Tuscany – May 2004
Emily wasn't sure exactly how much time her mea culpa with Ian had bought her, but for the moment she seemed to have achieved some stability. She spent most of her days with Ian when he wasn't out on "business," but she made sure to dedicate a good part of her afternoons to Declan. And she'd resumed her old morning routine joining Monsieur Cannes in the garden. The routine lent an odd sort of "normalcy" that helped keep her sane.
It was during one of her morning forays in the garden with Monsieur Cannes that all hell broke loose.
"The purple irises are in full bloom now, Mademoiselle Lauren," the gardener had told her, excitedly, in his rapid French that morning.
"Then sounds like we have work to do, Monsieur Cannes," she smiled, as she finished her coffee.
She'd been with the amiable Frenchman plucking the beautiful, violet flowers for about half an hour when the peaceful morning was interrupted by the squeal of tires. Three, four, five, cars pulled into the drive of Ian's villa. Within seconds, Emily was swarmed by men waiving automatic weapons in her face. Some appeared to be uniformed Carabinieri, the Italian federal police. But most were plain clothes.
"You're under arrest!" Emily heard one of the Carabinieri yelling in Italian. She was about to ask him just what the hell was going on when she remembered, at the last second, that Lauren Reynolds wasn't fluent in Italian.
"Who are you?" she demanded, in French instead.
She received no answer, but two men roughly grabbed her at gunpoint and began forcing her toward one of the cars. At least one of the men, with his light blonde hair, looked distinctly un-Italian.
INTERPOL, Emily thought. Hoped.
"I want to talk to Sean," she demanded roughly, this time in English. It was worth a chance. If this wasn't the extraction, her statement would be nonsensical. But if it was, there was a good chance at least one of them knew what she was talking about.
"Prentiss, shut up," the man hissed, barely audible.
Oh, thank God, Emily thought. She'd never been so happy to hear her surname in her entire life.
The same man then shoved her roughly into one of the cars. She just missed bashing her head on the roof. Another man, shaved bald and armed with an MP-5, jumped in the vehicle next to her, and the car sped off. The whole thing took place in a matter of seconds. Just before the car took off, Emily glanced toward the balcony of the villa. Ian was there, surrounded by at least three men with guns. They locked eyes briefly. It was the last time Lauren Reynolds and Ian Doyle ever saw each other.
It took Emily a moment to realize she recognized the man in the front passenger seat. He'd remained in the vehicle during the commotion.
"Sean," Emily gasped gratefully.
"Hello Emily," the Scotsman smiled, a bit cheekily.
"I am so glad to see you," she started.
"Likewise, Emily, believe me," Sean cut her off. "But I need you to listen to me. We don't have much time."
"Okay," she assented.
"We're ten minutes out from the police station," Sean explained. "You must stay as Lauren Reynolds for the time being. You're being arrested on warrants out of Northern Ireland on suspicion of weapons trafficking and the murder of Gerald Fegan."
"I thought you were taking care of the Fegan thing!" Emily interrupted.
"I did take over the Fegan thing, but I had second thoughts about making it disappear copletely," Sean explained as the car sped through the Tuscan countryside towards the city. "Clyde and I thought it made a good extra cover for INTERPOL to pick up Lauren Reynolds. Please, I just need you to listen to me right now."
Emily nodded to let Sean know she was listening,
"We're taking you to the jail. There's a holding cell there specifically for INTERPOL detainees. You won't be booked, so no fingerprints," Sean explained. It had been an explicit condition of the CIA allowing her to do undercover work that none of Emily's biometrics be in a domestic police database under another name.
"You're going to need to stay in there for a short while, but from there we are getting you out," Sean continued. "We'll have you out within 72 hours maximum, but until then you need to remain Lauren Reynolds and you need to play along. Do you understand me?"
"I understand," Emily agreed. It was a lot of information. But at a gut level, she trusted Sean. And she was ready to be done. "What are you doing with Doyle?"
"Later," Sean assured her. She wanted more information now, but thought better than to argue.
"And I'm sorry, but to make this look right you're going to have to wear these," he added, tossing her a pair of handcuffs. "I'll let you do them yourself."
Emily obediently cuffed her own wrists. She made sure not to crush herself, but she was also certain they were tight enough to pass muster. Before she knew it, the car had sped past a chain link fence topped by several strands of barbed wire and into the jail receiving part of the nearest Carabinieri station.
"Now what?" Emily asked.
"Just go along, and I'll see you soon," Sean assured her. "It's almost over."
Emily had no choice but to trust him. When the car came to a stop, the bald, plain clothes officer next to her ordered her out of the car and, holstering his weapon, grabbed her left shoulder. A second plain clothes officer ran up from the car immediately behind them and grabbed her right. Emily recognized him as the blonde agent who'd warned her to stay quiet back at the villa. The men were a bit rough, but not too harsh, Emily thought. After all, they had a part to play.
They pushed Emily through the receiving doors. But rather than taking her to the main booking area straight ahead, they pulled her off to a small hallway to the right, flashing their badges at the Carabinieri officers by way of explanation.
"INTERPOL," they said, and the Carabinieri nodded in assent. At the end of the hallway, they directed Emily into a single cell, with a door that was solid steel with a small flap on the bottom half and a crisscross of bars at the top. Emily heard the door lock behind her.
"Hands," the blonde INTERPOL agent demanded, and Emily shoved her hands through the small flap in the cell door so he could undo her cuffs.
"Alright, good luck Agent Prentiss," he whispered through the bars, giving her the slightest wink. And then he was gone, and Emily was alone.
It's over, Emily thought, sinking to a seated position on the rough bed protruding from the cell wall. It's finally over.
In a sudden rush, the weight of the last several months came crashing down on her. The lies. The tension. The fear. She felt absolutely exhausted and collapsed down onto the bed into a deep, dreamless sleep that continued straight through to the next morning.
….
As easily as she'd fallen asleep, Emily felt terribly sore when she woke up. The prison bed was hard and rough. Emily'd grown somewhat used to sleeping on the luxurious mattress in Ian's villa. She was sheepishly a bit ashamed of herself. Back when she was in Afghanistan, she'd have nearly killed for a bed as nice as the one in her cell. At least it had a mattress.
You've gone soft, Emily, she chided herself.
It took her a moment to realize what had awoken her. Two Carabinieri officers were wrapping insistently on the cell door.
"What is it," she asked?
"Interrogatorio" one of them explained. Interrogation.
Interrogation? What on Earth? Emily wondered. But Sean had been adamant that she play along, and so she did. Compliantly, she allowed herself to be cuffed again and then taken down another side hallway into an empty room with a few chairs and a table. The Carabinieri officers secured her cuffs to the table and left the room. About a minute later, the door opened again.
"Well hello darling," said a familiar, bemused voice. Clyde was in the doorway, smirking, with Sean at his side.
"Clyde, I never thought I'd say this but you are a sight for sore eyes," Emily said.
"I'm blushing," he quipped. Pulling a key from his pocket, he undid Emly's cuffs, and the two embraced like long lost friends.
"It really is good to see you again," Emily said.
"Likewise, darling," he assured her.
"And you again, Sean," she added, embracing the larger Scotsman who enveloped her in a bear hug.
"Why don't you take a seat, Em," Sean said after releasing her. "We can get you caught up."
Emily sat across from the two men.
"I hope you have a plan for getting me out of here soon. I mean, it's lovely, "Emily said sarcastically. "But its not really my scene."
"Tsia and Jeremy are handling that. We've had them working on a plan to get you out ever since you told me about Belfast. We decided to wait a little longer once it seemed you were safe, but ever since you confirmed Valhalla's identity, we've just been waiting for the right time." Sean explained. "They should be here soon. They caught a late flight out of Brussels yesterday after we confirmed we had you safely."
"And then what?" Emily asked.
"Then that's up to the CIA," Clyde said.
"You're team lead, isn't that up to you?" Emily asked.
"JTF-12 is disbanding," Sean told her.
"What? Why? It's only been a year."
"Resource allocation priorities changed while you were under," Clyde explained. "After the Madrid train bombings, the agencies on the continent started wanting to bring their assets back home to focus on domestic threats. Tsia and Jeremy are being recalled. Meanwhile, Iraq is going less swimmingly than intended so that's where I'm headed next. Frankly, I won't be surprised if I see you there before the end of the year."
"We had to get special authorization to even finish Valhalla," Sean said, slightly exasperated. "Now that Doyle's arrested, we finish the profile and that's it."
"So where exactly is Doyle?" Emily pressed.
Clyde hesitated just a beat too long for Emily's comfort.
"Either in Russia or on his way," Sean intervened.
"Russia?" Emily asked.
"The Russians have known Valhalla is selling the Chechens for awhile," Clyde said rapidly, shaking out of his hesitation. "As soon as you were able to identify Doyle as Valhalla, the Russians have been quite interested in him."
"Presumably because you told them. And the extradition paperwork on him is already done?" Emily demanded, skeptically. She knew the answer was no. She didn't have to be a diplomat's daughter to know these things took more than 24 hours.
"There is no extradition paperwork," Sean admitted.
"How'd you get the Italians to agree to transport him then?"
"They're not," Clyde said. "We retained private contractors to transport him. Clearwater Securities."
Clearwater Securities, Emily remembered Jack Peterson bringing up the name in Berlin. What had he said? They're in it for profit and they aren't accountable to anyone.
"Is this even remotely legal?" Emily asked.
"I'm not a solicitor, so I don't care," Clyde said bluntly, his personal hostility to Doyle burning through. "My only priorities were getting you out safely and getting Ian Doyle behind bars. Frankly, I don't see why yours aren't the same."
Emily wondered if his two priorities were actually in that order. But she didn't have time to answer him before the door opened again. Tsia and Jeremy met Emily with broad grins.
"Welcome back," Tsia exclaimed, hugging Emily tightly. She was carrying a small file of documents, but Emily was more immediately interested in what was in Jeremy's hands—a white pastry bag and a large cup of coffee.
"We thought you might want some breakfast," he offered, in the clipped German accent Emily hadn't heard in over six months.
"I'm starving, you're the best," Emily hugged him. "And I'll like you both even better when you tell me how you're getting me out of here."
"That's what we're here for," Tsia assured her.
She and Jeremy each drew up a chair to the interrogation table and started presenting their plan as Emily wolfed down the croissant they'd brought her, in what she was sure was an undignified manner.
"So," Jeremy clapped his hands together. "The challenge before us – how to kill Lauren Reynolds without killing Emily Prentiss." He gave off the nervous excited energy of a scientist finally presenting his research after being cooped up in the lab.
"I would prefer it that way, yes," Emily joked through a mouthful of croissant, spraying crumbs all over the white linen she was still wearing from the day before.
"We considered a number of different options," Jeremy continued. "And we have concluded that staging a car accident is the most logical choice."
Emily raised her eyebrows. "I'm listening."
"We can get you out of here by setting up a prisoner transfer," Tsia explained. "We thought about staging it as your extradition, but that didn't work because we want to get you out of here soon and those can take weeks to get through."
Emily shot a glance at Clyde, who didn't meet her eyes. Tsia and Jeremy didn't notice.
"So," Tisa continued. "We forged INTERPOL orders transferring Lauren Reynolds to the women's prison in Perugia to await extradition to Northern Ireland." She withdrew the forged document from her folder. It looked pretty convincing to Emily.
"On the road between here and Perugia, there's an extended tunnel," Jeremy explained, withdrawing a satellite image map from Tsia's folder and indicating the tunnel. "There are no closed circuit cameras inside, and our traffic pattern analysis indicates that between the hours of two and four a.m. there is a 98.7 percent chance of hitting the tunnel without any other traffic. So we will leave here just after 02:00 tomorrow morning. It should be about 15 minutes to the tunnel. Tsia and I will be transporting you in a standard police van. Clyde will follow behind in an 'escort' vehicle. While we're in the tunnel, we'll stop briefly and you and I will run out to Clyde's car."
"So where does the car accident come in?" Emily asked, gratefully swallowing her coffee.
"On the other side of the tunnel," Tsia picked up the explanation. "We have two men waiting with a lorry at one of the cross roads. They'll 'accidentally' run a stop signal and plow into the back of the van, where you and Jeremy won't be anymore. I'll be fine in the cab. An ambulance will come, it'll leave with a stuffed body back on a stretcher, and then it's just a matter of some paperwork and Lauren Reynolds is gone."
Emily frowned slightly. It wasn't a terrible plan but it was far from foolproof.
"Who's driving the truck and manning the ambulance?" she quizzed.
Clyde interjected.
"CIA," he answered. "I took the liberty of contacting your chief Mr. Shirer in Brussels. Seems they're quite anxious to have you back and were willing to lend some of their men."
"And the 1.3 percent chance there's another vehicle in the tunnel?" Emily asked,
"We can improvise a bit," Jeremy answered confidently. "Adjust our speed so they pass. We only need a short window. We'll get it."
Emily still wasn't sure.
"Look, Emily," Sean pleaded. "I understand why you want to kill Lauren off, I do. It's smart. But the easiest way to get you out of here would be to sneak you out the back right now and just let the trail go cold. If you want to kill off Lauren, this is the best plan we have. And trust me, these two proposed some wild stuff," he added, nodding toward Tsia and Jeremy, who grinned sheepishly. If this all worked, Emily fully intended to grill them on these wild plans over drinks someday.
"Unless you want to just wait here a few weeks while we try to come up with a different plan?" Clyde asked. Emily couldn't quite tell if he was deadpanning or serious.
In any event, Emily was not keen on hanging out in prison any longer than she had to.
"Alright," she nodded reluctantly. "Let's do it."