thank you. For all you did for me," the dark skinned man said diffidently.

"I didn't do that much. And I need to thank you. I know you and your friend didn't want to be kidnapped, and the whole situation sucked, but I'll be forever grateful you were. Because of that, this nightmare is over. For all of us. That's a miracle none of us expected. Because of that, I'll finally get to see my son again," the man's voice hitched as moisture filled his eyes. "I'll get to go home to Jason."

"That thought helps make it feel better, thank you. Oh, and I want you to take this," he said, handing over a slip of paper. "That's my cell number. When you get home, call me, please. Let me know how you're doing. Anytime, if I can help, you call me. Please?"

"I'll do that," Lance promised, putting the precious slip of paper in his pocket.

"And you do me a favor. Forgive yourself. You did everything you had to do, all of us here have. Don't let the bad guys win," the one time Karate instructor said sincerely.

"I'll work on it." Derek assured him, pulling him in for a quick hug. "You take care of yourself."

Across the room Spencer had located Aisha, who looked more than a little dazed by the current turn of events.

"Is it true? We're going home?" she asked looking around.

"Yes. They are arranging a bus as we speak," Reid assured her.

"Where are we?"

Spencer gave her a perfectly bemused expression. "I don't know. I forgot to ask." He glanced around, spotting one of the deputies, who he waved over.

"Officer, where are we?" Reid asked.

"You don't know?" the deputy asked in surprise.

"We were unconscious when we were brought here," Reid explained in his patient way.

"Ah. Well, you're about six miles outside of Winnemucca. Nevada," he replied.

"Thank you."

Aisha still seemed distant.

"I thought you'd be pleased to be going home," Spencer said at last.

"I…I am. It's just…will I be enough?" she wondered. At Spencer's puzzled look, she elaborated. "I was with my sister and brother-in-law. Our families have been worried about all three of us. And they're only getting me back. I don't think that'll be enough."

Reid took her cool hands in his long fingered ones. "Aisha, your family will be thrilled to get you back. Yes, they will grieve for your sister and brother-in-law, but that doesn't mean they won't be grateful to get you back. A lot of families will be getting the news that they aren't getting anyone back," he advised her gently.

"I hope you're right," she commented softly.

"I usually am. Here," he said, holding out a slip of paper. "This is my phone number, call me anytime for anything." He was pleased to note the melancholy mood seemed to be lifting.

"Thank you," she said, pocketing the slip of paper.

"No, thank YOU. You were incredibly kind and patient, and I was a terrible student," Reid said. "You probably saved my life."

"I totally saved your life," she quipped, a spark of humor warming her eyes. "And you really are a terrible student. How'd you ever get those PhDs?"

"Subjects I liked," he countered, pleased to see the spark back in those dark eyes. "Look we have to leave soon, but I really do thank you."

"You're welcome, Dr. Reid," she said emphasizing his title. She leaned forward, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Try to keep out of trouble, huh?"

"I'll work on that."

To be continued


	12. Epilog

_Author's notes: And is done now. I hope it was enjoyed, I certainly enjoyed writing it, and I appreciate each and every bit of feedback. Here's hoping all the folks - writers, readers, administrators - have a wonderful holiday season, however you celebrate it. K_

Epilog

Thank God, they were finally headed home.

They'd remained in Reno an additional day, allowing for both recovered agents to be examined by a doctor and to make their full reports. They had heard from the local agents still on the scene in Winnemucca that they had located a well hidden burial ground in the western area of the property and they had already started exhuming the bodies. They had also found information on the other 'hunters' used by the suspects, and they were slowly but surely being rounded up. The agent Hotch spoke to figured they'd be on site there for at least two weeks to a month as they filtered through evidence.

Hotch set aside the case file and looked around the quiet plane. The girls and Rossi were engaged in a spirited game of Pinochle, keeping their voices down in deference to Reid, who was stretched out on the couch, sound asleep. He couldn't help but smile a bit; Spencer looked impossibly young when sleeping.

He turned his attention to the other young man. Morgan was sitting near the rear of the plane, staring moodily out the window, his expression melancholy. Hotch rose and quietly walked over, taking a seat opposite.

"Feel like talking?" he asked gently.

"No."

"You know he doesn't blame you. He won't forgive you because he doesn't believe you did anything that requires forgiveness," Aaron noted.

"I said I didn't want to talk" Morgan grumbled.

Hotch gave a one sided shrug. "You're not talking, I am."

Morgan sighed deeply and turned back to the window.

"You remember the L.D.S.K we had a few years back? In Des Plaines?"

Morgan looked at his boss, considering. "Yeah, guy worked at the hospital. Um…Dowd. Yeah, Phillip Dowd. Reid took him out."

"Yeah. With my backup gun. He ever tell you how he came to be in possession of a weapon I carry in an ankle holster?"

Morgan was definitely intrigued now. "No, the kid never did. I had wondered, but never got around to asking, and it never came up again. It was his first kill, he was having trouble dealing with it, I didn't want to remind him unnecessarily."

"I was working on Dowd, empathizing, giving him suggestions on how to handle the hostages. Told him I was on his side, pointed out that I was stuck with Reid, a kid so useless he couldn't even qualify to carry a gun. Asked Dowd if I could kick the crap out of Reid before he finished. The whole time Reid's watching me with this look on his face…hurt, scared, betrayed," Hotch said, glancing out the window himself.

"Did he do the eyes thing?" Morgan asked with a half-smile.

"Oh, yeah. You know, when I was a kid, my mom had a dog. Cocker Spaniel. Damned thing had that same look. I'd see that and I'd feel guilty and I hadn't even done anything," Hotch agreed with a smile of his own. He paused a moment, considering, while Morgan waited patiently.

"Anyway, Dowd agreed, so I knocked Reid down and started kicking him," the team leader said.

"With the leg with the gun, right?" Morgan asked.

"Yep. He'd looked so upset, I wasn't sure if he understood what I was trying to do, and I never felt the gun move. I'd forgotten how nimble fingered he is. If he wasn't an FBI agent he'd make a heck of a living as a pickpocket. Anyway, he did get the gun, and he did shoot Dowd, and all the hostages were saved. Good all around."

"Yeah," Morgan agreed. "Why exactly did you tell me this story?" he asked.

"Afterwards, I went up to Reid, told him I wouldn't have kept kicking him, but I wasn't sure he'd understood my plan. He told me that he'd known the plan from the moment I got Dowd to move the other hostages out of his line of fire. I still felt guilty, so I told him I hoped I hadn't hurt him too badly," Hotch continued, ending with a slight suppressed chuckle. "I will never forget his reply."

Morgan raised his eyebrows, and tilted his head. "And that reply was?"

"He said, and I quote, 'I was a twelve-year-old child prodigy in a Las Vegas public high school. You kick like a nine-year-old girl.'"

Morgan's surprised burst of laughter caught the attention of the card players, and even Reid stirred a little, though it appeared he didn't actually wake up.

"Ow. Burn," Derek chuckled. "The kid can get mouthy, that's for sure." His smile faded, and he looked out the window again, considering.

"I know I did what I had to do," Morgan said at length. "I know Reid did what he had to do. We had no choice, we had no chance. And we both survived, which is the ultimate success. But it's going to be a long time before I can get the memory of hurting my best friend out of my mind, seeing him go down and writhe in pain because if something I did."

"You probably won't ever forget it," Hotch said quietly. "But you can make peace with it. Remember to talk to Reid. After all, he IS your best friend." The older man stood up, turning to return to his previous seat.

"Thanks, Hotch," Derek said simply, turning once more to look out the window, his expression more peaceful than it had been before.

As Hotchner walked by the couch, he heard a soft voice, "Thanks Hotch." He looked down to see sleepy brown eyes looking back. Reid winked at him, the closed his eyes again, letting sleep take him.

Shaking his head in amusement, Aaron sat back down and grabbed another case file to review as the jet soared though the clouds toward home.

The end


End file.

Criminal Minds, Friendship, Hurt-Comfort