House of Cards
Summary: What if the things that happened in Sleeper were a lie, made up to throw Castle off the track of whatever really happened those 2 months that he was missing?
AN: So I got bored and I was thinking what if TPTB were lying to Castle in Sleeper because the story just seemed too convenient and something made up to throw him off track. And this weird plot bunny then just popped into my head. Since people are picking on Demming, I'm going to pick on him too. I didn't mind him or Will Sorenson because they showed Beckett what she was really looking for if she'd just have let herself. I'm using Google translator, so I hope the words are accurate, so please forgive me if they are not.
Chapter 1 – Building the Base
Circa Early 2000's
When Harlan Ellison (not the writer) arrived at work, the first thing that he did every day, day in and day out except on those rare days he was off, was to switch on his standard company-issued computer at his desk in a rather nondescript office in the lower levels of what some people drolly called "the bowels of the Earth."
As he waited for it to boot up, he went about his morning routine – taking off his black non-descript all-weather coat and hanging it on the standard company-issued coat stand in the corner, checking his standard company-issued phone for messages, and unlocking his standard company-issued filing cabinet and pulling out the files he had been working on yesterday.
When he had been recruited fresh out of college with a PhD in Political Science (obtained in 3 years rather than the usual 4 to 8, thank you very much), he had a very different view of how his life would be – a fantasy of what it would be like to work for the 3-letter agency more commonly referred to as the Company.
It would be a life of jet setting around the world, blazing into exotic locations to fix whatever wrongs he had found using his keen analytical skills, and then zooming off unnoticed in an unmarked black van as the music swelled in the background. This seed had been planted when he watched Mission: Impossible on the small black and white TV in the family living room as a child and fueled many an afternoon of make believe play.
But TV was only fantasy, he thought as he entered his user name and password. What 15 years in the Company had taught him was that real results were accomplished by hard work, persistence, and the dedication of analyzing tens of thousands of pages in monotonous reports to find the small connections between events, and then tweaking those connections to the Company's – and the United States government's – best advantage.
But, Ellison mused as he stood and picked up his standard company-issued coffee mug, some of the fantasy would have been nice also and probably not as mundane.
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The standard company break room was almost deserted at this early time of the morning, with just one other person in it.
Dr. Ivan Yuri, a recent acquisition from the Russian Federation, stood at the counter, holding the coffee pot in one hand and pouring the coffee into the now overflowing mug, while reading from a stack of papers that commanded his entire attention.
The only saving grace was that Dr. Yuri had put his mug in the sink before he began so that the extra coffee was now going down the drain.
Ellison cleared his throat loudly before approaching Yuri. The doctor had a startle factor equivalent of a deer and he had learned not to walk up to Yuri without first making his presence known.
"Oh, bozhe moy!" Yuri said in a thick Russian accent as he came back to the present and looked at what he had done.
"Good morning, Dr. Yuri," said Ellison as he took the pot of almost empty coffee from the man. "So what is so interesting this morning?"
"This!" Yuri said as he picked up the papers he was been reading and shook them at Ellison. "Udivitel'no!"
"And this is?" encouraged Ellison as he tried to read the top page. Tropical Heat?
"Richard's book," Yuri exclaimed again. "He sent me a draft to review."
"Ah," nodded Ellison – the writer who had weaseled his way into the division he worked at Company and whom he had managed to foist off on Sophia Turner. What was the good of having subordinates if you didn't delegate? "I didn't realize that he wrote non-fiction."
"Nyet, nyet," said Yuri, shaking his head. "It's a spy novel – Derrick Storm."
Ellison frowned, his eyes narrowing a little. He had little use for spy novels. Most of them were woefully inaccurate, that fantasy view that just wouldn't be snuffed out. "I didn't know that the two of you had met."
Yuri nodded. "Da. But not to worry. Sophia was with him the entire time and I didn't tell him anything classified," he said as he continued to wave the papers back and forth.
"So?" Ellison asked, prompting the doctor to continue.
"We talked science," replied Yuri. "Weather actually – how one could go about creating a machine to control weather, like on the soap opera General Hospital." He paused and nodded to himself. "It was a very good discussion."
"I didn't realize Mr. Castle was a scientist either," Ellison replied.
"Nyet. But he does have a good imagination – very creative – how do you say… 'out of the box'?" Yuri plopped the papers down on the counter and flipped to one that he had dog-eared. "See – here – what he's done. Out of the box, but with a few changes, it could be possible."
Ellison quirked an eyebrow at him. "So you're telling me that a person who writes pulp fiction knows how to create a machine to control the weather while our scientists have been working on this for years without much success?"
"Nyet, but what he has written has possibilities. It would take years to develop and test, but it could work," Yuri said excitedly.
Ellison nodded thoughtfully. "Do you mind if I read that?" he asked, pointing to the manuscript.
"Nyet, not at all," Yuri smiled as he handed him the stack of papers. "Perhaps we should have Richard come visit again so we can … how do you say it – ah – 'pick his brains'."
"Good idea," said Ellison, smiling slightly to placate the excited man. "Let me see what I can do."
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Back in his office, Ellison laid the papers on his desk and pulled up the file they had on Richard Castle.
Liberal arts college graduate, with honors no less; best-selling author; age 30; native New Yorker; born to an unwed mother, Martha Rodgers, an actress; father to Alexis…no, nothing really out of the ordinary here. He frowned – Castle had had enough pull somewhere for him to be able to gain access to the Company and he knew that files sometimes didn't contain all of the information.
Ellison drummed his fingers against the desk as he thought.
What were the chances of a hack writer – an annoying one at that – coming up with an idea that would make a viable machine that controlled weather?
But he had learned through the years that anything was possible and even the unlikely was not to be readily dismissed.
And if Dr. Kuri found this book interesting, imagine what the rest of the world would think, especially their enemies? No, they certainly weren't going to divulge trade secrets even in works of fiction.
But how to handle this? What tweak would make this problem disappear?
He looked at the picture of Castle again. They could take the easy way out and stage a deadly accident, but no, the publisher would probably be more likely to publish the book posthumously, touting it as the author's last book.
They could simply tell him that it was in his country's best interest to not publish the book, but no, that might make him ask unwanted questions.
Ellison scrolled through the file on Castle and then nodded to himself. There, he thought as he paused at one particular spot, that could work.
Even though they were non-fiction, Castle prided himself on the authenticity of his books. So what if Dr. Yuri didn't approve of the book, more specifically the science used in it? Would that be enough to stop the publication of it?
Ellison opened a Word document and began typing.
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"Here, Daddy, I'll do it," said Alexis, holding out her palm for the key to the mailbox, a quick stop as they returned from their daily jaunt to the park.
Castle handed the key over and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and smiling slightly as he watched his daughter open the mailbox and take out the mail.
She quickly sorted through it. "This is for you and this one and this too," she said, handing him several envelopes and a large package.
Alexis suddenly squealed in delight. "It's a post card from Grams! She's in Greece!" She looked up at him with sparkling eyes. "Can we call her, Daddy? To let her know we got it?"
Castle looked at his watch. 4 pm here, 11 pm over there. Knowing his mother, she would still be up. "Sure," he smiled. "Race you to the elevator," he said as he took off running.
"Dad," Alexis replied, rolling her eyes. "You know we're not supposed to run inside."
# # # # # # # # # #
Martha answered after a couple of rings and they made small talk for a minute before Castle handed Alexis the phone.
As his daughter giggled on the phone with her grandmother, he opened the large envelope and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He had immediately recognized the return address and was anxious to hear what Dr. Yuri had thought of his book.
Castle quickly skimmed the paper, his frown deepening, and then pulled out the manuscript and flipped to several dog-eared pages. True to what the doctor had written in the letter, the pages where he described the weather machine were covered by red marks, indicating where he had gone wrong, reminding him of some of his earlier school papers.
"Grams sends her love," said Alexis as she hung up the phone and then frowned at him. "You okay, Daddy?" she asked.
Castle closed the manuscript and put on a smile. "Just fine, Pumpkin," he said, ruffling her hair. "Go wash up for dinner and then you can tell me everything Grams says she's doing."
"Okay," said Alexis. She pulled him down for a hug and kiss. "Thank you, Daddy. I had a good time at the park today."
Castle relaxed as he returned the hug. "I did too."
He watched her scamper up the stairs and then looked back at the manuscript, glad he hadn't sent it to Black Pawn yet. Maybe Tropical Storm hadn't been such a good idea after all if his science had been that bad.
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