See disclaimers.

The first thing Thomas Carlyle saw was an image of his dying father. He looked extremely thin and wasted, lying on the steel framed prison-issue bed. A blanket covered his legs and feet, but from what Carlyle saw it did not look like the man had much time.

The image grew closer, zooming in on the shot of the sleeping man as the camera was set onto something and refocused. A hand picked up a syringe, prepped it, and calmly injected the contents into Callahan's IV drip. The lens focused on Callahan a few moments, then the device gave a wider picture as the camera was pulled back.

"Peaceful, isn't he?" a voice said softly. "And why not? He's old. He's sick. Never mind he killed four people, one in cold blood. He's yours, and that's what really matters."

Suddenly an alarm went off, and a flurry of medical personnel rushed to Callahan's bedside, checking vitals and probing causes and prodding the man out of his sleep. A close-up from afar showed Carlyle the image of his father's face turning a pale blue.

"There are thousands of poisons in the world, did you know that?" the voice said gently. It sounded to Carlyle as though it had been added in a 'voice-over' style. "Some of them undetectable, even in death."

Soon the alarm stopped, and the medical personnel began to dissipate from the bedside. The only image now was that of Patrick Callahan, looking even more tired, sick, and haggard than ever.

"In three days, your father will die," the voice promised. "Slow acting poisons have a way of doing that. It's ironic, really—your father wanted the best people that day to perform his dirty work. Now he's getting 'the best' to slowly kill him." There was an audible sigh. "Shooting was always my secondary. Poisons, on the other hand…now there, I'm truly an expert."

The focus remained on Patrick Callahan, who was now returning to a fitful sleep. "You have two days to return Landon Parker, to a place of my choosing. Otherwise, your father dies—there is a 'point of no return' on poison. Oh," the voice added, almost as an afterthought. "Don't go trying to come up with an antidote—this little killer is one-of-a-kind. A 'special present,' if you will."

The camera shot began to fade. "Two days, Carlyle. Or you really will learn what it's like to be truly alone."

The video ended as abruptly as it began, and Nathan watched as his boss held a hand over his mouth, his eyes blazing with fire.

"Sir?" the man asked timidly.

Carlyle was too stunned to speak. The image of his father, going through what looked like a bout of cardiac arrest while that girl sat back and watched…

He thought briefly about killing his captive, right then and there. The boy was becoming troublesome, and it would serve her right.

"No," he said audibly. Nathan was a little surprised at the remark. "I have a different idea. I'm not giving up what's mine. Marcus, dial this number…"

Marcus, a tall, thin black man with square-rimmed glasses, quickly dialed the number. "Protocols are in place, sir," he said.

"Good." Carlyle picked up the receiver, and began to speak.

----

"So you think you're clever, do you, Miss Davis?" a voice hissed through the computer in the Paulson substation.

"What the hell…" Emily said, leaning in to listen closer.

--What's going on?—Kyle asked, noticing Emily's strange look on her face.

"Someone's literally talking through the computer!" she said, hoping Kyle could read her lips.

"Hey, what the hell's going on?" Morgan said, walking through the substation doors. "My phone goes off and suddenly I'm hearing voices?"

"Me too," Reid and JJ said at once. Both of them waved their mysteriously activated handhelds in their hands, the voice creeping out of a plethora of tiny speakers.

"You really think you can commit murder?"

"As you're well aware, I've done it before. More than once, when given sanction. Which, it so happens, I have right here in my hand."

"I should kill him right now," Carlyle threatened.

"You could. But you won't."

"Really?" The sounds of people shuffling in the background said something to the profilers, and the collective look on their faces said it probably wasn't good.

"Really. Because we both know that I'm better at this than you, and that eventually I'll hit the right target. There's no one left for me, so my life is of no consequence."

The sharp breathing on the other end of the line said that Carlyle was seething.

"We'll see about that." With a loud squelch, the line went dead.

"What in the hell was that about?" Rossi demanded, his eyes blazing. "Is she really that stupid?"

--Who?—

The group looked over at Kyle Parker, who was waiting anxiously to hear what had happened.

--Someone threatened Carlyle, we think,-- Reid began.

--"And from the sounds of it, it was Chase,"-- Oliver finished, walking in the room. –"I heard everything…phone wouldn't shut up."—

--What did she do?—

--"Said she'd kill Callahan. Keep hitting targets close to Carlyle. Eventually she'd 'hit the right one' and he'd suffer."—

--What did he say?—

--"He threatened to kill Landon,"-- Oliver said evenly.

"No!"

--"I don't think he will, Kyle,"-- Reid tried to assure him. –"Right now, Landon's the only leverage he has against her. And at that, it's not very good."—

--I don't understand…--

--He kills Landon, he'll set her off,-- Oliver translated as Morgan spoke. –And if she's not lying about getting 'sanction,' whatever that means…--

--"Means she got permission to kill the bastard,"-- Oliver clarified. --"The kind that a certain sister-agency sometimes gives out."--

Six pairs of eyes looked at each other warily. "I really hope she knows what she's doing," Emily said. "And I wish we could help."

--"If I know Chasie, she'll let us know when she needs it,"-- Oliver said. ---"And right now, all we can do is take the reports and stay informed. It's a two-man war right now, and the prize is Landon, alive and well."--

----

Landon had just stepped into the bathroom and taken off his shirt when he felt hands grab hold of him and start dragging him towards the door.

"What did I do?" he cried out as she fought against the strong grip. "What did I do?!"

A rough hand was placed over his mouth, and his hands were bound behind him.

"No," he shouted, trying to pull his hands back in front of him. Infuriated, Landon bent over in half, working the hands off of him that gripped his waist. When they were off of him, he spun in a quick circle to try and dislodge the others that were grasping his arms. The look of surprise that flickered off of Alonzo's face surprised him, but Landon used the lone second to bolt for the door.

Something's happened, he thought feverishly. He's going to do something to me… but not if I can help it!

Landon flew through the door that had carelessly been left ajar, using his foot to wrench the barrier open. He quickly turned left and made a mad dash for the exit he knew lie somewhere in this maze of corridors. His breaths became irregular and he dared one look behind him only to find his guards chasing close behind, one of them speaking into a radio of some sort.

Keep going, Landon told himself as he finally found the door. He shoved his weight against the steel object but found it was securely locked. Undaunted, he ran again, his head searching wildly for another exit. Soon the swimmer came up against another door—one he knew all too well. The door was unlocked, and he quickly let himself in before the guards came around the corner.

The reflection of the waves against the white tile walls was usually a calming presence for Landon—the number of times he'd worked out frustration in the water was immeasurable by this point—but now all that course through his veins was fear. He quickly took stock of the room, hoping to find a way to avoid being caught again. His bound hands were making that difficult but not impossible.

The water, he thought. If I can use it to try and slide these ropes off me, I might get a better chance. Without hesitation, Landon jumped into the shallow end of the pool, making sure to get the ropes as wet as he could. When they had been soaked, Landon began trying to work them back and forth against his wrists, hoping that the moisture and the motion would free him.

Come on, come on, he thought desperately. His head was turned towards the back wall, and he didn't notice the guards as they poured in until one of them jumped into the water.

"Leave me alone!" Landon shouted. "I haven't done anything!"

The guard that had jumped in finally pulled out a pistol, training it right at Landon's head. "Now, get out of the water, very slowly," the man said, making sure he spoke slowly so Landon could read his lips.

Landon looked at the pistol. He looked at the man who held it, fully clothed and dripping wet and visibly pissed.

"Get out, right now, or they'll drag you out," the man said, indicating Alonzo, Steve and the third guard standing on deck.

Swallowing hard, Landon inched closer to the ladder. Once he reached it, Alonzo and the third guard grabbed hold of the young man and pulled him out. As soon as the man with the gun climbed out, he backhanded Landon across the face.

"Take him," the man said, shaking the pain out of his hand. "The boss wants him for something, and he's already in a bad mood."