Betrayal
A Criminal Minds fanfiction
K
Anderson, Reid, team
©mccabebabe
For MC Scratch, Quantico's Best DJ
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Betrayal is the only truth that sticks. -Arthur Miller
Even when it isn't Anderson, it's Anderson-Normasm
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He moved stealthily around the BAU bullpen, pausing at each member's desk and pocketing items. Once his pockets were full, he graduated to filling the small duffel bag he'd taken from David Rossi's office.
Satisfied his collection was complete, he stopped into technical analyst Penelope Garcia's office and sat down by the computer. He fished a piece of paper out of a pocket, consulted it and moved his hand over the keyboard. Just before his fingers came into contact with it, he remembered something. He pulled gloves from his suit jacket, slipped them on and then, reading from his piece of paper, tapped on the keyboard.
In an instant, the screen lit up with the information he'd searched for and he took out his smartphone and photographed the screen.
"I wish I knew more about computers, I'd screw this up for you so good," he muttered as he closed the tabs, entered a few keystrokes and shut the computer down.
Carefully, he replaced the chair where it had been and shook his head in disgust at the array of toys and distractions on Garcia's desk. He helped himself to a furry kitten toy, tossing it into the duffel bag with the rest of the things he'd purloined and then he exited her office, closing the door behind him.
After walking the perimeter of the bullpen he made his way into Unit Chief Emily Prentiss' office. Donning the gloves again, he sat before her computer, booted it up and waited. Once again, he consulted his paper and logged in. He called up the Administration screen, and entered a succession of keystrokes and then sat back and laughed, lacing his hands behind his head.
"Thank you, Agent Prentiss," he snickered derisively, logging off and shutting the computer down.
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"What the f—" Prentiss swore as she sat by her computer, staring disbelievingly at the screen. Dancing across it was an artist's rendition of the team's longtime nemesis Mr. Scratch. The figure was wearing headphones, she noted, and appeared to be listening to music. Emily turned up the volume on her computer, thinking maybe there was some sort of audio clue as to the mpg's origins.
The sound of the Twilight Zone theme sounded. She puzzled over the text that crawled along the bottom of the screen. Which agent is your favourite? Which case was your favourite? Which unsub was most likeable?
Her phone rang and she immediately reached for it, turning the music down.
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He rolled out from underneath the SUV and quickly put the mechanic's creeper and the pair of side cutters carefully back into their respective spots in the garage.
"Damn Fleet mechanics are so fussy," he lamented, not wanting the tools to be found out of place and raising suspicion. The side cutters were returned to the toolbox sitting next to the workbench. The mechanic's creeper he folded back up and hung back on its hook on the pegboard lining the back of the service bay.
He stripped off the coverall, balled it up and tossed it into the laundry bin sitting next to the toolbox and then made his way back upstairs to the offices.
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Spencer Reid, Jennifer Jareau and Penelope Garcia stepped off the elevator on the sixth floor. Garcia headed for her office and the two agents made their way through the bullpen to their desks.
Reid sat down and logged into his computer, intending to check his email. Instead of opening the mail program, his screen froze and the image of a familiar dark-haired woman filled it.
His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as he muttered under his breath, "What the—"
At the desk next to his, JJ was rummaging through drawers and Reid noticed she seemed to exhibit an increasingly alarmed state.
"JJ, what's wrong?"
"My photos of Michael and Henry are gone." She seemed both sad and angry as she checked under and around her desk for the missing articles. "Who would take—" her words died on her lips when she recognised the photograph on Reid's screen. "Spencer, what the hell? Why would you have Cat Adams' picture as your desktop image?"
He shook his head, agitated. "I didn't do that, I just tried to log into my email and this damn thing came up!"
Their attention was diverted by a screech emanating from Garcia's office. Immediately, both agents ran to their analyst's side. They found her staring incredulously at her computer screen, which was dark except for a moving gif of what appeared to be little robots.
"Daleks," Reid exclaimed. Garcia had already recognised them, but JJ's face was blank. "From Doctor Who," Reid told JJ by way of explanation.
"Why though?" Garcia wondered. "I can't get anything to open, it's completely frozen on this screen!" she tried several things in a vain attempt to get the computer back on track and nothing helped. "I've really been hacked. Really. Really been hacked." Getting up from her chair, she unplugged the entire system and told them, "I better report this to Emily."
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Agents Luke Alvez and Tara Lewis joined the others already assembled in the conference room. Both were buoyantly happy about something and JJ eyed them curiously.
"The '69 Charger I've had my heart set on for years might just become a reality now," Lewis was telling Alvez, continuing a conversation they had obviously started before arriving at the conference room.
"Sounds great," Alvez acknowledged, "I haven't decided what to do with mine yet. Maybe buy a place. Tired of renting."
Prentiss entered the room. "Garcia's on her way with our new case," she told them. Looking around the table, she realised Matt Simmons wasn't in attendance. "Well I know Dave's going down to the DOJ about a case but has anyone heard from Simmons? Anyone know why he isn't here?"
Reid and JJ exchanged a glance; both shook their heads and looked up at Prentiss.
"Not a word," Reid ventured.
"Same," JJ echoed.
Prentiss looked to Lewis and Alvez who were still talking about their expensive plans. "Guys?" Prentiss interrupted.
"Sorry, we were uh, talking about what to do with those bonuses. Nope, haven't heard from Matt," Alvez assured her.
"Me either," Lewis put in.
"Wait a minute," JJ interjected. "What bonuses? I didn't get any bonus. Spence, did you get a bonus?"
"I don't know. Couldn't get into my email, remember?"
Prentiss eyed them all with a puzzled look on her face. "What are you two talking about?"
"The bonuses, Emily. I called up my pay advice on the computer and saw the notation from you about the twenty-five thou—" Alvez stopped midsentence when he saw Reid, JJ and Prentiss all with jaws dropped. "Uh oh," he finished.
"I never authorised any—" Prentiss' brow furrowed and she looked to Alvez and Lewis. "It must be some kind of mistake, don't be spending that money just yet. I'll look into it later. Right now, we have a case. And where the hell is Garcia?"
Prentiss picked up the smart board remote and clicked it on, intending to present the case herself. After pressing the power button several times, it finally complied and the screen winked on. Instead of her case, the monitor showed the same little series of Daleks that had graced Garcia's computer screen, the photograph of Cat Adams from Reid's computer and the rendition of Mr. Scratch from Prentiss' own computer.
An angry sigh spilled from Prentiss and she pointed the remote at the screen and clicked the power button again, intending to shut it off. Instead, the Twilight Zone theme played at earsplitting volume. Wincing, she was frozen for just a second before taking two steps towards the smart board and yanking the power cord out of the wall, shutting the intrusive sound down.
"Ugh," she stepped back to the table, picked up the paper file and said, "Okay, we'll do this the old-fashioned way."
Fifteen minutes later, they were on their way to the jet. Prentiss sent Simmons a text.
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After going over Victimology and indicating their assignments for when they landed, Emily sat back in her seat on the jet and sipped at her coffee. Seated across from her, Reid and Alvez brainstormed over their unsub's possible motives and in the seats across the tiny aisle, Lewis and JJ were poring over crime scene photographs.
Prentiss' phone rang and she plucked it from her pocket to answer it, hoping it was Simmons replying to her text.
"This is Emily Prentiss."
Reid looked up as he heard her sharp intake of breath and couldn't help but hear her side of the conversation.
"He what?!" There was a short pause as she listened to her caller. "Is he all right? Was anyone else hurt?" Another pause and Reid's brow furrowed with worry. "Thank you. No, that's okay, please do so. Yes, thanks."
She clicked her phone off and put it away. As she lifted her head, her eyes made contact with Reid's. He didn't voice his question but it was written plainly on his face.
Prentiss explained, "David Rossi was involved in a car accident. He's okay. But apparently he didn't stop at an intersection and t-boned another vehicle. Nobody's hurt, but the Fleet SUV is a write-off. They're investigating."
"He's a good driver, that doesn't sound like Rossi at all," Reid opined.
"DCPD is looking into it. You're right, this doesn't sound like Dave at all."
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An hour into their flight, the jet suddenly rocked violently, scattering papers and coffee cups everywhere.
The jet dropped and then quickly gained altitude causing its passengers to grip their armrests tightly. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence and measured anxiety, the ride smoothed out and normalcy returned.
"Glad Rossi isn't here," JJ muttered. "He hates the turbulence."
She noticed Reid was silent and appeared to be deep in thought. Leaning across the aisle, she asked,
"Spence? You okay?"
"I don't think that was turbulence, JJ. It was too jarring, too sudden and over too quickly. Turbulence tends to rock the plane back and forth from side to side and not quite as violently but for a longer period. This was more of a sudden failure of—what the—"
Reid's eyes trained forward at the cockpit door. The other BAU members looked in the same direction and five mouths were agape. Standing in the open cockpit door was their pilot. A man they were used to seeing in the BAU offices with them was apparently flying their jet.
"Anderson! What the hell?" Prentiss demanded, standing up.
He stepped towards them, closing the cockpit door behind him and brandishing a gun he now trained on them. He stepped closer, waving the gun around menacingly. The team members cooperated and sat still.
Anderson opened the duffel bag he had in one hand, and shook its contents out onto the unoccupied seat across from Lewis. Now empty, he held the bag out to the profilers.
"Phones, tablets, guns. All in here."
Prentiss tried to call his bluff. "Or what?"
His eyebrows rose. "Or I don't go back in there," he indicated the cockpit over his shoulder, "And actually fly the plane. I'll let it crash."
Her eyes narrowed. "What did you do to the pilot?"
Anderson countered, "I am the pilot." He held out the bag again and insisted "Phones, tablets, guns! Let's go!"
She stared him down. "I don't believe you. You'd be dead too."
Carefully, she pulled out her gun and nodded towards the others, putting her gun, her phone and her tablet into Anderson's bag; indicating the team should do likewise.
He struck a pose and made a face. "I've been dead here for years." Glaring at her, he swept a hand to indicate Lewis and Alvez. He held out the bag for them to add their items. "I kept putting in for the open profiler position. Years. Overlooked every time. First by Hotch. When he replaced Greenaway. And you, the first time. And Seaver. Blake. Callahan. Morgan. Her!" He practically spit out the word, glaring now at Lewis, holding the bag open in front of her, Lewis tossed her gun and tablet into the bag. He made a face. She added her phone. Returning his focus to Prentiss, he ranted on, "And then you. I thought it might be different. Maybe you'd give me a chance but no. You bring in Simmons. Super Simmons! Simmons is always in my face. He's everywhere."
Prentiss gestured, "He's not here, Grant."
"Of course he isn't. I fired him." He stared Prentiss down and held the bag out sideways to JJ and Reid. Two tablets, two phones and two guns were added to the collection. With Anderson's attention firmly on Prentiss, Reid surreptitiously swiped his iPhone on and touched the screen before tossing it into Anderson's bag.
"Well, actually, you fired him." He laughed. "So, it's my chance again. And this time I'm not taking no for an answer. Meet the new member of the BAU."
He did a bit of a pirouette, and stopped to eye Prentiss.
"Sit down!" he yelled at her. After glaring back at him for a moment, Prentiss complied and retook her seat across from Reid.
"I'm the gofer. Drive Elle home. Pick up coffee and cream for the kitchen. Rossi needs a hammer and some nails to put up another damn plaque in his office. Run these files downstairs. Scoot over to Staples and get more Post-It notes for Genius Boy here. Fetch coffee and more chairs for all the other applicants for what should be my job."
He paused mid-rant when his eyes lit on the pile of things he'd dumped on the seat. Rifling through them, he picked up the BAU's file on Cat Adams. After taking a few photos from it, he threw it into Reid's lap.
"Gofer." He reiterated. "But that's not all I did. See this?"
He tossed a photograph of a months-old infant at Reid. "Cat Adams' baby."
Reid grimaced.
"Mine. I'm the father. What you couldn't do, I did." He stood before Reid and looked down at him. "Cat's awesome, by the way. It was a pleasure keeping her informed about you." Both Reid and Prentiss gasped. Reid made a move to stand up and Prentiss quickly held him back in his seat.
"Don't," she warned him.
"And you," he spat out at JJ. "Ever wonder why Michael and Henry don't look at all like Will?" He tossed his head back and laughed. "Also mine."
"That's ridiculous!" JJ barked at him.
"Of course it is. But I wish they were mine," he said with a most insolent, salacious tone of voice. Angrily, he shook his head. "Even you!" he spat, "The media liaison gets the damn profiler's job ahead of me!"
"I hope you two enjoy spending that money I put into your accounts," Anderson laughed, directing his comment at Lewis and Alvez. "I got a raise, too. Making six figures now, finally."
"You hacked into my computer!" Prentiss accused.
"I had help. From the best. But she doesn't know it."
"You hacked into Penelope's computer too!" Prentiss realised.
"I've been slaving for you ingrates for years. Years! And not once have any of you ever appreciated every damn thing I do for you."
"That's not true, Grant. You're the only person outside the actual team members that we've trusted with any kind of sensitive information. We've included you in all sorts of situations. You've been a trusted colleague. This is an egregious betrayal—" Prentiss said angrily.
"Oh please!" he interrupted her. "Don't talk to me about betrayal. Fourteen years and I'm still just a damn clerk."
Reid looked up at him, realisation dawning on the profiler. "You had something to do with Rossi's accident this morning, didn't you?"
Anderson rifled through the pile of items on the unoccupied seat and picked out the little toy kitten he'd purloined from Garcia's desk.
"I might have cut the brake lines on the Suburban," Anderson gloated. He made a choking motion on the neck of the little kitten toy and laughed, "And Rossi's not the only one who might have," he paused to lend significance to his words, "an accident today." He ripped the toy's head off and tossed both pieces at Prentiss.
Reid took advantage of the noisy diversion that gasps from the women on the jet provided and touched his watch surreptitiously.
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Sitting at her desk, Garcia was slowly putting her computer station back together. She'd managed to restore order, vanquishing the Dalek attack and erasing all the malignant software Anderson had inflicted upon her system. Now in the process of reinstalling clean versions of all her operating software, Garcia waited for the processing to be completed and consulted her iPhone.
A minute later, she was calling Agent David Rossi. Happy to hear he was unhurt in the accident, she related what she'd learned to him.
"It's from Reid, Rossi. I talked him into updating that ancient obsolete phone he was using, remember? Made him join this century and got him into an iPhone a while ago. Then I thought, well, I could press my luck. He has a 2017 phone now. Why not see if I can get him a 2018 watch."
"This is all very interesting, Penelope. Is there a point we're heading to and can we get there sometime this year?"
"Of course, of course, I'm sorry." She drew a deep breath to put herself into brief and serious mode and continued, "Dr. Reid has an Apple Watch on that left arm now. He can send me text messages, Rossi, just by talking to the watch. And me being who I am, I recorded it. Stand by."
The computer finished all the installations and checks required and then Garcia plugged her phone into the computer. A few typed commands later, she clicked the mouse and spoke into the phone, "Okay, here you go, Sir."
Reid's voice came over the speaker, a hushed tone barely audible over the sound of jet engine droning.
"Rossi's accident was no accident. Deliberate act of sabotage. By Grant Anderson. He's obviously suffering some sort of mental breakdown. He's taken over the jet, confiscated all our weapons and phones. And he's threatening to crash the plane. There's more, Penelope. He's the mole! And—" the recording ended there.
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Prentiss was still trying to appeal to Anderson to put down his weapon when the jet's cabin lights flickered on and off and an alarm could be heard from the cockpit.
Immediately, Anderson waved the gun around again, "Everyone stay in your seats." He glared at the group, then opened the door of the cockpit, entered it and quickly shut and secured the door behind him.
Instantly, Alvez and Prentiss were out of their seats.
Banging on the cockpit door, Prentiss shouted repeatedly, "Anderson! Anderson!"
In the cockpit, Grant Anderson faced the jet's instrument panel, trying to find the source of the alarm.
And in his Washington, DC apartment bedroom, Agent Grant Anderson rolled over in bed and slapped at his alarm clock. Groggily, he got up and groaned,
"Ugh. 6 am. Whoa, what a nightmare!"
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Each betrayal begins with trust.-Martin Luther
Prentiss clearly said Anderson.-MC Scratch.
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