Heurism | Spencer Reid¹

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: LESSONS LEARNED

"Some of the best lessons are learned from past mistakes. The error of the past is the wisdom of the future."

     — Dale Turner.

—

"How's my favourite Southern Belle?"

Glancing up from the coffee machine, I shoot Morgan a grin. "Not bad. Nothing like a six o'clock terror alert to get the blood pumping. Caffeine?"

He's still in his jacket, bag slung over one shoulder. "You're an angel," he groans, accepting a mug from me. We make our way across the bullpen, pausing to shed his things on his desk. His eyes flicker to the desk next to mine. "What's this?"

A jacket has been folded neatly over the chair, a few pens and a mini Newton's Cradle set out. I shrug and say, "Guess someone's joined. Haven't seen her yet." It's clear in my tone that I'm not too fussed, but a part of me resents the sight of that spot being filled once more. Elle's absence is still fresh. It hurt me more than I could ever let on. The thought of anyone replacing her is infuriating, even if I can't put my finger on the reason. But I curb my irritation and follow him through to the briefing room.

And there she is. Sat in Elle's old seat is a woman with almost black hair that falls straight to her shoulders and rather pointed, delicate features. She sits still, just taking in the sight of the room and those of us already present. Her eyes dart to us as we enter. "Everybody meet Agent Prentiss?" Hotch says.

Sorting through a stack of files, JJ smiles. "The other day. I've been filling her in on protocol."

"Derek Morgan," he introduces himself, shaking her hand.

I extend the same courtesy, though a little stiff. "Danielle O'Sullivan."

She beams back at us. Her voice quivers a little, still clearly excited about her new job, like a girl on her first day at school. "Emily Prentiss."

"We can make nice later. What do we know?"

With Hotch's prompt, we take out seats and listen to JJ. "The DEA raided what they thought was a hardened meth lab right here in Northern Virginia. But they found this instead."

What we see on the screen is certainly not a meth lab. There are metal bins, the lids clamped on and copper tubing curling out from the top. The tubing connects to two pressurised gas canisters. Morgan studies them with interest. "That could be a dispersal device for a chemical weapon. It's sophisticated."

"Homeland Security is thinking Al-Qaeda."

"They've developed devices that span the spectrum of sophistication. Some as simple as soda bottles and paint cans," Reid explains, mostly to Prentiss.

She turns in her seat to get a better look, though not surprised. "They're called  'Al Ikhterra.' Literally, 'The invention.'"

Surprised by her knowledge, more so her good pronunciation, I look to Reid for confirmation. He, too, seems a little caught off guard. "That they are."

"Do we know what the biological or chemical agent is yet?"

"No, not yet," Morgan says, sitting back in his chair. When he thinks she isn't looking, he sneaks another look at our new teammate.

"The cell members mailed out through a tunnel. The DEA recovered a Nextel two-way and managed to intercept a message. That's not the transcript. It's..."

Taking the piece of paper, Prentiss scans over it. "No, it's in Arabic. 'Our friends surprised us and eloped. We can no longer wait for the wedding as planned. We can deliver our gift at the next crescent.'" She glances up to see our bemused expressions. "I lived in several Middle Eastern countries growing up."