The Intelligence Control and Analysis Program

Chapter 11

Shaking his head, Morgan opened the next drawer up and found it empty. Of course. He doesn't own anything. Why even— He cut off his own question, immediately realizing the answer. Incentive. It reminds him, and all the other geniuses, that they could have things to put in their drawers, they just have to do a special job first.

Disgusted, Morgan shut the drawer and took another look around. He didn't really know what he had been expecting. Seriously, did he think he was going to walk into Spencer's room and find some obvious, organized evidence of all the kid had been through sitting on display?

Though, if Morgan were being completely honest, he would say the lack of evidence was evidence in and of itself. How could someone live in the same room for twelve years and not leave a trace of themselves anywhere? Had Spencer never gotten bored and picked at the paint? Or tried to do some kind of gymnastics to get his blood pumping, only to accidentally wind up with scuff marks on the walls and footprints on the ceiling?

Morgan let out a soft sigh and tucked Spencer's book against his stomach, half hiding it in his jacket. Not that he didn't have permission to take it, but it was one of the only things Spencer had to his name, and it just... it just needed to be treated with some kind of reverence.

Focus. This isn't the only thing you came here for.

Morgan left the cell block, briefly considering an inspection of the occupied cells, and then he started down the hall toward what he knew to be the library. Thankfully, it was close enough to the elevators that he could pretend he'd gotten lost, and even without them, he wasn't too far from Spencer's block. He could come up with an excuse one way or the other.

Pretty Boy, I wish I had your eidetic memory right now.

Spencer had used that wonderful brain of his to draw a map of his floor from memory, and Morgan had studied it obsessively, but his memory was far from photographic.

No. Don't think about that. You're a professional. You know how to memorize a map, and you know what you're doing.

Morgan didn't know what it was about the ICAP building—maybe all the geniuses, maybe knowing he didn't have the upper hand, maybe the smug look on Section Chief Bale's face when he started talking to Hotch—but the whole building just threw him off his game.

I should ask Pretty Boy if there's some sort of... psychological setup behind that.

It would make sense. From the steel walls, laminate flooring, and fluorescent lights alone, he couldn't help but feel he was in some top-secret lab from a sci-fi movie. There was a certain... pressure exuded by his surroundings, a certain authority that dared outsiders to question the precise order maintained within the walls of the building.

Morgan shook it off and walked into the library, discreetly scanning the room as he crossed to the bookshelf. There were two guards—one posted at either end of the room—but Morgan simply flashed his badge. As far as they knew, he wasn't anywhere he wasn't supposed to be, so he let the assumption stand between him and any unwanted questions, and he got down to business.

Morgan idly ran his finger along the book spines, skimming the titles as he prepared a precautionary lie in the back of his mind. He glanced around the room—it was still empty, but according to Garcia, it wasn't going to stay that way for long—and then he got back to browsing the titles.

Geeze. Is there anything here that isn't a textbook? Morgan found one such book even as he had the thought, a slight frown curling the corner of his mouth as he pulled it out. To Kill a Mockingbird. Huh. He heard footsteps behind him, but he ignored them, opening the book and leafing through it.