A/N: This is my fanfiction exchange. My prompt: kidnapping fic. I had hoped to have it completed today, but it needs another few days. Hang with me, I promise to wrap this up within the week. The rating may change.

Many thanks to thepuppiesinpink for organizing us.

I will tell you the mystery

Smoke billowed out from the door of the compound. It was situations like this where Henry McCord hoped he was wrong. From the command center, he watched the FBI body cameras, holding his breath and hoping not to see any signs of mass suicide. As they cleared each room of the cult's compound, no bodies were found. Finally, they made it to the central room, the sanctuary. Just one day before, Henry had stood in the empty hall, face to face with a charismatic, middle aged man convinced of his beliefs. They had proof that the end times were already in motion. This belief had led the small group to stock pile more than 100 illegal firearms and explosive compounds. Once the FBI's investigation determined they were dealing with a radical, religious cult and not a terrorist cell, they called in their go-to religious expert.

Three days ago, Henry had stepped foot in the small, mobile command center and had initiated contact with the leader, Reverend Douglas Morning Star. Of course, Rev. Morning Star was not his legal name, but the team had to play into the fantasy that had been constructed by Douglas Peters. Throughout the conversations, Henry hadn't really determined if the man was delusional, a skilled fraud, or genuinely misguided in his interpretations of Daniel and Revelation. In the end, he guessed it didn't really matter. In stand-off situations, the best anyone could hope for was a low body count. When Morning Star stopped communicating there was very little choice but to go in and hope the building wasn't rigged to explode, taking every church member and FBI agent to eternity.

The smoke, for the time being, was a result of smoke grenades. With the explosives on site, flash-bangs were unsafe, but the agents needed cover in case the members of the First Church of the End Times had armed themselves against the agents of the Antichrist.

~~/~~

Elizabeth McCord checked her watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. She had to stop thinking about Henry. She knew he could take care of himself, and her current situation was anything but as stable. She stood behind President Dalton, who was sitting in front of the press corps, flanked by the government leaders from Colombia, Peru, Guatemala, Bolivia, Brazil, and Mexico. She had negotiated an unprecedented agreement to enforce strict laws aimed at decreasing drug related violence across Central and South America. The key to the agreement was that it targeted violence toward innocent communities unfortunate enough to be stops along the drug trade and not targeted on the drug cartels themselves. Despite this distinction, intelligence reports had surfaced suggesting the major cartels were already mobilizing to test the legitimacy of the agreement. Their operations had to adjust to new boundaries and develop new tactics. This was inevitable. No one was foolish enough to think they could end the drug trade as long as there was demand and the demand was profitable, but if they could be rerouted around vulnerable villages and through unpopulated territory, it was a win.

As the document was passed and signed by each representative, camera flashed from the media corps. Glancing down for a moment, Elizabeth, not for the first time that day, regretted Alison had convinced her the purple blouse was perfect with the red blazer. In the soft light of bedroom closet, she had to admit, it was unconventional and worked. Now, in the scrutiny of history, she wondered if the camera would be kind. Of course, she was not the focus of the photos, standing behind the seven men who would be the focal point, she was joined by ten other aids. She knew these numbers of course because of the hours wasted negotiating the positions of each person for purposes of the photo op. Out of the corner of her eye she couldn't help but notice a peculiar stare from one of her new agents on her security detail, Barry. Apparently he was a fashion critic. Another of her detail entered from the side and whispered in Barry's ear. They both looked her way, she decided it wasn't about complimentary color combinations. As the final camera shutters fell silent and President Dalton stood, she made her way to the pair.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Matt cleared his throat, "We need to brief you on some changes to your detail, there's a credible threat."

~~/~~

People shouted, some cried. Henry walked through the makeshift holding area where members of the cult were placed after a thorough search and assessment of their mental state. No one had died. Yet. Pastor Morning Star was barricaded in the armory, but the rest of the congregation had been removed. The standoff was nearing a stalemate, and Henry needed insight. He was in search of the Pastor's 18-year-old son.

"Justin? Justin Peters?" he finally called out. When a dark-haired boy stood. His skin was dark, evidence of his many hours working outside on the church's farm. His broad shoulders attested to his diligence to the manual labor required to maintain a self-sustaining community. "I'm Henry McCord. Can you come with me? I want to help your father," Henry said.

The boy nodded his head and obediently followed. Once they reached the conference area of the mobile command center, Henry offered him water.

"Coffee?" was the one-word answer that was almost a whisper.

Henry nodded, it had been a long three days for everyone, "Of course, have a seat." Pouring the coffee and grabbing a handful of cream and sugar, he watched his companion scan the room. Justin's eyes moved over the sparse room in a slow methodical manner. At times they would linger on an unfamiliar object or the news program muted on the television set. Setting the paper cup in front of him, his eyes snapped to the steam rolling off the surface.

"Thank you," Justin simply said, ignoring the cream and sugar and blowing the surface of the coffee. "How can I help you? How can I help my dad?"

It was a good sign. The boy wasn't afraid to take the initiative and his use of the word 'dad' suggested some emotional connection. "He's locked himself in the armory. We want to help him out without anyone getting injured. He isn't very talkative."

"How can he be? That door is six inches thick."

Henry smiled despite the situation. If logic could reign, there was some hope. "He has a cell phone, he's answered it twice, but doesn't say much. He's asked about you, about the other members of your church, he cares about all of you."

Justin's brow knit together. "Of course he cares. He's our pastor."

"Why is he in there?" Henry asked.

Taking a sip of coffee, Justin closed his eyes and quoted, "Here is a call for the endurance and faith of the saints."

Knowing the church was obsessed with end times prophecy, Henry had spent the past several days reading passages from Daniel and Revelation. He thought he knew the passage, and it concerned him. "if you kill with the sword, with the sword you must be killed."

Surprise couldn't be hidden when the younger man opened his eyes.

"He's waiting for the agents to break in so he can render his own judgment," it wasn't a question, and was understanding.

"It is God's judgment. It's a test of righteousness," Justin said simply. "It was allowed to make war on the saints and to conquer them."

Standing, Henry sighed. He glanced at the TV and saw Elizabeth at her press conference. "You think we're the beast?" he asked and turning to see Justin was also staring at the television. "Justin?"

Shaking his head, he looked at Henry and back at the TV. "Who is like the beast, and who can fight against it?" He cleared his throat and squinted to read the caption. "Who is that?" he asked as the camera focused on President Dalton and the Secretary of State.

Henry looked back and was confused. The church wasn't cut off from the world. They had radio and newspapers delivered, but maybe these were only allocated to the church leadership. "That's President Conrad Dalton."

"No, the woman, in the purple and scarlet," he clarified causing Henry to feel defensive.

Walking to the wall, Henry turned off the set and took a small breath, hoping to steady himself. "That's the Secretary of State. They were signing a multi-national agreement." Turning to face Peters, Henry needed to change the subject subtly but quickly. "How do I help your dad?"

"Let me talk to him," he offered with some unnamed determination Henry couldn't place, but was willing to accept if it ended the standoff peacefully.

~~/~~

Elizabeth settled into her chair in her home office, the days events replaying in her mind, waiting impatiently for her husband to walk safely through the doors. No one would ever accuse them of living normal lives. She was reading the declassified report regarding from the FBI operation with the First Church of the End Times. The leaders were in custody and would face charges once all the seized weapon were logged and the data was searched, charges would be assessed. They would be minor, but hopefully the prison time would be long enough for the most vulnerable church members to embrace their freedom and not return to the confines of the closed community.

When she heard the door, she waited for Henry to round the corner. When he didn't come to her, the baseline worry intensified. She stood and headed for the door. She found him leaning against the wall looking out the window. "Hey," she called out and took his hand. Looking out the window, trying to see what he was seeing. "What's wrong?"

He turned and wrapped her into a side hug, "I was about to ask you." Nodding to the new security configuration. "What happened?"

Elizabeth squeezed his hand and pulled him toward the kitchen. "I'll fill you in after you tell me what's not in this FBI report." She busied herself with leftovers, giving him time to collect his thoughts.

"I'm not really sure what happened," he admitted. "We tried to negotiate for two days with Peters. He knew just what to say to prolong the standoff but never escalate it. It was like he wanted us to react. Yesterday, he didn't answer our calls and the team had to enter the compound. They were expecting the worst, but all the church members were in the sanctuary praying. They went with the agents peacefully. Each one submitting to searches to make sure there were no hidden weapons," he paused accepting a glass of wine. "They had dorms that had been searched the day before and we moved 30 of the women and children there. Then men were questioned while the agents finally realized Pastor Morning Star had barricaded himself in their armory." Henry took the offered plate of food and moved with his wife to the table to continue his story.

"I read about the armory. How does a small group build a vault? Why does a church need assault riffles and grenades?" Elizabeth asked.

"We're still not sure how the vault was constructed. The door was six inches thick. It had to have been specially made. The FBI will track it down. The weapons, apparently were needed for the church to survive the end times and defend themselves against the beast," he explained. "That, I finally figured out when I sat down with his son. They thought we were sent by the beast. Peters wanted the agents to attack so he could be vindicated maybe. Possibly martyred." He paused, still not sure how the situation resolved itself. "Justin volunteered to talk to his dad. Five minutes and six words later, the pastor surrendered peacefully and we were filing after action reports."

She looked expectedly, but realized he was going to make her ask. "Ok, the suspense is killing me. What were the six words?"

"Come out, the mystery is over," he said and shrugged. "We questioned them both for hours and neither one has explained what mystery he was referring to. The FBI don't seem to care what some religious fanatics believe as long as they don't have access to weapons," he said sarcastically, adding, "Apparently."

She processed his words, knowing they did little to describe his three days immersing himself in the theology of the cult. "What happens to the people?"

"Hopefully, they go back to their families, but we can't stop them if they want to return to the compound," he admitted. "The rest will face charges of possession of illegal firearms and explosives. Pastor Morning Star may spend 10 years in federal prison."

"And Justin," she asked. He had used his name, but she read the report and knew her husband. He would have wanted to save this kid.

"He's eighteen years old, the law considers him an adult," he admitted.

"But his dad is going to jail, is his mom in the picture?" she asked, pouring more wine.

"She died in child birth. The compound is the only life he knows," Henry told her, pain evident in his eyes.

"You set him up in a hotel room and are going to help him find a job," she said knowingly.

He couldn't hide his smile. "Best Western on Grand Ave. He has an interview in the morning."

"I knew it!" she said. "You just can't help yourself."

Henry smiled and squeezed her hand. Looking in her eyes, he could see the underlying stress. "So, I told her about my day, what about yours?"

"Well, we made the world a safer place for thousands of people," she started.

He sensed her stall tactics and was well versed in the dance. He was tired and decided to short circuit the run around. "Are any of those people in this house?"

She grimaced. "Well, no. Not exactly."

Silence reigned.

"So maybe I upset a drug cartel today," she finally admitted. Henry offered a small grunt of acknowledgement, but didn't speak. "Ok, maybe I upset a few drug cartels today, but to be fair I wasn't the only one."

"Uh-huh, are you the only one who needs additional security?" he tried not to let the danger of her job get to him.

Offering her sly smile, she reached for her wine, "Turns out you need additional security too."

~~/~~

Elizabeth was up early the next morning. Making coffee she cursed Jason for refusing once again to take the trash out. While she waited for the coffee to brew, she tied up the bag and headed for the back door. Trying not to wake anyone, she eased the door shut behind her and lifted the lid from the trash can. Before she could complete her task, a strong arm reached around her midsection and a hand clamped over her mouth. She tried to break free, but her attacker was immoveable. Her only option was to fight dirty, if she could just have a second to fill her lungs with air, agents would converge. Biting down on the hand, the man grunted, but refused to be distracted from his task. He slammed her against the brick wall, and Elizabeth's head made contact, stunning her. It was the only opening the man needed to release her waist and plunge a needle into the side of her neck. Slowly her world when dark.

TBC