Chapter Eight: What an Unusual Job Offer

Reid leaned back in the chair, waiting for Carton to begin his proposition. A deductive Sherlock type, Spencer Reid could easily tell many things about an individual from their body language. Carton had a definite military vibe about him; any amateur could have guessed that. He sat rather uncomfortably in the chair Reid had offered him, his eyes glancing left and right at the odd room surrounding him. The books lining the walls, tables, and sometimes the floor seemed to irk him. He evidently wasn't much of a reader. Reid also noticed a certain judgmental air in the way the Agent opened his briefcase and shuffled his papers; it was as if he was here against his better judgment.

This and much more, Reid assessed in a split second.

"So, I assume you already know why I'm here," Carton set a few files out on the table, eyeing the exhausted looking man in front of him, who had somehow acquired another cup of coffee and was sipping it expectantly.

"I have an inkling," Reid responded, placing the cup down and leaning forward.

"You recently were assigned the position of "Behavioral Consultant" in Operation Osiris," Carton opened a file and handed it to him, "Agent Prentiss informed you this title was merely honorary, however, the Operation headers have decided that your assistance in this case is necessary in order for it to be successful."

Reid picked up his cup again, finishing the drink and then walking to the sink to rinse it out. Carton sat still at the table, awaiting a response in vain.

"It is, of course, your choice to make," he watched Reid flipping through the file he had been handed, "but Osiris would greatly benefit from your cooperation."

Reid was hardly listening to the man at his kitchen table; instead, his mind was rapidly weighing the pros and cons of joining the Operation. For a brief moment, he considered what Prentiss would think, but then he decided.

"I'm in."

"Good," Carton smiled sourly, "unfortunately the details cannot be discussed at this current location. The files you have are merely preliminary," he stood up, pulling a little card out of his suit jacket pocket, "this address, tomorrow at twenty-three hundred hours sharp."

"Safe house, I presume?" Reid took the card, memorizing the address in an instant.

"A neutral zone," Carton picked up his briefcase, "where Subject One will be transferred."

Reid raised his eyebrows.

"Subject One? You mean Cat Adams?"

Carton didn't reply, which in itself was an answer.

"You won't find me at the house tonight, I'm not a field Agent," he sighed, checking his watch, "but now I'm afraid I must go."

He stuck out his hand, which Reid shook hesitantly.


The rain fell softly on the sidewalk, glancing off gutters and awnings into the flowerbeds outside the suburban houses. No cars were passing through the streets except one – a simple black sedan, driving a little below the speed limit. It passed by the quiet households and simple lawns, only disturbed by the barking of a dog and the hooting of a few owls until it stopped before a plain cracker-box house just like the rest on the block. The car door opened and out climbed a man with rather messy hair and a thin build. He sent a nearly imperceptible glance around him, making sure he wasn't being followed, then closed the car door and headed to the entrance.

Reid tapped three times on the door and then tapped a fourth time after an interval. A small latch in the door was opened, a pair of eyes silently questioning him.

"I'm here for the Egyptian mythology book," he said, "the one about Osiris."

The latch closed and Reid heard a succession of clicks before the door creaked open. A short woman with brown curly hair and piercing eyes was his interlocutor.

"Of course, come right in," she replied, Reid detected a slight Irish accent.

When the door was safely closed behind him, the woman spoke again.

"Welcome to the safe house," she gestured around her, "I'm Agent Carla McFreely, but you can call me Freely."

"I'm Dr. Spencer Reid," he extended his hand for her to shake; "you can call me Reid."

"Nice to meet you, Reid," she smiled, shaking it warmly.

"So I wasn't exactly given much information about this Operation," Reid took a seat at the kitchen table, which was covered in NSA surveillance equipment, weaponry, things he didn't even recognize, and files, "all I know is that Subject One will be here and that I'm a behavioral consultant."

"That's all you really need to know, to be honest," Freely took a seat, tapping away at a computer while talking, "we've been having a little bit of an issue trying to get Subject One to cooperate, and since you already have rapport with them and are a profiler, you seem to be the obvious answer to our problem."

"What exactly are you trying to get her to cooperate to?"

"She refuses to treat the Agents instructing her with respect, throws violent fits, and threatens to kill people," Freely sighed.

"That's her," Reid couldn't refrain himself from smiling, "I mean, honestly, did you expect anything else from a criminal like her? She is completely egocentric and gets high off power. By giving her this position, you have inflated her sense of self-importance. You need to diminish it so she feels desperate to prove herself."

"Hey well, that's why it's your job and not mine," she laughed.