A/N: Hope you all did well on the clue, guys! Thank you for all your wonderful reviews, you people make writing worthwhile! This story is beta read and bunny-enhanced by the Gublerific editor frog! Enjoy!

"I've got it!" Garcia nearly jumped from her chair as she received the information she needed. "I've cross checked the GPS from Reid's cell phone with flights on the same route, and I got a hit!"

"Where is it going?" Hotch watch the screen as Garcia hacked her way into some very well protected server.

"Final destination, Fredericksburg, VA. ETA in 45 minutes."

"Morgan, you and I are going to check that plane out. Gideon, you stay here with Garcia and work out that clue." Hotch's voice was determined as he grabbed his jacket from a hanger and he and Morgan were out the door. He was going to bring a team of federal agents with them to sweep the airplane for the GPS-device.

"Where did the plane come from before being in Seattle?" Gideon asked his female colleague.

"Let's see... It was stalled at the MBS International Airport in Saginaw, MI. for a day before leaving for Seattle. Before that... Fredericksburg." Garcia looked at her older co-worker and they both realized the same thing. Reid had been on that flight.

"Michigan. Cross check Michigan with all the cases we've had in the last five years."

"It's gonna take a few minutes."

"Then let's concentrate on the riddle. The passage. It's from The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri."

"Should I type that in?"

"No. The UnSub is cleverer than that, and he knows I am as well. It's not that easy."

"What if it is?"

"It's not. Can you get an electronic copy of the book on the internet?"

"Of course."

"We need to find out who it was who said those exact words." Gideon sighed. All this work for what? Why the game? The UnSub wants me to see Reid suffer. Some of the riddles won't even have an answer – like the last one. There was no way we could have solved that riddle. The UnSub simply wants to torment 'my son' as she pictures I have tormented her child. I have to find this one. Good God, Reid...

--

Reid shook violently from the intense cold in the cell. His clothes were soaked and there was water everywhere. On top of that, whoever was controlling his imprisonment had turned down the heat to a near sub zero temperature. Rubbing his arms with his hands, he felt himself going stiff. The young doctor was shivering so badly he could feel his teeth pounding against each other as they chattered..

His cheeks were stinging from the cold as he slumped down on the floor in the far right corner of the cell, holding his arms. Sitting in the water lingering on the floor, he tried to calm his heart down. It was racing a mile a minute, the shock and the cold was doing a number on his body. The young agent hurt everywhere, and the freezing air around him penetrated every inch of his drenched clothes. Even breathing hurt, and Reid could actually see his breath in front of him as he exhaled. "P-p-please", he stuttered. "D-d-don't-t d-do t-this-s..."

--

Hotch and Morgan had just reached the Fredericksburg Airport and rushed inside, accompanied by a team of federal agents. After flashing their credentials, they were shown to see the manager of the airport, explaining the situation to him. Reluctantly, he gave the team permission to search the plane before the clean up crew got to it, and they rushed to the gate to board the plane.

On their way over there, Hotch's phone rang for the twentieth time that day. "Hotchner."

"Hotch, we got a hit!" Emily's voice was heard through the speaker.

"The sketch?"

"Yes. Angelica Monroe, 24. She was arrested three months ago for driving without a license. It was her first offence so the judge was lenient. She got a 200 dollar fine."

"Do you have an address?"

"We've already been there, it's an empty apartment. Nothing. Not even a bed."

"A bogus address." Morgan nodded. "Should have known that girl was trouble. Damnit!"

"Calm down, Morgan." Hotch raised his hand slightly to make his subordinate keep his head together. "What's her last known address before that?"

"That's the weird part, there is none! Her social security number was fake, and she has no medical records and no credit card or bank account. Garcia checked it. It's like she didn't exist until a few months ago."

"Right about when she arrived here." Hotch frowned. "Angelica Monroe is probably a false identity."

"Probably. Now what? That was our only lead."

"We're at the Fredericksburg Airport right now; Reid's GPS is on an airplane coming in from Seattle."

"Great. Call me if you get something."

"I will. Keep searching for Angelica, or whatever her name is."

"You got it."

Morgan shook his head as they swiftly walked down the terminal. "Fake address, fake name, fake tits..." Anger bubbled inside him, and it was ready to erupt.

"Focus, Morgan." Hotch began to grow tired with his younger colleagues remarks and tantrums, but fully understood why he felt the way he did. The guilt was getting to him.

--

"Come on, Gideon!" Garcia was getting more and more stressed as the timer ticked closer and closer to zero. "We have to write something!"

Gideon paced the room, one hand on his hip and one on his neck. "We've already determined that Dante wrote the book and that the person saying the phrase is one of the traitors. But who is the UnSub referring to?"

"Let's try them both! We have three tries, and four minutes left! We have to try, Gideon."

"Okay, okay..." Gideon sighed. "Type in Dante."

Incorrect.

"Type in The Traitor."

Incorrect.

"Now what?" Garcia haplessly flung her hands in the air.

"The damned one is stuck in the ninth circle of the Malebolge, hell. He's in the first zone, Caïna, the place for traitors who betrayed their kindred." Gideon's brain was working overtime.

"One minute, Gideon."

"The ninth level of the Malebolge is reserved for the worst criminals; traitors. Traitors to their kindred, traitors who betrayed the people who trusted them; they are in the first zone, they are not the worst traitors but still deserve to be in the lowest part of hell."

"Gideon..."

"Who is the traitor? Who has betrayed someone who trusted them?" He turned towards Garcia. "Who is considered the reason for all this?"

Garcia stared at the older agent, mouth open. "You..."

Gideon stepped over to the screen, pushing Garcia's fingers away from the keyboard and typed in: Jason Gideon. The screen went blank. Then came the message.

Correct.

--

Meanwhile, Morgan and Hotch had been allowed on board the plane. After calling Garcia to confirm that the GPS was no longer moving, they began their search of the cabin. After about an hour, one of the agents had found the small device beneath one of the chairs. The two agents contacted the manager once again to find out whose chair it had been on the flight between Fredericksburg and Michigan two days ago.

"Well, let's see." The manager typed on his keyboard, bringing up the seating arrangement for the flight. "C-45, that would be a Ms Angelica Monroe."

The two agents looked at each other. "Too much of a coincidence." Hotch turned back to the manager. "Did she travel alone? Who was sitting next to her?"

"A Ms Caitlin Carell."

Morgan pulled up her phone and dialed Garcia's number to get a trace on Cate Carrell, as Hotch kept questioning the manager. "Did Angelica Monroe have any luggage?"

"Yes, according to this she had to pay nearly double the price for a big trunk she had with her."

"How big of trunk?" Hotch felt his stomach churn. Reid.

"It was about casket-sized; say six-and-a-half foot by four foot?"

Hotch felt the irritation rise inside him. "And no one checked it?"

"If the dogs don't trip on it, we don't scan or check. This is a small airport, agent Hotchner. We don't get a lot of terrorists here." The manager tilted his head as if he thought the agent before him had lost his marbles completely.

"No, but a couple of kidnappers. There was a federal agent in that trunk."

"My lord!" The manager's facial expression changed from superior to shock.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Hansen. We'll call if we need something."

"Sure, anything! Hey, I hope you find him!" the manager called as Hotch left the room to join his teammate.

"They took Reid away in a trunk and brought him on this plane. They got off in Saginaw, MI."

"Then that's where we're going. I'll call the others. Garcia's running a check on Cate Carrell as we speak."

"I'll call ahead and get the jet prepared."

The two hurried to their SUV to return to Quantico, post haste.

--

"Come on, give us our reward already!" Garcia said impatiently. "We have to see if Reid is okay."

But there was no picture of Reid on the screen. Instead, a simple message appeared in the middle of the black background.

Well done. It's not always easy to admit to your own guilt. This is your reward: There will be no more riddles until tomorrow. Dr. Reid will also be rewarded for your honesty. We will resume the game tomorrow. Enjoy your sleep.

And the screen went blank.

Garcia was close to tears. "That's it? We don't get to see Reid?"

But the screen lit up, and yes – there was the young doctor. Unfortunately they had caught him at a bad time, as he was urinating at the moment. Garcia looked away in respect. "Tell me when he's done." A minute passed by. "Is he still going?"

"Yes."

"Wow, he really had to go!"

"He's done."

Just as Garcia turned back the screen went blank once again. "Aw, man!" She banged the desk with her clenched fist. "Did he look okay to you?"

"He looked alive." That was all Gideon had to say about the young, soaked man he had just seen relieving himself on live camera.

"We have a lot of work ahead of us. But there's really nothing more we can do about the clues or Reid's predicament right now. You keep doing the search on Cate Carrell." He looked at his wrist watch. "It's four PM. I'll go get some coffee and something to eat, we need the energy." With that, he left the room, still processing the years of cases he had been through, trying to match something with this mess.

--

It had never felt better to pee. Reid's entire body was shaking from the cold, and it was impossible to keep his aim straight; but this had to be done. The urine spattered every which way, but at least it left his body. The sense of relief that coursed through the young doctor's body made him let out a shaky moan of pure bliss. He had held it in until he could hold it no more, until he was about to burst – and finally he gave up and chose to use the filthy toilet. The smell of urine didn't even bother him, he was just happy to have been able to relieve himself in the freezing cold, seeing three quarters of him had crawled back up into his body.

Suddenly, Reid felt a slight breeze coming from...somewhere. A warm breeze. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth on his face. The cell had been freezing for a long time-- unbeknownst to Reid, it was only an hour--and the water on the floor had begun to harden. His clothes were crisp with ice and didn't move when he did.

The breeze became stronger. It felt like someone held a hairdryer against him, only at low volume. Reid was becoming increasingly confused. Why was this happening? He had lost his ability to think rationally a long time ago, and his analytical sense had disappeared about the same time as he was doused with freakishly cold water.

At this point, Spencer Reid had regressed to the state of a small child; doing what he was told, when he was told. He just wanted to survive.