Morgan sat in his cell naked and alone. For days he’d
been subjected to a torture he never imagined was possible, as he was
systematically degraded and denigraded. For the once proud, dominant man, to be
made the submissive one was the most harrowing experience ever.
His tribulations were far from over though. It was at
this moment that Tarsus brought down Desdemona, Claes’ secret wife. She was
wearing a silky, backless dress that accentuated nicely the curves on her body,
and as soon as she entered Morgan’s cell, she doffed it, revealing her
remarkable body.
Under normal circumstances, Morgan would be able to
resist the voluptuous seductress’ charms, but the defeated Morgan could only
resign himself to what was going to happen. Desdemona was beautiful, a shapely
52-year-old with flowing brunette locks that, hanging down, rested nicely on
her luscious breasts and contrasted nicely with her ivory skin. Her freckles
gave her face the mark of innocence, although there was very little innocent
about her. Claes met her here, in Sudan, where she was a labourer at a local
Church, one of the few left in Khartoum. Being immediately smitten, she allowed
herself to be brainwashed into the most obedient of wives, and now she was
helping Claes make Morgan the most obedient of warriors for him.
“Hello sexy,” she said seductively. Morgan stared at
her blankly. She walked up to him and caressed his cheek. Morgan started to
breathe heavily but still didn’t say a word. “What’s wrong?” Desdemona said
mockingly. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Why are you wasting time?” Morgan said, quivering. “I
know what you’re here for...just get it over with.”
“No...it’s less fun that way.” She then planted a kiss
on Morgan’s lips, and forced his mouth open with her lips so that the two of
them could make out. As she was kissing him, she leaned over top of him
progressively, eventually forcing Morgan on to his back so that Desdemona could
lie on top of him.
Desdemona continued, moving down Morgan’s body so that
she could kiss every inch of it. Morgan felt like violently throwing her off
his body, but decided to stay motionless and let Desdemona do her work. He kept
on hearing Tarsus’ words, “the guns,
Derek! Don’t forget about the guns, Derek!” and despite the fact that the
walls were lined in stone and couldn’t be penetrated by any kind of bullet,
Morgan kept thinking that if he didn’t obey, a gun would shoot him dead.
Eventually Desdemona started oral sex with Morgan, as
she really enjoyed Morgan’s endowment. However, enjoying it with her hands and
her mouth wasn’t enough for her, so she mounted Morgan and began having sex
with him, starting off slowly so that she could feel every inch of Morgan’s
endowment inside her body, each pulse resonating in her veins. As she enjoyed
herself with Morgan’s body, Morgan could only pant heavily, waiting in agony
for Desdemona to finish defiling him.
After half an hour, Desdemona let out a howl of
excitement, as she climaxed as Morgan did. She then bent down and kissed the
exhausted Morgan, who could only lie on his back, defeated. Desdemona grinned
before putting her dress back on and greeting Claes, who was waiting for her
outside of his cell.
“I think he’s ready,” said Desdemona, kissing Claes.
“Good,” the Cardinal said. “Get the ceremony ready and
have Ricardo lead it. I have something to take care of.”
“As you wish.” Desdemona kissed Claes and left him to
his task as she went to prepare the ceremony.
RSC
Headquarters
“All right, scumbag,” snarled Rossi, standing
authoritatively lording over Musus’ interrogation table. “Why do you want to
work with a degenerate lowlife like
Wilhelm Claes? What do you think you even have to gain from committing an act of treason against the Roman Empire?”
“Rossi, I’m sure he has his
reasons,” said Jane, trying to act sympathetic.
“Seriously?” Musus said,
incredulously. “You forget that I’m an army man...I’ve seen every tactic, and
it’s amusing you think the good cop bad cop routine would work on me.”
“Oh,” said Jane,
sarcastically. “You think I’m the good cop? Really, I can be just as bad as
anyone...I’m just far more clever about it.”
“So is this some kind of
experimental technique you have going on now?” said Musus, mockingly. “Because,
really, I’m not sure what you hope to gain out of this.”
“Okay, I’m just going to
get to the point,” said Jane, who then stopped.
Musus threw up his hands-
as much as he could in handcuffs- and made a face, wondering if Jane was going
to finish his sentence.
“You’re right…I’m not sure
what we’re going to gain out of this,” said Jane. He then left the room as did
Rossi.
A few hours later, the two
agents talked to Musus again, without having much success. Then Gideon went in
and tried, again in failure. Later, the agents brought in the big guns, Hotch
and Black, who tried to talk to Musus without much luck. Each time, Musus
laughed at their failures, deriding the agents as “idiots” or “simpletons”.
Eventually, the BAU was
down to its last attempt. It was down to Hawkes.
She entered the room
holding a whole bunch of stuffed file folders, carrying them awkwardly. As she
walked towards Musus, she hit a divot in the floor and stumbled, dropping the
folders’ contents all over the floor.
“I’m sorry,” Hawkes said,
embarrassed, as she started picking up the stuff she dropped on the floor.
“Look at you,” mocked
Musus. “You’re hardly old enough to go on a prom date, let alone be in an interrogation room. Besides, what
business does a woman have being in a room with a man?”
Hawkes looked at him with
disgust. “What kind of a cad are you to tell me that because I have breasts I
can’t possibly lead an interrogation?
Are you that short sighted, like your
friend, Will?”
“Wilhelm Claes is a good
man. He knows more about proper gender roles than you will ever know. Women have no business doing a man’s job.”
“So should I be wearing a
veil too, or is the abaya not revealing enough for you?”
“The abaya…Abaza mentioned
it to me once…it didn’t make much sense to me…it only works if women are free,
and in our system, the women are slaves. Why do they need to be all covered so
they can go outside if they never go outside in the first place?”
“Your system…” Hawkes
paused briefly as she momentarily had to sort some of the dropped files before
she could put them in their folder before continuing putting the papers back.
“So you and Claes have a Victorian fantasy society all thought out, is that
right?”
“I wouldn’t call it
Victorian…Claes and I, we saw the man primarily in work clothes, getting all
kinds of dirt and grime all over him because he’d be in the field, working his
tail off. The dominant image of our society would not be top hats and large
bicycles…no, the dominant image would be a man coated in mud, wearing his
coveralls and a construction helmet proudly displaying his shovel, telling us
that he’d proudly finished his work.”
“So a man must always be
dirty, is that what you’re saying?”
“No…the man shouldn’t be
afraid to get dirty to do the job.”
“…and the woman, she doesn’t
get dirty, right?”
“Right…she is afraid,
because she was meant to be a paragon of beauty and any speck of dirt destroys
that beauty…it is why a female janitor needs a man to clean a clogged
drain…because the woman is too afraid of dirt to do it herself.”
“She did get help
though…she didn’t need you there.”
“That man in Groningen was
pathetic…he wasn’t cultured properly like I was. He needed a real man to show
him how it was done.”
“It’s a rather strange way
of showing him how it was done…shooting them in cold blood.”
“He wasn’t shot...he was strangled. I thought you knew that.”
Hawkes answered smugly. “I
did…and I find it funny that you know that, ‘cause we never told anyone that
the plumber was strangled.” Hawkes then finished picking up the last sheet of
paper that had fallen on the ground and put it inside the file folder. “So, do
you still think a woman can’t do a man’s job?”
“You still don’t have me
for the crime.”
“You just admitted to
details only we knew about…and you also left your ‘mud’ all over Julia
Winters…that’s got DNA in it and we’re combing it as we speak.”
Musus took a deep breath,
realizing he’d just been beaten.
“I just have one question-
how many of you are there?”
“Just me,” replied Musus,
sullen. “I’m a military man…I work with precision and quickness. Either Tarsus
or Claes knew the victims…it was all a matter of giving me the names…the Roman
military has access to the worldwide database…so I was able to figure out where
they all lived and worked quite quickly.”
“Thank you Gnaeus.” Hawkes
smiled, turned and started to walk towards the door before she stopped. “Oh,
and one other thing…where’s the bunker?”
22:15 local time, Tuti Island, Khartoum, Sudan
“Got it,” said Prentiss, arriving
via a helicopter repainted to appear like a traffic helicopter. She landed at
the northern tip of the island with her Special Forces group, which she
nicknamed the Lilies since she thought a girlie name would make it even more
embarrassing for Claes to lose to.
“So you guys took Musus’
overconfidence and buried him with it?” asked Kim Myers, the inspiration for
Disney’s Kim Possible cartoon series
and Prentiss’ second in command.
“Yeah,” said Prentiss. “We
knew that Musus likely thought he could beat us knowing he’s an Army man so if
we made him think that he was getting better at handling us, the more he’d
believe that he couldn’t get caught…and thus, the more he’d reveal.”
“You guys really are the
best,” said Myers with a smile.
“Lilies,” said Prentiss
commanding her troops, using encrypted radio signals. “Musus said the bunker is
somewhere around here. There’s a latch hidden here, and Musus gave us the
secret code. Liles, let’s move!”
The Liles- twelve in all-
scoured the beach all the way from the Ring Road towards the northern tip, the
exact point where the Nile River splits in two. They had to contend with some
extensive brush at the tip of the island, as well as some harrowing marshlands.
“I don’t think it’s right
at the tip,” observed Myers. “The land’s far too low-lying here.” She then
purposefully walked towards the Ring Road, thinking that’s where the bunker
could lie. There was a part of the road that was the edge of a brief cliff, and
at the foot of that cliff was a bull head with its mouth open.
“Prentiss,” said Myers, “I
think I found your bunker.”
“Good work Kim,” said
Prentiss, “now open it up.”
Myers dutifully reached
inside the bull’s mouth and found a keypad. She remembered the combination
Prentiss told her about and got the door open. The Lilies piled themselves in
and awaited instruction from Prentiss.
“Lilies,” said Prentiss,
quietly. “Under no circumstances are we splitting up. Our objective is to find
Morgan and Cornelia and get them out safely. Once that is done, we’ll radio the
Romans who will bring the helicopter back. If you see any enemies, do not
engage them unless you have to or can do so quietly. We need to be discreet.
Understood?” The Lilies all nodded their heads in agreement, as they started
their assault in the underground bunker.
23:23 local time, Tuti Island
As soon as the Lilies
entered the bunker, they were faced with a fork in the tunnel. One of the routes
would lead to a fire pit specifically constructed by Claes to deter a rescue
effort, while the other actually led to the bunker itself.
“This is a trap,” said
Prentiss, examining her options, knowing that the tunnel shouldn’t have a fork
otherwise. She looked, frantically, for a clue before Myers piped up.
“A few years ago Tuti
Island was up in arms when a bridge was built connecting the island to the
Al-Fateh Hotel,” said Myers.
“Ghaddhafi’s Egg, named for
Momar Ghaddafi since Libya largely finaned the hotel,” said Prentiss. “I’ve
heard of it.”
Myers responded sheepishly.
“I don’t know...it’s the only thing I know about the island.”
Something clicked with
Prentiss as soon as she heard Myers mention that. “Al-Fateh means ‘conqueror’
in Arabic...that’s where Claes has his Palace...and one of these tunnels leads
to the hotel.”
“Which one? We’re at the
other end of the island.”
“The left one is a direct
route.”
“So...we turn right.”
“No...we go left. Tarsus
designed this bunker...hence the bull head entrance. He’s not very good at the ‘red
herring’ game so he’d build the most direct route.”
“Good point.”
“Lilies! Onward!”
The Lilies pressed onward,
heading down the left tunnel, quickly but carefully. They faced their first
challenges when the two guards in front of the bunker entrance confronted them,
but they were no match for Prentiss, who decked one with a punch and another
with a roundhouse kick to the face. Another guard came in to help out, but
Myers was up to the task, jumping up and grabbing hold of a pipe running along
the ceiling and swinging her feet into his face. The Lilies restrained the
fallen guards with zip ties before pressing onward.
“That’ll get the blood
boiling,” cracked Myers.
“It’s a real fight now,”
said Prentiss.
Further up, the Lilies
encountered the guards’ sleeping quarters and, as Prentiss though, none of them
were asleep. As she saw the door leading to the quarters, she opened the door a
crack and fired a shot through it, managing to hit the guard standing right
next to the door ready to ambush her. She then aimed her gun up and shot
another guard on the second floor towards her left as she entered, with Myers
right behind her, covering her back. Myers shot two guards in quick succession,
actions that allowed the rest of the Lilies to enter the quarters.
By now, each of the bunker’s
30 guards were engaged with the Lilies. Some of the guards stayed on the above
floor to provide their allies covering fire, as they slowly made their way to
the floor to engage the Lilies. As the minutes wore on, the firefight grew
fiercer, leading to a war of attrition.
Eventually, the Lilies knew
they had to make a move, since the guards were defending their turf and had no
reason to make one, plus once the Lilies ran out of bullets, the guards would
likely have the advantage. It was at this point that Myers saw an opportunity.
“Prentiss,” she said with
urgency. “Cover me.” Myers then grabbed the ladder leading to the upstairs
portion of the quarters, and flipped herself onto the floor, knocking over a
guard in the process.
She then got into a
fistfight with three guards, prompting Prentiss to join her. Myers got a high
kick to the teeth of one of the guards knocking him flat, but she got exposed
to a punch from another guard, who landed one square in her jaw.
Prentiss saw that and
engaged the guard, landing a punch to the face and another body blow. However,
since this guard was quite muscular, he managed to fell Prentiss momentarily
with a single blow to the face. He then crouched on top of her and used his
legs to incapacitate hers, allowing him to start raining blow upon blow on
Prentiss.
Prentiss, though, was
undeterred. Even though his fists were quite powerful, she willed herself not
to lose consciousness even though it was hard. She also punched back when she
could, but the man’s position didn’t make it easy. She saw that she was close
to the railing, so she thought that if she could just nudge him over there, she
could flip him over. Slowly, she worked him over there, and just when he was
about to land the decisive blow, she used the last bit of strength in her legs
to flip the man over the railing, knocking him out.
Prentiss was dazed though
and didn’t realize another guard was heading her way. Myers came to her rescue,
tripping the guard from behind before another guard attempted to tackle her.
When he failed due to his faulty grip, he planted a hand on the ground and
swiped at Myers’ feet, knocking them out from underneath her. Myers wouldn’t
stay down for long, rolling herself upward, only to be greeted with a fist to
the back of her head. She responded by turning around and uppercutting the
guard and elbowing the one that had tried to come up from behind her. A third
guard then grabbed her by the ponytail, prompting her to jump up and flip
herself and deliver a kick to his face, knocking him out. Another guard started
to run toward her, and Myers readied herself for another fight before Prentiss
came from behind and tackled the guard and landing a few punches in, knocking
the guard out cold.
“I would have had him,”
said Myers.
“I know,” replied Prentiss,
“but I figured you could have used a bit of a breather.”
By this point, the rest of
the Lilies- engaged with the rest of the guards- had managed to subdue the
guards that were left, resulting in a total victory for the Lilies. They
ziptied any guards that weren’t dead and moved into the guards’ equipment room
in order to get first aid treatment and reload their ammunition.
It was here that Myers
finally felt the pain in her jaw, as the adrenaline had wore off.
“He got you good,” said
Prentiss, pulling out an ice pack for Myers.
“I know,” she said,
grimacing in pain. “How are you? That guy got you good.”
“Head’s still a bit woozy
but I think I barely escaped a concussion.”
“Those guys were tough.”
“They’re Claes’ personal
guard...they’re his best soldiers. I think we did pretty well. It had also been
a while before I actually had to fight someone.”
“Good point.”
Prentiss then addressed the
entire group. “Okay Lilies,” she commanded, “take five. Once we’re a little
better we’ll look for Morgan and Cornelia.”
00:36 local time, Al-Fateh Hotel, Khartoum,
Sudan
Morgan stood over the sink,
his head sunk with his eyes staring longingly into the drain. He was dressed to
the nines in a fine tuxedo, as he was getting ready to “wed” Cornelia, but
never did he feel so low. Beaten mentally and physically, Morgan’s feelings of
helplessness coalesced today into one monster of a depression, as he began to
feel like he just might never escape Tarsus’ grasp.
Meanwhile, Cornelia faced
her own issues getting prepared for the wedding. An old man, dressed as a
doctor, walked in to her quarters, despite her protestations about how it would
make her “unlucky”. The man didn’t listen, instead forcing her onto her chair
and tying her up.
In her head, Cornelia knew
what was going to happen, so when he inevitably raped her, she braced herself
and took it in stride. When he was finished, though, he brought out a syringe,
some stitching equipment and other medical supplies.
“What...what,” said
Cornelia, quivering. “What are you doing?”
“Well...” said the man,
“you need to be a virgin for your wedding night.”
“...but it’s not an honest
virginity.”
“I don’t make the rules,
Gaia. Besides, we’ve all had our fun with you...it’s time for a new chapter.”
He then opened her legs and applied the anesthetic to her genitals as Gaia
winced in pain.
“Why? Why?” Gaia then began
to cry.
“Oh, don’t cry,” said the
man, mocking her. “I’ll only be another minute.” In a few short minutes he was
finished stitching together Gaia’s hymen and “restoring” her virginity.
Gaia could only cry now.
“Silence!” He said,
slapping her violently. He then grabbed her breasts and squeezed them, before
cupping her head and kissing the top of it. He then left, leaving Gaia sullen
and broken down in tears.
01:00 local time
The time for the wedding
had come. Claes wanted to hold it at midnight for the symbolism, but
complications arose with Cornelia’s surgeon so he pushed it back. Desdemona
supervised the affair, which was to feature only two guards dressed as ushers,
another acting as the organist, another pretending to be Cornelia’s “father”,
Morgan, Cornelia and the man that stitched Cornelia’s hymen together, playing
the role of the priest, with the proceedings videotaped so that it could be
broadcast across Sudan later.
At this moment, Morgan felt
unusually smug. He figured that being helpless was useless, and that he might
as well accept his new life if, indeed, there was no actual way out. Besides, Cornelia
was a wonderful woman, and Morgan figured there was no better woman to be
forced to be married to. Above all else, once the ceremony was finished, he
looked forward to actually getting some sleep for once- Desdemona promised
Morgan and Cornelia they would receive far better quarters after the marriage,
and that Morgan would become master of a planned city south of Khartoum that
Claes wanted to build as his capital.
When it came time for
Cornelia to walk down the aisle, Morgan stood, smugly, as “Here Comes the
Bride” played in the background. Cornelia, also having accepted her fate,
smiled as she walked up the aisle and saw Morgan, although given her condition,
she did walk gingerly.
“Tonight,” started the
presider, “we are gathered here to unite Derek Morgan and Gaia Cornelia in the
holiest of matrimonies. This day marks the true beginning of the new chapter of
human civilization, where the man truly takes over society. We have gathered
before us the perfect specimens to lead such a society, with the strong, robust
Morgan and the delicate, willing Cornelia providing the perfect examples of
what Catholic society should be.
“So now,” continued the
presider, “I turn to you, Derek...do you take Gaia Cornelia as your wife, with
all your heart and your soul, until death do you part?”
“I do,” said Morgan, calmly
and warmly.
“Do you, Gaia, take Derek
Morgan as your husband, with all your heart and your soul, until death do you
part?”
“I do,” said Cornelia,
lovingly looking into Morgan’s eyes.
“I now pronounce you
husband and wife,” said the presider. “Derek, you may now kiss the bride.”
Before Morgan could do so,
a voice interrupted the proceedings.
“I object!”
Prentiss stood at the back,
after she and Myers easily subdued the guards at the entrance, her gun trained
on the presider. Morgan, who could only think of the words of Tarsus, cowered
in fear at the sight of the gun, which Prentiss immediately recognized as a
sign of that Tarsus had psychologically tormented him.
“Who are you?” asked the
presider, who was more confused than scared of Prentiss.
“Emily Prentiss, FBI!”
Prentiss barked. “I’m here to arrest all of you as accomplices to the murders
and kidnappings of Decius Tarsus and Wilhelm Claes!”
The presider scoffed. “A
woman? Here to arrest all of us? You must be mad. You are incapable of such an
act.”
“The twelve of us just
subdued your entire bunker, and you guys are the only ones we have left to deal
with. Do you still think we’re incapable of such an act?”
The presider didn’t
hesitate, ordering the guards at the front to attack Prentiss. Desdemona rushed
down in order to shephered Morgan and Cornelia away but Myers spotted her and
tackled her.
“Kim!” Prentiss barked, “go
get Morgan and Cornelia! I got this.”
Prentiss didn’t flinch,
elbowing one guard in the mouth that was coming up from behind her and
clotheslined another that rushed right at her. The first guard she knocked down
then got up and attempted to trip out her feet from under her, but Prentiss
felt it and backflipped over the attempt. She then moved in between the two
guards, punching the guard she was facing and kicking the one she had her back
to in the groin, before using her leg to lift him up onto her back so she could
throw him into the guard facing her, subduing both guards.
Meanwhile, Myers had to
deal with the presider, who had taken Cornelia hostage in a desperate attempt
to escape.
“Freeze!” Myers ordered,
drawing her gun at the presider, who stopped his run. He then held a gun to
Cornelia’s head.
“No no no,” said the presider.
“That’s not the way this is going to work...you let all of my men go and
Cornelia lives. It’s all very simple.”
“Don’t play this game! I
will shoot you!”
“You? You couldn’t hit the
broadside of a barn!”
“Don’t try me!”
Prentiss, having finished
subduing the men, jumped in.
“Father,” she said, despite
hating the utterance knowing the presider was every bit as fake as Claes is,
“if you value Gaia in any way, you will let her live.”
“Gaia is a woman,” mocked
the presider, “she is dispensable. In fact, I think I’d rather take both of
you. I can make you every bit as obedient as I made Derek Morgan.”
Something clicked with
Prentiss when she heard that. “Did Claes brainwash you with the guns as well?
Is that why you so blindly follow him?”
The presider was rattled.
“Cardinal Claes is worth following.”
“You’re older and wise...you
have no reason to succumb to his wishes. The guards...they’re young and easily
manipulated not knowing any other religious ideal, but you...you should have
your own religious viewpoints...you’re old enough to have formed them long
before Claes formulated his. Besides...you care about Gaia...that’s why you
didn’t kill her.”
The presider started to
cry. “No...you’re wrong.”
“It’s okay...nobody likes
being tricked. I’m sorry it had to come out like this.”
The presider let go of
Cornelia and slumped to his knees, bawling uncontrollably.
“Desdemona was my wife!” he
called out, crying incessantly. He then hunched himself over, crying and banged
the floor with his fists several times.
“It’s true,” said
Desdemona, lying on the floor, handcuffed. “Twelve years ago, just after Hosni
Mubarak’s government crumbled in Egypt, Wilhelm Claes came to Sudan from San
Marino. He knew of the Sudanese Christians in Juba so he came to recruit them,
so that he could create his own Catholic state on the heels of the chaos in
Egypt. My husband, Raek, was the Bishop of Juba and the most influential man in
South Sudan...I worked for him, that’s how I met him. One day, Claes comes to
us and tells us he wanted to take us on a ‘spiritual journey’...we went to a
cabin of his in Port Sudan, where we stayed for over a year. We were both
brutally tortured and I was raped many times, and Claes repeatedly told us that
we needed to obey, or ‘the wrath of God’ would get us. As the year progressed
he was progressively nicer to us, but all this did was to make us even more
submissive to him.”
“So he would beat you,”
analyzed Prentiss, “and then be nice to you?”
“That’s how it worked.”
Desdemona continued with a sigh. “I remember it came at the exact moment I felt
there was no way out of this.”
“So he beats you to
establish control and dominance, and once he’s done that, he’s nice to you so
he can manipulate you further.”
“...and he manipulated us,”
said Raek, “into taking our men and leading them against first the Sudanese
government and then the Egyptians...he won Sudan fairly well but Egypt was an
unexpected struggle. He made us think we were all doing this for God’s Will but
the truth is we’re just pawns in his game...” Raek let out a huge sigh. “This
has been so much to comprehend.”
“Wait one second!” Myers hollered. “From what I know, Claes is all about
red herrings and has followed our investigation thoroughly...why should I
believe you, Raek, if that’s even your-”
Prentiss waved her hand
against her throat telling Myers not to continue with their statement, but Raek
interjected.
“We have no reason to lie,”
he said. “What would we have to gain from lying about being brainwashed?”
“Our sympathy,” said
Prentiss sternly. “It would make you less culpable in all this...and besides,
where are Claes and Tarsus? They’re conveniently absent.”
“They’re in Aswan,” said
Desdemona. “They’d been planning that trip for days to help organize the
defences there.”
“I give you a trust exercise,”
said Raek, handing out an amulet. “This amulet is a trigger for a bomb that
could blow up this entire bunker. It’s Claes’ defence mechanism in case it ever
did get infiltrated. I don’t know how to defuse the bomb, but I can start it.
If I am telling you the truth, then this amulet will not have started the
detonation process.”
Prentiss took the amulet
and examined it. She then opened it carefully and studied it, realizing that
Raek was right.
“See?” Raek said. “You may
even search me and every last one of the guards here and Desdemona. We have
nothing to hide.”
Prentiss ordered the Lilies
to do just that. She then asked Raek where the bomb was so she could defuse it.
After Raek was frisked, he directed her to the janitorial closet where the bomb
was located.
“Thanks,” said Prentiss,
starting to examine the bomb. She grabbed a screwdriver and started to take off
a panel, but the mess of wires and buttons confounded her. She sighed. “If only
Morgan was here,” she said, staring blankly at the array.
“You called for me?” Morgan
inquired, having followed Prentiss to the closet.
“You’re back!” Prentiss
said, giving Morgan a warm hug.
“Something clicked in my
head when you brought up the brainwashing...I didn’t realize that I was being
conditioned just like Raek was...also, I hadn’t been there that long so my mind
wasn’t altered that much...but I was close, and seeing you really made my day.”
“We missed you.” Prentiss
and Morgan hugged again.
“Now...getting down to
business. I’m going to teach you something. See all these wires?”
“Yes.”
“Disregard them. They’ve
been put here intentionally to confuse you.”
“How do you know?”
“Modern bombmakers know
that the layperson expects a bomb to be disarmed via cutting a wire, so they
make the bomb accordingly. The trick is having to dig through these wires and
find the right one...if you find one at all.”
“Don’t all bombs need some
kind of wiring?”
“Technically yes, but we
can bury them better now...I’m positive they’re behind some kind of metal
fixture.”
“So how do we disarm
this...and is this even a bomb?” Prentiss began wondering if the convoluted
bomb was a trap.
“Oh yes, this is a bomb and
Raek was right when he told you it’s not detonated. The fan in the computer isn’t
running.”
“Computer? So it has a
motherboard...and a microchip.”
Morgan smiled, knowing that
Prentiss learned what he wanted her to learn. “That’s it! Now, where do you
think the motherboard is?”
“Somewhere in the
back...no, wait...red herring.” Prentiss reached her hand into the bomb’s front
wall and felt it, eventually hitting the motherboard. “Okay,” Prentiss
continued, her voice strained as she tried to muscle out the motherboard, “so
now I have to take this out...”
“...and you’ll have
disarmed the bomb.”
After a few agonizing
minutes, Prentiss was able to muscle out the motherboard, clipping its
connectors along the way. She also found its explosive material after
unscrewing the section of the bomb behind the wires, bagging the motherboard
and the gunpowder for evidence.
Aswan, Egypt, 04:56 local time
“They did what?” Claes said, staring at his cell
phone screen in disbelief. The Romans just issued a press release detailing the
rescue operation, including the arrest of the entire bunker, by the Lilies.
Claes put away his phone
and paced, furiously. He couldn’t believe an all-female fighting force,
especially one as small as the Lilies, could take over his bunker. The good
news is that he could repopulate it and still had control of it, but this was
still a jar to his system.
He stared, blankly, at the
walls of his command centre, wondering what his next move was, and wondering
what the Romans’ next move was. Rome had already taken control of the Delta
Region after mop-up duty following the Battle of Heliopolis, but this wasn’t a
major concern- the Romans were still playing into his trap.
“Decius,” he hollered into
his phone, making a call.
“Yes Father,” replied
Tarsus at the other end of the line.
“Women infiltrated our base
and rescued the prisoners...they even took my wife.”
Tarsus’ mouth was left
agape. He sat there in stunned silence.
“Good news is that we’ve
still got control of the bunker, but they’re up to something...I don’t know
what.”
Tarsus could barely contain
his shock. “Women? How did women
invade our bunker and rescue the prisoners? This is...this is an outrage!”
“Decius...we need to keep
our wits about this. I’m in just as much shock as you are but we need to stay
composed...the Romans are trying to rattle us.”
“I’ll stay here in
Aswan...I’ll keep the defences in order.”
“I’m going to go visit our
friend...he needs to be made aware of this transgression.”
Claes then grabbed his
falsified documents and made his way for a flight to Rome.
Ismailia, Egypt
“They’re coming, sir,” said
Vizier Omar Farouk, noticing via radar the Sinai beachhead of the all-female
Roman Legion, the Flower Legion.
“Don’t worry about them
just yet,” said Sudanese Caliph Malik al-Hamsa. “Wait for my order.”
“Very well sir,” replied
Farouk.
The Flowers weren’t worried
about the Caliph, at least not yet. Led by Legate Teresa Drusilla, a 10-year
veteran of the Roman Army, the Flower Legion was created quickly via a draft of
the best female soldiers across the entire Roman Army, and while they had only
a day to go over battleplans and formations, they were all still hardened
professionals more than capable of doing the job.
It didn’t stop the
occasional hiccup though. Halfway through the drive to Suez, two of the tank
drivers had started to veer off from the pack before Drusilla caught them. They
were used to serving in Legions that were speedy, and were still getting used
to Drusilla’s more cautious approach. She promised them that they would be able
to use their speed soon though.
Their first task was to
capture Suez and provide the Romans with a sea link to Sudan. The first bump in
the road would be in Ismailia, which is where the Suez Canal widened. Ready to
greet the Flowers was a wall of Surface-to-Air-Missile (SAM) stations, each
guarded with a squadron of bazooka-toting and RPG-toting defenders,
necessitating the use of stealth bombers to open the attack.
The bombers approached
carefully, and shot rounds of bullets at the defenders in quick spurts before
pulling up, retreating and doing it again. They made sure they came in waves so
the pressure was relentless, with the quick strikes not allowing the defenders
to get the proper aim. After a two-hour long firefight, the bombers finally
subdued the defenders and destroyed the SAM wall, allowing the ground troops to
come into the city and penetrate.
Since the bulk of the
Egyptians’ Suez defences were in Suez itself, the resistance in Ismailia was
limited to several squadrons of soldiers using snipers and other guerilla
tactics to keep the Romans at bay. Drusilla, knowing the Egyptian tactic,
proceeded slowly, ordering her Air Force squadrons to shoot at and destroy
buildings if necessary. Sappers cleared the way for the tanks, who could now
roam the streets of Ismailia freely without much resistance, executing mere mop
up duty. Two hours after the SAM wall was destroyed, Ismailia had fallen into
Roman hands.
There was no time to
celebrate though- Drusilla sensed they could move in for the kill, so they
pushed onward to Suez, where they knew the real battle would begin.
14:22 local time, Suez, Egypt
After a few roadside
attacks, the Flowers finally made their way to the Canal, one of the Egyptians’
main strongholds after Alexandria, Cairo, Khartoum and, likely, Aswan. Drusilla
knew she would have a fight on her hands in order to capture the Canal, and
while she had her worries that her hastily organized Legion might not be
adequately prepared for the assault, there was no time for complaints- Marcus
and the rest of the Empire expected results.
Just like at Ismailia the
Suez defenders lined the city with SAM sites, although this time they were
bolstered not just by RPGs but by actual artillery divisions. Another squadron
of stealth bombers was thus required to be called in to deal with the defences,
along with more conventional fighter jets required to take out the artillery.
The Flowers had one
objective: clear a path via the July 23rd Road to the port, securing a vital
supply line from the Mediterranean to Sudan and allowing better Roman troop
deployment southward. The battle started well enough, with the waves of bombers
taking care of the SAM wall in a relatively short time, although the artillery
cost them a few planes. The Egyptians were forced to retreat further into the
city and regroup, setting up a long string of roadside bombs along the way. The
Romans anticipated the bombs, using their fighter jets to give their sappers
covering fire so they could disarm the bombs ahead of the tanks. The operation
went smoothly as the Romans bursted through downtown, as their slow approach
wore down an Egyptian defence that couldn’t compete with Rome’s far more
superior equipment. By nightfall, all that was left was clearing the path to the
Canal, which Rome hoped to take by midnight.
Then they hit Port Taofik.
Port Taofik, Suez, Egypt
“What is that?” Camp
Prefect Maria Flavia gasped.
“I don’t know what to make
of it,” Drusilla said.
The Ismailians, shortly
after their defeat to Drusilla, notified the defenders at Suez, who hatched a
plan upon learning the Flowers were all female. A daycare had been looted with
all of its infants and toddlers killed, hastily, being strewn across the road
in front of them, blocking the narrow passageway to the port. Predictably, the
Flowers stopped their forward progress, aghast at the horror in front of them.
Drusilla thought something
wasn’t right and looked around to see if anything untoward was happening. She
looked at her radar and saw nothing, but her periscope on her tank did catch
something faint getting closer.
“Bogey to your right!”
Drusilla hollered, “Bogey to your right! Flowers, engage!”
Coming up from behind was a
stealth bomber filled with explosives coming right towards them, seemingly kamikaze-style.
The plane was plowing at full speed, giving the Legion only minutes to react.
Fortunately, the artillery units lined it up just in time, shooting the plane
down with the debris landing mere inches from where the Legion was standing.
“Madam,” said Flavia, “it
doesn’t look like it had a human pilot.”
“It’s a drone,” Drusilla
figured, her eyes squinting analytically.
Suddenly, fifty more drones
came at the Legion from behind the baby wall, all flying in zigzag patterns to
distract the aim of the Legion. Fortunately, the Avii arrived just in time to
engage with the drone fighters, relieving the pressure on the artillery. After
a few minutes the threat had cleared, allowing Drusilla to plow forward. A few
hours later, after a few more fights with resistance forces, Port Taofik was
secure, giving the Romans control of the Suez Canal.
00:12 local time, Pandataria Prison, Rome
Shortly after capturing the
Suez, the Flowers went on a roll. The towns along the Red Sea coast- in MIS
state of Havilah- fell in quick succession, allowing the Flowers to move within
striking distance of the Havilah capital at Hurghada by nightfall.
The developments only
served to worry Claes even more. Identifying himself as Ali Abaza, Jamal’s father
(who Jamal had killed while he lived in Egypt and buried his body, neglecting
to tell anyone about it) and applying lots of makeup to help with the guise, it
became Claes’ de facto identity when travelling to see Jamal. This allowed him
unfettered access to Abaza (aside from being searched), since the guards never
questioned his status as “family”. Today, he needed to see him to coordinate
the strike against the Flowers, who were now threatening the heart of MIS land.
“The Flowers are
threatening Hurghada,” said Claes to Abaza, upon entering his cell.
“Who are the Flowers?”
Abaza asked, confused.
Claes took a deep breath
before continuing. “It’s an all-female Legion of the Roman Army.”
Abaza was shocked.
“Women...are beating...us?”
“I know...it’s troubling.”
“What about the other
Legions? Where are they?”
“The Caliph has decided to
join the war.”
“Malik al-Hamsa? So he came
around.”
“Yes...that leaves Sudan
completely in our control.”
“Good.”
“Caliph Malik is engaging
the other Legions at Qena as we speak...and he is doing really well at holding
them back.”
“Good. Keep him there. We
have to send the rest of our divisions to Hurghada...we have no choice. We
cannot let women beat us.”
“I agree. I will divert the
troops from Aswan, as well as call in the ACA. All hands are on deck.”
Abaza smiled. “...and it’s
a hand we will win.”
St. Peter’s Basilica, Rome
“Hello Adrian,” said Black,
greeting Adrian in the Pope’s office.
“It’s been a while,” said
Adrian, fixing his smock as he got up from his chair to greet Black.
“I assume you’ve been a
busy man.”
Adrian chuckled. “The Pope
is always busy.” He then took a breath and adopted a serious tone. “How’s the
investigation going?”
“Agent Hawkes suggested
that we create an all-female Legion to take on Claes, reasoning that the
Egyptian forces would divert too many resources out of ego allowing us to
ambush them…so far, it’s working.”
Adrian smiled. “So we’ve
got a breakthrough in Egypt. Looks like we’re well on our way to winning the
war.”
Black sighed. “There’s only
one catch…somehow Jamal Abaza has been able to maintain control of the MIS,
even though we placed new limits on his visitation rights.”
Adrian’s eyes widened with
concern. “Who can visit him?”
“We used to allow friends
and family to visit him…but now it’s just family.”
“So Claes has a mole in
Abaza’s family. Do you have Abaza’s file?”
Black pulled out a file
folder from his handbag and placed it on Adrian’s desk. Adrian sat back down
and started to examine it.
“Okay,” started Adrian. “So
he’s got a wife, D’dab, and a son, Amir, who was killed in an air raid. He was
a single child, raised by parents Salifah and Ali. Salifah died in the same air
raid that killed Amir back in 1999, but Ali managed to survive. D’dab,” he
said, tapping the document before continuing, “divorced him last year, around
the same time that Claes lost the election and, interestingly, despite going
into hiding, she was still found and stoned to death.”
Black took a seat and
furrowed his eyebrows, pondering Adrian’s last statement. “Interesting,” he
said, continuing to examine another part of his file.
Adrian continued staring
intensely at the file, before moving on to a picture of Abaza and his father,
dated to when Abaza was only seven. He then went into his drawer and started to
rifle through his notes but failed.
“Lucius,” he said with
purpose.
“Yes Adrian?” said Black,
noting the urgency.
“In the filing cabinet,”
said Adrian, pointing to the cabinet by the west wall, “in the second drawer,
are records of the Consistories. Wilhelm Claes was promoted to Cardinal in 1976
by John Paul I after performing a miracle…he was only 29…I need to see that
picture.”
“Okay,” said Black,
furiously rifling through the drawer. He found the file and pulled out the
report and laid it on Adrian’s desk. Adrian took one look and nodded firmly
several times.
“What did you find?” asked
Black, leaning forward and cupping his chin, curious.
“Look at the pictures,”
said Adrian, putting them side by side.
“My goodness,” said Black,
whose eyes widened. “They’re not dead ringers but they look alike.”
Black then pulled out his
cell phone and called Garcia, putting the phone on speaker and setting it on
the table.
“The Office of Garcia’s
Magical Supercomputer speaking,” beamed Garcia.
“I’ll never get enough of
your enthusiasm,” said Adrian with a smile.
“Your Holiness!” said
Garcia excitedly, “I’m glad to hear from you.”
“Garcia,” said Black
firmly. “We need you to pull up any records you have of an Ali Abaza, Jamal’s
father. Compare them against the records of Wilhelm Claes, and see if there are
any congruities.”
“Okay,” said Garcia, typing
furiously at her computer. “Give me a few moments.”
Black and Adrian sat
patiently, waiting for Garcia to finish her search. After a few minutes, Garcia
returned with information.
“For the most part,” Garcia
started to explain, “there are no ‘congruities’ with regards to Ali and Claes.”
Adrian cocked his mouth to the side, frustrated. “Except for one date in 2004,
when, curiously, Ali used his credit card to pay at the Fumicino Airport duty
free shop mere moments after Claes landed in Rome, even though Ali wasn’t on
that flight. Every other instance, Ali only pops up sporadically, as he always
did…he worked as an independent contractor, and his business was ruined by the
air raid. There were claims that he became a drifter after the air strike, but
I think we know what really happened.”
“Claes became him,” said
Black firmly.
“Exactimundo!” said Garcia
excitedly. “In fact, looking at the records, after 1999 Ali’s only credit card
activity seems to occur only when Claes is in Egypt…it’s still a rarity even
then, but there isn’t a point that Ali uses his credit card without Claes being
in Egypt.”
“So Jamal and Wilhelm met
in 1999 it seems,” thought Black out loud.
“Yeah, and remember the
rumours about the air strike originating from North American forces?” said
Garcia. “Guess who started them?”
“Claes?” said Adrian.
“Yeah,” said Garcia, “he
wrote a letter to the editor of The Cairo
Times, an extremist newspaper, blaming the attack on North American and
Roman forces. Jamal must have read it and the two became friends.”
“…and he likely had to
assume Ali’s identity in order to get more involved, until he gained the MIS’
trust,” said Black.
“As you know, Mubarak’s
government fell in 2001,” continued Garcia. “Guess who was at the centre of
that?”
“Claes?” said Black.
“Ooooh,” said Garcia,
playfully grimacing, “you’re close. It was Abaza and the MIS, with a little
help from his ‘father’.”
“Thanks Garcia,” said
Black, ending the phone call. “I need to notify the authorities, especially the
airports to be on the lookout.” He then shook his head and sighed heavily
before continuing. “I can’t believe he’s been under our noses for so long…well,
now we can turn the tables.”
08:21 local time, Galen of Pergamon Hospital,
Rome
“Okay, he’s ready for
visitors now,” said Cladius Pontus, Morgan’s doctor to the BAU, Adrian and
Black, waiting in the waiting room. Since being rescued Morgan and Cornelia had
to go for days of surgery to get themselves patched back up. They’d still need
months of healing and periodic checkups, but at least for now they were in a
“functional” state, and now they would get visitors for the first time.
Seeing Morgan for the first
time since his kidnapping shocked the team. He still had his numerous bruises
from the beatings he took, as well as more than a few scars. He had also lost
some weight and his demeanour was dishevelled, looking very much like a beaten
man, a stark contrast from the strong, dominant person the team had gotten to
know. However, as soon as he saw his team, he warmed right up to them and gave
them his trademark smile.
“Guys,” said Morgan as the
team piled in to his room. “It’s so good to see you.” Everyone exchanged hugs
with him, though it was the ones with Reid, Jane and Garcia that struck a chord
with him the most.
“I can’t tell you how worried
I was for you,” said Reid, who cried on Morgan’s shoulder, making Morgan cry as
well. For Reid, seeing Morgan, a man he valued as his “protector” in his vulnerable
state was extra rattling and, though he did his best to hide it, Reid couldn’t
stop but wonder what he could have done to save Morgan from being kidnapped in
San Marino.
“You’ve been there for me
so many times,” continued Reid, sobbing, “and yet, in San Marino, I wasn’t
there for you…I’m so sorry man.”
“Reid,” said Morgan through
his tears. He then cupped Reid’s face and held it right in front of his. “It’s
perfectly okay. There was nothing you could do for me except do your job…and
you did, because I’m here. Thank you so much.”
“Babygirl!” said Morgan as
he hugged Garcia, who also couldn’t help but cry as she laid her head on Morgan’s
shoulder. “It’s okay Penelope…you did what you could.” He then kissed her cheek
and grabbed the back of her head, slowly stroking her hair and cradling her
head on his shoulder. “I’m okay now.” He paused to regain his composure before
continuing. “I’m safe now…thank you for everything.”
“Jane!” said Morgan to
Jane, who simply stood over his bed. “What would we do without you? I know we’ve
gotten off on the wrong foot…but you’ve proven me wrong…you’re such a valuable
asset to this team. Don’t think for a
second that you’re not a part of this team because you are.”
“I felt so guilty,” said
Jane, who normally didn’t show his emotions but couldn’t help but tear up. “I
said going to San Marino was a setup…and I sent you into the trap. I’m so
sorry.”
“Jane,” said Morgan,
grabbing Jane’s hand. “There was nothing you could do…we were all played. We couldn’t just sit there
and play Claes’ bluff…the nuke needed to be dealt with…I knew I could have died
in there but I wasn’t afraid…if I had to die for this team then I would.”
Morgan then outstretched his arms and gave Jane a hug, which prompted Jane to
let loose a flood of tears.
When the hugs were
finished, Hotchner couldn’t help but get down to business.
“Listen Morgan,” said
Hotchner, firmly, “you relax today. You’ve been through a lot. Take as much
time as you need…we’ll be fine in your absence…I want you at the top of your
game, so don’t rush yourself back into action. I know you want to, but please…don’t.”
“Don’t worry Hotch,” said
Morgan assuredly. “I won’t rush myself. In the meantime, let’s win this war.”
10:36 local time Hurghada, Havilah
For the past six hours, the
Flowers had been placing Hurghada under constant bombardment. Drusilla’s slow
approach to the attack forced the Havilahites into a war of attrition they
lacked the resources to win, meaning, by 6AM, the Romans were able to break
down the Havilahites SAM wall and break into the city.
However, something seemed a
little off with this assault.
“Is it just me or did the
Havilahites put up more of a fight in Suez and Ismailia than they are here?”
Flavia asked.
“No, I think you’re right,”
said Drusilla. “We broke into Hurghada way too easily. Something is up.”
Drusilla ordered her troops
to slow down and stay on their guard, since she felt an ambush was coming. As
they continued their slow drive into the city, though, nothing seemed to be
happening.
Towards the centre of the
city, by the Hurghada Hilton Plaza, one of her soldiers noticed a fire.
“We need to investigate
that,” said Drusilla. “Towards the Plaza.” By 12:24PM, the Flowers had made
their way to the Plaza to inspect the fire, and, seeing how small it was, it
was easy to put out. However, they’d soon find it was the least of their
troubles.
12:32 local time, Hurghada, Havilah
As soon as the first volley
landed the Flowers knew the real battle had begun. The Plaza was really a
diversion, as, underneath the Plaza was a modified parking garage that was
enlarged to conceal an entire division of tanks, on top of the artillery and
snipers that lay hidden in the buildings in the heart of Hurghada. As the hours
wore on, more and more divisions of artillery, tanks and soldiers showed up, as
Claes and the MIS poured their entire military might into defeating the
Flowers.
Suddenly, the Flowers were
surrounded, with attacks coming from all sides. What made the situation worse
was that the Havilahites didn’t all attack at once, deciding to strike at
random and concealing their whereabouts to keep the Flowers guessing.
“All hands on deck!
Flowers, fire at will!” Drusilla called from her command tank, since the Legion
had no other choice. She worried, still, since the Havilahites had her
surrounded without an outlet to escape, and while she could count on her
technological superiority to win the war of attrition, she was losing soldiers
and tanks and wasn’t sure she had the numbers to hold them off for that long.
Worse, what divisions she could see were constantly moving- there was no weak
point for her to attack.
After a few hours of
constant bombardment, Zalayetta- who had escaped, barely, from Alexandria to
lead the rest of Claes’ troops, left Drusilla a very clear message:
“You now have two options,
Legate,” radioed Zalayetta menacingly. “You can either surrender peacefully and
all of your women will enjoy the benefits of their rightful role...or, we will continue the bombardment and you will
all perish. What will you decide?”
“Or,” radioed Caliph Malik
al-Hamsa. “Zalayetta, you can surrender or you can get annihilated right
now...because the Romans and I have you
surrounded.”
Zalayetta peeked out of his
tank behind him and saw that Malik was right...behind his troops was the rest
of the Roman Army, as well as Malik’s Sudanese troops and the Roman Navy, ready
to rain volley upon volley on him with little that he could do. Malik had
deceived the MIS into thinking he was joining them by staging a battle with the
Romans at Qena, with the troops knowing “all hands on deck” was their cue to
move. They also knew that Claes’ men would be too obsessed with the Flowers to
bother checking their radars, allowing the Romans to move under them.
Zalayetta, cornered, felt there was nothing else he could do, so he
surrendered, and, with that move, Egypt and Sudan fell into Roman hands.
Back in Rome, the BAU
greeted the news with celebration, as loud cheering went off in the RSC
headquarters. However, one thing left unresolved- Claes and Tarsus were still
unaccounted for.
12:01 local time, Downtown Rome
“That will be five
sestertii,” said the café barista, ringing in Claes ordering a coffee and a
bagel before departing for the airport.
“I’m not quite sure I know
what you mean,” said Claes, who donned an impeccable accent and removed his
makeup to play an American alias and thus had to pretend not to be aware of
Roman money.
“Five dollars,” retorted
the barista.
“Five dollars?” said Claes,
surprised. “Where I’m from, in Montana, this stuff costs three bucks, tops.”
“Sir, I don’t set the
prices,” said the barista, indignant. “Besides, in Rome, the tip is
automatically included in your price.”
“So that’s why you get to
be rude to me,” replied Claes angrily.
“Look, pal, do you want the
coffee and bagel or not?” said the barista, defiantly.
“You’re lucky I’m hungry,”
snarled Claes, rifling through his wallet. He searched furiously for a credit
card but was having difficulty finding one.
“Great,” said the barista,
who threw his hands into the air. “now you’re going to waste my time trying to
find your card.”
“Buddy,” retorted Claes,
still rifling, “this is my stuff
getting cold…don’t you think I want
to get my stuff quickly?”
“I guess so,” said the
barista, who still shook his head and rolled his eyes.
“Ah,” said Claes, finally
pulling out a card.
The barista put the credit
card into the machine. A message came up, causing the barista to press a
button.
“Sir,” said a police
officer approaching Claes. “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”
“Excuse me,” said Claes,
looking around furiously, shocked. “What’s going on?”
“Your card was not only
declined,” said the barista, “but it told me to notify the authorities.”
“That can’t be possible,”
said Claes. “I’m as clean as a whistle…I just got approved for that card
yesterday.”
“I’m sorry sir,” said the
barista, his eyes and his smile wide, “but this isn’t a clean card. You’re
wrong.”
Claes tried his best to
hide his nerves but they still showed. He breathed a few deep breaths before
continuing. “I must have pulled out my son’s card by mistake.”
“Is your son Jamal Abaza?”
said Adrian, who had just entered the café and was almost unrecognizable clad
in dress pants and a leather jacket. Rossi was right behind him.
“YOU!” said Claes angrily,
furiously projecting his finger at Adrian. “You set me up for this you
heretic!”
“No Wilhelm.” Adrian didn’t
raise his voice so as not to make a spectacle, though he exuded a quiet
confidence, holding his hands in his pocket. “Proverbs 16:18: pride goes before destruction; and a haughty
spirit before stumbling. You set yourself up. You let your pride consume you,
so much so that you spun a web of manipulation and lies to force people into
working a fantasy society that you knew no one would accept, and you let it
cloud your judgement so much that you didn’t think anyone could figure it out.
Didn’t you learn from The Beatitudes?”
“Matthew 7:15,” said Claes,
defiantly. “Beware of the false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing,
but inwardly are ravenous wolves.”
“2 Peter 2:1,” said Adrian.
“False prophets also arose among the people, just as there will also be false
teachers among you, who will secretly introduce destructive heresies, even
denying the Master who bought them, bringing swift destruction upon
themselves.”
Claes darted his eyes,
looking frantically for an escape. As soon as he budged, the guns of the
officer, Rossi and Adrian were drawn.
“Don’t make any sudden
moves Claes,” commanded Rossi. “It’s over.”
Claes then drew his own
gun, forcing the police’s hand. As soon as he saw it, Adrian fired a few
bullets from his gun, shooting Claes dead. He then wore a sullen look on his
face, but didn’t shed a tear. Rossi patted his back.
“You had no choice,” said
Rossi.
“I know,” said Adrian. “I’m
just sad it had to end like this.”
Galen of Pergamon Hospital
“Hello,” said a man draped
in a fedora and a trenchcoat approaching the secretary’s desk. “I’m here to see
Derek Morgan.”
“I’m going to have to ask
you for some ID,” said the secretary. “You need clearance to see him.”
“I’ll show you my
clearance,” said the man, drawing a gun.
The secretary quivered in
fear, and showed the man his room.
When he got to Morgan’s
room, he undid the top button, revealing himself to be Tarsus. He pulled out a
gun with a silencer, and shot the FBI agent tasked to protect Morgan. As he got
into Morgan’s room, he saw the agent still sleeping.
Tarsus chuckled at the
sight. “Oh Derek, you were always special,” he said, pulling out his gun.
“Oh no you don’t,” said
Cornelia, surprising Tarsus with a gun drawn of her own. It was here that
Morgan revealed he wasn’t sleeping at all.
“I got a button under my
bed,” said Morgan. “I ring it when someone like you comes and it notifies
Cornelia. Did you just think we’d led you walk in?”
“...and you forgot FBI
agents have bulletproof vests,” said the agent, Brian Anderson, emerging into
the room with his own gun drawn. Tarsus, realizing this wasn’t a battle he was
going to win, allowed himself to get arrested without incident.
One week later, Gideon’s chateau, Reims,
Champagne
“This has been a long
case,” said Rossi, laying back comfortably in his easy chair enjoying a glass
of wine, “but we did it.” Gideon had the entire team, including the just
discharged Morgan plus Adrian, Malik, Cornelia and Black over for a celebratory
feast, with everyone enjoying wine and cheese in his expansive living room.
“This was officially my
first case for the BAU,” remarked Jane with a smile, “and I don’t think I could
have picked a better one.”
“You performed admirably,”
said Hotchner, returning a wry smile.
“I can’t remember the last
time we had to win a war to win a case,” said Morgan.
“I suppose there was
Doyle,” said Prentiss.
“We didn’t need the Roman
Army for that one,” said Reid. “This was a first.”
“I’m just glad we’re all
here and we’re all safe,” said Hawkes with a warm smile. “Putting away those
chauvinistic scumbags was worth it.”
“So what’s next?” Rossi
asked.
“Might still be a while
before I can open my shop again,” said Cornelia with a sigh.
“Don’t worry,” said Hawkes.
“We’ll help in any way that we can.” Cornelia responded by smiling and warmly
clutching Hawkes’ hand.
“I’m becoming the new head of the Roman Commonwealth,” said Adrian.
“The Abbassids will give me
Mecca,” said Malik, the only one not drinking any wine, “which is all I want.”
“You and Adrian have gotten
pretty close,” noted Gideon.
“We’re both the same age
and are ideologically the same,” said Malik, “I’ve known Adrian for a while and
I had been fighting Claes for a while...so when Adrian asked me to help him
out, it was a no brainer.”
“...and now you’re both
hailed as heroes,” said Prentiss.
“Heroes with great
responsibility,” noted Adrian with a wry smile.
Cornelia then excused
herself to go outside and enjoy the balcony. Gideon’s chateau lay on a hill to
the east of the city, overlooking the old Fort de la Pompelle. On a clear day
like this, she could see all the sights of Reims, including its many
distinctive chapels and, faintly, the Porte de Mars, a triumphal arch built in
108 when the Romans were in control here. Although many a Roman- including
Cornelia- got wistful about what once was when looking at old Roman territory,
the thought here was fleeting, and Adrian, who came outside to join her, couldn’t
help but notice.
“Hey Gaia,” said Adrian,
standing next to her and grabbing onto the railing to enjoy the view himself.
“Hey,” she replied,
sheepishly.
“It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too.”
“I know what you’re
feeling...but remember, you’re here, he’s not. You won.”
Cornelia was still
despondent, staring wistfully into the distance. “I wish it were that simple,
Adrian. Not only was I violated not just physically but emotionally and
psychologically as well, I was tormented by the one man who haunted me the most
and the one man who I thought I got rid of. You say Wilhelm is gone...how do I
know that? If he came back once he can come back again.”
“Gaia.” Adrian reached for
her hand only for Cornelia to pull it away, stopping Adrian’s motion. He then
sighed, thinking of reminding her that Claes was dead before thinking better of
it before continuing. “I understand that. I guess the only thing left for you
is time.” He then started to tear up. “I wish there was more I could have done
for you...I regret every single day that I didn’t stop him from taking you and
torturing you. I care for you more than anything in the world...it disgusts me
that he did those things to you, those unspeakable horrors, that I will have to
live through myself, all because I never stopped them.”
This time Cornelia grabbed
Adrian’s hand, albeit softly. She too started to tear. “Adrian, you did all you
could. All that I ask is that you pray for me.”
Adrian spoke with
conviction through his tears, worried for the worst since Cornelia’s healing
had only just begun. “I assure you, I will
pray for you every single day...praying that you will heal and get stronger by
the day. I will do everything I can
for you to help you out...just promise me you will stay strong for me.”
“I promise.” The two of
them then engaged in a long, warm embrace.
In Gideon’s courtyard,
Morgan had pulled away from the party to step outside and reflect on his
ordeal. He sat on a rock overlooking a giant water fountain, featuring the
Egyptian god Horus looking over the construction of a pyramid below, with birds
constantly chirping as Gideon set up numerous birdfeed stations in his
courtyard. Although Gideon had the fountain for many years, the personal
symbolism was not lost on Morgan.
After spending some half an
hour out there, Reid paid Morgan a visit.
“Horus was hailed as the
premier Egyptian god,” said Reid, “and the symbol of the Pharaohs, even though
he wasn’t that honourable a god himself.”
“Didn’t he blow all over
Set’s lettuce or something?” said Morgan, trying to recall the details.
“Yes…and, not just that, he
caught Set’s ejaculate and threw it into the river. Set would later eat the
lettuce, which I find interesting because it’s not like semen wouldn’t be
impossible to detect on lettuce, so when the gods wanted to resolve who could
dominate Egypt, they found that Set’s semen didn’t find its way into Horus yet
Horus’ found its way into Set.”
“Trickery.” Morgan sighed,
but Reid didn’t notice.
“To top it off, the two of
them ultimately decided to have a race, seeing which one could traverse a river
on top of a stone the quickest. Horus won only by painting wood to resemble
stone, allowing him to traverse the river while Set’s stone sunk.”
“So he manipulated Set,
and, in doing so, manipulated the gods to get what he wanted.”
“Seems so.”
“Just like Claes.” Morgan
took another deep breath. This time Reid noticed, taking a seat next to him.
“I still think about that
night in Tobias Hankel’s barn,” Reid said, softly. “It’s not as bad as it used
to be, but those memories still haunt me and will continue to haunt me for the
rest of my life.”
“I keep on thinking, Reid,
that I could have avoided all that,” said Morgan, doing his best not to cry. “We
should have had the army come in first and secure the area before going in…but
I let my impulses get the best of me.”
“…and I should have never
left JJ behind and went wandering by myself…but it happened. I relive that
moment time and time again and, like you, I wish I could have changed it.”
Morgan laughed wistfully. “I
can remember saying that a few times to you about that.”
“…and now I’m saying it to
you, if only because it will help you come to terms with it.”
“I know…I shouldn’t blame
myself for what happened. I’m the victim, not the perpetrator.”
“I wish there was some
magic word that I could say to make this all go away…I could probably repeat
the line about how post traumatic stress disorder could be even worse than the
trauma you went through, but you already know that.”
“Reid.” Morgan said calmly,
grabbing Reid’s hand, sensing he was going to break down in tears. “Don’t think
you didn’t do enough…you did. You did all you could.”
“It’s not just that…you’re
my protector and seeing you reduced to what you were…that got to me.”
“I guess I got a reminder
that I’m not invincible.”
“Morgan.” Reid paused,
feeling that his last statement was a touch insensitive. “Never forget you made
it through…yes, you went through one of the worst possible moments in your life,
but you got out of it. You made it through. That
makes you stronger.”
“…and you guys saved me in
the end, a testament to the kind of people that I call teammates.” Morgan and
Reid both smiled before giving each other side hugs and looking longingly but
admirably at the display in the courtyard.
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