Usual disclaimers. Some feedback on how I'm handling the many 'cameos' would be appreciated. :)

"Hotch, what the hell…."

The lead profiler raised a hand, silencing her. "Uh-huh. Yes." Covering the speaker, Hotch said, "Have them bring in the laptop."

"Laptop? What for?"

"Now, Chase."

The woman knew better than to ask more questions. Poking her head out of the room, she called out, "Hey, there a laptop around here?"

"McGee's got one," the lithe woman replied, whom Chase had learned was called Ziva. "He and that other man are using it…"

"I need it. Now." The tone in the young woman's voice was plain.

Emily walked off towards an adjacent room to where the small party had gathered, and a few minutes later she produced the item in question.

"Thanks." Chase quickly shut the door, and Hotch put the phone back on speaker.

"Okay, now can you hook it up to see me, or do you need a walk-through?"

"Garcia, what the hell is this all about?" Chase cried, now completely exasperated. "First I have Navy cops telling me Oliver and Reid went missing, then I can't find Kyle, then I've got all of you looking at me like I'm missing something obviously important. Either tell me what is going on, or I'm going to lose it!"

The room fell silent a moment as Chase recomposed herself. A few minutes later, the laptop screen flashed and the image of Garcia came through like a genie appearing out of a lamp.

"Garcia, tell her," Hotch said, his no-nonsense voice evident.

Swallowing hard, the blonde technician audibly cleared her throat and began to talk. "Um, there's a problem, Chase."

"Ollie and Reid went missing."

"Yes."

"And no one bothered to tell me."

"Well, there's a reason for that…"

"Oh, this better be fantastic," Chase said dryly. "I mean, I love being kept out of the loop when my friends and employees are being hurt, abducted or threatened. Makes my day, right there."

"Chase, I'm serious. We can't find them. Kyle insisted that we not tell you—something about working with a troublesome client there in Miami…"

"That about sums up Mike. Still, what possessed him to want to keep this quiet? He knows better, Garcia!"

"I know, I know, and I'm sure he's sorry, but see, we didn't have any real evidence that said anything was wrong."

Chase did a double-take. "Wait. Hang on. Ollie and Reid are missing, but there's no proof they went missing? I mean, isn't the fact that, oh, they're not here proof enough?!"

"Chase," Hotch said sternly.

The young woman shook her head. "I'm sorry, Hotch. It's been a long couple of weeks. So, no evidence…"

"Well, not exactly. See, Kyle had this woman from the Navy Yard he knew come to help him process your offices after he noticed that Reid and Oliver weren't there, especially after he noticed some things had been left behind."

"Like?"

"Their coats, for one. It was below freezing two nights ago in Virginia, and neither one bothered to take their coat."

"Well, Ollie's that stupid—comes from being raised up north," Chase admitted. "Reid doesn't strike me as the coat-leaving type, though."

"He's not," Hotch said. "Claims anything below seventy is freezing."

"Plus, their cell phones were left behind, and their weapons," Garcia added. "Kyle put that together with some things that didn't seem right and called this Abby person."

"Abby?"

"From the Navy Yard. Specializes in forensics," Garcia clarified.

"Okay. If Kyle called her up, she's probably good," Chase said. "So…then what?"

"Scoured everything, and came up with minute trace evidence and a fingerprint—it belonged to a Carlos Pena."

Chase's face fell slack. "What name did you say, Garcia?"

"Carlos Pena. Died several years ago…"

"…in a barn fire." The investigator's face turned white, then red with fury as she slowly shook it. "Bastard."

"You remember the case?" Hotch asked.

"I do. It was a nightmare. The kind of thing that'd put your boys and girls in the nuthouse with nightmares, and I'm being kind." Swallowing a little, Chase asked, "Garcia, why now? I mean, he's…dead. I saw him die…"

"Oh, he's dead. Got confirmation that his remains made it to the Navy Yard for autopsy," Garcia said. "Abby called up a couple hours ago."

"She find anything else, Garcia?" Hotch pressed.

"She's analyzing a strange image I got off a film…"

"Film? What film?" Chase asked.

Garcia bit her lips together. "I shouldn't…"

"No, you should. Right now, Garcia. What's going on?" Hotch demanded, his voice even and firm.

"Someone sent a 'film' to your email account, Chase," Garcia finally admitted. "It's in the one labeled 'Surprise.'

"Garcia, what's wrong with it?" Chase asked, her tone growing worried. "What aren't you telling us? And why is Morgan pissed about you not telling him something?"

"He's mad?" Hotch asked.

"Yeah," Garcia said. "You'll understand why I didn't tell him when you see the 'film'."

Nervously, Chase found the file in question and clicked on the link. The film commenced, showing every horrific detail in living color.

"Oh, my God," Chase breathed, closing her eyes at certain points.

"Does anyone else know about this?" Hotch asked, he too turning away from the screen. The sound of Reid's cries rang through their ears, and the quiet words from Oliver that tried to comfort him struck deep into Chase's heart.

"As far as I know, no, sir," Garcia said. "Now you see why…"

Chase stared dumbly into the screen, completely horrified, sickened and bewildered. "My God," she said. "Oh, my…"

----

"What the hell is going on in there?" Morgan said, palming the back of his head.

"My guess is, you probably don't want to know," one of the newcomers said, his dark eyes boring deep into the profiler's gaze.

Morgan sighed. "The problem is, I do…"

"Any word from Abby?" Agent Gibbs asked, looking at McGee.

"She said something about matching the print, but then we got…disconnected."

"You didn't call her?!" Gibbs snapped, and soon the room watched as the younger man winced in pain and rubbed the back of his head.

"On it, Boss." The sounds of a cell phone being dialed were unmistakable.

--What's she doing in there?— Kyle asked, waving at the three newcomers as though they were old friends. –How did you…--

--"We had to know the rest of the story, Parker,"— Gibbs said. –"Your friend in there is the only one who does."—

Kyle set his gaze on the carpet under his feet and shook his head. –This is my fault,-- he signed, quickly snapping the signs off his hands. –If I'd just told her…--

--"Hey, you didn't haul them off,"— Gibbs countered.

--But if Pena is somehow behind this, even from the grave, then we're already too far behind. They could be lost.—

"Wait," the older of the three newcomers said quickly. "What'd he say?"

Gibbs translated Kyle's last statement. "Name ring a bell?"

"Yeah, it does," the man said. "Carlos Pena, nasty bastard. Torched himself in a barn fire some years back—about the time I came down to Miami. It was one of my last cases before I 'retired'."

"You saw this guy?" Morgan asked.

"Saw him shoot up like a rocket, is more like," the man replied. "He wasn't giving anything up, that I can tell you…"

"Who are you?"

"Name's Sam. This here's Fiona--" the man motioned to the petite woman sitting lazily in a nearby chair—"and this guy next to me is Mike."

"The 'Mike' that was a pain in the ass?" McGee inquired, hanging up with Abby.

The shorter man—Mike—looked almost hurt. Staring at Kyle, he mouthed the words 'pain in the ass?'

Kyle shrugged. –Every time she comes down here, she works for two weeks and comes home bitching on how you lot can't get it together.—

"Anyway, so what do you know about this Pena?" Morgan said, a little too loudly.

Sam cleared his throat loudly. "Right. Well, he was running a trafficking ring some time back…"

"That we know," Gibbs said simply. "Anything else?"

"All right. Sheesh. Well, Pena was pretty particular—he dealt only in young adults, preferably between about nineteen and thirty."

"Reduces the risk of being caught," Emily said. "Missing persons cases run seventy-two hours before official declaration…"

"And no AMBER alerts," McGee added.

"What else?"

"This guy, he was pretty sick. Some of my buddies involved couldn't eat for a month after being in there undercover. Made everyone think they were running a job placement service, and the victims didn't know the difference until it was too late."

"Domestic or foreign?" Ziva asked.

"Come again?"

"Were they dealing in illegal aliens, or in local runaways and the like?"

"Both, I think. Where they came from, he wasn't picky. Took men too, which my buddies found highly unusual."

Morgan and Emily made a face. "That is unusual," Rossi said. "Men, especially young men, can often fight off their captors, making them less desirable to catch or sell."

"Hence the ruse," Morgan said. "If they think they're going to work a legitimate job, they'll go willingly."

"Still, men?"

"Hey, there's a market for just about anything," Sam said. "Trust me."

"What did Abby say?" Ziva asked McGee, who was listening to the conversation with a blanched face.

"Uh…she said she figured out how a dead man's print ended up in Kyle's office," the agent replied, trying hard to keep the lunch he'd managed to snatch inside his stomach.

Instantly several pairs of eyes looked at him. "How?" Michael asked, now studying the round man with an appraising look.