In chess, castle long is a defensive move in which the King is shifted, on the Queenside, to a safer position in the wings behind a rank of pawns. Simultaneously the Rook takes a more powerful position in the center of the board.
"You didn't think this impossible move through to its logical conclusion, did you, Detective?"
They had been driving around the rain-soaked city streets for hours, long enough that Carl Elias knew that the mere sound of his soft voice could provoke Jocelyn Carter to the point of madness.
Her low growl in response confirmed his analysis of her mental state. As did the wavering path the black van took across the median line when his question ended.
She was worried, tired, balanced precariously on the edge of desperation. Her impossible move - though audacious – had obvious unfavorable results and a lesser player would have avoided it altogether.
He would surely be dead if not for Carter's timely wild move; that interlude in the woods was just a foretaste of the broader disaster on the horizon.
If this current dalliance of ambitious Russians mobsters with unscrupulous government officials was allowed to blossom into a full-scale romance, his city would pay an unbearably high price.
Without his iron control to restrain excess, distribute resources, and moderate venality, chaos was the looming alternative.
He knew the state of play in the city; Carter obviously knew it too.
He believed he had nothing further to lose by provoking her, having evaded certain extinction only hours earlier.
Her motives were simple and shockingly pure, he was certain. She had somehow learned of his impending execution and decided to intervene to prevent a murder. She was a cop to the core of her being. He found her dedication to upholding the old standards touchingly quaint, but highly useful in this particular instance.
Still he couldn't help himself. Her foul mood made it so easy to get under her skin.
"If you don't have a detailed plan, Detective, perhaps I might suggest one."
In response she violently rotated the steering wheel and Elias toppled over onto the bench of the van's back seat. With his wrists manacled behind him, his posture was both painful and awkward.
But despite the current uneasy predicament, he felt a surge of warmth welling in his chest as he contemplated Detective Carter.
Truly, he was immensely grateful to this unlikely savior.
Whether by the hand of a jealous Russian mob princeling or a bottom-feeder cop with the rancid stink of HR corruption on his skin, Elias did not want to die just yet. He had so many ambitions unfulfilled and a gargantuan library of calculations still to be concluded.
He had far too much still to accomplish on this side of the grave.
The detective had done him a surprising service and he recognized that the debt he now owed her was monumental.
But the sensation of barreling along these slippery streets toward an unknown destination was disturbing.
And Elias did not like being upset.
He righted himself on the rear seat and stared at the back of Carter's head. Her sleek hair was coiled into a tight bun, the glint of her silver earrings sparked faintly in the reflected image from the rearview mirror. He thought that the fierce scowl that marred her pretty face was exceptionally unbecoming.
The stiff black leather jacket, dark shirt, and black jeans added to her grim appearance, but suited the circumstances perfectly, he understood.
In fact, she was a sneak thief who, in taking him, was thwarting the future prospects of an embryonic hoodlum enterprise.
Those undisciplined Russians would be gunning for her now, as would their corrupt confederates in HR.
She took off her black leather gloves and he could see the tension in her straining knuckles as she clutched the wheel.
"You continue to stir such an array of emotions within me, Detective Carter."
He hoped this softer gambit would prompt her to give him some clue as to her intentions.
"As you might imagine, I am surprised. I'm grateful too, without doubt. I hope you appreciate that. I was sure that leafy clearing back there was to be my last stand. But I'm also more than a little curious as to what you have planned for me - for us - as this night extends toward dawn."
His chauffeur tipped her head to one side but didn't turn her face toward him.
"Shut up, Elias."
Her dark eye met his in the mirror.
"If you say one more word I'll dump you out on the side of this road like the trash you are."
The set of her chin and the clenching of muscles at her jaw as she said this were strangely appealing to him.
Perhaps the growing affection he felt was merely an artifact of the relief of being alive. But no matter, alive and held captive by this good cop was infinitely preferable to being dead and buried under a pile of rotting leaves.
So Elias leaned back against the seat, elevated his shoulders once to ease the gathering pain there, and kept quiet.
XXXPOIXXXPOIXXX
Perhaps the convoluted path through several boroughs was an external expression of Carter's confused mind. Or maybe she designed the route to disorient him. Certainly by the time she pulled the van into a street behind a darkened row of stores Elias was utterly lost.
She hustled him across a small service driveway and between two large waste containers to a black door. Pounding against the door's narrow window worked quickly and it opened before them, although no one was immediately visible.
Carter pushed him through the entrance into a large room which was shrouded in darkness.
In the shadows moonlight gleamed off the rounded edges of long stainless steel countertops and the black presence of a massive commercial-style range. Huge aluminum cauldrons lined the shelves along one wall and an arsenal of ladles swung from an overhead rack.
This was a restaurant kitchen.
Carter's contact was a short woman with a glossy black braid trailing down her back. The intricate folds of her dark green sari didn't conceal the rolls of fat around her waist and along the undersides of her brown arms.
With his hands still bound behind him, Elias decided benign compliance was his best choice. As he stood in the center of the kitchen, he tried to arrange his face into an expression of genial curiosity: mild and agreeable was his current motto.
He watched the two women speak in animated fashion for several minutes next to the hulking double-door refrigerator. Huddled with heads bent towards one another, their posture suggested a long-time intimacy. Although their rich skin color was similar, this woman was an Indian he could see, certainly not Carter's mother but obviously a friend and confidante.
After a few minutes of consultation, Carter returned to him.
She gripped him by the elbow and steered him toward another black door and thrust him unceremoniously across the portal. The old Indian woman followed them into the narrow room – it was a food pantry – dragging a metal desk chair. Carter pushed him onto the seat. In an instant she had the handcuffs rearranged so that he was shackled onto the wire struts of a shelf, able to sit comfortably, but not move beyond the chair.
This wasn't completely satisfactory, of course, but the relief of being able to rotate his shoulders compensated for the dismal new arrangements.
He looked around the small space, noting the colorful labels on giant cans and shiny jars of vegetables and the sacks of rice piled up along both walls.
Carter bent forward so that her round face was level with his.
"Elias, the rule here is, no speaking unless you are spoken to. Get it?"
The authoritative tone with which she spoke to him and the baleful look which accompanied it might almost have been maternal. But Carter spoiled the effect by reaching out to shake the cuff on his right wrist to make sure it was securely fastened.
He was her prisoner and she wanted him to know it for certain.
He nodded and offered a smile he hoped was docile, even sweet. But she spun on her heel and shut the door with a sturdy tug, leaving him in the darkened room alone.
Just as Carter exited the pantry, Elias heard her cell phone buzz for the first time since they had escaped from the wooded death trap earlier that evening.
Elias could only hear her side of the conversation, but the sounds came through the thin door panel loud and clear.
"Yeah, I'm O.K. We're both O.K. Safe, tired, and hungry too. But Mrs. Soni is taking care of that soon."
Carter paused to listen, but interrupted the conversational flow with an annoyed tone.
"Look, what did you think I was going to do, Harold? Just let some Russian gangster execute him and start a mob war?"
The next reply was shorter.
"No, you don't need to bring John into this. I've got it under control."
After what might have been an operatic aria of an answer, Carter continued:
"If you really want to help out, Harold, go back to fixing that situation you guys are in. You focus on that, I'll figure out what to do with Elias."
As if she realized at that point that her conversation might be overheard, Carter lowered her voice and he was unable to decipher any more of her words through the door.
XXXPOIXXXPOIXXX
Ten minutes later, Carter reentered the room carrying a plastic tray with a large flowered plate heaped high with a bright assortment of Indian foodstuffs. She flicked on the overhead light and laid the tray on his knees, pointing at the table spoon next to the plate.
"I figure you can't balance a glass of water too, so I'll bring that when you're done."
He was deeply grateful for the meal, although Indian was not his preferred cuisine, and eating left-handed was definitely awkward.
"Detective, I don't think I have ever had a more welcome repast. Thank you."
She nodded, almost smiled at him, and leaned against the door to watch him eat. A green whisk broom nestled inside its dustpan hung on the door over her head.
"And please convey my gratitude to Mrs. Soni as well. This dinner is excellent."
At that Carter's face snapped shut, hardening into a rigid mask.
He wanted her to know that he was paying attention, even in these constrained circumstances.
The grim expression that seized her face then meant that she had gotten the message. But to underline it, Elias continued to press his meager advantage.
"That sounded so much like someone I know. Detective, I just have to inquire, was that Mr. Crane on the phone with you just now?"
Silence. Which gave affirmation in this case.
And prompted him to unleash a barrage of words.
"Well, well. I didn't realize that you knew him at all. But I gather from your end of the conversation that he was expressing concern about my welfare and whereabouts. Gratifying, to say the least. Mr. Crane is an old sparring partner of mine, you see."
When she didn't say anything further, he continued as if she had.
"Oh, chess, not boxing, of course. During my confinement at Rikers, he came to visit on a regular basis for our matches. Quite stimulating and instructive too. It is rare that I encounter a man of Mr. Crane's intellect and refinement.
"A man who understands so much about how the game is played."
The smile that creased his face was genuine as was the mirth that warmed his voice.
"But I had no idea that Mr. Crane was so well connected in law enforcement circles. I know his associate, John, of course. And I certainly am quite aware of John's connection to you."
He paused to let that salvo land and was pleased with the frown of consternation which puckered Carter's brow at this news.
"What do you mean by that, Elias?"
"Oh, I received John's first message about you loud and clear. More than a year and a half ago now, wasn't it? You were under his protection and anyone who harmed you would end up splattered on the pavement. A most unpleasant image to be sure.
"But as I say, loud and clear."
Elias took two more spoonfuls of rice and glanced up at Carter. She blinked rapidly twice then spoke again.
"Go on, Elias. You know you want to."
"Well, I suppose I tested that injunction when I seized your son, didn't I? I really must apologize for that, Detective. I had no intention of harming him, you must believe me. But I did need to find a swift, sure method for modifying your behavior and it seemed the most expedient way to do so."
Carter's shout rattled the plate on his knees.
"Yeah, so you figured kidnapping an innocent boy was a form of control? You terrorized my son, Elias! Your thug murdered a school guard right in front of his eyes! You held him locked up in a dungeon somewhere!"
She was quivering with rage, her eyes starting from her head as she leaned close to his face.
"I should have left you out there in the woods, Elias." He could feel the faint spray of spittle across his cheeks.
"Let that Russian S.O.B. take care of you for good, just like John said."
The slap was so sudden and so powerful, Elias yelped, not at the pain of the impact but at the sheer surprise of it.
"That's for my son, you bastard!"
She slapped him again.
"And that's for trying to kill me!"
Blood's metallic tang stung his mouth. Elias wiped the back of his free hand across his lips and stared at the red streak on his knuckles.
When the clattering of the overturned tray and broken plate on the floor stopped, he continued, his voice several tones lower.
"I was never going to harm him, Detective."
Repetition seemed the safest course at the moment. A way to deflect her fury and forestall her violent physical outbursts.
To his relief, she leaned back against the door before whispering:
"You were going to free him all along?"
Elias shook his head, surprised she still seemed to miss the point.
"I was sure you would back down, deliver the dons to me, and save your son."
"So you never counted on John, did you?"
"I never thought you would, Detective."
She seemed satisfied with that admission. Her small sigh signaled that she was mollified by his acknowledgement of the power of her secret protector.
If he could keep her feeling smug like this, he could get her off guard and unprepared, so he expanded on the theme.
"No, I hadn't calculated the full extent of John's regard for you, it seems."
The softness that infused her features then was lovely to behold.
Carter seemed transformed; an altogether different woman emerging as he watched. Her brows rose, releasing the frown that had settled there, her eyes lit up, and her lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. She clasped her hands together in front of her body like a school girl, twisting the fingers and pulling at the cuticles.
This was the confirmation he sought: she cared for John, perhaps even loved him.
Elias pushed on to see how far he could advance before she countered. Or struck him again.
"In fact, I didn't put it all together until last January when John had the misfortune to spend a few days at Rikers during my tenure there."
He knew he had struck a chord when Carter seemed to shrink an inch or two at the mention of the prison. But her bright eyes betrayed a curiosity about his line of thought, so Elias felt it was safe to elaborate.
"Prison is a very small world, Detective. You can't imagine how resourceful desperate men become when confined to such a limited environment. And perhaps contrary to what you in the law enforcement business believe, the most important commodity in a prison is not cigarettes, or candy, or illicit drugs, or hand-carved weapons. It is information."
She didn't contradict him, only nodding to encourage him to continue.
"So the news that a beautiful African American detective from the NYPD was working closely with the FBI investigation inside Rikers was the top headline in the prison yard from the minute you passed through the gates.
"And while I am sure there are many lovely female officers on the force, the inmates passed around a rather complete description of your person which made me confident that it was indeed you, Detective Carter. I won't go into salacious details, but rest assured the Rikers grapevine had you described with considerable accuracy."
He paused to let her picture the worst, keeping his eyes always on her face, eliminating the smile to make sure he wasn't leering. He tried to stop the slow oscillation of his head; it was a habit he knew was disconcerting to most people who spoke with him.
Carter crossed her arms over her breasts in a protective gesture. The way she shifted from one foot to another and then hunched her shoulders let him know the point had hit home.
"You can imagine my surprise then, when John appeared in the prison yard shortly afterwards. I knew this was no coincidence. You and he turning up in the same place at the same time was by design, I was sure. I had no idea how you would pull it off, but I was positive you were planning to help him escape from the clutches of the FBI.
"Your positions were thus reversed: the vulnerable piece promoted to heavy artillery."
He wanted Carter to pick up the story from that point, waving his hand in the air between them to encourage her. But she remained silent, her face expressionless and opaque.
When she didn't speak after a minute of staring, Elias resumed his account.
"Nothing to add? DNA subverted? False identities confirmed? Fruitful lines of investigation derailed? Well, perhaps you will enlighten me at another time. In any event, you did succeed in freeing John. For which I was most grateful."
Elias pressed back into the chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. Off Carter's pursed lips and skeptical look he assured her:
"No, really I was, you know."
Suddenly he wanted this tough cop – this beautiful woman - to know his side of the story, to celebrate his contribution, to congratulate him for his part in John's rescue.
Through some mysterious conversion, it mattered to him that she understood this much about him.
Elias leaned forward again, his hands touching in a pose that might have seemed like praying under other circumstances.
"I helped John too, in my way. In the prison yard. You may not believe it; I can understand if you don't. Looking at me, I know I am not very prepossessing. How could a man like me help a man like John?"
He paused to search for the right words to prove to her how much he had done in this dreadful circumstance. Although he knew he was babbling, he pressed on nonetheless.
"But I do carry a certain weight with my followers and I had several there that day. A well-timed word from me prevented John's summary execution in a brutal fight instigated by those predatory guards."
He was startled to see the grimace of recognition and disgust that passed across her face at his words. Her eyes took on a filmy glaze which dulled them, making him wonder if she was listening to him anymore.
But he wanted to share the whole story now, even if she wasn't fully attentive, so he continued.
"I was surprised that John refused to fight back, but I suppose he wanted to disguise his true skills and identity so he took the beating without offering any resistance. When one oaf pulled out a shiv to finish the job, I ordered my man to intervene and the crowd dispersed. I was relieved to see that although he had some wounds, John was safe."
Elias studied her face closely. Her lips were trembling slightly as she worried them between her teeth. Her brown skin didn't betray a true flush, but a delicate sheen of perspiration gathered on her forehead and cheeks, further evidence of strong emotional turmoil.
Flowing from her, despite her best efforts to contain it, Elias sensed an abiding concern and involvement that moved him unexpectedly.
What manner of woman was this who could love a lost soul like John?
Armed with this insight into her heart now, he wanted Carter to recognize a common purpose with him. He needed her to join with him in an alliance of interests and sympathies founded on their shared affection for this singular man.
"I didn't dare go near John – both our lives were at risk – but I did catch his eye before the guards hauled him back to his cell. I'm certain he knows I helped in his time of need."
His story over, Elias wasn't quite sure if the strategy was working yet. But the relaxation of her shoulders suggested he was making headway. She turned her huge eyes on him with an unfamiliar look he supposed was gratitude.
Tears hovered on the reddened rims of her lower lids. He waited for the drops to fall over the purple shadows below her eyes but they never did.
After a pregnant minute of silence the mood shifted, the charged atmosphere in the tiny room dissipated, replaced by a soothing calm that made him happy.
Carter's cool voice invaded the quiet.
"You want that glass of water now?"
She was all crisp efficiency again, the perfect hostess of an extraordinary party for two.
"Yes, that would be kind of you."
When she left the pantry, Elias stood from the chair, flexing his back and stretching his thighs as best he could within the limits of the manacles.
XXXPOIXXXPOIXXX
Carter returned carrying a tall glass of ice water in one hand with a pillow and blanket folded under the other arm.
She gave him the glass, propped the pillow and blanket on the chair, and retrieved the little green whisk broom and dustpan from the hook on the door.
Crouching immediately before him, she swept up the scattered rice and shards of broken plate on the floor at his feet.
He looked at her lowered head, her vulnerable spine. The sliver of exposed brown skin at her waist where her shirt pulled away from her belt.
With a single kick he could disable her, knock her unconscious, find the handcuffs key in her trouser pocket, and escape before she revived.
He pictured himself doing this to her, bludgeoning her with his fists after she hit the floor, running away into the night.
But then it didn't seem possible that he could do that. Not to her. It wasn't what he wanted now.
Or what John deserved.
He took a step back to give her space to complete the sweeping. As she worked he took a sip of the ice water.
Housekeeping finished, she discarded the trash in a small cylinder standing near the door and surveyed the linoleum with a critical eye.
"You need to get some sleep, Elias."
She approached him to unlock the handcuffs. She was so close he could smell the faint remnants of her perfume as it clung to the curls at the nape of her neck. Jasmine perhaps.
She kept talking.
"We have a long day ahead of us. And we need to be rested and clear-headed to figure out how to get ourselves out of this mess."
"Yes."
It was all he could say, all that came to mind as his carefully constructed fortress of words toppled before him.
She kept talking, the tender sounds washing over him like a lullaby.
"I'm going to have to lock the door to the pantry, of course. I'm sorry. Just a precaution, you know."
"Yes."
He felt paralyzed, waiting for the old wall of protective words to rise around him again.
Then: "You know, I'm not changed. Just because you saved me. I am still who I always was. And who I always will be."
She paused a moment, turning in her retreat to gaze at him again.
"Goodnight, Carl."
After extinguishing the light, she stood in the bright doorway, her face obscured though her slender figure was framed by the glare behind. She watched over him as he lay down on the floor and curled under the heavy blanket, burrowing his head into the pillow.
When she finally closed the door and rattled the lock to seal it, the familiar darkness settled over him again, though this time it was strangely comforting and warm.