Chapter 8

Morgan was about to hit the play button when Garcia stopped him. She put her hand on his arm and squeezed hard.

"What is it, mama?" Morgan asked her, softly.

Garcia did not want to watch this video. That first glimpse had been enough. She didn't want to look at her buttercup being hurt this way; she didn't want to see what would happen next. Maybe, just maybe, if Morgan never pressed play, if no one ever pressed the button, then Prentiss would never be hurt, this would never have happened, and they'd all go about happy lives. But all she could say, because she knew they did need to watch it, was "She wouldn't want us to."

Morgan lowered his hand, but didn't say anything. It was Rossi who spoke. "Kitten. We have to watch it. We have to know everything we can. So we can help. So we can bring her home."

Penelope Garcia bore her eyes into the veteran profiler. She was looking for the spark of sincerity and the intensity of devotion. She soon found them both. "Promise me," she said, "promise me we will bring her home. To us, where she belongs."

Rossi reached out and squeezed her hand. "Penelope. I promise you we will do our very best." He couldn't make the promise she was asking for. Rossi knew, as did they all, that there were a great many variables to this situation. Emily's safe return was far from a lock.

Garcia understood what he was trying to say. She squeezed his hand back and then released her own and returned it to the laptop. Hitting a few keys, she transferred the video from her computer to the big screen at the head of the room. JJ and Reid gasped. They were on the other side of the room and hadn't yet seen the image of Emily at the beginning of the video: beaten, bruised, and bloody. After a moment for them all to steel themselves, Garcia hit the play button.

The video came to life with a voice speaking in another language, Turkish, Reid thought, or maybe Farsi. He didn't think it was Arabic. Emily, hanging from the ceiling, was swaying a little. A man, the man who was speaking, came into view from the side and put his hands on Emily. He was wearing a mask to keep himself unidentifiable. The man gripped her hair and yanked her head to the side while tracing a knife along her neck with the other hand. The knife was large, about six inches of blade. When he took the blade away, there was a new line of blood marring her skin. Continuing to speak, the man cut Emily's clothes off her body with the knife, leaving her in just her undergarments – which were also torn and ragged. He was moving slowly, but not in an exaggerated fashion. It was as if he understood what the impact of his actions would be and wanted to heighten the reaction while still making his point front and center. As her clothes fell, gasps and vocalizations filled the round table room. Emily's body was covered with wounds and bruises in various states of healing. Some were fresh and red, a few were still bleeding, and others looked like they had happened some time ago. Emily had clearly been tortured pretty significantly before this video was made. The man stopped talking. He moved his hands over her body, all of her body, making sure to touch most of her fresh wounds. Emily was silent. She was making no sound, but the profilers could see her tensing up in preparation. Her face, what they could see under the bruises, was taut and set in a hard mask. It must have taken every last ounce of resolve and strength to not cry out. She must have been scared. And in incredible pain.

The man started talking again, this time in English. English with just the barest hint of an accent. Rossi filed that away for later. "This woman," he said, gripping her chin hard with his right hand, keeping her swollen face looking right into the camera. He had moved behind Emily and was holding her around the waist with his left arm, in order to keep his body in contact with hers. "This woman is unclean. If you want her back, such as she is, you will claim her. You will identify her in public fashion within two days. You will release Stavros Dushenkin, Omar Anwari, and Frederich Lyvodkov from custody. If you do not do these things, you give up your claim to this woman. We will punish her for your errors as all dogs must be made to obey their masters. We do not care who she is. She is no one. O baska bir sey degildir." The man released her chin and pulled his knife again. "Something to think about in the meantime," he said, cold as ice. The man tightened his grip on Emily's body and plunged the knife into her side, up to the hilt. Emily cried out this time, how could she not. "The longer you wait, the worse it will be for this Amerikan fahise." He twisted the knife before pulling it from her body and releasing her, letting her swing, limp and choking back sobs. The man put his thumb in the stab wound and pressed; Emily grunted and moaned. The man whispered something to her that wasn't intelligible on the video. He pressed into the open wound again and, with one flick of the knife, cut open Emily's bra, as the video dissolved into blackness.

No one moved. Garcia was crying. Reid was staring at the screen with wet eyes holding JJ's hand. JJ's other hand was in a fist on her mouth, holding back her own sobs. She was decidedly NOT looking at the screen. Rossi had stood up and moved to the back of the room, putting as much distance as possible between himself and what he had seen. Kate was still watching the blank screen, as if it might play again. Morgan slammed his fist down into the table. "No," he said quietly. "No," a little louder now, "No. This is not happening. It is not. Happening." Morgan stood up from the table and paced a few steps, then slammed his fist into the wall, bloodying his knuckles.

Thorne surveyed the room. He saw sadness and anger, disbelief and resolve. He saw shock. "I know that was hard to watch."

"You think?" Morgan tossed back.

"I know that it was," Thorne continued, "but you have to understand. What happened there; it's in the past. She's not in that place anymore. We have to focus on the now."

"They saw this?" Reid asked. "Interpol saw this video and then decided not to go in and get her?"

Morgan looked at Reid. He had momentarily forgotten that part of the story. That someone Emily trusted had betrayed her. "Who was it?" he demanded of Thorne. "Who at Interpol made that decision? I want a name!"

"I can't give you that Agent Morgan," Thorne answered. He needed this team focused on working out the conspiracy, not on their own need for vengeance. He needed their behavioral expertise. If this keeps up, he won't be able to show them the longer video; the one that shows more of the players. "I don't know exactly, and it doesn't matter. Emily managed to communicate some intel in this video. Did you notice?"

The profilers looked at him. They had all missed it.

"That middle section," Thorne explained, "where he's holding her face to the camera. She was blinking her eye." Just the one eye because the other one was swollen nearly shut.

"What about it?" Kate asked.

"It was old Morse code. She gave us a name." Thorne gave that a moment to land. "Seref Khaled. He's an arms dealer that Interpol's been after for, literally, years. Khaled manages to slip through cracks like water. Based on that name, and that Emily was able to communicate it at all, Interpol kept her in place."

"Ridiculous," muttered Rossi.

"Be that as it may," Thorne said gingerly, "they did. Once the allotted two days were up, with no action from any intelligence organization, this video was sent to Ambassador Prentiss. As I mentioned. Interpol was backed into a corner and went into action. Their rescue attempt failed. The Ambassador reached out to me. And now here we are."

After a moment to process everything, Reid turned to Alastair Thorne. "Thank you," he said sincerely, "for saving Emily." Thorne held the eye contact with the young Doctor. He nodded.

"What language was that?" Kate asked.

"It was Turkish," Thorne replied. "At the beginning was just empty rhetoric about foreign infidels and unwanted attention. It was non-distinct threats and declarations. Then later he called her a 'nothing' and 'an American whore.' It isn't really important what words he used, but rather how he said them."

"What do you mean?" Kate asked.

"His English was almost perfect," Rossi said, still looking away from the group.

"It was." Thorne looked to Rossi, then back to the group. "If you listen closely, you'll hear a slight European accent. It's rather generic, but we're pretty sure that man is a westerner. We don't know who he is though."

"You said before," Reid began, "that the Jihad was just a front." His wheels were turning. "Is it a middle-eastern group at all? Or a Turkish group?" he asked.

"We don't think so. Or at least, not specifically," Thorne answered. "Emily said, from what she remembers, what she could tell, there were men of different nationalities in the group. And those names mentioned on the video? Stavros Dushenkin is a Turkish citizen. Omar Anwari is Iranian. Frederick Lyvodkov is Russian. Dushenkin is in a British prison in the third year of a ten year sentence for Homicide. Anwari is a ghost detainee at Guantanimo. I think. Lyvodkov was picked up by the French in Algeria last year for plotting to build a bomb. As far as I know, he was released a month before Emily was taken. There's a disconnect between these individuals and this group. Their demands don't make sense."

"You think they were cover for the other demand in the video?" Morgan asked.

"What other demand?" Kate asked.

It was JJ who answered, speaking for the first time since seeing the video. "The demand that Emily be publicly identified."

"Yes," Thorne said simply.

"Why?" Garcia asked, she had stopped crying, but was still teary. "Why is that important?"

"Think about it." Rossi answered her. "Whoever's behind this group is trying to end Prentiss' undercover career. If that happens, her value as a covert intelligence asset drops way down. They're trying to force her out of the game."

"Right," Thorne confirmed.

After a short moment, Kate asked a question: "Why bother?" Morgan shot her an angry look. "I mean, why bother ruining her career? Why not just kill her. Why didn't they? If the rest of their demands are bogus, then Agent Prentiss isn't really a bargaining chip. Why not just kill her?"

No one could answer her. Not even Thorne. That was one of the questions he still needed to answer. As of yet, he didn't even have the beginning of one.

In the silence that followed Kate's question, someone knocked on the door. It was still locked. Kate opened it to find Agent Anderson standing with another man.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you Agent Callahan, but there's an agent here from Homeland Security who needs to speak to the team." Anderson was uncomfortable and it showed. He was in the bullpen when Hotch was taken away in handcuffs earlier. He didn't know what was going on, but he could only imagine the mood in the round table room right now.

Kate looked past Anderson at the Homeland Agent. He was young, fidgety, and looked almost as uncomfortable as Anderson. This couldn't possibly be good news. "Thank you," she said to Anderson. As he quickly made his way back down the stairs, Kate gestured the new agent into the room. "Everyone," she began, "This is Agent…" she looked at the fidgety agent, prompting him.

"Clark. Agent Clark," he filled in.

"Agent Clark," Kate parroted with a sardonic smile, "he's from Homeland Security." The whole room groaned. Clark looked surprised, and even more uncomfortable, if that was possible.

"Out with it Homeland," Rossi barked.

Agent Clark took a deep breath and looked around the room. "I have a warrant," he began and then stopped. He pulled the warrant out of his suit jacket's inside pocket. "I have a FISA warrant for the arrest of Penelope Garcia."

Everyone's heads snapped over to Agent Clark in almost one motion. That was quite possibly the last thing anyone expected him to say.

"You must be joking," Morgan growled as he put a protective hand on Garcia's shoulder.

Clark checked the name on the warrant and looked back at Morgan, "No. Penelope Garcia. Is she here?" he asked, looking around the room.

"Say that again," Rossi demanded, "You have a what?"

"A FISA warrant," Clark said slowly, "That's a Foreign Intelligence Surveill…"

"We know what it is!" Rossi interrupted him, "Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act! We're all federal agents here, Christ! It's almost like we've done this already today!"

"Rossi," JJ cautioned.

"This is getting ridiculous," Rossi insisted.

"I know," JJ assured him. "Agent Clark," she continued as she stood up, "Can I see the warrant?" Clark handed JJ the warrant and she started reading.

"Um, what's…" Garcia started but she was cut off before she could finish.

"Quiet please," JJ said quickly, gesturing Garcia for quiet. "I'm reading." JJ gave her a look.

"Clark, was it?" Thorne interjected.

Agent Clark nodded, "yes."

"Clark, what is this about? Why is Ms. Garcia being arrested?" Thorne questioned.

"It's in the warrant," Clark said.

"Why don't you give us the short version, eh?" Thorne asked, taking a step closer to the nervous man.

"Well," Clark began, "Ms. Garcia has been colluding with a person of questionable allegiance. We have quite the electronic trail. It's not in doubt. We can't have her doing that from within the FBI."

"The electronic trail is her job," Morgan retorted, "Ms. Garcia is a technical analyst. A big part of what she does for us involves activities that would be questionable for a person not involved with law enforcement."

"She was a hacker for an anarchist collective" Clark responded.

"Ten years ago," Morgan came back.

"She lied to a federal agent," Clark added.

"She did no such thing," Morgan insisted.

"Morgan," Garcia said quietly.

"Penelope Garcia has been an asset to this team, and to her country, for more than ten years. You had better have some damn good proof." Morgan was not about to let anyone malign his family. Too much of that was happening today already.

"Morgan," Garcia said, a little louder this time.

"Baby girl, I got this," Morgan was about to launch into another defense when Garcia put her hand on this arm. He looked down at her. "What is it?"

"Stop. It's okay. I might have done such thing," she said tentatively.

"What are you talking about?" Morgan asked.

Thorne needed to stop this from happening. If Penelope confessed, she'd be arrested. Emily would be upset. He was too late to stop Hotchner's arrest, but he did actually have the means to stop Garcia's. "Everyone please stop talking."

"What?" Morgan asked him.

"Morgan, I beg you. Don't interrupt. I'll handle this," Thorne said confidently. He winked at Garcia as he took the FISA warrant from JJ and glanced through it. Then he handed it back to a confused Agent Clark. "We won't be needing this Agent, thank you."

"Look, I know this is surprising, but I assure you we have substantial proof. Penelope Garcia has been in contact with, and has been giving intelligence support to, a possible enemy of the state. Surely you understand, we cannot allow that to continue," Clark all but pleaded.

"By 'enemy of the state' you mean Emily Prentiss?" Thorne asked, just needing the man to confirm it.

"Look," Clark began, "it's not a matter of if, or what anyone thinks of Prentiss. She lied to a federal agent. Today."

Thorne looked to Garcia, who half shrugged-half nodded. Thorne turned his attention back to Agent Clark. "What?" he asked.

"She has been in contact with Emily Prentiss," Clark insisted, "trading information and providing technical support."

"It wasn't anything bad!" Garcia interjected.

"Hush now," Thorne shushed Garcia before turning back to Clark, "continue."

"She provided Mr. Watley and Agent Grant with a web address used to establish and carry out these communications with Prentiss earlier today," Clark explained. "That address has since been shut down with a rather sophisticated virus. We also know, for a fact, that there are other digital avenues open to Ms. Garcia. We need her to cease and desist all aid and support to Emily Prentiss. Keeping her in custody, under our roof, is the only way to ensure that happens. The BAU can't exactly be trusted with proximity to the Prentiss investigation right now."

The team looked at each other. If Homeland wanted to take Garcia into custody on a FISA warrant, there wouldn't be anything they could do about it. Garcia wouldn't do well in custody.

"Well fortunately, Agent Clark, none of this really matters," Thorne said charmingly. "I am in possession of a piece of paper that too." He picked up his briefcase bag, which he had left on the floor by the door to the room when he arrived and rifled through it. Finding what he needed, he handed the piece of paper to the dumbfounded agent.

Clark read over the paper. "Well," he said, "I suppose this changes things."

"What is it?" Morgan demanded.

"It's an order of immunity pursuant to special circumstances regarding one, Penelope Garcia," Thorne answered smugly.

Clark looked up, surprised. "It's signed by the Director of the FBI, the Director of Interpol, and the National Security Advisor," he said. "I don't understand," Clark admitted.

"Well Agent Clark," Thorne needled, "I believe my piece of paper trumps your piece of paper."

Clark looked back and forth between the Immunity deal and Alastair Thorne. "I have to make a call, verify this. Nobody go anywhere." Clark pulled out his cell and stepped out of the room.

The second the door closed behind Agent Clark, all eyes in the room turned to Penelope Garcia. She smiled sheepishly, "don't look at me. I didn't know this was going to happen."

"But you knew something," JJ demanded. "What have you been doing?"

"About seven months ago, Emily contacted me," Garcia began. "She needed help with a special project and she didn't want to use her own analyst."

"Penelope, I'm going to stop you right there," Thorne broke in. "I think it's best to save story time for when we're alone," he said, gesturing to the closed door. Clark would surely be back momentarily.

Garcia nodded, "right."

"But mama," Morgan needed to know just one thing, "did you know you had immunity from whatever this is all about?"

"No," Garcia shook her head. "Em just said she'd take of any problems I might have. I assumed she meant jurisdictional red tape."

"That's some red tape," Reid commented.

Thorne's cell phone buzzed just then and he looked down at it. A new text. He opened the text and smiled, just as Agent Clark returned to the room.

"Well," Clark began, "That immunity order seems to be intact. I'll need a copy of it."

"Certainly," Thorne said pleasantly. He pulled out another copy of the deal. "Here you go. Now, be on your way. Off you go."

"Look," Clark started in a conciliatory tone, "it's not like we don't know what she's doing. What happened to Agent Prentiss was…. Well, it was wrong, to say the least. And some of us in the intelligence community even believe that she should be allowed to finish what's doing. But that's not the official position. Agent Prentiss is way out of bounds right now. If you want to help her, bring her in safely. No one's out to hurt her right now. We just need answers. But if she keeps doing what she's doing. If this goes on for too much longer, I can't guarantee that'll remain the case. Just. Just tell her to stop." With that, Clark was out the door.

Clark's parting comments had awakened the conspiracy thread to this whole mess and everyone's brain was spinning. They needed answers from Garcia as well. The technical analyst had clearly been holding out on them. No one could remember a time when she had done so for so long before. Thorne's cell phone buzzed one more time.

"What is that?" Rossi asked.

"That is the confirmation I've been waiting for," Thorne responded. "My team just sent me Hotchner's location. Thankfully, he's at the State Department. I will go see about retrieving him. While I'm gone, try to work through your emotions. When I get back with Hotchner, we'll need to go to work." Thorne packed up his bag and made a move toward the door.

"Hold up," Rossi stopped him. "I'll walk you out." The two men walked out of the room and through the bullpen in silence. When they got to the elevators, Rossi spoke. "Thorne, that video." Rossi looked at Thorne, and then up at the ceiling, before continuing. "It was…it ended with… Earlier you mentioned that you found a longer video of her interrogation." Rossi returned his eyes to the British spy, his question implied.

"I did," Thorne confirmed.

"Did you watch it?" Rossi asked him.

"Aye, I did," Thorne said carefully. He wanted to let the older man take his time.

"Did they," Rossi started but couldn't finish. He took a deep breath and tried again, "was she raped?"

Thorne shifted his eyes. "I don't know." And he didn't, he truly didn't. Emily hadn't said it out loud, though he hadn't expressly asked her. There was nothing about it in the official documentation from the hospital, but that was easily manipulated. "I just don't know," Thorne repeated as the elevator dinged, signaling its arrival.

Thorne held Rossi's eyes until the elevator doors closed. Rossi was left to wonder about the possibility alone, in the empty foyer. He was afraid of the direction of his thoughts.

TBC

Author's Note:

Thanks everyone. It's really encouraging to know you are all still reading this story. The reviews you're leaving also help to remind me of questions that are out there and aspects to the story that still need to be cleared up. They're so helpful, thank you! Please keep leaving them. In the next chapter, we'll finish up (I think) Hotch's interrogation and then it won't be too much longer till we get Hotch and Emily in the same room. yay! Also, rmpcmfan, I hear what you're saying about the Reverse Interrogation tactic (which is real by the way, I did some research). And your comments will be explored. Why Emily would agree to that and why Interpol would push for it. I just want her to be able to explain that herself, so we have to wait until she's a more active part of the story (which won't be too much longer, I promise).

Thanks again everyone, I really hope you're still enjoying the story!