A/N - I love the musical Spamalot. Rest assured, "I am not dead yet."
I know you'll probably have to refresh yourselves with this story. Just recently, this particular muse knocked on my door. I was grateful because I have missed this story. I will finish it. Not today, but I do hope you will enjoy this installment.
~GeekMom
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Chapter 9
Interstice
The sun hung brightly in the sky and Castle had to squint when he finally emerged from the building, hustled along by Hayley and Hunt. The doctor brought up the rear. Hunt had led them into the basement of the doctor's office and they scurried through the narrow passages under and between the buildings like rats in search of the cheese. In Newark, it was said, that the underground network was used mainly by crime families in the twenties and thirties. Other cities, like Dallas, had made an underground refuge, a city under the city, with clubs, restaurants, and shops for its residents.
He had no idea how far they'd gone, but when they surfaced he didn't recognize the area. Not that he would recognize one neighborhood from another in Newark, but the city didn't feel the same.
He wondered if he'd ever feel anything was the same. He had a whole other life, career, and…Jesus, a sister. He glanced at his newfound sibling. She was incredibly capable. He watched her take in her surroundings, ever vigilant, waiting for the next shoe to drop. As it occurred to him, was he.
They stopped abruptly and Hunt looked up and down the mostly deserted street. He looked at his watch and herded them all into a doorway of another closed storefront business. This one had been a magic shop. Rick looked through the dingy window at what was obviously homeless squat. Amongst the litter on the floor, he spotted an advertisement proudly exclaiming, "Fool your friends! Know everything! Spy on them with Secret Sam Spy Toys."
"How ironic," he muttered.
Hayley lifted an amused eyebrow once she'd spotted the object of his commentary. A sister. He still couldn't believe it.
Hunt grunted, but Castle thought he might have seen something like humor cross his face. He looked again and his father reminded him of the Old Man of the Mountain. He was just a stony, just as unyielding as the New Hampshire mountain feature he and Alexis had visited on a side trip on the way back from her first skiing trip.
A black SUV hurried toward them and stopped in front of them
"Get in," Hunt said.
"Could your ride be any more clichéd?"
"Jesus," his father muttered as he rolled his eyes and climbed into the driver's seat. The driver, a smaller guy in a black hoodie and jeans slid into the passenger side.
Haley, Castle, and Walters climbed in the back. The doors barely closed before the SUV sped off.
Beckett tried the door. It was unlocked. Just as hundreds of time previously, they entered the building in a well-practiced operation, rather like an oft-performed ballet, just silent – the only communication in the form of looks, gestures, and a decade-old mute diffusion of absolute trust and understanding. They moved independently, but as one.
The three swept through the outer office. The first thing Beckett noticed was a smell of lingering smoke. She cautiously searched but found no evidence of fire.
Esposito bent down to examine a cigarette butt mashed onto the chipped tile of the floor. "Looks recent," he whispered.
Ryan lifted a round metal trash can. "It's warm." He tilted it for his teammates. "Whatever they burned, I'm pretty sure it was in here."
"Evidence that they were here is what they burned."
The three turned sharply towards Jenkins.
"Sorry, but they're obviously gone. Jack would've had someone out front if they were still here."
Regardless, they continued to search the building. Beckett's sense of foreboding increasing with every opened door that led to another empty space.
Castle stared out the window at the passing scenery; the dregs of Newark New Jersey. Abandoned and in disrepair, the area had a grayness to it, almost as if its color and life had been drained and discarded along with its usefulness.
He sighed, rubbed his face, and peripherally noticed Walters staring at him. "What?" he demanded as he turned his head to face the odd doctor.
Walters gulped a breath. "Sorry, I was just looking at the work."
Castle clenched his jaw muscles. "The work," he repeated. "You mean...you mean my face?"
"Yes." He went about studying and staring with no more in way of explanation.
"Is there something wrong?"
"Wrong? Oh no, no. I was trying to recall why we made certain decisions."
Castle narrowed his eyes.
"I mean, take your nose, for instance."
Castle immediately reached for his nose, pinched the bridge between his thumb and forefinger. He liked his nose. It was slightly askew to his face, but he thought it gave him character. He'd often thought of it as his Hemmingway's pipe, a trademark of sorts – without the disgusting smoke or possibility of cancer.
"For instance," he echoed with a shade of annoyance.
Walters missed the tone. "Why didn't we fix your nose? It had been broken..." he squinted, "I want to say, um, earlier in your career. We did the A. M. So, why didn't we..." he let the question drift when he finally noticed the spark of anger in Castle's unbelieving gaze. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled and tried to push himself as far back as possible into the seat while sitting between Hayley and Castle. Hayley smirked and turned back to the window.
Jenkins waited while the detectives pursued their futile search. He knew Hunt and he knew Castle, moreover, he had known Castle when he was Rodgers for longer than any of them. They wouldn't be here any longer. The frustrating thing for Jenkins was that he knew they were already on the road, that Hunt, with Rita's help, would have had an exit strategy laid out. He knew exactly how long he could have stayed in the dingy office. They would have factored Beckett's response time in best and worst-case scenarios. She did surprise him when she'd left work earlier than expected. He'd sent a message to Hayley but got no response. That's when he suspected that Castle had made up his mind. He kicked the trashcan that Hunt had used to burn whatever evidence they had.
Esposito showed up in the doorway, his gun drawn, elbows locked: textbook. "What the hell, man?"
"Sorry," Jenkins had raised his hands in front of him. "I'm just frustrated. While you all look at where they've been, they're getting further away."
"Where?"
Jenkins pursed his lips. "Jesus, it could be anywhere, really. Hunt's an asshole, but he gets what he wants." Jenkins squinted his eyes as if he were looking into a bright light. "No. He wouldn't be above-board with this, he'd have to go sideways. Probably calling in favors, but not from a crowd. Just a few."
Esposito narrowed his eyes. He had a hard time pinning Jenkins down. He just couldn't decide he they should be trusting him.
"What was that?" Beckett said as she and Ryan joined them.
"Jenkins here was just demonstrating his frustration.
Jenkins shook his head and held out a palm to Beckett. "If they're going to do the surgery, they'd need a facility with the necessary equipment. Definitely a hospital. Maybe a company one, but I doubt it. Maybe civilian with a secure floor, maybe military." He shrugged. Second guessing Jackson Hunt was like second-guessing a jaguar.
Esposito exchanged glances with Ryan, who also looked as if he doubted the man's credibility.
"My point is that they're already on the road...oh hell, maybe in the air. Rodgers is a pilot."
"But he doesn't remember that yet."
"Yeah, okay, but that doesn't mean that Hunt doesn't have him on some sort of flight. If that happens we have little chance of finding them. Hunt knows how to fly under the radar, so to speak."
"So, it's hopeless?"
Ryan stepped forward. "Jenkins, you've worked with Hunt before, right?" Jenkins nodded. "What would he do?"
Jenkins laughed hollowly and shook his head, surprised to hear his own thoughts from another. "You want me to second guess Jackson Hunt?"
"Well, yeah."
"Well...he's one of the best."
"Not to toot our own horns, but so are we," Esposito bragged. He and Ryan fist-bumped.
"Jesus. If anyone gets murdered, I'll call you," Jenkins scoffed. "Hunt's one of the best operatives in the world."
"What's your best guess?" Beckett asked quietly.
Jenkins really did feel for her. Her whole world, which was a shit-fest, to begin with, had been picked up and tossed around, loosening tentative foundations and cracking things she and Castle had built. Her definition of her life had morphed in the space of mere months. He felt a bit of responsibility for that. If he hadn't lost him, in L.A., maybe he wouldn't have been taken. If he had been stronger, he would have insisted that once the mission had ended, he went back to his life as Richard Castle, but the truth of the matter was that he had missed his partner and wanted to prolong his time with Rick Rodgers as long as possible.
When Rick had informed him that they were on their final mission together, Henry had been upset. He and Rodgers had gone through Hell and back. He knew Rick had some personal issues with Hunt, but nothing other than typical clashes between a father and son. They never spoke of it, not even on the longest stake-outs. There was no water-cooler sharing in the company. A degree of circumspection of those who identified themselves as either friend or foe and constant vigilance of your surroundings including the people closest to you kept you alive. There was no such thing as over-sharing in the CIA. Vulnerability and knowledge could mean an operative's downfall. Even so, Rick Rodgers still was the closest thing he had ever had to a friend.
Pushing all the memories, guilt and hurt down, he walked toward the door. "Come on," he called to the detectives, "I have an idea."
Hunt pulled up to the gate and turned off the engine. "Everyone out," he ordered.
Castle blinked and his head followed the sign at the side of the road. "A Navy base?"
"Shut up. This is your ID," he said, looking in the rear-view mirror, as he reached over the seat and shoved an ID case into his hands. "Now, get out or they'll shoot you."
He stumbled from the vehicle as MPs approached, some with dogs, some without, followed by mid-shipmen with mirrors on sticks. "Bombs..." he whispered.
"Sir?"
Castle turned to see a guard gesturing toward the security booth. On the opposite side, a car approached. The sailor gave a smart salute as the gate soundlessly rose to permit the vehicle to exit. His eyes found Hunt who was receiving his own salute. One of two MPs were checking everyone's IDs and both Hayley, Walters and the driver in the hoodie received salutes as well.
The MP with a name tag which read Diaz, A. approached Castle. He swallowed and handed him his ID, which he hadn't even had time to look at. He had no idea who he was supposed to be, but not due to A.N.N.s or date-rape or zombie drugs, no he had no idea because his father kept things to himself.
The MP saluted Castle as well, who, without a thought, returned the gesture. He realized afterward that he must have picked that up somewhere. Checking the ID before he put it away, he discovered he was Commander Richard Jennings.
"Get back in the car, Commander," Hunt ordered.
"There are several reasons Hunt could have had him come to New Jersey: military bases, small airports, the mob, not to mention any number of contracted hospitals." He ran a hand over his beard. "Hell, he could have a contact somewhere else."
"Literally a needle in a haystack," Esposito commented.
"Not literally. If it were, we'd be looking for a needle, not Castle," Ryan corrected which earned him a scowl and a head slap.
Inside the car, Alexis kept a sharp lookout. Her grandmother did as well but masked it by reading an article on her phone. "There," Alexis pointed. "Who is that?"
"Oh, my word," Martha gasped. "He...he used to work with your father." She pursed her lips. "When I thought he was some sort of consultant for the government."
"He looks familiar," Alexis said, as she squinted.
"Have you met him before?"
"I feel like I have?" She shook her head. "Maybe at one of Dad's parties, or maybe a book launch?"
The trio reached the car where Martha and Alexis waited. "I still haven't heard a best guess, Jenkins," Kate grumbled.
"That's because I don't have one."
Kate stopped and spun directly into his chest. Jenkins barely controlled a defensive deportment and stepped back in an evasive move, instead.
He inhaled. The last thing he needed was Richard Rodgers coming down on him for body slamming his girlfriend. The thought made him pause. Rick Rodgers, Agent Rick Rodgers was coming back, apparently. He allowed himself a grain of hope that he'd get to see his friend again.
"Are you even listening?"
Jenkins refocused on the angry woman in front of him. "Sorry, sorry," he said, hands up in front of him, in surrender. He could understand why Rick – the Rick Rodgers he'd known – was attracted to the woman. "I was just trying to figure out Hunt's probable location." Kate continued to glare and with her angry partners, Jenkins figured it was a good time to part ways. "Let me make some phone calls and see if there is any chatter about Jack...or Rita...although there's never anything about Rita."
"What are we supposed to do in the meantime?" Esposito asked.
"Look, they could have gone in any one of a thousand directions. Let me narrow the options down. Otherwise, we'll just be spinning our wheels."
Kate didn't like it. She wanted to run right after them, find them through some mystical magic that Castle always said the universe possessed and doled out to believers, but she knew Jenkins was right. They had no clues. Hunt had left no breadcrumbs.
It was just an ordinary hospital room, ordinary décor, ordinary, but unnecessary privacy curtains, it was already a private room. He supposed it would have to be, considering the clandestine nature of what he and they were about to do. He wondered if he would remember his life, his previous life as if he were waking from a long coma. He wondered if he'd retained his previous training. In his second life, he'd surprised himself by seemingly doing something automatically in certain situations. Conceitedly, he chalked it up to natural talent. He wondered if it would be like riding a bike, his second nature unleashed and released after so many years of suppression.
He wondered if he would forget his second life. Would his years as a writer suddenly seem like cheap fiction to him he'd picked up at an airport? Half of his life reduced to some tawdry novel. Castle smiled sardonically. If so, at least the sex scenes would be pretty good.
He pushed away from the humor that seemed to be always present, even in the direst circumstances, as his life paraded by his mind's eye. His sweet girl smiled at him and his breath caught in his throat.
Would this action, an action he agonized deciding, an action Kate was against, an action he deemed, but had chosen to ignore, incredibly selfish in every possible way. Would this be the action that erased his child permanently? Alexis, the major reason behind his first life's erasure. Alexis, he repeated to himself, whom he inadvertently forgot so many times over the past few months. The guilt and fear, shrouded in his own self-centered name crawled up his throat, choking him, cutting off his air. He stopped fighting it only after a moment and blissfully let himself be drowned in the unfathomable and sunken places of his mind.
Someone had been dosing him. To Hunt the answer was obvious. There were only a few people with continuous access to Richard. A few he'd deem impossible.
Martha, the love of his life. She'd shown him a love so deep and pure, a type of love he knew he would never have experienced without her. Richard would say that the universe had clicked. Whatever the hell that meant, Hunt would scoff, but he knew. He'd felt it. She'd sacrificed everything for their son. He had sacrificed her and their son.
Alexis. To Richard the sun rose and set with Hunt's granddaughter and why not? She was beautiful, intelligent, mature and had the advantage of an entirely devoted father her entire life.
Hayley, his daughter, and Richard Rodgers' biggest fan. Hayley was Hunt's do-over, a surprise after a tryst in London. An even bigger surprise because he hadn't caught wind of the girl and showed up at her mother's several years later. Soon after, he'd regale her with stories of daring and a heroism that had Hunt rarely encountered in his decades-long career every time he had visited. He liked to pretend she had entered the service because of him, but he knew it was because of Richard. Hayley worshipped her big brother, even without ever having met him. It couldn't be Hayley.
Jenkins. Henry Jenkins had become an agent a few months earlier than Richard. He hadn't liked the man even during that time. He'd had a gut feeling about him. After they'd been partnered, Richard convinced him that any misgivings were ridiculous; that they had the perfect partnership. But to Hunt, it always seemed like Jenkins would let Richard take the risks. Maybe that was what he had meant. Richard was better suited to the field work, one could not deny, but there was always something about Jenkins that sat the wrong way. He had to admit that Richard had been right about him after he saved his life the first time. No, Hunt had never liked him, but he had always had Richard's back.
Beckett. The love of his son's life. He didn't see it. She had been reckless, obsessive, and single-minded about her mother's murder to the exclusion of everything else including Richard. Hunt couldn't fathom, beyond the obvious physical aspects, why he was so obsessed with her. The bottom line was that he didn't know Beckett or her blind devotees at the twelfth precinct. He thought it might be time to get to know his future daughter-in-law.
Hunt saluted as he cleared the gate. Richard had been sequestered and in as good of hands with Hayley as he dared leave him. He had to get back to work.
A/N2 - I wrote a little something for Castle Season 9, Moments of Always. What a privilege to have been asked and an even bigger delight to have been counted among such talented authors on that project. Read mine :-) But read the entire work, it will be worth your time.
