Chapter Text
“Agent Hotchner?”
Hotch looked up and did a double-take. “Emily?” he stood up, sending a surprised look at the smiling woman carrying a file box standing in front of his desk. He walked around his desk and closed his office door before giving her a half hug. “It’s been a while hasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Emily let out a brief laugh, placing the box down on one of the chairs. “Last we talked was what, two years ago?”
“Must have been,” Hotch walked back around the desk and sat down, gesturing for Emily to do the same. “How’ve you been doing?”
Her expression dimmed a bit, shadows encroaching on the brightness of their reunion. “Well, he is still locked away, so it’s old history,” she shrugged. “Joined the bureau about a year ago, and I’ve been stuck in a desk job over at White Collar.”
Hotch held her gaze, knowing what was going unsaid, then nodded and changed the subject. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what’s brought you here? Last I heard you were doing pretty well over in the DC office.”
Emily’s expression gave way to confusion as she sat up straight. “I’m transferring to your team,” she said slowly.
Hotch paused. “I didn’t receive any paperwork nor did I authorize any transfer,” he told her awkwardly.
She reached into the box and pulled out a file, giving it to him. “I’m not sure what to tell you,” she said and indicated the file, “but that’s what I have.” Hotch flipped through, lips compressed in thought.
“I’m going to have to look into this,” he looked up at her seriously and forestalled any protests with a placating hand. “There’s no doubt that you’re qualified to join this team. However, normally, all applications for this unit go directly to me, and your transfer happens to come just as there have been some inquiries regarding this unit.”
A look of mutual understanding passed between them, their experience with bureaucratic and office politics filling in all the blanks. “Well,” Hotch broke that silence that had fallen and stood up, “you’ve luckily caught us when we’re on stand down, so I’ll introduce you to the team and you can get set up.”
Emily nodded and stood up as he picked up the box for her, both slightly put off-balance in the new boss-employee dynamic between them after they had worked together on equal footing for a few years. Hotch nudged her arm, stopping her just before they walked out of the office.
When she looked up at him, a small but genuine smile had broken through the darker affect he had gained since the last time they had seen each other.
“It really is good to see you again.”
~~~
“Any idea why Sean, just out of the blue, asked to meet with us?”
Emily shook her head. “No idea,” she answered, looking at the suited man in the driver’s seat of the black Mercedes. “It’s been six years since I last talked to him. You?”
“Same as you, about six,” Hotch replied. “I remained in contact with him for a bit after I returned to the BAU, but our exchanges were usually brief.”
The two lapsed into an easy silence until Hotch pulled up in front of a jazz bar. They got out of the car and easily fell into an old rhythm developed over twenty years ago in New Haven, one that they often took advantage of during cases because of its apparently intimate nature.
“Emily Prentiss,” a burly Scottish man stood up from a booth towards the back of the bar and opened his arms invitingly. “Aaron Hotchner.”
Emily let out a delighted laugh and went in for the hug while a Hotch lagged behind with a faint smile.
“Sean,” Hotch sent the man a nod of greeting and shook his hand, “how are you?”
“Good,” Sean answered, gesturing towards the booth and sitting down.
“Sorry we weren’t able to get back to you sooner,” Emily said, scooting inward to make room for Hotch. “We got caught up chasing a spree killer couple out to the Pacific Northwest.”
“I had to be in DC anyway,” Sean responded. The delight the two FBI agents felt at seeing the man quickly faded and made way for feelings of foreboding when Sean’s demeanor and tone turned serious and almost fearful. He took a breath. “Ian Doyle vanished from prison, and Interpol can’t find him.”
His insides turning cold, Hotch immediately looked at Emily, who had gone pale. “What—” she swallowed, “what are you saying?”
Sean leaned in, a grim look in his eyes as he looked between the two. “He’s off the grid,” he said gravely.
“Do you think he’s headed here?” Hotch asked quietly, thoughts straying towards Emily and his son. Sean’s gaze only turned grimmer as he didn’t answer.
Emily’s shaky voice broke the tense silence—only interrupted by the ambiance of the bar—that had fallen. “Am I in danger?”
The Scotsman looked down, taking a moment to gather himself before looking back up, a chilling answer on his lips.
“We all are.”
~~~
“He sent freesias to your apartment?”
“No, don’t tell me, not even over this line. I’m going on a run tomorrow morning around National Mall and planning to eat at Dupont Circle afterward. I’ll send you the address if you’d like to join me?”
“Yeah, the moment I got home after Sean told us I checked and reset everything, did my rounds. You know how I can be, especially after… yeah.”
“If I didn’t know better I’d say I might be the least at risk, given that I was only involved half the time you guys were. But you are in significantly more danger than any of us.”
“Leave worrying about what I have to lose to me. You—for once in your life, just think about yourself and be careful.”
~~~
“You’ve got to get out of there.”
Hotch approached Emily out in the hallway, picking out fear from the urgency in her tone. “Get a flight. Leave France, get back to America,” she continued, unable to fully hide her fearful worry as she met his gaze with her own. “Cash transactions from here on out, am I clear?”
He watched as Emily listened to the other caller, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Toss that cell phone and get home safely,” she finally said firmly, hanging up without waiting for a response.
“Who?” Hotch asked simply, having suspicions as to what this was about. Emily turned to glance through the window, seeing Reid watching the two carefully—Hotch followed her gaze just in time to catch Reid quickly looking back down.
He shook his head, looking back at Emily. “My office, as soon as we can.”
~~~
Hotch opened the next report in his stack and quickly flipped through only to see a ripped sheet of paper in between a crime scene photo and the autopsy report. Recognizing the handwriting, he pulled it out, only to freeze when he read the note.
I received a text last night. He’s in the country.
He ripped up the paper as he looked out into the bullpen, eyes landing on Emily, who was hunched over at her desk looking through a report. He took in a stabilizing breath as he felt yet another headache coming on in addition to the ever-present worry over his son’s safety, despite all the precautions he had put in place all those weeks ago in a fit of med-noncompliance-induced obsessive anxiety.
Digging out a sticky note from under the piles of paperwork on his desk and quickly writing a note, Hotch grabbed a fresh stack of papers and went out to distribute them. He surreptitiously slipped the sticky note onto Emily’s desk before moving onto the others and heading back into his office, closing the door behind him.
His personal phone buzzed.
>>T and C here in 48. 1300 rendezvous over phone (S): I’ll go out, you stay in the building
Hotch looked back into the bullpen at Emily, who was putting her phone away. He looked back at his phone and began to enter in a number when his gaze drifted over to the two pictures of Jack he kept on his desk. He sighed and deleted the number he just inputted, completing yet another round of the indecisive compulsion that started ever since that meeting in the jazz bar.
~~~
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Tsia’s voice came over the phone and faintly from a few meters away. “After what happened to Jeremy, I was afraid.”
Emily sighed, shifting the newspaper in her lap. “Tsia, I’m sorry you can’t be at his funeral. It’s today, isn’t it?”
“Well, that’s the problem with marrying a member from your own team,” the other woman responded resignedly. “One of you is a target, so is the other. I get it.”
“Hello, darling,” a new voice came over the call—Emily couldn’t help but mentally sigh at the nickname from Clyde.
“Alright,” Hotch interjected. “Emily and I took a late lunch, and I’m currently reviewing a potential field case, so let’s make this quick.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Clyde asked rhetorically. “I’m not quick about anything.”
Emily rolled her eyes in exasperation and faint amusement, practically able to feel Hotch’s glare over the phone. “I don’t know,” she drawled. “What about that time I blew my cover in Prague? You took out that sentry before I could even draw my weapon. You saved my ass, Clyde.”
“I’m surprised you remember the little people from your Interpol days, now that you’re a posh FBI profiler,” Clyde shot back.
Hotch pointedly cleared his throat and changed the subject. “What’s being done to locate Doyle?”
“Only every agency in the northern hemisphere is looking for him.”
“What are we doing to find him?” Emily emphasized.
“My contact at DCRI tracked one of Doyle’s aliases leaving France the day after Jeremy’s murder,” Tsia reported. “He took a commercial flight to Beijing, then doubled back on a train bound for Berlin.”
“But when GSG 9 intercepted it, he was already gone,” Clyde finished.
“He sent me flowers, so I think it’s safe to assume he’s coming here,” Emily wryly added.
“Why is he doing this?” Tsia asked.
“Why do you think?” Hotch threw back. “We put him away. Hold on—” he cut himself off just as Emily’s other phone beeped.
“Duty calls?” Emily didn’t answer, feeling Clyde’s eyes on her back. “I know what you’re thinking—absolutely not,” he said firmly. “Your team isn’t under oath—”
“They could help,” she interrupted.
“How?” Tsia questioned. “We don’t even know where Doyle is. Involving them at this point would be premature.”
“Hotch?”
“Emily,” Hotch started quietly. “They’re highly capable, yes, but they don’t have clearance, and I rather doubt Strauss would be willing to help plead our case.”
“It would also be highly reckless,” Clyde interjected. “Leave it to Tsia and I, and you two stay with your team.”
“Even in hiding Doyle can’t resist extravagance,” Emily suggested, relenting to the others. “Track the money.”
“I will find him, darling. Trust me.”
Hotch scoffed at the plea request over the phone. “I don’t trust anyone, anymore,” Emily threw back, her tone conveying how both she and Hotch feel about that appeal.
~~~
>>T and C tracked V to DC. Chuck Murray.
<<Isn’t that the name of V’s dog?
>> Yep.
>>I’m playing fish food tonight. Alone.
<<Are you sure?
>>Like you said: you’re in as much danger as the rest of us are. I also happen to be his main target and he’ll kill anyone in his way. You happen to have the most to lose, and you can bet that he’s already got eyes on you.
<<Don’t worry about me, I’ve gotten that handled quite a bit ago. Location.
>>Seriously?
<<I trust you. I just want to know where to start if you don’t show up tomorrow morning.
>>Fine. Hirshhorn Museum.
<<Don’t do anything stupid.
>>Awwww, is that emotion I detect from no-smile Iceman?
<<I can neither confirm nor deny.
<<Be careful, Blackbird.
~~~
“Ian Doyle is here in DC.”
“How can you be so sure?” Clyde asked skeptically.
“I sat next to him last night,” Emily deadpanned. “He said if I warned my team or told anyone, he’d kill them.”
“Does Aaron know about this?” Tsia was incredulous. Clyde snorted, rolling his eyes.
“Of course he does, he’s the protective big brother. Why didn’t Doyle kill you, and more to the point, why didn’t you kill him?”
“He’s not working alone,” Emily answered, staring at Clyde.
Tsia tried to reassure her. “Then he’s just playing with you—”
“No, no,” Clyde interrupted, disagreeing, “he’s a power-assertive psychopath. He doesn’t play games.”
“He’s meticulous, he plans everything down to the last detail—” Emily was cut off by a voice coming from her phone.
“Yeah, that last detail being you.”
“Finally decided to join us, Aaron?” Tsia turned to Emily. “Maybe you should tell your team,” she suggested.
“No, no way,” Emily shut it down. “This isn’t their fight.”
“Emily,” Hotch said over the phone. “He’s in DC, and he’s working with others. There is a high chance that the team is going to get pulled into something, you know that.”
“But—”
“I’m not saying we tell them now, but if the team does get pulled into this, we are going to have to tell them. You need to be prepared for that.”
Emily scoffed. “Are you?”
“We stay together, we can get him,” Tsia insisted.
“We already tried,” Emily retorted. “And look where that got us.”
“Wait, wait,” Clyde broke in, looking at her imploringly. “When you went undercover, I promised no one would harm you.”
“I’m not undercover anymore.”
“DC isn’t his comfort zone, it’s ours,” Hotch’s voice was firm. “This ends here.”
~~~
“Reid, you got anything?” Morgan asked, walking up behind the genius.
“The damage is pretty extensive, but luckily some of the tattoo remains,” Reid commented, focusing largely on the sketch.
“Seaver,” Hotch turned to the probationary agent, “get the victim’s photo out to the press.”
“I think I know who dug the hole.” Garcia’s voice rang out from behind them as she approached the group with a notebook in hand. The others turned. “The journo told me to follow the money, like straight up, that’s what he told me, so I did.” She moved to face the others. “It turns out ‘The Gazette’ is owned by a multinational global conglomerate—oil, new technologies, shipping, air and ground transportation—all of which employ the services of one company,” the analyst looked up from her notebook, “CWS.”
“Clearwater Securities?” Hotch asked, hiding the foreboding feelings starting to creep upon him.
Rossi looked at him in surprise. “You know them?”
“I’ve come across them,” Hotch confirmed, not looking at Emily. “They’re a private counterintelligence group out of Geneva.”
“Ron Cosenza, Byron Delaney, Kerry Fagan all worked for CWS,” Garcia told them.
“How long ago?” Emily asked.
“Seven years.”
“Seaver, hang up,” Hotch said, hiding the days-old conflict going strong in his head as she did as ordered.
Still looking towards Hotch, Rossi asked, “Do we have a problem?”
“No, CWS does.”
“Got it,” Reid leaned back in his chair, showing everyone the sketched reconstruction of the tattoo. Hotch froze, mind overlaying an old memory over the familiar design, and glanced at Emily, who had also gone pale. They made eye contact, and Hotch nodded to her unasked question.
As she slipped out of the bullpen, he turned to the others. “SCIF,” he ordered, bringing out his phone and scrolling through his contacts.
~~~
>>Are we…?
<<If V doesn’t already, he will know soon. There’s no reason not to tell them.
>>But like you said, they don’t have clearance.
<<Discuss this after the corporate roadblocks, see what the team needs to know and what they can know.
~~~
“Exactly why did you bring us here?” a portly man asked as the team walked into the SCIF. “And why is the BAU interested in CWS?”
Hotch handed the men at the end of the table a few folders as Morgan threw the first question. “Why did you pull that story?”
The men gave him a critical look before flipping open the folders to see pictures of the victims and crime scenes.
“That’s how you remember them,” Hotch indicated the headshots, then the crime scene photos. “And that is how they are now.”
“You warned your friend, Byron Delaney,” Morgan stated. “You knew him the longest. It’s too bad you were too late.”
The man looked back impassionately. “If you’re looking for reactions, this is our business.”
“Business?” Rossi questioned the wording.
“Ugly as that sounds,” the man amended diplomatically.
“Kerry Fagan, Ron Cosenza, and Byron Delaney, they all worked for CWS,” Morgan pointed out.
“As do forty thousand other subcontractors do all over the world.”
“So they were subcontracted to you.”
“If you’re looking for answers, take it up with the main contractor,” the man avoided the question.
“And that would be… ?” Rossi asked.
“Your government.”
“Whoever is killing these families holds your company responsible, not the government,” Hotch informed them shortly.
“We run operations from the Middle east to Antarctica,” the man said, “going over them all will take months.”
“So you’ve already started investigations?” The man didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes.
“That’s why you pulled the story,” Rossi concluded.
One of the others leaned in, whispering something in the man’s ear. He nodded and turned to the team. “The cases these people were involved in are protected by a multinational official secrets agreement. Even if I wanted to I—”
“These people were killed on US soil,” Morgan interrupted,” by trained suspects who fired on federal agents.”
“As a courtesy,” Hotch said when there was no response, “and out of respect for the predicament your company now faces, everything in this room is off the record. However, outside this room, if you withhold information about the case, you and your company will be held fully accountable.”
The men shifted, uncomfortable, when the spokesperson finally relented. “Alright, what do you know?”
“We’re looking for a European team with considerable training,” Hotch chose his words carefully. “And for one of them, it’s personal.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because they could have spared the child, but they chose not to,” Morgan said.
“The killing of Samuel Cosenza by one of the team was personal,” Hotch agreed.
“One of the attacks shot last night had the remains of a tattoo on his wrist,” Rossi informed them as Hotch passed over another folder.
“On the surface the tattoo may look like a simple four-leaf clover,” Morgan described, “but the stem has a ‘V’ at the end. We believe this is associated with a hidden sect of fallen warriors. It’s also the name of a ship famous for its journeys from Dublin to America, the ‘Valhalla.’”
Rossi eyed the looks on the men’s faces. “Have you seen that before?” he asked.
“We ran an operation to capture the leader of a breakaway IRA faction years ago,” the man said. “He assumed that moniker.”
“What’s his name?” Hotch asked, already knowing the answer. The man was silent for a moment.
“Ian Doyle.”
~~~
“Okay, Ian Doyle’s officially on everyone’s list,” Garcia said, eyes skimming over her computer screen. “His mug is all over the place. He’s not going to be able to get out of the district unless he sprouts wings himself.”
“It’s not that I’m not happy that we have his name,” Seaver interjected, “but how are we supposed to know who’s on his list?”
“We study his life and every single person he’s ever come in contact with,” Morgan answered.
“Look, Doyle’s been away for seven years,” Emily said as Hotch and Rossi entered the room. “But he still managed to figure out who the players were, maybe we should start with how he got out of prison,” she suggested.
“Well, where was he locked up?” Morgan asked.
“Russia, I think.”
“Actually, there are no extradition papers on him,” Seaver informed them.
“Was Doyle on your radar when you were at Interpol?” Hotch’s gaze locked onto Emily’s, putting the ball that had been passed between them over the past week in her court.
“Uh, sure, I had heard of him, but direct contact?” she shook her head. “I’d have to ask around.”
“You do that, I’ll see who I can get from my end,” Hotch said to the others’ surprise as she nodded and walked out. “Not now,” he said to the team, sensing their questions and pulling out his phone.
“Good guys and bad keep files close to them,” Rossi brought their focus back.
“What are in these files?” Garcia asked.
“It’s intel. Insurance. Protection, for times like this,” he explained.
“Maybe I should go to Byron Delaney’s house and see what I can find,” Morgan suggested.
Hotch looked up from his texting at him. “Take Prentiss with you, she might have some insight.”
~~~
“The more players we get on this board, the sooner Erin will get her nose into it,” Rossi remarked.
Hotch didn’t look away from the photos they had pinned on the board. “Strauss already knows,” he said absentmindedly.
“I’m surprised she wasn’t in the SCIF,” Rossi said, surprised.
Hotch finally glanced at him. “She’s on vacation.”
“Oh, great. Now she’ll never take another one,” Rossi quipped. “You know people in Interpol?” he asked.
“Taskforce, joined late 2001 and returned half a year after Morgan joined the team. Did a bit of everything,” Hotch gave him a sardonic look. “Apparently, being a former prosecutor, former tactical agent, and now a profiler was highly desirable.”
Rossi snorted, momentarily giving away to amusement before sobering up. “Is everything about this guy classified?” he asked, staring at the messy case.
“Somebody knows him,” Hotch said. “We just haven’t found them yet.”
~~~
“Here’s the million-dollar question,” Garcia said, pulling up a close up of a foreign road sign. “Anyone know what language that is?”
“Those are villages in North Korea,” Prentiss said warily.
Garcia tilted her head. “I love you. Of course she does.”
“There’s a political prison near Haengyong-ni,” Prentiss continued.
“Camp 22, kwan-li-so,” Hotch said in recognition. “North Korea denies it exists.”
The others stared at him incredulously. “How—?” Morgan began.
“Two years,” Hotch explained shortly. “Met Emily a few times, heard Doyle’s name being tossed around. You think they took Doyle there?” he looked at the woman.
“That would explain why he’s after them,” Seaver suggested.
“Even his prison is off the grid,” Garcia threw in.
“All we know is that he was never married, had multiple residences, and was arrested at his Tuscan villa,” Seaver continued.
“There’s paperwork to back that up?” Emily asked.
“Ans a list of who was there that day,” Seaver confirmed, nodding. “There may be photographs, Reid’s looking into that now.”
“Right, so those people need to be warned that he’s on the warpath,” Hotch noted Emily’s deliberate calm belied by a nervous swallow.
“They have been,” Seaver said. “But here’s a whole different life he’s led, one that isn’t in any file.”
“Prentiss, did you hear from your European associates?” Hotch asked, checking if she had anything, himself having not gotten anything from them as of yet.
“I’m waiting for them to send me a document.”
“We need it now.” call them, now. How did he get to North Korea?
~~~
>>Told T to get out. C isn’t telling us everything.
<<And you trust me and T?
>>Known you since what, ‘89? And we’ve seen each other on the daily for the past five years now, Iceman.
>>Honestly, I don’t know about T or C, no idea what they’ve been up to.
<<Corelli’s?
<<If you want to keep hiding this you need to be more discreet, overheard you walking to my office.
<<Tell me later.
~~~
“What’s holding us up?” Rossi asked.
“We’re waiting for somebody from DC Metro Police,” Hotch said. “Then we can start.”
“Who’s got updates on roadblocks?”
“They will. All parkways and interstates in DC, Maryland, and Virginia have station checkpoints.”
“Doyle has the means to get in and out of the country,” Emily pointed out. “What makes you think he won’t get out of the District?”
Hotch blew out a breath, glancing at Emily and then at the numerous agency reps standing around in the bullpen. “It’s the best we’ve got right now.”
The door opened to reveal Morgan on the other side. “Metro got held up. Double homicide on K and 9th,” he reported. “They want me to take a look.”
An icy feeling trickled down Hotch’s spine when he realized what the location was. “Doyle?” he asked, not looking at Emily.
“Vic’s apartment looks like a black market forger,” Morgan said.
“The other victim?” Emily asked.
“A woman, thirties, no ID, outside his door.”
“I’m coming with you,” her tone brooked no argument.
“Go,” Hotch urged the two, who left as he picked up the landline.
~~~
“It’s not often that we know a subject’s name, and in this case, knowing Ian Doyle’s identity doesn’t give us very much,” Hotch said, standing in front of a room full of members of numerous letter agencies. “He’s known to a select few, and those who know him well either work beside him or they’re on his list.”
“Two or three of his victims worked for CWS and were responsible for his transport to North Korea,” he said, noting Emily and Morgan’s return to the office. “There were seven opeartives on the mission altogether, and the remaining five have been warned. All the federal and international agents responsible for tracking him down are now on his list of targets.”
“We’ll find Doyle the way we find any other offender—by studying his behavior. We’ll dissect his every move since he regained his freedom. When he escaped from North Korea, he killed a man and he used his vehicle to cross the border into Russia…”