Close Encounters 29
The Director's suite was comprised of two ante-chambers, the secretary's office, and then the Director's conference room and his personal sanctuary. Castle had been through the process more than once, but now that he was here, he wasn't sure Kate ever had.
She didn't show it though.
The security agents at the open doorway allowed them inside the first anteroom, a kind of waiting room with nicely appointed furniture not designed to be too comfortable. Here was the reception desk with a phone that connected to a security agent in the next room, the one through the closed door.
Castle paged the security agent from the phone - it was a strange throwback, the buttons of the keypad stiff and sticking as he punched call. The phone itself would never be picked up on the other side; it buzzed once and then the security door opened.
Castle shifted James in his arms; the boy had a Visitor's sticker on the back of his shirt and he kept wriggling his shoulders to feel it. Kate went ahead of him into the security room where they were wanded and patted down, the baby's bag sifted through, and their jackets searched.
Kate gave him an arched eyebrow as the security agent ran his hands over James, patting, thorough. He shrugged back, and the agent jerked his head up as if suspicious.
"He gets cranky if you don't buy him dinner first."
The agent blushed and jerked his hands back, and Kate scoffed at him, slapping his shoulder the back of her hand. "Not funny, Rick Castle."
He thought it had been and now James was giving them all smiles, but the agent shifted back to the desk and picked up the phone to announce their arrival to the secretary. The second man opened the door for them and Castle held back so that Kate could precede him into the office.
Marjorie was already on her feet, holding her arms out for James, cooing in a manner completely unlike her. Kate actually took a step back, and Castle was rooted to his spot, but James leaned out for Marjorie and went into her arms willingly, once more his old self.
He babbled against her embrace and wriggled to test her strength, but Marjorie bounced him and tried to cradle him like a baby. "What a beautiful boy you are. Little bit skinny, aren't you? Though-" She looked up and ran a critical eye over Kate. "Your mother is a skinny thing too. Come by it honestly. Richard, do you not feed the poor girl?"
"Oh, I definitely do," Castle answered quickly, stepping up to Kate to block whatever that remark had been on her lips. "I do all the cooking."
"Maybe that's why," she muttered, rocking James against her chest.
"He's an excellent chef," Kate defended. "He throws things together and it's amazing."
Castle gave her a pleased, surprised smile. He hadn't - well, he was proud of it, yeah, but he hadn't known it affected her that much. "You - really?"
Kate slid her hand in his and gave him a brief squeeze. "Of course."
"Well, that's a revelation," Marjorie said, that sharp voice that could cut through the deepest concentration. "The domesticated spy. And what a beautiful boy you have. James, do you want to spend time with Aunt Marjorie?"
James gave her a unimpressed look - perhaps the only person ever to be underwhelmed by her - and then he held out a hand for his mother, leaning, fingers reaching.
Kate took his hand and kissed his palm. "You're okay, wolf. We have a meeting for work."
Castle reached out and ruffled James's hair, nudging his forehead when James seemed disinclined to let go of his mother. "Time to go." He leaned in and kissed the boy's nose. "Be good for mom, remember? Don't make it hard for her."
James blinked and glanced over at Marjorie. The woman clucked at him, and they all separated, Castle and Kate heading for the Director's office.
"We have a problem," the Director said.
Castle leaned back and refused to let the Director's drama upset his calm. They were home, back at their jobs, and things had settled - were settled. He wasn't falling off this cliff until it was absolutely necessary.
"There's a situation in Colombia," the Director continued. "Are you read-in on Plan C?"
"Plan C?" Kate asked from beside him. She was wearing a skirt. He wasn't supposed to be so fucking turned on by that, but he was. She never wore skirts. This one was professional, of course, with a coordinating pin-stripe jacket, but the black pencil skirt touched just above her knees so that when she was sitting down - like now - it was entirely captivating.
Damn, her legs were long. And in heels, he could see the flex of her calves.
"Plan C is shorthand for Plan Colombia," Castle said, recalling himself. "It was an operation that we began in 2000."
"We?" she said, glancing over at him. "I thought you were in the Army-?"
"No." Her knees were cute. Had he ever told her that? She had cute knees. Bony. "No, that was in between my Army stints. I was out by '96."
She blinked. "How did I not know-"
"This is nice and all, catching up," the Director said, snotty. "But let's get back to the point, Agents. We have a problem. You, Agent Castle, have a problem."
Castle lifted an eyebrow, swinging his gaze back to the Director. The man was pissed. With them. Well. He supposed they'd spent a long time giving the man the run-around, so it might be deserved. Plus they were actively pulling the wool over his eyes, and the man hadn't gotten to this position without sensing duplicity somehow.
Castle smoothed out his face. "I have a problem?"
"You turned an asset back in 2000, a woman with some questionable background who nevertheless was in the right place to be of use to us."
The blood drained from his face.
The Director gave him a satisfied look and turned his attention to Kate. "Agent Beckett. Your husband began the Plan Colombia project with this woman, del Solar, as our key asset in the Cali District. FARC has their stronghold there, and the guerrilla leaders orchestrate their attacks with impunity - or they had been. This woman, del Solar, has been working for us for the last fourteen years, and we owe her."
Beckett shot Castle a fast look, but she only smiled. "Yes, sir. I understand."
"I don't think you do," the Director answered. He had a wicked gleam in his eye. "Salome Fernandez del Solar has gone missing. Her handler, Esteban, was found eviscerated and dumped in front of the US Embassy. His head was literally on a spike."
"Oh, God," Kate gasped. Castle frowned into the carpet.
"We have to get her back - if she's even still alive. She has nearly fifteen years' worth of secrets in her head, agents and contacts and mission details. Plus, there are people like your husband who have been gone from that side of the world for over a decade who are now in peril if she's captured and made to talk."
"Okay, back up," Kate said, holding up her hands. "Plan Colombia - what is that? The FARC is... a rebel force?"
"Guerrilla force in Colombia aligned with the drug cartels," Castle said shortly. He did not like where this was going. "Leftist militia that the US has been fighting in secret, while giving money and weapons and training to the Colombian military. I was part of a team that instigated Plan C in the early 2000s, aimed directly at FARC leaders, cutting off the head of the snake."
Kate nodded. "I see. And this woman was - is - an asset, a kind of Mata Hari for the CIA. After nearly fifteen years without getting caught, I'm assuming she's very good. Of course she is; Castle trained her. And I bet she was warned when her handler went missing. Esteban? She's gone to ground."
The Director was smiling and nodding, evidently pleased with Kate's quick study. Castle was pissed. He knew what happened next.
Kate turned her head and looked right at him, as if she knew he was feeling unkind. "She won't make contact with just anyone. The only person del Solar would possibly come out of the woodwork for is-"
"No."
"You."
"No, Kate. I'm not haring off to Colombia."
"Yes, Agent Castle," the Director interrupted. "And you know it. If we don't want fifteen years of work to be flushed down the drain in Colombia - and the war on drugs is a very real thing, need I remind you - then you have to do this. You both have to do this."
"Both?" he croaked, snapping his head back to the Director. "What the hell are you saying? What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking, son, about the mission. Del Solar's only drop site is a nail salon and spa in Cali district. You can't show up there looking for her. Agent Beckett can."
Castle pressed his fists into his knees and tried to come up with an alternate plan - anything at all. "Sir, there are other agents-"
Kate touched his knee. "You were her contact, Castle."
He snapped his gaze back to her, grimacing. "Doesn't mean we can't send someone else from the team. Esteban is dead, fine, God rest him, but what about Tucker?"
"He's dead."
Castle blanched; he'd missed that news, whenever that had happened. "Bird?"
"Not his real name, and he's in deep cover."
Well, duh, not his real name. Castle didn't know the real names of anyone but those in his own department. Even some of those - he had questions about. "Panama Jack?"
"In jail."
In jail. Fuck. "Frank - he was the one who had our tech-"
"Not available."
"Damn it," he growled, tilting his head back. There had been two others, Germans, who had been part of the initial team. Military intelligence, as Castle himself had been back then. Supposedly. "What about the Germans? They had a part-"
"No, Agent Castle, they did not."
Castle lifted his head. All right. Fine. The German involvement was still classified. "So there's no one."
"No one but us," Kate said firmly. "And we'll go. We don't leave a man behind."
"We need to talk," Castle hissed, catching her arm as they stepped into the secretary's office.
Marjorie had James on her lap in an upholstered chair, playing with something that looked delicate and expensive, but Kate turned back to Castle. "Talk about what?"
He growled and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I need to - read you in on this, Beckett. It's more than you know."
"Okay," she said slowly, reading the expression on his face. Near-panic. "Okay, let's-" She glanced around at the professional office, the lack of real hiding places. Marjorie had lifted her head but she didn't look ready to relinquish the baby. "Marjorie, do you mind keeping him for a few minutes? Castle and I need to do some mission prep."
"Of course, Agent Beckett. You take all the time you need. Baby James and I are getting along like a house on fire."
"Um, good," she said hesitantly, the grimaced and turned to Castle. "Okay, we have some time. Tell me."
His eyes swept over her, up and down and then lingering somewhere around her thighs where she knew her skirt ended. Like they hadn't spent nap time getting that out of their systems.
Well, it was never really out, was it?
"Fine," he gritted out. "Follow me."
He snagged her hand and tugged, pulling her out of the secretary's office and through the security chamber. Both agents stood impassively, and Castle made some kind of carry on gesture. "We'll be back."
Kate huffed, untangling her hand from his as they hit the main hall. She figured James was probably safest right where he was, past all those security checkpoints, but she wasn't entirely sure she could get back to him.
"Where are we going?" she muttered.
"Someplace - quiet."
Quiet meant without ears or eyes, and she was highly doubtful they were going to find a place not wired for lights and sound inside Langley. The CIA was-
Castle jerked her through the doorway and down a flight of stairs, snagging her by the jacket. She moved to keep him from tearing the material, but when he slipped through the next door, she knocked his hand away and stopped on the landing.
"Kate," he hissed, stepping back.
"What are you doing, Castle?" She huffed and gestured to the camera mounted above the landing. "There are eyes everywhere. This is the damn CIA. And whatever you have to tell me, don't you think this is the one place-"
"It's private," he growled. "And I know a place." He reached for her again, but she stepped back. "Kate."
She rolled her eyes, but she followed him, on her own steam, thank you very much. The door opened on the floor below, looking exactly the same as above, but the doors were labeled with numbers - no names - and she saw the telltale red eye in the ceiling panels overhead.
Castle went to a door midway down and put his shoulder into it. The door sounded like it was sticking, maybe warped, which seemed entirely wrong in a climate-controlled building. But he opened it with a flick of his wrist, thump of his shoulder, and he pushed inside.
She didn't follow, not at first. Not until he flicked on the light and illuminated what looked to be a mechanical room. She sighed and stepped inside, and Castle immediately shut the door, hard, and backed her into it.
"Whoa," she muttered, lifting her hands to his chest, holding him off. "You know a place, huh? You know this place often?"
Castle groaned and dropped his forehead to the door just behind her ear, his body slumping against hers. "Kate, you have no idea."
"How many do I have no idea about?"
He growled and snapped back, eyes indignant until he saw the smile on her face. He broke then, slumping his shoulders and lifting up just enough for her to move. But she didn't; she slunk towards him and slid her hands to his waist, gripping the body-warm material of his dress shirt.
"I was kidding. I'm pretty sure you've never had sex inside the CIA." She tilted her head and studied him, that strange flash of guilt. "Have you? If so, I'm impressed."
"Kate," he muttered, shaking his head. His whole body seemed to shiver. "Why in the fuck did you have to wear that damn skirt?"
She laughed, tugging him into her again, pressing them both to the door. "This is what you had to 'talk' about?"
He grunted and hid his face against her neck, cuddled up against her. She patted his back and waited, sensing there was definitely more.
"Rick."
He sighed and lifted his head, a bleak resignation rolling over his face. "This woman you're so hellbent on exfiltrating?"
She lifted an eyebrow.
"She - uh - we..."
"Used this room?" she said, trying not to laugh.
His face flushed. She stiffened, suddenly struck by the idea that maybe - fuck - maybe they had.
"We... had sex. Have had. Were having." Castle scowled fiercely. "It was part of the approach with her, and how I maintained the asset."
Kate gripped his shirt, her fists on his hips. "What does that mean? Maintained the asset."
"Whenever I had to make contact..."
"Ah," she said, tightening her jaw. "You - made contact."
She seemed to be taking it well. He hadn't any idea how she'd react, but this was calm and rational.
She could be furious, but he wasn't seeing it. She hadn't even let go of him, her hands on his hips, one of her legs between his, standing too close with the door at her back. He waited, letting her digest it, and then she glanced at him.
"About how long has - did this gone on?" she said.
"It is most definitely past tense," he said, fiercely because a slip like that meant something. Had to mean something.
She waved it off. "No, I know." And then when he didn't relent, she reached up and cupped his cheeks. "I know you. That is not in question here. I just want to know what I'm going to be up against."
"Not up against anyone. There's not contest, Beckett-"
"Hey, poor word choice, that's all. Stop. Castle. It's okay. We both have history. Don't you think I know that? I only meant, I want to know what to expect in Colombia."
He swallowed hard, nodding, but he wasn't sure she would take his news in the way he meant it. "I made my approach in '99, when Plan Colombia was just getting started. We needed information from within the FARC and we had no one. I spent about two months watching her, Salome, and she was obviously running some kind of long con. She was attaching herself to a leader named The Preacher - and that was how I got to her."
"Got to her," Kate said, nudging his waist with her hand. Prompting. She was a physical person, his wife, and it wasn't like he ever forgot that, but it made him - anxious - telling this story. A very physical story.
"I approached her for sex. A tool. She was using it that way and so was I. It was the method that-" Castle swallowed again and stood up a little straighter. Strange to think back to himself and the things he'd done without any real feeling, how dull that life of intrigue had been. "We had sex. I offered to pay her; she was furious. I used that psychological chink in her armor to put her where we needed her - the mindset we needed. She was fucking these FARC leaders, and she had access, and we needed her information. I told her she could give it away for free, or she could make a profit on whatever she was running."
"That makes sense," Kate said quietly. She had kept her hands at his hips, fingers tucked into the sides of his belt. "I understand that, Castle. And she - put out." Her lips twitched.
Was she laughing? This didn't seem laughable. "She did. She was playing her own game, but the CIA paid her for it. It was an agreeable set-up, more than, because she had our resources available to her if she needed something - through me, I was her handler. Though she always laughed and said she was mine."
Kate's lips flattened. Not amused now. And he didn't feel amused either because it wasn't fucking funny. It felt stark and depressing, thinking about how many years he'd had - nothing - and now on this side of all of it, he felt it thick in his throat like rage.
He was furious, and he was looking to piss her off. Join him in it, united against - against - whatever the fuck it was that had him twisted in his guts.
"And so now she's your source, the CIA's source, and to maintain her... what? How long?"
He tightened his fists, released them to reach down and close his fingers around her wrists. To keep her. He wanted to keep her, had to. "Eleven years."
He watched her calculate that - lightning fast - and hit upon 2010 with unerring accuracy. "And... then nothing?" But he could see it in her eyes; she was as twisted up now as he was.
"And then you," he said forcefully. "January of that year, I had a thing in Marrakech and then I went to Colombia to - fucking hell-" He had just remembered. "-they called it cleaning out the pipes. God. I feel sick."
"Castle," she gritted out. "January. And then?"
"And then, and then - I was in North Korea, trying to plug a leak (fuck we have a lot of plumbing metaphors), got my ass handed to me, came back here to the States following a lead, and found you." He took a deeper breath, relieved to be past it. Relieved to be back where he belonged. "I found you, and I - just wanted it all to stop."
Her fingers untangled from his belt, releasing him, and he swallowed hard again, but she dragged her hands up to his face, held him until he opened his eyes.
She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs and there was something so sincere in it that he felt like burying his face in her chest like James did when he was shy. It wasn't shyness, was it? It was just all this damn emotion flooding him, and she was looking at him with such forgiveness and he didn't feel deserving.
He'd been a cold-hearted bastard for a long time, and now that he knew the difference, now that she was the difference, he couldn't bear to bring that part of himself to her. That ugly, malformed, dead part.
"You took leave," she murmured. "And you stayed with me, and then my mother's case - and I put you right back here at the CIA even though you wanted to leave. I'm sorry. I haven't - given thought to what it might have been like for you. Not like this. I should have asked or known but I never asked, and maybe you've felt like this for a while - do you still - do you want to stop?"
He realized he was staring at her. He blinked and closed his mouth, tried to find words.
Her brow furrowed. "If you want to quit, then I - I don't know what I'll do, but we'll figure-"
"No," he blurted out, standing up straight. "No, I don't want to quit."
She let out a shaky laugh and came into him, rocking him back on his heels with the force of her collision. He put his arms around her automatically, and she laughed again, but it had an edge to it.
"Okay, okay, good, that's cleared up. I - okay."
"I just meant - I didn't mean like that. I wanted to stop - stop being that machine. You remember. You know. I just - broke. I broke and you were the one that - that loved me better."
Her head tilted, her fingers smoothed at the back of his neck. "Oh, that's - a very generous way of looking at it, sweetheart."
He ducked down and finally pressed his forehead against her neck, took a deep breath of the scent of her, skin and lotion and soap and faintly the musk he loved, craved. "It's just true."
Her palm pressed against his neck, keeping him there. "And you're upset because we're going back. But, baby, we're going back different. Different people. You're not that machine; it won't be the same."
"I don't want to go," he said, and he could hear how he was whining, and it was deplorable really, his father had beat it out of him long ago, but he couldn't help it. He wanted Kate to make it better.
"We have to go," she murmured.
"Someone else could do it," he protested against her neck.
"No, Rick," she murmured. "There's no one else. We don't leave a man behind."