The Intelligence Control and Analysis Program

Chapter 1

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Hotch let out a sigh and massaged his temple, unsure of how to answer Rossi's question. "I... would really prefer not to, but I don't think we have a choice. We've been on this case for five days, and we can't get a single lead. If the unsub keeps to his schedule, we've got twenty-four hours to stop him before another four bodies show up."

Granted, three of those bodies were already dead, but they still had time to save the fourth.

Rossi looked over Hotch's shoulder and scanned the files spread out on the desk. "Hey, I agree with you. I'm not against having a genius. You've just... always been pretty adamant about the closed nature of the team."

Hotch grimaced and nodded his head, second-guessing his decision for what had to be the hundredth time. "I know. We operate best without interference." He shuffled the papers around, setting aside two candidates he knew wouldn't work out.

"You've been that way since Gideon left." Typical Rossi, he didn't waste any time beating around the bush. "Things happen, Aaron. You can't keep psychos from fixating on a single person."

"I know that, Dave." Hotch shook his head, not wanting to beat a dead horse with such an important decision on the table. "I just don't want to upset the balance we have. If we bring someone else in, especially a genius, the team could withdraw, and—"

"The team will put on their big kid pants and get the job done. It's a temporary situation. We don't have to keep him or her around indefinitely, we just need to use them as a resource and send them on their merry way." Rossi waved his hands and wiggled his fingers to illustrate. "Don't overthink things, Aaron. Pick a genius, make the call, and then join us in the conference room."

Hotch looked down at the papers again, resisting the urge to let out a heavy sigh. He had done enough sighing; he had to get down to business. "There's one file I keep putting aside, but then I keep coming back to it."

Rossi extended a hand, gesturing for the file to be handed over, and Hotch readily obliged.

"Genius #2036334-4383," Rossi read aloud. "IQ of 187. He's got three doctorates, and none of them are topics that get censored by the program. He definitely would know all there is to know. He's consulted on... one thousand and twenty-two different cases?"

Hotch nodded, but his expression was grim. "Keep reading."

Rossi's eyes scanned the page, lips moving in silent mumbles. "Is this right?" He looked at the words again, brow furrowing in confusion, and then he lifted his head to look at Aaron. "He's never been in the field?"

Hotch shook his head, indicating the papers still in Rossi's hands. "He doesn't play well with others. He's on several different medications, and according to his chart, he still can't interact with the general population. He has no social graces, and he doesn't like being told what to do."

"So, don't get him." Rossi tossed the file on the desk and put his hands on his hips, staring down at the visibly undecided Hotch. "What brings you back to him?"

Hotch shook his head and lifted his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. I don't know, but I keep picking up the file. I don't know if it's the impressive track record, or the number of degrees..." Hotch put his elbows on his desk and rubbed both temples, sneaking a quick glance at the window to make sure none of the others could see him. "There's this note in his file... this one rule he's always pushing back against, trying to connive a way around it, and I think we could use it to get his cooperation."

Rossi rolled his hand to encourage further explanation.

"He wants to make a phone call." It sounded stupid even as Hotch said it. "He has been asking since he was admitted, almost twelve years ago, to make a phone call. He wants to talk to someone in a facility for geniuses who suffer from various forms of psychosis."