Defender of the People ch7

"Cowards die many times before their deaths." –William Shakespeare

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Sandra drove as fast as she could to the marine base in Quantico, almost fifteen minutes away from Nicholas' university. As the miles melted away, she wondered what on Earth was so urgent. Hotch sounded so…worried? Agitated? Maybe even scared. Just the thought of the great Aaron Hotchner, scared, was extremely unnerving. The man on the phone didn't sound much like the boss she had come to admire, more like a spectre. It was hard to fathom. Sandra took a deep breath and tried to get into the mind set that she needed to be in to do this job.

She got to the base and through the security guards. She parked and rushed to the elevator as fast as she could. She pressed the button and was immensely relieved to see the doors open right away.

She stepped in, jabbed the button, crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. Finally, the doors opened on the correct floor. Sandra rushed into the bullpen and locked eyes with Morgan. "They're in the conference room."

Sandra nodded and practically ran there in her haste. She came in just as Morgan entered with Reid. They sat down and Hotch gave JJ the green light. She put up the pictures of the two victims, one each from the crime scene, and pre-mortem. There was a collective gasp. They were Steven Wheatley and Harriet Dylan, two prominent U.S. senators. "I'm sure you recognize our victims, Senators Wheatley and Dylan. Their right hands were cut off and what remained was placed over their hearts."

"Was the wound inflicted pre or post mortem?" asked Prentiss.

"Pre mortem," said Reid. "Post mortem wounds don't bleed."

"Sadistic," noted Rossi dryly.

"The Unsub definitely has a grudge against politicians," said Seaver.

The door burst open. Strauss came in, flanked by three agents. Sandra recognized one of them-- Julia Levin. They'd been in the academy together. One thing that hadn't changed was Julia's piercing green eyes, which was highly uncharacteristic of her Israeli heritage.

The make agent wore big glasses and an odd shirt, and had messy brown hair, and warm brown eyes. The other female agent kind of reminded Sandra of JJ. She had the same look on her face, the same poise.

When Garcia laid eyes on the man, she crossed her arms, closed her eyes and turned away with a huff.

"Agent Hotchner, Agents Lynch, Todd and Levin will be working with you for the duration of this case," said Strauss.

"With all due respect, Ma'am," said Hotch, trying to keep his voice level, "my team can handle this alone."

"Regardless of what your team wants," said Strauss, "They need as much help as they can get!"

Hotch scowled. "As you wish." Strauss left. Hotch took charge at once. "Agents Todd and Levin, you'll stay here and help us. Garcia, you and Lynch, go to your lair and do…whatever it is that you do." Garcia scowled. "Garcia, Lynch can help you work twice as fast."

She turned to Hotch. "I know. But that doesn't mean I have to like it." She stalked out of the room. Lynch hastened after her.

JJ continued. "Senator Dylan was just murdered last night, so her body hasn't been moved yet."

Hotch looked at Sandra. She'd been staring intently at the picture of Dylan. She zoomed in as far as she could go without the picture being too pixilated. Hotch leaned to his side, towards Sandra. "What're you looking at?" He looked over her shoulder.

Sandra spoke up. "Everyone, zoom in on Dylan's left arm."

Her sleeve was cut open and brushed aside slightly. The team couldn't see what it was, but they could see a cut.

"Wheels up in twenty."

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The woman stirred. She was light headed. Where am I? she wondered. She slowly opened her eyes. She looked on a counter straight ahead of her. On the counter was a big plate of food. Her stomach grumbled hungrily. She tried to move, but found that she couldn't. "What in the world…" Her arms and legs were restrained by the wrists and ankles, respectively.

Then she turned her head to the side. A person was sitting there. The person sat in a plush chair, right leg balanced on top of the left, all fingers together.

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The team landed amidst a crowd of reporters. Luckily, the police department that was handling the investigation sent them cars with a police escort to get them to the station as quickly as possible.

Once there, the team came in to find a man in a suit standing in front of the doors as if he was waiting for something. Or someone. The man radiated authority. Judging by the way the officers seemed to worship him, the man held a high office. His hair was trimmed neatly. His suit was impeccable, shoes shined, cufflinks turned the right way. A gold ring decorated with the number thirty three glittered on his right finger. He walked forward to Hotch and shook his hand. "Agent Hotchner." The voice was deep, authoritative and assured.

"Director Bellamy," said Hotch in reply. "My team was hand selected for this case. May I ask why?"

Prentiss pushed her way to the front. "Warren?"

"Emily." The director of the CIA put his hands on her shoulders. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

She pulled away. "You don't talk to me for years and you choose now to come back?" She didn't even wait for a response. Prentiss stalked out.

"Follow her, Abner," said Hotch.

She did.

Sandra found Prentiss in the passenger seat of one of the SUVs that brought the team here. Sandra climbed into the driver's seat. Prentiss looked over. Her eyes were red.

"What's wrong?"

"A lot of things."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Silence. Prentiss sighed. "The director was my father."

"Was?"

She nodded. "My mom kept her maiden name. Did you know that?" Prentiss closed her eyes. "When we were in Seoul, my father left us. I was too young to understand what was happening, but Mom has since explained it to me. He went deep into debt, and couldn't pay it back. So to take payment, the people he was indebted to took me. And it was all because of him." She opened her eyes and hugged herself, shivering, as if from cold. "He left about three weeks after I came back to the embassy. I haven't seen him in a few years, not since I came to the BAU." She took a few deep, cleansing breaths. "He's made efforts to reconnect over the years, but they've never gone very well. And how can they, after all that's happened?"

Silence.

"When I was young, my parents argues constantly. I can't remember most of what was said, but I knew that my mom was upset by it, every time it happened." She blinked. "Whenever they were done arguing, my mom would come find me and hold me tightly." She cleared her throat. "But that's all water under the bridge."

There it was-- Emily Prentiss' legendary ability to compartmentalize.

"You know, you'll need to talk to him eventually, right?" asked Sandra. "You can't avoid it forever."

She and Prentiss locked eyes. "I know." She took another deep breath.

Sandra's phone rang. She picked it up. "Abner."

"Is Prentiss ready to work?" asked Hotch.

"I think so," said Sandra.

"Good. You two will go to the newest crime scene. It's not a senator, but it's related. I'm having Garcia send you directions."

"Thanks, sir."

He didn't respond to that. "Glazer, Seaver and Reid will go to Dylan's crime scene. I'm going to the ME's with Rossi. Morgan, Todd, Levin and JJ will stay here and handle the press and Director Bellamy," said Hotch.

"Got it, sir," said Sandra as they hung up. She started the car.

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Hotch and Rossi pulled into the ME's office. They were led to the back, where Steven Wheatley's body was. The ME, Hotch and Rossi all put on some gloves and the drawer was opened.

"There were signs of minor dehydration." The ME pulled back the cover so that Hotch and Rossi could see the body.

The body looked just as it had in the picture, which was quite the gruesome sight. His throat was slit, the right hand severed. "We found traces of ruse in both wounds." Hotch looked closely. The wounds weren't clean cut-- they were ragged.

"Our Unsub used a serrated blade," said Hotch.

Rossi recoiled slightly. "A rusty serrated blade."

They looked at the body again.

"Notice how it's the right hand that's cut off," said Hotch.

"The hand of truth," said Rossi. He addressed the ME next. "Were the severed hands brought in?"

The ME shook his head. "No."

"Then they're either being kept as trophies or they're being destroyed." Hotch paused, looked at the ankles, then the wrists and back again. "The senator was tied up."

They looked closely. "I'd say either duct tape or a belt. Most likely leather, if it was a belt," said Rossi.

Still regarding the ankles, Hotch addressed the ME. "Did you find leather or glue residue?"

"Glue. The indentations outside of the area where the duct tape was isn't very shallow."

Rossi and Hotch glanced at each other.

"Which means they're being held. I'd say at least for a couple of hours," said Rossi. He paused, brow furrowed. "Look at the left arm."

There was a number two, carved into the flesh of the bicep.

"What does that mean?" asked the ME.

"I don't know," said Hotch, "but we're going to find out."

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Sandra and Prentiss stopped in front of the roped off apartment building. They got out. A police officer out front showed them in, leaving his partner out front, saying, "I'll be back in a few." He took them up the elevator, down the hall and through the front door. "The body's in the bedroom." He turned around and left.

Sandra and Prentiss went into the bedroom. The body was sprawled on the floor, blood covering the area around her abdomen, in particular.

Prentiss knelt down beside the body while Sandra looked around the room.

"This is a totally different M.O. I have to wonder why they called us in," said Prentiss. "She was shot in the stomach."

"A twenty minute death." Sandra opened the closet door and jumped back with a yelp.

"What's wrong?" Prentiss stood and walked to Sandra's side. "Oh jeez."

All the clothes were pushed aside. Scrawled along the wall in what was probably blood were the words "FBI, team", comma and all.

Sandra took pictures and sent them to Hotch and Garcia. She and Prentiss knelt by the body again. "She was shot twice in the stomach."

"Since it takes about twenty minutes to die from a single gun shot wound to the stomach, I'd say she had about ten minutes, tops," said Sandra.

Prentiss looked closely at the wound. "As long as I'm seeing that right, the shot looks like it was fired from a straight angle." She stood up. "I was here," she said, gesturing to where she stood, "and the shot was fired from over here." Prentiss stood in the door way.

"Makes sense. I'd say that they victim and our Unsub talked for a while, and something the victim said must have pissed the Unsub off," said Sandra.

"Or something the victim did."

"That too." There was a slight pause. "So what do you think about the message?"

"What about it?"

"I'd say that the 'team' she's referencing is us," said Sandra.

"How do you figure?"

"Well, she probably wasn't thinking very clearly. She might have put the comma there by mistake."

"I think that only the 'FBI' part references us," said Prentiss. "With that kind of wound, she may have spent almost the whole ten minutes she had before death moving the clothes."

"That makes sense. But why do you think that?"

"Well, she wasn't thinking clearly, as we both can probably guess. She just had time to scrawl a two word message. The comma might have been placed there to avoid the confusion. The first part, 'FBI' is like she's addressing us," said Prentiss as Sandra nodded, "and the second part is either a warning or instructions."

"Well, with that kind of logic, I'd say instructions. Your explanation makes more sense than mine," said Sandra.

"So that means we're looking for a team," said Prentiss.

"Call Hotch."