Part 8- The Agent
Another fist swung at the face of the man handcuffed to a simple wooden chair. His head snapped sideways, blood spraying in an arc from his bottom lip. His collar-length brown curls were trapped under the thick black fabric that was tied tightly across his eyes, blinding him to his surroundings. His wrists had been bound behind the chair he occupied with a pair of handcuffs, the chain hooked around a slat in the chair. A pair of solid iron manacles adorned his ankles, joined together by a short length of chain which was attached to a hook in the concrete floor. He was barefoot. His white shirt was splattered with blood. The crimson liquid ran down his face from under the blindfold. A shock collar was buckled tightly around his thin neck.
"What is Gold Star? Tell me!" yelled the man that threw the punch. The bound man remained silent. The captor fished a remote out of his pocket and pressed a button. The prisoner gritted his teeth and let out a groan of pain as electricity surged through his body, "What is Gold Star?!" The man in the chair chuckled, his teeth coated in blood.
"That would be telling." The captor roared with frustration and pressed the button on the remote again, sending another sharp jolt of electricity through his prisoner. A scream erupted from the young man, tearing at his throat.
"What is Gold Star, you little fuck?" The prisoner gasped, desperately trying to regain his breath.
"It's not what, it's who." A smile quirked at the corners of the prisoner's mouth.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Dr Spencer Reid had just finished up a lecture on geographic profiling and slid his paperwork into his tan leather satchel that lay open on the desk. He turned to the grease board and grabbed the battered eraser. It took very little reaching for his six foot frame to begin wiping away his scrawl from the board. He paused, staring at the writing. He missed his team members greatly, but the pandemic meant that he was unable to see anyone. He was forced to use his laptop that he so despised to deliver his lectures from home. Penelope Garcia had left the BAU and went to work in the Silicon Valley. Emily Prentiss had been promoted to Section Chief. Matt Simmons had been reassigned, though he had no idea where. The BAU had downsized considerably in the wake of the pandemic. He was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of his cell phone ringing. Spencer turned to his satchel and plunged his hand inside, fumbling around for his phone. His fingers curled around the cold plastic object. He pressed accept and held the phone to his ear, his collar-length brown curls hanging down his wrist.
"Dr Reid," he answered formally.
"We have a job for you," came the deep female voice. Spencer's left hand curled into a fist.
"Send me the details and the co-ordinates." Spencer quickly hung up and stuffed his phone into his bag.
He swiftly moved around his desk and made his way to his bedroom. He threw open his closet doors and crouched down, shoving his hands under the clothing that hung on the rail. His fingertips brushed against a solid plastic object. Spencer tugged on the object, his clothing brushing over the top of it as it slid free from the closet. He knelt down, the black case sitting just in front of his knees. He fumbled with the locks and popped the lid open. His lips pursed as he considered the item inside. Spencer's hazel eyes flicked up to the closet and hardened. He had work to do.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Gold Star fastened the top button of his black button down shirt, the collar sitting snugly around his neck. He tugged a black woollen hat on over his hair. He eyed the open case at his feet as he wiggled his slender hands into a pair of black leather gloves. He crouched down at the case and began to assemble his sniper rifle. With his rifle in his grasp, Gold Star turned to the ledge of the roof and knelt down, setting the stand for the rifle down on the concrete edge. Grabbing the rifle with both hands, Gold Star leaned forward and closed one eye as he peered through the scope at his target. His gloved finger danced over the trigger. He let out a slow, steady breath through his nose, his lips pursed. His finger pressed down on the trigger. A bullet silently pierced the air. Gold Star watched as his target crumpled. He swiftly whipped the firearm away and dismantled it, tucking each piece away in the case. He locked the case and tucked it under his arm before disappearing into the shadows.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Across town...
A man paced circles in the wooden floor of his lounge, one hand rubbing his bald head, the other flipping his cell phone over and over. He had been mentally debating making a call for over ten minutes after the news had been broken to him that one of his partners had been killed by a sniper. The man paused and dialled a number.
"Sicarius?" asked the man with a trembling voice.
"This had better be good, Cheswick."
"Grover's dead. Sniper shot him straight between the eyes. Poor bastard didn't even see it coming. What the fuck is going on man? Someone is taking us out one by one. Which one of us is next?"
"Shit. Shit!" The line went silent for a moment, "The FBI are onto us. Gold Star."
"What's Gold Star?"
"The FBI's secret weapon. This ends now. There's an agent running profiling seminars at the local college. You're going to join one of his classes as an auditor. Once he's alone, I need you to take him and find out what he knows. Do what you gotta do, just get it done."
"Understood." Cheswick hung up the call and shoved his cell phone into his pocket. He turned his gaze to the heavy duty case. He popped it open to reveal a roll of shiny grey duct tape, a pair of handcuffs, a set of iron manacles, a length of thick black material, a shock collar, and a hypodermic syringe filled with a cloudy white substance.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Spencer groaned at the shrill sound of his alarm disturbing his sleep. He flung an arm out from under the comfort, patting his hand around the bedside table until the sound subsided. Realising that he was going to have to succumb to getting out of bed, Spencer sat up, the comforter falling down his waist and rubbed his tired eyes. Every muscle and joint ached. He swung his lanky legs out of the bed and stretched out, his spine clicking. With a yawn, he came to his feet and padded his way to the bathroom to shower.
Feeling more awake and refreshed after his shower, Spencer fastened the top button of his white button down shirt and pushed the knot of his burgundy tie up to his collar. He sighed and grabbed his black blazer, tugging it on over his shoulders. He clipped his identification card to his leather belt and made his way into the kitchen. He flicked on the coffee machine and listened to the soothing symphony of it hissing as it brewed its caffeinated goodness. He pressed his palms to the counter and bowed his head. It was going to be a long day.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Spencer's hazel eyes scanned over the sparse scattering of students seated at the rows of desks in the auditorium. There were a few familiar faces and one or two new faces. He pursed his lips in frustration. He sipped his coffee and turned to the grease board, scribbling down the words triggers and stressors. He shuffled around on his heel and set the pen down on the desk.
"Morning, everyone. First of all, can everyone hear me okay?" asked Spencer, addressing the students. The students responded with a rumble of 'yes', "Okay, good. So, I see we have some regulars and a few new faces. For the new people, I'm Dr Spencer Reid of the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI. I'm doing a series of seminars and lectures on various aspects of profiling. Today, we're looking at triggers versus stressors. Can anyone give me the definition of a trigger?" Spencer was met with silence, "Alright. A trigger is a sensory event experienced by an offender that precipitates subsequent behaviour, whereas a stressor is a longer-term pattern of behaviour or circumstances which push a person into behaving differently than they normally would." A few people scribbled in their notebooks. Spencer grabbed the pen and turned back to the board, jotting the information he had just given under each heading, "I highly recommend that you guys write this down as there will be a paper on this." Spencer glanced over his shoulder and noted a few of the students were staring. He frowned in confusion.
"Sorry, Dr Reid. I'm only auditing this class," answered a young, blonde-haired girl sat at the front, pushing some of her golden locks behind her ear.
"Anyone else auditing this class?" Four hands shot up into the air, including that of one of the newcomers. Something did not sit right with the genius about the bald man at the back but he was unable to put his finger on it, "Okay. Well, that's all we have time for today. For those of you not auditing the class, I'd like you to do some further reading on triggers and stressors and find some examples for when we reconvene next. Thanks everyone."
Spencer slumped into the swivel chair behind the desk with a groan of exasperation as the students filed out of the room, buzzing with chatter. He was frustrated at being reassigned to teaching full time when he belonged at the BAU. Profiling was his bread and butter. He shrugged off his blazer and twisted himself around to drape it over the back of his chair. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled the sleeves to his elbows. He supposed he would use the time he had to mark some of the papers he had stuffed in his satchel. He took a sip of his tepid coffee and grimaced. He set the cup back down on the desk and twirled his pen between his long, thin fingers. With another sigh, Spencer leaned forward and entered the zone in his mind that he had for marking papers.
Spencer had made it through a sizeable chunk of the papers when a gloved hand clamped tightly over his mouth. He yelped in surprise, his voice lost into the palm. His hands automatically reached for the hand pressed over his face, stifling his yells. He felt a sharp pinch in the right side of his neck, eliciting a gasp from the genius. Spencer felt a cold sensation crawling through his limbs. His vision became blurred. He moaned softly into the hand as his head lolled forward.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Cheswick was immensely pleased with himself. It was too easy to take the agent out. He sat Spencer back so that his head rested against the top of the chair, unravelled the knot of his tie and slid it off, gently lying it on top of the desk. He gathered Spencer up and slung him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. The young doctor was deceptively light. Cheswick used the fire exit to the auditorium where a plain black van was parked nearby. He tugged open the side door and hoisted himself up into the back, pulling the door shut behind him. He dropped Spencer to the floor of the van, pulled on his head torch so that he could see what he was doing and popped open his box. He rolled Spencer onto his stomach and yanked his arms behind his back. He clamped the handcuffs excruciatingly tightly around the thin wrists. Moving down, he slid off the converse shoes the doctor was wearing and tossed them over his shoulder. Cheswick chuckled at the sight of the mismatched socks which also came off and joined the shoes, leaving Spencer barefoot. He dragged the manacles out of the box and fastened them around Spencer's ankles which were joined by a very short length of chain, making walking difficult. He grabbed the length of black cloth and draped it over Spencer's eyes, tying it tightly in a double knot at the back of his head. Cheswick used his foot to push Spencer over onto his back. He reached down into the box and took out the roll of duct tape. He peeled some away from the roll and tore a long strip off. He pressed the tape firmly over Spencer's lips. Cheswick smiled to himself as he admired his captive.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Spencer hadn't regained consciousness by the time Cheswick reached his destination. Cheswick easily grabbed the doctor by the manacles and dragged him out of the van, allowing him to drop heavily to the ground. No sound was emitted from the unconscious man as he was hoisted over Cheswick's shoulder and carried into the house and down to the basement. The basement itself was small, around ten feet by fifteen feet. A simple wooden chair was placed in the centre of the room with it's back to the stairs. Cheswick dropped Spencer into the chair and uncuffed one of his wrists, feeding the chain through a slat in the back of the chair, and closing the cuff back around the free wrist, pulling Spencer's arms taut around the chair. Cheswick knelt down and opened the hook situated in the floor in front of the chair. He closed the hook around the chain between Spencer's ankles. He leaned against the wall and watched, waiting for his prisoner to come around.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Spencer felt hazy as though his brain was full of cotton wool. He mumbled softly as he tried to work out what had him feeling so confused. The first thing he noticed as he cracked his eyes open was the darkness. There was no sliver of light to be seen. As pieces of awareness returned to his senses, he could feel fabric over the bridge of his nose and across his cheeks. He furrowed his brow. A blindfold? His shoulders ached. He tried to move his arms but felt cold steel chafing his wrists behind his back. Handcuffs... He could feel metal circling his bare ankles. He tested them to find they were unable to move an inch as the chain was fastened down. Something was irritating his nose. Spencer tried to yell out to find his voice lost into a strip of duct tape that stretched from ear to ear. He struggled against the chains, his curses muffled by the tape.
"Welcome back, Dr Reid." Spencer tilted his head in confusion, "You and I are going to talk a little. You know some information that I need." Spencer's skin felt like it was on fire as the tape was ripped away from his mouth.
"What is this? Who are you?" asked Spencer, desperately trying to hide the tremor in his voice.
"No names. You have information I need."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." His cheek stung harshly as he was backhanded across the face. He felt something coarse slink around his neck and buckled tightly. He strained his neck against the offending object, "What are you doing?"
"This is a shock collar, Dr Reid. Now. What is Gold Star?" Spencer remained silent, "Well?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." A fist slammed into his face, connecting with his right eye. Spencer groaned at the pain that shot through his eye. A cut opened up above his eyebrow, warm liquid running down his face under the blindfold.
"I'll ask you again. What is Gold Star?" Spencer chose not to answer. A punch landed hard on his nose. He felt the bone crunch under the fist. He could feel the blood trickling out of his nose and over his lips, "Son of a bitch! Answer me!" Spencer remained silent. A fist smashed into his mouth, snapping his head to the side, blood spraying in an arc from a newly formed split in his bottom lip.
"What is Gold Star? Tell me!" Spencer leaned back in his chair, blood dripping onto his shirt, as though he was daring his captor to hit him again. He felt a surge of electricity in every nerve ending from the shock collar. He gritted his teeth and let out a groan of pain, "What is Gold Star?" Spencer gave a deranged chuckle, his usually white teeth coated with blood, leaving a metallic taste in his mouth.
"That would be telling." His captor let out a bloodcurdling roar. Spencer felt another, stronger jolt of electricity through him. He let out a scream that tore at his throat. His fingers tingled. He panted his way through the pain.
"What is Gold Star, you little fuck?" Spencer gasped, trying to regain his breath. His nervous system felt like it was on fire and his fingertips had gone numb.
"It's not what, but who," answered Spencer, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth.
"What?"
"Oh? Not what you expected?" The room fell silent.
"We'll talk more later."
"What, so that you can shock it out of me? Nice try." Another jolt surged through him, forcing him to throw his head back and grit his teeth. He caught the sound of tearing near him. A new strip of tape was forced over his mouth, pressing into his cheeks.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Spencer listened intently for the sound of his captor leaving. Once he was satisfied that he was gone, Spencer twisted his right hand around in the cuffs and fumbled for the steel watch around his left wrist. With a yank, he managed to pull the hidden pin free. His palms were sweaty as he tried to turn the pin and insert it blindly into one of the locks on the handcuffs. After ten minutes, he heard the sweet click of the cuff unlocking. He gave a muffled sigh of relief and manoeuvred his aching arms in front of him, dragging the loose cuff through the chair. He reached up and untied the blindfold. The material came away and Spencer blinked with bleary eyes. He cast the blindfold to the floor and picked at the corner of the tape over his mouth. He got a grip on the tape and tore it away from his lips, the familiar burn across his skin. He picked the lock on the second cuff, the metal springing open. He glanced down at his ankles. He reached down and shoved the pin into the lock of the manacle around his right ankle. He wiggled the pin until the manacle opened. He sighed again with relief as the second manacle came free. His hands flew up to the shock collar to remove the monstrosity. His captor had tied the buckle shut with a plastic zip tie so he had no way of getting it off.
Spencer kept to the shadows as he crept up the stairs. His captor had foolishly left the door unlocked, not anticipating that the doctor would be able to get free. He edged his way towards the kitchen. He could hear the man talking but he was unable to see him.
"He says that Gold Star is a person, but he won't say anymore. I'm going to try again a bit later. Wait, you know a lot about the BAU? Didn't you think that to be important?" Spencer stilled, trying to control his breathing. The collar felt tight around his throat. He had to take his chance. He crept up to the bald man sat on the sofa and took his head into both hands. Before the man had a chance to react, Spencer swiftly twisted his head until he heard the audible crack of his neck breaking. He rummaged through the man's pockets and fished out a set of keys. Not caring that he was covered in blood or barefoot, Spencer darted for the door and the man's van.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Spencer easily found his way back to his apartment. He parked the van up near his Volvo and slid out of the driver's side. His limbs were exhausted and his muscles throbbed terribly from the shocks. It suddenly dawned on him that all of his belongings were still at the college, including his keys. He wrapped his arms around himself as he looked around. The breeze blew some of his hair into his face, strands clinging to his eyelashes. Stones dug painfully into the soles of his feet. A voice sounded behind him.
"Excuse me, sir. Are you alright?" Spencer turned to see a young man eyeing him with concern. The kid noticed the dried blood on Spencer's face, "Here, let me take you to the hospital." Spencer nodded softly and followed the kid to his car.
"Sorry, do you have a phone I could borrow for a minute?" asked Spencer.
"Sure." The kid handed his cell phone over to Spencer who quickly tapped in a number and dialled. The hand holding the phone was hidden under his hair.
"Hi. Anderson? It's Reid. Listen. I need you to do me a favour. I can't go into details but all of my stuff is at Virginia Community College. I'm on my way to the hospital. I need my things brought over. Okay. Thanks. Bye." Spencer hung up and handed the phone back.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Spencer curled his knees up to his chest to try and regain some warmth. He wore only a thin hospital gown. The medical staff had managed to cut the shock collar away, revealing burns around his neck. His wrists and ankles were ringed with purple bruising. The skin around his mouth was raw. The cut above his eyebrow had been closed with butterfly strips. A dressing covered the bridge of his nose. He glanced up at the sound of approaching footsteps. Agent Grant Anderson carried Spencer's beloved satchel, blazer and tie.
"Dr Reid?"
"Hi, Anderson." Spencer rested his chin on his shivering knees and stared off into space.
"What happened to you?"
"Someone tried to get something from me and I wouldn't give them it. I can't say anymore than that." Grant nodded. He set the satchel down on the bed at Spencer's feet, "Thanks for getting these for me. I got to my apartment complex and realised that I didn't have my keys or anything." Spencer laughed stiffly.
"I should get back to Quantico. Take care, alright?" Spencer gave a small smile and nodded.
"Thanks, you too." Spencer curled up tighter, his knees pressing into his chest with painful intensity.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Two days later...
Spencer sighed happily as he dropped himself into his brown leather sofa cushions. He had a freshly brewed coffee in his hand. He had taken a few days off from teaching to recover from his assault. He closed his eyes and smiled. His lounge smelled of old books, leather and coffee. Little traffic passed by his apartment so it was quiet. This was his sanctuary, his sanctum of solitude. It was just how he liked it. He curled his legs up underneath him and sipped the steaming coffee. Spencer groaned as the sound of his phone ringing shattered his peace. He slid his cell phone off the coffee table and accepted the call.
"Dr Reid," answered Spencer, trying to stifle a yawn.
"Dr Reid, it's the attorney general. We have an Elias Voit in custody who is talking about Gold Star. We need you to come and talk to him."
"Really? With all due respect, ma'am, but I'm still recovering from my beating."
"I understand that, Dr Reid. You need to end this. This information cannot get out."
"Understood. I'll be there in an hour." Spencer sighed again and gazed mournfully at his coffee. He set the mug down on the coffee table and trudged his way to his bedroom to change his clothing.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Spencer felt uneasy as he slowly made his way through the sixth floor. The normally bustling bullpen was empty. The adjoining offices were in darkness. The corridors were lined with SWAT officers, their firearms held ready in front of them. He came to a stop outside of the interrogation room. Spencer bit his bottom lip which quickly reminded him of the cut that snaked over it. He adjusted the collar of his navy button down shirt and used his palms to remove the creases from his black blazer. He pursed his lips and reached out for the door handle. His fingers closed around the cold steel as he braced himself. With his mind focussed, he pushed on the door handle, allowing it to swing open. He noticed the young man sat at the table in orange prison scrubs. The man had a mop of dark brown curls and an unshaven jaw. The man gave a coy smile at the sight of Spencer in the doorway. The man sat back in his chair.
"Dr Reid. I wasn't expecting you." Spencer eyed the young man warily.
"You must be Elias Voit. Some people call you Sicarius." Spencer plunged his hands into his trousers pockets as he walked behind Elias.
"I am. To what do I owe this pleasure? I thought you were off teaching."
"I was. I just got a call to say that you've been asking questions about Gold Star. Is that true?" Elias shrugged.
"Yeah." Spencer tugged out the chair opposite Elias, the feet scraping across the tiled floor. Elias leaned forward on his elbows, "I know Gold Star is the FBI's secret weapon." Spencer raised his eyebrows.
"Yeah? To do what exactly?" Spencer steepled his fingers, his elbows resting against the table.
"I don't know. My partner didn't exactly get much information. All he said was that Gold Star is a person."
"Oh? The partner that you had kidnap me and torture me for information about Gold Star?" Elias' mouth bobbed, "Here's the thing, Elias. We got wind of your activity during the pandemic in which you formed a network of serial killers and gave each of them a kill kit which they were to use when instructed by you. The FBI created Gold Star to try and take each of you down. Cheswick was too easy of a kill. He was so distracted by you that he didn't see it coming. Grover didn't see it coming either. One single shot from a rooftop was all it took." Elias frowned.
"What? H-how do you know?" Spencer smiled and used his fingers to indicate that Elias move closer. Elias leaned in. He could feel Spencer's hot breath on his cheek.
"Because I'm Gold Star."
