Thanks!

Chapter Four:

Diana:

I sat in the media room. On a monitor was live footage of a press staging area, for when Cain came out. Morris was going to be giving a press conference a half hour later.

"Hey."

It was Esper. He had dark skin, and piercing eyes. As usual, he was wearing a tweed blazer and vest. His graying curly hair was cut close to the scalp. People were known to mistake him for a professor when they saw him.

"Can I have someone get you a change of clothes? I know that outfit isn't comfortable."

I smiled. "That would look really great, having an FBI agent do grunt work for someone who hasn't even graduated."

"You're going to be here, well into the night. It would help you focus, if you weren't worrying about those stockings cutting off circulation in your legs."

"How many times, have I told you in my emails I didn't want special treatment?"

"This isn't special treatment. Cain is making phone calls, and won't be out for another ten minutes. Wipe the makeup off and get comfortable."

"Yes, Sir."

I went to the women's room. I pulled off my stockings, and ditched the necklace. I looked in the mirror, with a wet cloth. The woman who looked back at me was scared.

Irina Cole walked in. She had blond hair that was cut short, an inch below the ears. She was a green stripped blouse with a black cardigan blazer.

"Esper told you to ditch the clown paint, didn't he?" she said with a smile.

I quickly began to wipe. "Yeah."

"He told me the same thing, after I had to testify in court and then work a case."

"I don't particularly care for it."

"Neither do I. It is the twenty-forties, our concept of professional presentation, should have evolved beyond eyeliner and mascara!"

I let out a nervous laugh. My hands began to shake as I tried to clear the corners of my eyes.

"Let me."

"I can handle it."

"I can do it quicker," she said. She wetted a paper towel, and before I could object, started cleaning my face. "I've been with the BAU for three years, I'm a pro."

"This is embarrassing. Are you going to trust me with a gun?"

"Of course. I just know where my skills are better suited for the current situation," as she rubbed the corners of my eyes.

"Thank you."

"Listen Diana, we've been expecting you. We've been following the headlines. If Morris, thinks you're ready, we're prepared to welcome you with open arms. Don't expect a cake though. Shawna was supposed to make it."

"I'm sorry for your loss," I said.

"We miss her every day. She was a great agent."

"I should get back."

"Diana, no one is expecting you to be Spencer Reid. Okay, maybe the director, and a few other agents who actually knew your dad. But for the rest of us, you're just a young genius, here to show us all up."

"Thank you, Irina," I said.

"Good luck," she said.

…

An hour and a half later, my blazer hung over a seat as I worked through the tips with Esper on a tablet.

Morris popped his head in. He was had salt and pepper hair cut with military preciseness. His suit was impeccable. I never knew much about Hotch, but my understanding, is these two were cut from the same neat cloth.

"What do we have?"

"Several tips sent to Homeland," Esper said. "At least eight people with multiple firearms registered are planning on driving up to personally handle the situation."

"I flagged nine as worthy of further investigation," I said.

I closed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose.

"Something else on your mind, Dr. Reid?" Morris asked.

"I feel like we're missing something. Something obvious."

"Take a walk to clear your head, while I order pizza. What toppings do you like?"

I looked at him. "You really want my pizza preferences?"

"It's not a job offer, just a courtesy."

"Green peppers."

"Go for a walk."

I got up and left. Looking around, everything was in shades of bright gray. The cubicles had high obstructing walls.

"Do you remember being in the old BAU?"

I turned to see Phil Thompson. His curly auburn hair made him look younger than he was. His tie was at half-mast, and he wasn't wearing suit jacket.

"I do," I said. "I had chair races with Rosemary Simmons."

"It is sad that they relocated the whole BAU up a floor and remodeled the place entirely."

"The new agents probably felt like they working in a tomb, I get it."

"Did you get told to rest those gray cells?"

"Gray cells?" I said with a laugh. "Is that an Agatha Christie reference?"

"I'm a novice mystery writer. I'm no David Rossi, but I love the classics, and using what was good about them, to improve my work."

"Sounds like a nice hobby."

"I have a mini air hockey table in my cubicle. Let's play a game."

I followed Thompson into his cubicle. My eyes were drawn to a stack of graphic novels.

"My wife is the avid hobbyist. I just steal from her when I need a distraction."

"These are modern classics," I said picking one up. "My cousin loved them, so I started reading them too."

I flipped through one. It was a Batman comic about a secret society.

"The inverted cross is formally known as the Petrine cross. St. Peter was said to be crucified and requested that he be hung upside down. Originally the Petrine cross was a symbol of the Catholic Church."

"Where are you going with this?" Thompson asked.

"Take a sample of Cain talking and put it through a dialect detector."

Thompson opened his computer.

"It's amazing how far tech has come," he said.

"Aunt Penny would be livid her job got phased out a few years ago."

"Wow," he said as data appeared. "The guy's Italian. Not a hint of accent."

"He probably learned English from American TV, which is why he speaks with a Northeastern accent."

Thompson shook his head. "It won't narrow down to a region."

"We don't need to. Pull up Christian sects that use the Petrine cross in Italy."

"Wow, two are labeled as having radicals. What does this have to do with secret societies? It's listed here."

"These are fronts for the secret societies. You know how Al Capon was convicted of tax crimes; these organizations have to have a legal front to pay taxes to."

"We're not getting their membership lists," Thompson said with a sigh. "Not in time."

"We might not have to," I said. "Go through all the tips and comments, and look for Italian IP's."

"Good thought," he said. He added the search commands.

"I labeled these comments as coming from an overzealous troll," he said. "I wouldn't have thought they were from anyone capable of action in the real world."

"These are all references to the Testament of Peter," I said. "They're not part of the Bible."

Information, flew on the screen and Thompson clicked on the bio data. Lucas Bello, age forty-eight, had rented a car in the US three days before the first killing.

Thompson kept typing. "I want the GPS, data from this car. Go find Morris."

I ran through the cubicles and found Morris talking with Cole and Esper.

"We have something," I said.

"A couple things," Esper said. "The patrolman assigned to Cain hasn't reported in."

"We think he's Italian," I said.

Thompson rushed forward. "Bello is at the home address for Cain."

"Who speaks Italian here?" Morris asked.

"Badly," Cole said. "I wouldn't be able to keep up with a native speaker."

"I do," I said quietly.

"I'm not allowing you near the front lines," he said. "I want you in full gear when we get there."

"Understood," I said.

"Fill us in while we drive," Morris said.

I wondered if my dad felt butterflies during his first takedown. This was all happening so fast. I vowed to make him proud.