Heurism | Spencer Reid¹

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: SECRETS

"Whoever undertakes to set himself up as judge in the field of truth and knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the Gods."

     — Albert Einstein.

—

A call from Gideon brings us all into the office in the small hours. Still a little bleary, I stand in the elevator with Reid, JJ and Garcia. My eyes remain fixed on the doors, which are just shiny enough to reflect the two men in suits standing behind us. They have barely spoken two words since we arrived, but follow us closely.

The doors slide open and we emerge onto our floor. Another suit waits for us to emerge. Adjusting the shoulder strap of her spangled purse, Garcia consults us in a conspiratorial whisper, "We have a CIA escort, okay? It's weird and a little scary."

"What do you suppose this is about?" JJ asks Reid and I.

I shrug. "I'm gonna hazard a guess and say the CIA."

He slips his hands into his pockets. "Call me cynical, but considering it's 2:00 am, I doubt it's good news."

"You are a genius."

The others are already gathered in the briefing room when we arrive. Immediately pouring myself a coffee, I slump onto the seat between Elle and Garcia. My eyes dart to the guy standing in the doorway, as if on guard. I try to focus on the case, but quickly realise that we have no files in front of us, just notepads. It is Hotch's voice that draws my full attention back from this confusing situation. "The CIA's counterterrorism unit is engaged in a mission to save one of its informants. They suspect one of their agents is a mole. And until the identity of that mole is discovered, they've locked down the unit."

Returning from the side table with some fresh coffee, Gideon doesn't look at us. There's something about his expression that has me on edge. I've never seen him so worried. He rejoins the table. "This gives us the opportunity to profile the UnSub up close. Go ahead."

The guy in the doorway speaks into a microphone on his sleeve, "Start the video feed."

The display screen turns on, the image of a man appearing. Hotch begins the brief, "John Summers was the CIA's best field agent in the Middle East. Three nights ago he was found in his home in Washington. He'd been tortured and murdered."

I grimace a little as images come up of his battered and blood-streaked body, zip-tied to a chair. Gideon doesn't react. He's seen the photos already. "CIA made it look like suicide."

"How'd you like to have that job?" Reid mutters.

I meet his gaze, a little amused. "Pass."

Dropping his notepad, Morgan rises from his seat. He approaches the screen slowly, eyes squinted slightly. "Guys, look at the wound patterns. They come from two distinct angles. Different heights. One's right-handed and one's left-handed. Looks to me like he was tortured by more than two people."

Elle studies them from her seat, slowly seeing what he means. "Hotch, what was Summers working on?"

Another picture comes up, this time showing a man and a woman. Both are dressed in black, him in a suit and her in a dress and khimar. Stone-faced and distant, the only thing to imply any connection between them is the hand he keeps on her waist. The second photo shows just him, a red and white shemagh draped around his head and neck. "Aaliyah Nadir," Hotch explains, "had been beaten and sexually assaulted at the hands of her husband, Hassan Nadir. That's how Summers flipped her and got her to work for the CIA."

"And what's the husband's story?" JJ asks.

"He's a diplomat for the Saudi government, but he's a fundraiser for major terrorist organisations."