Author's Note: So, it's been a rather long time since I've written, thanks to a vicious combination of school, work, and writer's block. I started writing this story a few times only to scrap it in frustration, but I think I finally have a good idea of where I want it to go. It takes place sometime in late Season 8 or early Season 9 of CM, but it does not contain spoilers or cannon past the introduction of Agent Blake in the first episode of Season 8. Readers can freely regard or disregard the events of Seasons 8 and 9 as they so please. Obviously I do not own nor am I affiliated with Criminal Minds or any of its characters. While I took some of the general ideas for the plot from real-life historical events, all of the names and events in this story are entirely fictional.
This story is a long fic. I will post the second chapter almost immediately as it was originally part of a long first chapter and is nearly done. After that I will update as often as my schedule permits. As with my other stories, it centers around Prentiss, but very heavily involves the rest of the BAU team and also prominently features Clyde Easter and Ambassador Prentiss. Hope you enjoy!
The annoyingly persistent London rain pounded on the office window as Emily set her raincoat on the rack by the door. The sky outside was still black, intermingled with the omnipresent orange and white glow of the city's lights. The pounding of the pellets on the pane filled the silence of the cavernous office. Usually Emily liked her office. It was comfortably large – at least two or three times the size of the Strauss occupied at the BAU. But on mornings like this, when she came into the office hours before anyone other than the night guard and a few staff were present, it felt a bit empty and foreboding.
Although Emily worked long hours since taking charge of INTERPOL's London office – often longer hours than she had worked at the BAU – she rarely came in this early. The handsome wood clock on her desk, a parting gift from Rossi, showed that the hour was just past four in the morning. Yet Emily had had difficulty sleeping that night, and decided around three to give it up as a bad job and get some work done. She rationalized that she could always leave early if she got enough done, knowing in the back of her mind that she'd do no such thing. Though she didn't want to admit, Emily, always a hard worker, had become a Hotch-like workaholic. She supposed it just came with the territory of being in charge.
After clicking on her desk lamp, Emily settled into her leather office chair and began reviewing the stack of memorandums, intelligence reports and various assistance requests left on her desk from the night before. Wishing to break the monotony of the heavy silence, she grabbed a remote from her desk drawer and flipped on small flat-screen television mounted in the corner of the office. The clipped, polished voice of a forty-ish BBC News anchor emanated from the speakers just loud enough for Emily to make out but not so loud as to distract her from her work. She barely registered the anchor's report on the Scottish independence referendum as she began scrutinizing reports on possible terrorist sleeper cells in Western and Central Europe.
Yet the anchor's next report ripped Emily's attention from her work to the television.
"And Breaking News out of Egypt, where BBC correspondent Oliver Mansfield reports that protestors have surrounded the American Embassy in Cairo. Some of the protestors are believed to be armed and potentially dangerous. The Egyptian Army has been blocked by street barricades and is having tremendous difficulty taming the situation. We go now to Oliver Mansfield, live in Cairo."
Emily tuned out the voice of the ground reporter. She was too captivated by the images projecting across the screen. The American embassy was surrounded by hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, some watching with interest or alarm, but others screaming and yelling, faces contorted with rage. A few were throwing plastic bottles and other debris at the Embassy walls and the few Egyptian police on the scene. Some others were wielding automatic weapons, though thankfully they seemed to content to fire them in the air at the moment.
The voice of Oliver Mansfield broke back into Emily's consciousness.
"Sources indicate that there are no known casualties at this point and that the Embassy itself has not been breached. However, given the 1979 Iranian Hostage crisis and the more recent catastrophe at the U.S. Embassy in Libya, there is of course concern for the safety of those inside, including the new American Ambassador…"
Emily clicked off the television. She didn't need to hear the name of the ambassador. The new United States Ambassador to Egypt was Elizabeth Prentiss.
Emily scrambled to her desk, grabbed her phone, and immediately dialed Clyde Easter. A groggy voice answered.
"Bloody Hell, Em. Do you have any idea what time it is? I hope this is an emergency."
"Turn on the news." Emily answered curtly.
"What? Why?"
"Just turn it on," she insisted.
"Alright, alright," came Clyde's grudging reply.
After a few moments of silence, Emily heard Clyde's voice again, but this time she could tell he was alert.
"Good God. Em, isn't that where your mother's posted?"
"You need to get me down there right now," Emily demanded.
"What? Why? What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to help get her out," she answered matter-of-factly.
"You can't possibly be serious," Clyde answered. "Are you even watching this? It's insane. Besides, I'm sure there's a load of military and private security in that building with your mother."
"Yeah, and how'd that work out in Benghazi?" Emily retorted.
"What are you going to do, Emily?" Clyde burst out incredulously. "At best it will take hours to get you down there and there are hundreds of armed people outside that building. How exactly do you intend on getting in, much less getting out?"
"I was an undercover agent for years Clyde," she reminded him. "I know how to get in and out of places."
"Yeah, in multi-year operations Europe and the States. This is just a bit different, don't you think?" he retorted sarcastically.
"I grew up in the mid-East and I speak Arabic. I can figure it out as I get there Clyde."
Silence greeted this point.
"Look," Emily pressed, sensing her chance. "I am not going to sit in this office and drink coffee and fill out reports while I watch my mother die on television. You and I both know I'm going to try and get down there using every connection I have, whether you approve it or not. You can fire me if you want, but you and I both know you aren't going to do that because I'm the only person you want doing this job. You and I also both know that I have a hell of a lot better chance of pulling something off, or at least getting out of there in one piece, if you help me. So I'd really appreciate you backing me up on this."
The reluctant pause on the other end told Emily she was close to getting what she wanted.
"Emily, the last time you tried to run an operation on the fly you almost died," he said, almost begging, or at least as close as a proud man like Clyde Easter got to begging. Emily knew he was desperate at this point, he normally avoided so much as hinting about Doyle when he was around her.
"But I didn't," she reminded him. "And I didn't let you help me then. That was a mistake, I'm asking for your help now."
More silence.
"Alright, I'll get you on a flight out as soon as possible. I've got contacts in British Secret Intelligence Service who can get you there quicker. Get everything you need and expect to leave in an hour."
"Thank you, Clyde," she replied gratefully.
"There's one condition, Em," he interjected.
"What?"
"We have an agent in Italy. Victor Polizzi. He's half Egyptian. His father was an Italian oil man who met his mother in the Middle East. He's got experience working in the region. I want you to rendezvous with him in Rome and have him travel the rest of the way to Cairo with you."
"Clyde, I don't want any outsiders involved. This is just for me."
"He's not an outsider, Em," Clyde interrupted impatiently. "He's one of us. Look, I know you don't like to trust anymore people than you have to. I don't either. But I trust this man, and he knows what he's doing. I'm not telling you to take him into the Embassy with you. Just let him help you."
Emily hesitated, but didn't see anyway out of it. Plus, she didn't exactly have a plan of action and it couldn't hurt to have somebody to bounce ideas off of.
"Fine, as long as he's not going in with me. I don't want anybody else to get hurt."
"Neither do I," Clyde agreed. "Plus, the less he's exposed to getting caught, the better. Nobody can ever know that INTERPOL was involved in this. If you get caught, you're on your own."
"Of course," Emily agreed. She knew this was the type of escapade that could never be officially sanctioned.
"Alright," Clyde said. Emily could tell he was still deeply opposed to the idea, but finally resigned. "I'll talk to my contacts and get back to you. And don't say anything to anyone at the office. I'll tell them you're ill and I'm taking care of things for a few days."
"Thank you Clyde."
"Just promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise."
Barely an hour later, Emily Prentiss was on board a private jet bound for Rome the onward to Cairo.
I hope you enjoyed, or were at least intrigued. We will see the rest of our beloved BAU family in Chapter 2, appearing soon. Reviews are always welcome and appreciated!