The plot thickens...
Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.
Will woke to the sight of Oliver sitting in a corner of the dark space, his arms wrapped tightly around his frame. A serious look was plastered on the younger man's face, as if he's seen or heard something he didn't want to think about.
"What is it?" the Cajun asked, now concerned.
"I just had an interesting conversation…"
"With who? Surely not those people up there?"
"No, not the ones you're thinking of. There was another man, German maybe, or Russian…anyway, whoever he's working for, he's not going to make things easy on any of us."
Will make a show of looking around at his current surroundings. "Really?"
"Not like that. I was right, though—this has everything to do with the incident in Silver Spring nearly a year ago."
"What else did he say?"
Oliver looked coldly at the floor, and Will knew something was bothering him.
"He said that we were going to suffer, all of us, for what happened there."
"All of—but I…."
"That's what I said. His answer was that both you and the baby are close to people who were involved, hence why you're still down here."
Just then Olivia began to cry. Will looked around for the bowl of milk, but was pained to find that it was nearly empty. He began the ritual of soaking the cloth in the liquid for the baby to suck on, but after about three minutes the milk was gone and his daughter was crying again.
"There's nothing left," Will said, panicked. "What am I going to do?"
Oliver stood up and ran to the hatch opening. "Hey!" he shouted, not caring what he'd have to give up. "Hello?! Is anyone up there? Can anyone hear me?!"
Soon both men were calling out, accompanied by Olivia's wails. It seemed like an hour before Will could make out footsteps coming closer towards the hole in the ceiling. A face peered inside—one framed by a mass of blonde hair.
"Please," Will cried, not caring how much of his dignity he'd have to give up. "Please, the baby…"
"Yes? What about her?"
"She needs milk. Please, let me feed her…she's so little, she doesn't have anything to do with this…"
A red flash kept time, and soon Will realized that this conversation was being recorded. "What are you…?"
"Hey, what the hell?" Oliver asked, standing next to his friend. The younger man's face was a flurry of worry, confusion, and anger. Beside Will's chest, Olivia continued to wail, her tiny fists waving and her feet kicking out.
"Such a sight," the foreign man crooned. "Two men at the top of their game, and they can't even take care of a baby…"
Will held Olivia closer, trying to quiet her. The little girl would not be appeased.
"I know better than to ask, but…" the foreign man said, letting the sentence trail off.
"But what?"
"I can see that the child is cared for. Properly," the man added, as if trying to make a point.
"What's he…?"
"They want you to give them the baby, Will," Oliver said slowly.
"Never!"
"You would let your child die?" the foreign man asked.
Will looked at his daughter, just barely a week old. She was absolutely everything to him, and here he was, not able to even feed her and just barely able to keep her warm.
"Please, just give us some more milk," Will begged.
"Now, that can get costly," the man above them replied. "I'm not sure what my employer would think of that…"
"Is your employer so heartless that he would murder an infant?!" Oliver shouted, his rage at being unable to solve the problem becoming apparent. Above him, the red light flashed on.
"I do not believe you can say much about heartlessness, Mr. Lawrence," the man said evenly. "After all, I know much about you…"
"Bullshit!"
"I know you were willing to sacrifice several lives in order to save your own, and your sister's…"
The statement struck like a punch to the gut. Oliver fell instantly silent.
In the midst of all this, little Olivia continued to cry. Her face was turning red from the exertion and her cries became weaker and more sporadic.
"Please, let me feed her…" Will pleaded.
The man above them thought about this for a moment. After a few tense minutes, a basket was lowered, containing another bottle of milk.
"I'd be sure to make that last, gentlemen," the man said warningly. "I'm afraid this is the last one I can give you. After that, you will need to seriously consider my offer…" With that, the hatch cover closed tightly on the hole in the ceiling as soon as the basket came up.
Will was so grateful to have the milk he barely heard the man speaking. Oliver, on the other hand, heard every word. He knew he'd have to find a way out of this mess, or else more hung in the balance than just their lives…
Mo Li raced through the halls of the fourteenth floor, looking as undignified as he'd ever looked in public. He didn't stop his frantic pace until he reached a certain oak door.
"Josh! We've got something!"
The older agent looked at the young man, his hair askew, his shirt in wrinkles, and panting as if he'd run the first marathon. "You 'ave sometheeng?"
"Documents that prove Adlington's behind this, at least in part." Mo laid out copies of the forms and pointed out all of the inconsistencies between the form for box 415 and the other boxes. "Bottom line is, Adlington's been caught red-handed—we can nail him on conspiracy as well as fraud and other counts."
Mo watched as the older man's eyes lightened for the first time in nearly two and a half months. "That eediot! Arrogant preek! Oh, thees ees a day I weel cairtainly relish, that I promise you!" Josh said as he sprang from his seat.
"Hey, where are you…?"
"To go put that eembecile een 'is place," Josh replied.
"Just like that?"
Josh stopped for a minute. He looked at the lawyer, who looked concerned now. "What ees eet?"
"We need him to tell us who's really behind all this—the frame-up, the kidnapping, the attempts on the agents in Philadelphia…"
"Keednapping? When was thees?"
"Two days ago. Someone snatched Will LaMontaigne and Oliver, Josh—and they took Miss Jareau's baby with them."
Josh looked at Mo as if the world had suddenly gone completely Communist. His mouth dropped open as wide as a cavern.
"No…thees is a lie…"
"All true. Miss Jareau is beside herself, and Chase is trying to hide her panic—she really cares about Oliver, you know…"
"The baby?"
"We don't know. On that point, the whole place is upset. I personally would like to try the bastards in my country on that count."
"As would I. Your country, it would not bee so nice."
"Damn right."
Josh now worried that a quick takeover of Adlington's office would bring more harm to his protégé and the little one the everyone feared for. He himself could not stand the thought of retribution against a child, nor of an innocent person like the Southern Frenchman…
"Thees weel take some thought. But make no meestake…I weel 'ave 'im by tonight," Josh promised. "Fairst, I weel tell Mr. Pairker…"
"Some advice?"
"Yes?"
"I'd let your mole in tech know too. I think he could be very useful now, and would likely be only too happy to help."
Josh let that idea roll about in his mind a minute. "Yes…yes, that could work…"
By midnight the team was walking around in a sleep-induced daze. JJ had settled onto a couch in the drawing room, refusing to sleep and barely eating. Garcia was trying to find some scrap of information that could help solidify their case against Adlington, but wasn't coming up with much. Song Fei was trying to coax JJ into eating something, but to no avail. Chase herself was pacing like a rooster caged in a tiny box, looking desperately for a way out.
"Damn it, ring!" she finally cried out, startling the other women in with her. The men, along with Prentiss, had all gone into another room, giving themselves some space to pore over what little information Garcia had managed to find.
Just then there was a cheerful 'ding' that sounded off of Garcia's laptop.
"You expecting mail, Garcia?" Chase asked quickly.
"N-no," the blonde tech replied, looking curiously at the tagline. "I can't tell who sent this—the sender's name is blocked…"
"Can you unblock it?"
"I can try, hang on…" Garcia's fingers flew over the board a few minutes, until finally the computer goddess cried out in exasperation. "No use. Whoever's behind this thing, they're really good…"
"Open it," JJ said, leaping up and standing behind Garcia.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea, JJ," Chase said.
"It might be about Will, and the baby!"
"Or it might be someone trying to pull a trace," Chase cautioned.
"Don't you want to know what's going on? Don't you care what happens…" JJ cried.
"JJ…" Garcia said meekly, understanding where her friend was coming from but not agreeing with her.
"Of course I do!" Chase said. "A lot more than you think, JJ—if they die, it's my fault! Don't you see?"
"Your fault?" a voice said, stopping the arguement cold. Both women looked as Hotch walked in, his hands full of the files and papers Garcia had managed to print off. "How is this your fault, Chase?"
"It just is. Drop it."
"You think…"
"I said, leave it alone. We'll deal with it later."
"What are you two…"
"Garcia got an email," JJ said quickly.
"Did you…?"
"No, sir," Garcia replied. "That was what the argument was about."
"You didn't open it?"
"No, sir."
"Do it."
As Chase opened her mouth to protest, Hotch stared at her. The young woman immediately fell silent.
"Open it," Hotch repeated. Garcia heaved a deep breath, and clicked on the link.