Jett hitched a ride with a biker headed to Albuquerque. He flew colors she recognized so she was a little surprised when he stopped, circled back and offered her a ride. In stolen jeans, t-shirt and sneakers half a size too large, she didn't look like much. Certainly not the sort of girl they'd want to abscond with. He surprised her again when he bought her lunch at a truck stop on the outskirts of town and dropped her at the Motel 6 with a fifty dollar bill. Sometimes the ones you least expected to play it true did so.
He grinned at her look. "Some days, it's worth being the good guy," he told her in heavily accented English. "Besides, you don't look like the kind of woman who'd be easy to take down. Travel well." With that he roared off on his bike.
"Wow, riding off into the … sunset," she murmured with a laugh. She turned in for a good night's sleep before setting out to continue her journey to Duluth. The next morning Eleanor Smythe-Johnston boarded the flight headed for Houston. She was replaced by an air headed Valley Girl type on the flight to St. Paul followed by a robust red head that arrived in Duluth looking little like either one.
The drive up I-35 was relaxing. Jett arrived in the city at dusk, the wind off the lake brisk and invigorating. It was almost midnight before she found what she was looking for. Much like the house in New Mexico, this one was in a quiet, deteriorating neighborhood where people minded their own business.
Jett parked in the driveway and sat for a while. She was relieved that Jason wasn't a serial killer, that he had not left her with the Russians; but she wasn't ready to face the truth. There was a tiny possibility that Jason was still alive, she lied to herself as she stepped out of the vehicle and walked toward the dark house.
The electricity was on, but most of the lights were out or broken. Like the house where she found Reid and cornered Jason's lookalike, this one was filled with boxes. Where would he keep his trophies? Not … someplace easily accessible. The door to the basement was locked. Unlike Chicago, Duluth was built on solid bedrock. The basement was functional, not slowly sinking into the soft ground. Jett stared at the door, her voice stuck in her throat, tears gathering in her eyes to drop in silence. No. Please. No, her thoughts echoed the pleas of the man she'd tortured to find Jason.
The basement stank, the odor of fear and decay rolled up the stairs with a physical presence. Somewhere in that darkness was her last leash, her partner. Jett stepped into the miasma descending into the Hell Jason's double had left behind. The lights worked in the blacked out rooms. Ground level windows were painted over so no light escaped, and then layered with insulation foam on the inside. The first area was prosaic; washer, dry, boiler, water heater and three chest style freezer units humming contentedly next to an old fashioned refrigerator.
Rusty stains showed on the refrigerator seal. Jett stood before it, hesitating to touch the shiny chrome of the handle. She swallowed hard and yanked opened the door. Anguish howled forth from her. Jason Weeks had died slowly inside the chill confines, his wrists and ankles bound with wire. His weakening struggles were obvious to her eyes as she pulled the cold desiccated body into her arms, mumbling to his deaf ears before her voice found purchase and she screamed her rage to the silencing walls.
Exhausted, she became calm. Dry eyed Jett catalogued the damage to Jason's body. Fingers smashed, feet skinned and bones broken, arms and legs bruised, and sliced with precision. Oddly, there was little damage to the torso and none to the face at all. She rummaged through the rooms and found a clean canvas tarp and a box of contractor trash bags out of which she fashioned a body bag for her partner and stowed him with care in the back of the van she'd stolen. Then, with whispered promises, she returned to the house, opening the freezers and the three subterranean rooms without much interest in their contents. The police would handle the bodies, the torture implements, the restraints. Jett dialed 911 to report a small fire in the garden of the house before neatly setting a blaze and leaving the doors to the house open. The news would be interesting tomorrow.
Getting her trophy out of Duluth was simple. Taking it further afield was more difficult. People tended to look at you with distressing conclusions when they discovered dead bodies in transit. She purchased tickets on Amtrak for the journey back, getting a room instead of just seats and passing herself off as an archaeological student returning from an excavation with an important find. Jason's remains, carefully wrapped for preservation, were tucked into a shipping crate neatly addressed to Dr. Spenser Reid should anything happen on the trip and Jett not be able to deliver the package to her own supervisor.
As luck would have it, whatever game was afoot, the opposition declined to be a problem on the trip. Jett and her cargo arrived back in Washington with no issues, not even a curious guard insisting on the shipment being ex-rayed to make certain there were no explosives inside. For the moment, whoever started the attacks on her and her partner was quiet. It was hardly reassuring.
Jett arrived at the building in time to see the FBI profiling team heading into the building. By the time she parked and transferred Jason into a less conspicuous container, they were in conference with her supervisor, or so she believed. Retrieving a body bag was simple enough, getting Jason's loosening body into it, not so simple. Finally, she was set to enter the debrief on her own.
Washington, D.C.
Hotchner and his team were debriefing with Jett's supervisor, as she had surmised, when there was a commotion in the hallway. Presuming others would take care of the problem, they continued the debriefing. The supervisor seemed surprised to learn that Austin and Jason were related. The Agency ran thorough checks on their personnel, yet the existence of Austin was un-noted. Preliminary analysis indicated they were twin brothers, placed for adoption very early but not brought in at the same time. There was no record of why they were left at the facility. No birth records had turned up and there was no indicatin of the birth parents so far.
Jason was lucky. Within a month he was adopted while Austin moved from foster home to foster home. The litany of reasons started early and continued to his capture by the FBI. Austin had escaped criminal incarceration until now.
The commotion resolved as the door to the room opened and Jett Tesuque entered, followed by a secretary trying very hard to do her job.
"I know," Jett told her breezily. "They're waiting for me. They need this new information I'm bringing," she tossed back cheerily as she shoved a cart through the opening, nodding to everyone.
"Tesuque," her supervisor addressed her quietly, his attention divided between cart and agent. He nodded to the secretary to dismiss her. The woman scowled at Jett's back and closed the door muttering about agents and protocols.
Hotchner frowned at the bag on the cart, realizing what he was looking at and wondering just who Jett had brought in. Reid's attention was on the agent as he tried to read her while his companions were wary and ready to act. Jett didn't let things stay tense; she unzipped the bag, pulling the sides down and back to reveal the body. Gregson was on his feet immediately.
"Damn!" He met Jett's gaze directly, his mouth and brain searching for words that didn't come. Finally he settled for "I'm sorry."
Jett relaxed, her head tilting to one side as she regarded him. "You didn't know," she breathed and gave him a smile. "I didn't want to think you did."
Gregson looked questioning. "Knew?" he prompted.
Jett forestalled his question with a nod. "We were off duty, separate … even off duty we follow protocol," she said with a sigh, her look bleak. "Someone found Jason's brother and aimed him at us, told him who Jason was."
Reid nodded. It fit. Austin had no way to know about Jason otherwise. There was an unsub who didn't care how many died while eliminating Weeks and Tesuque. Except for Austin's actions, this was an internal matter. They finished up their report and Hotchner led his people out, Reid bringing up the rear. The silence behind them prevailed after the door closed. Their part in this operation was over.