Emily's first day at the BAU isn't quite what she expects, but when the team deals with a terrorist threat, she finally gets her shot. Follows S2E9, "The Last Word," and S2E10, "Lessons Learned."
Emily Prentiss tugged nervously at her blazer and sat up a little straighter as she looked around the Section Chief's office. Section Chief Erin Strauss was a middle-aged blonde woman with a stern, detached, perfectly composed demeanor that reminded Emily of her mother, but that wasn't the only thing that made her anxious to earn Strauss' approval. This interview with the Section Chief was the last hurdle before she could join the FBI's elite Behavioral Analysis Unit.
"Your file is certainly impressive, Agent Prentiss," Strauss said, "I see you were posted to Interpol for three years...but then you spent the past year working a desk job in the Chicago field office. That's an interesting career move."
"After my last Interpol assignment I needed a change," Emily said, "I needed some time to process and decompress, and working a desk was good for that. But now, I'm ready to get back in the field. I think I'd do well in the BAU."
"Well, you're certainly highly qualified."
"Thank you."
"Some might say over-qualified..."
"Ma'am?"
"Well, with your skillset, you could go anywhere," Strauss said, "Why do you want the BAU so badly?"
"I need a job where I know that I'm helping people," Emily replied honestly, "I need to know that what I do every day is actually saving lives and making a difference. The BAU profiles and catches some of the worst offenders out there. The work they do is important. It's noble. I would be honored to be a part of that work."
"I think you know how competitive these openings in the BAU are."
"Yes, ma'am."
"We want to make sure we get the Bureau's best and brightest in this unit," Strauss continued, "Especially now. The BAU has had a bit of an...unexpected turnover. I'll be keeping an eye on the entire unit, not just you."
"Does that mean..."
"You will report to Agent Hotchner on Monday morning," Strauss said, "Congratulations, Agent Prentiss. You're now a member of the BAU."
Emily knew Agent Hotchner by reputation. He was known to be a smart and levelheaded team leader, but cold, shut off, and intimidating. Certainly his resume would be enough to intimidate: Georgetown Law graduate, former prosecutor, quickly climbed the ranks of the FBI, took over for Jason Gideon as unit chief following the Adrian Bale case in Boston. But Emily wasn't intimidated by powerful men. She could hold her own. She was smart, capable, highly qualified—and she knew it. And so she arrived at the office on Monday morning feeling confident and eager to get to work. She strode through the BAU bullpen carrying her cardboard box of office supplies, and she walked up to Agent Hotchner's office and knocked on the door.
"Come in," a man's voice said.
She awkwardly pushed the door open with her elbow while holding onto her box and stepped into the office, where a stern-looking dark-haired man was seated at his desk.
"Hi," she said, "Agent Hotchner?"
"Yes."
She put her box down on a chair and extended her hand to him. "I'm Agent Emily Prentiss."
"How do you do?" he said, "Oh! You're, um, Ambassador Prentiss' daughter. I did security clearances for your mother's staff; it was one of my first commands. I believe you were off to...Brown at the time."
"Actually, it was Yale," she replied, "I've been in the Bureau almost ten years now."
"Don't tell me that. Has it been that long?"
"Apparently, sir," Emily chuckled, "But I work mostly in the Midwest—St. Louis, Chicago." That was technically true. She had worked in both of those offices.
"Good," he said. Then, after an awkward pause, "Uh, your parents well?"
Emily nodded. "Yeah, yeah, they're great."
"Excellent," he said. And then, after another pause, "What can I do for you?"
Emily was somewhat taken aback. "Uh, well, I guess I was hoping you could tell me where to put my stuff."
"I'm sorry?"
"I-I'm supposed to start here today, at the BAU." She handed him her file, and he gave it a cursory once-over without really looking at any of it.
"There's been a mistake."
"I don't think so, sir."
"There's definitely been a mistake," he insisted.
A young, attractive blonde woman knocked gently on the doorframe. "Excuse me," she said, "We're getting started."
"Thank you, I'll be right there," Agent Hotchner said to her. He looked back at Emily. "I didn't approve this transfer, Agent Prentiss. I'm sorry for the confusion, but you've been misinformed. Excuse me." He handed the file back to her and left the office.
Emily followed him out into the hallway, but he was clearly not coming back. The BAU team was gathered in their conference room, so Emily figured she would wait. Surely Agent Hotchner would have to come back to his office before he went out into the field. She put her box down and sat on the couch, determined not to leave until she'd been accepted as part of the team. But the seconds kept ticking by, and Emily was getting impatient. She got up and started walking around the office, studying the commendations and family pictures on the walls.
"Oh, hi," a cheerful voice chirped behind her, and Emily turned around to see a curvy blonde woman in a brightly colored blouse and skirt. "Uh, I didn't think anyone would be in here," she said, "I'm Penelope Garcia, the BAU's technical analyst. Are you looking for Hotch?"
"Is that what you call him?" Emily asked, "Yeah, um, I'm Emily Prentiss, and I—well, I'm supposed to be the new agent here, but..."
"Oh, well, the whole team just left for St. Louis; I mean, you just missed him."
"No, no, I didn't miss him," Emily sighed.
"Oh..." Penelope said, "Well, hey, I was about to go to lunch. Would you want to join me? I can give you the inside scoop on the team and everything."
Emily smiled. "I'd love that, thank you." At least someone seemed to want her here.
Penelope took Emily down to the cafeteria and bought her a turkey sub. She rattled through the names of the other agents on the team and what to expect from each of them. She told Emily that the team had been a little on edge lately since one of their agents, Elle Greenaway, resigned following a fatal shooting. Hotch was probably just trying to avoid a repeat of that whole ordeal. Emily listened intently. She didn't do much talking, but that was fine by her; she enjoyed Penelope's chatter. After lunch they parted ways, and Penelope promised to call Emily when the team was headed back from their case.
Emily got the call from Penelope three days later. It was evening by the time the BAU jet landed in Quantico, and Emily sat in the dark in Hotch's office, waiting for him to come back.
"Please tell me you haven't been there for the last four days," he said.
"I heard you were flying back tonight," she replied.
"Heard? How could you have heard a thing like that?"
"This was dropped off today." She handed him a new case file.
"I appreciate your interest, Agent, but profiling is a specialty," he said, "We can't just let anyone who wants to give it a whirl."
"The I-80 killer?" she said, "The co-eds in Indiana?"
"Yes, I read it on the plane."
"They aren't blitz attacks," she told him, "This guy's organized. He's a white male, early 30s, and a smooth talker, because even after eleven victims, he can still convince educated women who know there's a predator out there to get into his car."
"How would you advise the police?"
"I would stake out The Ranch House," she said, "A nightclub in Gary. They have a very popular Ladies Night on Thursdays. If you look closely, you'll see that eight out of the eleven victims went missing on a Friday morning, so something gets this creep's motor running on Thursdays. This isn't a whirl, Agent Hotchner. I don't know how the paperwork got screwed up, or maybe you believe my parents pulled some strings—which they didn't, by the way. I belong in this unit. And all I'm asking for is the chance to show you that."
"I still need to look into this," he said, "I'm not promising anything."
"Understood."
"We brief new cases every morning at 10 AM. You can see facilities management about a desk."
"You won't be sorry."
When Emily showed up for work the following morning, she was greeted by the same pretty blonde girl she'd seen in Hotch's office earlier. Her name was Jennifer Jareau, but everyone called her JJ, and Emily tried her best to pay attention to the words JJ was saying and not her mesmerizing blue eyes or the intoxicating smell of her perfume. She told herself she wasn't going to catch feelings for a coworker—at least, not this time around—and she wasn't quite ready to out herself to this new team on her first day. She and JJ could become friends, maybe, but that was it. This was her fresh start, and she wasn't going to let things get messy this time.
Midway through their tour of the BAU offices, JJ's phone rang with an urgent call about a new case. She led Emily into the conference room where the team briefed their new cases, and the rest of the team soon followed. Penelope was first, followed by two men: an older man Emily recognized as the legendary Jason Gideon, and a younger man who introduced himself as Dr. Spencer Reid, although he looked much too young to be a doctor. They sat around the table and waited for Hotch, who came in soon after with another agent, a tall, muscular Black man whose casual attire was a stark contrast to Hotch's suit and tie. Emily figured this must be Derek Morgan.
"Everybody meet Agent Prentiss?" Hotch asked.
"The other day," Penelope replied.
"I've been filling her in on protocol," JJ said.
"Derek Morgan." He extended his hand to her.
"Emily Prentiss," she said.
"We can make nice later," Hotch said, "What do we know?"
"The DEA raided what they thought was a hardened meth lab right here in Northern Virginia," JJ said, "But they found this instead. She pulled up the pictures from the scene.
"That could be a dispersal device for a chemical weapon," Morgan said, "Sophisticated."
"Homeland Security's thinking it's Al-Qaeda," JJ continued.
"They've developed devices that span the spectrum of sophistication," Reid said, "Some as simple as soda bottles and paint cans."
"They're called Al-Ikhtera," Emily added, "Literally 'the invention.'"
"They are," Reid nodded.
"Do we know what the biological or chemical agent is yet?" Hotch asked.
"No, not yet," Morgan replied.
"The cell members bailed out through a tunnel," JJ said, "The DEA recovered a Nextel 2-way and managed to intercept a message." She placed a sheet of paper on the table, and Emily picked it up. "That's not the transcript," JJ said.
"No, it's in Arabic," Emily said, "Uh, 'Our friends surprised us and eloped,'" she began translating, "'We can no longer wait for the wedding as planned. We can deliver our gift at the next crescent.'" She looked up to see her colleagues' surprised and impressed faces. "I lived in several Middle Eastern countries growing up," she explained.
"Next crescent?" Gideon asked.
"Muslims sometimes use a lunar calendar," Emily said, "I'd have to look it up—"
"Next crescent moon is in two days," Penelope interjected.
"So whatever they're attacking, it's happening in less than 48 hours," Gideon said.
"Sounds like it, sir," Emily replied.
"Payment for the Nextel is linked to this man," JJ said, "Jind Allah."
"Literally 'soldier of God,'" Emily noted.
"That's pretty poor operational security for a sophisticated plot," Morgan observed.
"Two months ago, Jind Allah was captured leaving the U.S. using a forged Pakistani passport via Richmond International Airport," JJ continued, "He's been held as a ghost detainee in Guantanamo Bay ever since."
"So technically he doesn't exist," Penelope said.
"Soldier of God isn't a name," Gideon said.
"No," Emily replied, "It's most likely a name taken on for Jihad, meaning struggle. Extremists claim it's a holy war."
"Yet the words 'holy' and 'war' never appear together in the Quran," Reid noted.
"Do we know his real name?" Gideon asked.
"CIA interrogators have gotten nothing out of the guy," JJ replied.
"They need us to break him," Gideon said.
"We do know from past intercepts that he's a recruiter," JJ continued, "He came into this country to assemble the Omega Cell, a sleeper cell with an unknown mission."
"We have 48 hours to do what the CIA hasn't been able to manage in two months?" Morgan said.
"We could be looking at the first attack on our soil since 9/11," Gideon said.
Gideon, as the most senior profiler, was headed to Guantanamo. He decided to take Reid with him, even though Emily was the one who spoke Arabic and had experience profiling international terrorists. But clearly he didn't trust her abilities just yet, so Reid and Gideon packed their things while the rest of the team prepared to work the case from Quantico, focusing on the house the DEA raided. Hotch stopped Gideon on the catwalk outside his office, and Emily could tell from her desk below that they were talking about her. She put her go bag on her desk and looked away, trying not to look too eager.
"Car leaves in four minutes," Gideon said brusquely as he passed her desk.
"Yes, sir," she replied.
On the plane, Gideon sat across from Reid and pulled out a travel chess set. They were fully engrossed in their game and completely ignored Emily. Gideon was the better chess player; he had already beaten Reid once by the time they were flying over Florida. But as soon as one game ended, they began setting the pieces up again for a second game. Neither of them asked Emily if she might like to play.
"Excuse me, sir?" Emily said, "I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate—"
"Do not thank me," Gideon cut her off.
"Sir?"
"It's not a favor."
"Of course, I know that—"
"You're coming to do a job."
"Do you think the interrogation of Jind Allah will work in time?" Reid asked.
"Interrogation's the most dynamic form of profiling," Gideon replied.
"That's not an answer," Emily muttered without thinking, "Sir." Gideon looked up from his chess game at her, and she felt herself freeze.
"He's been locked away in Gitmo," Gideon said, "He doesn't know we raided the cell's safe house; that's an advantage for us. The main thing is to get him talking about anything. Then his language and body movements will betray him." He picked up a chess piece and moved it. "It's like this; you just focus on the way your opponent holds his piece, how quickly and firmly he places it, then you watch his face and body. It'll telegraph a player's strategy, his training, maybe his motivations."
"Is that what you need us to do?" Emily asked.
"No, I need you to listen," he replied, "You're fluent in Arabic. I won't know the nuances like you. Every word, every phrase. Be on the lookout for subtext, ulterior meanings."
"What do you want me to do?" Reid asked.
"I want you to watch for tells," Gideon said, "Nonverbals, micro-expressions. Watch him when he's comfortable and relaxed, then note the behavioral changes when he's under stress. If we can establish a baseline, we'll be able to read him once I challenge his belief systems. Before I can get him to give up where or how they'll attack, I'll first have to cause him to reveal something of himself." He looked out the window, and then back to the chess board. "Game over."
"What are you talking about?" Reid asked.
As if in reply, the plane lurched, and Emily, Reid, and Gideon all braced themselves as the chess board fell to the floor.
"Gitmo's runway is perpendicular to Cuban airspace," Gideon explained, "So approaching aircraft have to negotiate a last-minute 90 degree right turn in order to land. They call it the Gitmo Twist."
"I was winning!" Reid huffed.
"Actually, he would have had you in three," Emily said.
When they landed, Gideon took the lead in interrogating Jind Allah while Reid and Emily watched from behind the glass. His strategy was to present himself as a kinder, gentler, more benevolent presence than the CIA interrogators who brutalized and dehumanized him. It worked, and Jind Allah started talking. Once he did, Emily was able to place his accent and identify him as being Egyptian. It wasn't much, but it was a start, and they were on their way to figuring out who this man was, but first, Gideon left him alone when it was time for his daily prayers.
While Gideon interrogated Jind Allah, the rest of the team continued investigating and realized that the cell was planning an anthrax attack. They had another weapon in Annandale ready to arm, but when Hotch and the DEA raided the location, they realized it was a trap. Jind Allah wanted them to find that location. He'd lured them there. They realized in time to get most of the agents out before the house exploded, but a SWAT officer died in the blast. When Gideon confronted Jind Allah about the trap, he gave up the fact that his son had been killed, which allowed them to figure out his name, Jamal Abaza. While Penelope dug up information on Jamal Abaza, Gideon once again left him to his prayers and joined Reid and Emily on the other side of the glass.
"He seems much calmer than he was yesterday," Reid noted, "May make any reading of his body language less accurate."
"I know," Gideon said.
"Is that what we want?" Emily asked.
"I hope so," Gideon replied.
"Well, isn't that the exact opposite of—" she began, but when she turned to look at Gideon, he was gone. She turned back to Reid. "He hopes so? We have less than ten hours before the new crescent moon rises."
"Nine," Reid corrected.
"Aren't you worried?"
"I've been with him long enough to trust him," Reid said.
When Gideon went back in to interrogate Abaza again, he brought Reid with him. They confronted Abaza with the truth of his identity. Gideon put on a show of responding to news that the attack had happened already. He even brought in footage of an emergency response to show Abaza, and berated him for launching such an attack on innocent citizens. Abaza became more and more agitated, sparring verbally with Gideon over ideology.
"Those people tonight, they were innocent. They never hurt you," Gideon chided.
"They hurt me by existing!" Abaza retorted, "Yes, the infidels shall fall at the hands of the righteous. And that is when the Jihad will end."
"So you are ready to murder four billion people?"
"America has learned nothing from the past. You harden targets like your power plants, but you leave the soft root for our taking. What has happened tonight will affect your economy for years, the way September 11th affected air travel. And maybe the next time a giant shopping center opens, people will think twice before opening. And maybe next time it will be a school!"
He continued his rant, but they already had what they needed, and Emily was already on the phone to Garcia as Reid shut down the video feed.
"Has the sun not set yet?" Abaza asked in astonishment.
"No," Reid replied. He left Abaza to stew in his defeat and rejoined Emily and Gideon in the next room.
"A shopping center, a mall," Emily said into the phone, "It's a grand opening tonight, not long after sunset. That gives you about an hour."
"God help us if they don't make it," Gideon said.
They did make it, and Hotch and Morgan were able to stop the attack before it happened. The news reported it as an attempted robbery, and the public remained unaware of how close they had come to experiencing a major act of terrorism. As soon as Gideon got word from Hotch that they had successfully thwarted the cell, he, Reid, and Emily boarded the jet to head home, and once again, Gideon pulled out his chess set to play with Reid. Once again, Gideon was winning.
"When did you know you were gonna have to trick him?" Emily asked.
"The first time I talked to him," Gideon replied.
"You realized you couldn't break him?" she said.
"Well, I realized he was too smart to have had that Nextel phone registered to him accidentally," Gideon said, "He drew us there. He wanted our presence at Gitmo to confirm that he was successful."
"And that's when you started moving up the time of his prayers," Emily said.
"If I'd used an actual clock, he might have caught on," Gideon replied.
"So it-it was all a chess game," Reid said.
"We won this round," Gideon said, "But you heard him. Jihad never ends." He moved a chess piece. "Mate."
"I quit," Reid sighed, "Yield, surrender, capitulate—I'm gonna take a nap." He stretched out along the couch.
"Prentiss," Gideon said.
Emily looked up at him. "Sir?"
"You play?" he asked.
Emily smiled. "Yes, sir," she nodded, "I play."