When the team arrived and had blocked off Munroe Drive the Vegas cops were debating on how to storm the house.
"Look, he already knows we're outside and I am sure he already knows WHY we are here. James is not an idiot. We go in hard and take him down." Williamson said loudly to the group of officers,
"But we don't have any proof that Paris is in that house, just that your cell phone is in there, we could be wasting time here." One of the cops said.
Williamson turned to Gideon, hoping the agent would have the best idea.
"By standing here arguing we're wasting time." Gideon pointed out "the last thing on Cramer's mind is getting arrested, his first priority will be to finish what he started. We go in."
James finished putting the final touches on his own version of a bomb. It was primitive, but of course he had only minutes to come up with it.
It would take the FBI and the LVPD a while to find the little room at the top of the stairs hidden behind a bookcase, and since they were on their way to his home to arrest him, James knew he needed a way to quicken putting Paris to sleep.
The injection he gave the boy would start working quickly, but not fast enough, it would lure Paris into a deep sleep, but his body would not begin to shut down in the time James calculated it would take for the authorities to reach him. James also knew, he could not draw attention to the third floor, there had to be no interference though James knew there were so many other children…snatching Paris would be the final act, he knew that going into this. Paris would be the final straw that broke the camel's back.
It was the reason he had not taken Paris at the same time as Grant it would have brought to much attention to the boys and James Cramer would have been automatically suspect number one.
A few items purchased previously at a hardware store served as the bomb. Making this thing, Cramer had felt like MacGyver or something. All of the stuff that he used was simple stuff he had picked up to continue with the renovations.
An old fashion ringing alarm clock he had set the timer, on the tiny hammer, he had fashioned flint which when he tested it…created the exact spark he needed. When the spark was set, it would ignite the rags and papers he had piled around the alarm clock and dusted in lighter fluid.
The idea was not to create a giant fireball, but to create a smoke filled room. Paris would already be unconscious by the time the little fire began, and with luck, Cramer hoped, the smoke would be the death blow, before the boy was cremated.
At least, that's what James hoped would happen, when he thought it over it did sound farfetched, but it was the best plan he could think of at the last second.
With the stage set, James patted Paris's head gently, the drug was beginning to take effect, he could see Paris was struggling to maintain consciousness.
"M…Mr. Cra…" the boy stuttered
"It will be over soon Xander…you'll be in a better place soon…your mom is there waiting for you."
It wouldn't be long now, James could see it in Paris's eyes, the sirens were getting closer, it was show time. He checked the time on the alarm clock once more and quickly made his way out of the room.
Outside, the BAU and the LVPD spilt into groups, ready to storm the house. Donning their vests, Morgan, Reid, Hotch, and Francis headed to the front door, while Elle, Gideon, Williamson and Gage headed to the back. Hotch reached the front door first and banged on it,
"James Cramer…FBI!"
No one answered…after a few seconds of complete silence, Hotch tried the door knob and was surprised to find it was unlocked; he pushed the heavy door open and was hit by the cold air of an air conditioner running at full blast.
Guns drawn, the team headed inside, splitting into pairs, Francis and Hotch went through one doorway to the left, while Reid and Morgan moved towards a set of double French doors, all the doors were wide open, welcoming almost, as if James Cramer had hung a huge welcome sign on all the doorways.
From somewhere in the house, the team could hear music playing, sounding like Beethoven playing on an old turntable record player. Regrouping in what appeared to be the dinning room, they began to follow the music, down a long hallway, towards the only door that appeared to be shut.