Private Eyes – Chapter 11
Roselyn Karpowski had been on duty when multiple reports of gunfire around Beckett's apartment had come in. She had then immediately contacted Esposito, who'd then called Kevin Ryan. He'd been enjoying an early morning cuddle with Jenny—his soon-to-be bride—when Esposito's call had come. He had arrived home late last night, and had planned on sleeping in and enjoying a lazy morning with his fiancée. But once Esposito's words registered, the blissful haze of sleep vanished with a sharp crack.
Ryan recalled their conversation with Beckett last night. She was involved in something that had the potential to be very messy. The FBI had put out an APB on her, for crying out loud. Whatever it was she'd found herself mixed up in, it was serious business. Despite her assurances over the phone, he and Esposito weren't going to abandon her when she most needed their help. So, when Esposito called, Ryan was out of bed and dressed, ready to go in under ten minutes. He kissed Jenny goodbye, and then met Esposito on the street.
When they arrived at Varick and Franklin, uniforms were already setting up the yellow tape to block of portions of the sidewalk. Ryan glanced around, trying to get a feel for what went down her last night. Esposito met up with the responding officers while Ryan spoke with Mr. Hostetler. The building manager was able to give him a detailed description of a man accompanying Beckett. This news piqued his interest. Beckett hadn't said anything about a man. He couldn't let it slip by.
"Would you be willing to sit with a sketch artist?" he'd asked.
"Oh, if you think it'll help, sure," Hostetler had hesitantly agreed, pushing his thick black-rimmed glasses back up his nose. The man appeared to be a little nervous. He kept rubbing at his side, as if a healing injury was bothering him. Ryan wondered if this mysterious man had assaulted Hostetler when the old man seen something he shouldn't.
How much danger was Beckett in?
Esposito had stationed a uniform at the front door to Beckett's apartment by the time Ryan made it up to her floor. The door had clearly been kicked in. The lock was busted, and the entryway was littered with shard and splinters from the doorsill. Besides that, there was no other evidence of a struggle. Everything was in its place; nothing was out of order… all neat and tidy.
Ryan had only just arrived when Esposito emerged from Beckett's bedroom. "Ooh," he let out a low whistle. "I don't think Beckett will like it that you went into her bedroom."
"In this case, I think she'd make an exception," Esposito replied, voice gruff and serious.
"What's up?"
"Looks like she packed in a hurry," he said. "Some of the drawers on the dresser were only half closed."
"You didn't look at her undies, did you?"
"Eww, gross, dude, she's like my little sister," Esposito shuddered, glancing at him with a disgusted look.
He shook his head and gestured towards the office, and Ryan followed him over to an opened window that led out to the fire escape. He stuck his head out for a look.
"It was open when I got here," Esposito informed him.
"What are you thinking?" Ryan asked, knitting his eyebrows together as he gazed back at his partner.
"Two possibilities," Esposito replied, holding up two fingers. "One, she's been taken hostage by this mystery man that Mr. Hostetler told you about."
"And two?"
"Two: This guy's mixed up in some serious shit, and he's dragged Beckett into it."
"I don't like either of those scenarios," Ryan admitted on a sigh, shaking his head, unable to stop himself from worrying over his friend. "You don't think…" he trailed off, unsure whether or not he should really voice his thought.
"What?" his partner encouraged.
"You don't think this has anything to do with her mother's case, do you?" Ryan questioned reluctantly. "I mean… I know Lanie talked her down from digging any further after that warehouse fire lead turned into a dead-end, but… I don't know, Javi… could she have been investigating it off books?"
Esposito seemed disturbed by the suggestion. "I don't know, man… anything's possible with Beckett. If she is doing her own investigating, she'd hidden it well." He groaned, and run a hand over his head, frustrated with Beckett's stubbornness. If only she'd talked to them more, explained what was going on… they could help her. They were her partners, and friends. No matter what, they had her back. Glancing around the office, Esposito sighed in resignation. "We should probably call the crime scene techs in to dust for prints and any potential trace evidence. If we're lucky, this mystery man left something behind."
Ryan nodded, pulling his phone out of his pocket to make the call. But before he could even dial, a flash of blue caught his attention. A group of men were entering the apartment, and from the cut of their suits and the blue windbreakers they were wearing with three undeniable letters emblazoned on the back, he knew that the Feds had arrived.
One of the men approached with a serious expression. He flashed his badge and credentials. "Special Agent Danberg, FBI," he announced. "We'll be taking over now, if you don't mind."
XXX
She sat uncomfortably in the passenger seat as Castle drove them through the early morning traffic. If she was honest with herself, her discomfort was a result of her near constant need to be in control of any situation. It was one of the reasons why she always liked to be the one that drove the car. But Kate couldn't do that in this instance, and not just because she didn't know where they were going. After their conversation late last night, she'd had trouble getting back to bed, only managing three more hours sleep, waking up again just before dawn. It had all been so much to take in. Yet she didn't feel any uncertainty, nor did she have any doubts.
Kate had decided to put her full trust in Castle. If his story turned out to be a complete fabrication, then Kate firmly believed that she deserved whatever happened to her for being so easily duped, for only a master storyteller could have come up with a story as bizarre as the one he'd told her. But Kate had to trust her instincts, and as a seasoned interrogator, trained to read people, she believed him. When she looked at Castle, she didn't see a world-class spy—which she was absolutely positive he was—she saw a man willing to do whatever it took to keep his daughter safe. His concern for Alexis's safety was genuine and sincere. And if Kate couldn't trust her own highly honed powers of perception, then what could she trust?
Of course none of this was based off her immense physical attraction to the man. No. Not at all. Though, it's not like it didn't help that he was so ruggedly handsome. Still, good looks and charm aside, Kate genuinely liked Rick Castle. Okay… maybe a little more than liked. But she wasn't willing to go there. Yet. Still, there was some kind of special quality that drew her to him. He might just be the most intriguing man she'd ever met. And if she had to risk everything for someone, it would be him.
The sentiment seemed odd, especially considering the fact that she'd only really known him for less than two days, but the connection they shared, no matter the circumstances in which it was forged, was real. She had to believe that. Because if it wasn't, then the years she'd spent learning to read human behavior would be all for not.
Dr. Burke had encouraged her to embrace new experiences that were outside her comfort zone. And if this didn't constitute as breaking out of that bubble, then she didn't know what would.
"Can I ask you a question?" Castle's voice startled her out of her thoughts. She glanced over at him. He was looking over at her with a curious expression.
"Sure."
"Why are you helping me?"
Because you're the most frustrating and amazing man I've ever met, and I think I might be falling for you, but she didn't say that. Despite the flutter in her chest from his every look and glance, Kate still prided herself over having some self-restraint.
"Honestly… I don't know," Kate answered with a shrug. And it was the truth. There was no real reason for her to help him. He'd ruined her blind date, held a gun to her head, and turned her life upside down. Yet here she was, sitting in yet another 'borrowed' Taurus—this one a dark silver model—letting him be the leader and she followed, a position she wasn't all too used to. "I wish I could tell you, I really do. But I can't even explain it myself. I just… I don't know... I trust you. About… all of it." And she did. Nothing he'd done had really led her to believe he was a bad guy. His actions may be morally questionable at times, but when hadn't she done the same while hiding behind a badge. She was in no position to judge him.
"Sure it isn't because you find me so irresistible you can't say no?" he questioned with a cheeky grin, winking at her.
Kate bit her lower lip and rolled her eyes, turning her head away from him to look out the window as he pressed down on the accelerator when the light turned green. "That's assuming I even find you attractive," she retorted with a demure smile.
Castle chuckled. "After the way you ogled my bare chest last night, oh yes… you definitely find me attractive, Detective," he asserted, grinning widely, far too pleased with himself.
Kate gasped, astonished by his audacity, no matter the truth of his words. "I did not… ogle you last night!" she protested. Her cheeks flamed a bright rosy pink, giving evidence to the contrary.
"Oh, please," he drawled, cocking his head slightly to glance across the center console at her. "You got so distracted by my masculine physique, you had to ask me to put a shirt on… or did you forget?"
"I… that… um… oh, shut up," she grumbled, narrowing her eyes at him in a glare, unable to find any sort of comeback for that. Because it had been true. She had been rather distracted by his lack of a shirt. He wasn't ripped like Josh was, but he was well toned and fit. Even now, skin and muscles hidden beneath a fitted white polo shirt, Kate still found him very appealing.
"That's what I thought," he hummed smugly and wiggled his eyebrows, before turning his attention back to the road. But before she could respond, he continued, shocking her into silence. "But don't fret, Detective. The feelings mutual."
Kate stared at him, struck silent by the contradiction that was Rick Castle. He flashed her a smile, and then focused back to driving, taking them in the general direction of the Brooklyn Bridge. One moment he was a flattering jackass, and then in the next he was a sweetest and most kindhearted man she'd ever met. The look in his eyes when he'd said that last bit was frightening, the raw realness of it threatened to overwhelm her. Yet at the same time, it made her blood pump fast, and her heart swell with a sense of… rightness, for the lack of a better word.
If she'd been a believer in fate and destiny, Kate would be inclined to agree that Rick Castle might very well be her soulmate. That's if she believed in that sort of thing. Which she didn't. No. No. Kate Beckett was a firm believer in logical and rational reasoning. She didn't take leaps of faith. But… wasn't that what she was doing right now in trusting Castle? It was confusing, and all too much. She didn't want to think about how her heart fluttered and her pulse raced when Castle looked at her. No. She wasn't going to think about it. She wasn't.
Yet, Kate couldn't deny that for the first time since waking up in the hospital with a bullet wound in the center of her chest, she didn't feel broken or incomplete.
In fact, she felt quite the opposite.
XXX
Gripping a fresh cup of coffee in her gloved hand, Agent Sophia Turner climbed up the front steps and through the front doors of the apartment building, having flashed her undercover FBI badge to the uniform manning the yellow tape line on the sidewalk. Danberg was already on scene. He had called her whilst she'd been in route, having gone ahead to liaise with the NYPD officers already on site. It annoyed her to no end that the local flatfoots got there before Agent Farrell's team could get off their collective asses and secure the scene.
Turner was very frustrated.
Last night had been a train wreck of epic proportions. Not only did Castle have the upper hand over Farrell's team, he also managed to slip through their fingers with relative ease. Arrogant enough to believe he could impress his superiors with his initiative by breaking protocol in an ultimately futile attempt to capture rogue agent Rick Castle, Farrell had only succeeded in displaying his sloppy command, and utter lack for proper procedure.
And because of Farrell's screw-up, Turner had to waste most of her morning reassuring the Director that the situation was still under control. If there was one thing she hated about her job, it was placating the higher-ups and playing agency politics. She longed for the days long since past where she could freely focus on the mission without the added distraction of having to report in every ten minutes. Of course, those times were different. Back then she'd had other, more pleasurable distractions, namely her ruggedly handsome partner.
But times change.
Rick Castle was now a threat to national security, and she'd been given a mandate from the DCI to bring him back into the fold… alive, if possible. She just hoped he didn't do anything too stupid and get himself killed before she had a chance to… question him, and his little girlfriend too. Images of the leggy brunette filtered through her mind, and Turner glowered in mild jealous hidden behind derision. She quickly gulped down half of her hot coffee in hopes of diverting her meandering thoughts, but it was futile. All she got for her troubles was a burned tongue.
She rode up the elevator with Agent Jones, who had been waiting for her in the small lobby of the modest apartment complex. Just before that she had talked with Ernie Hostetler, the building manager. He had been of little help, simply confirming that a good-looking man had accompanied Kate Beckett the previous night. "They seemed keen on each other," the old man had unnecessarily added. "I thought I'd interrupted their… fun, but Kate insisted I hadn't." He had paused, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "I'm not sure she was telling me the whole truth. Who could blame her, eh? It's not like I'm her father or anything. Anyways, whatever those two young folk were up too, it wasn't any of my business."
"Any news on Castle's whereabouts?" she asked her elevator companion, growing tired of the agent's stoic silence.
Jones turned his head just enough to look at her. "None yet," was all he said. A man of few words was Agent Jones.
Turner sighed, and took another sip of her coffee, coming to accept the fact she'd probably be grumpy all morning. Finally the elevator doors parted, and Jones stepped out, leading the way down the hallway towards Beckett's apartment. She paused before the opened doorway, taking a moment to collect herself. It was a habit she had, it helped to clear her mind of any extraneous thoughts, allowing her to focus and keep her eyes open for tiny details that often would get overlook if she simply rushed into a scene.
The apartment was very nice, mildly bohemian in style, with an eclectic taste that Turner found unusual for a workaholic like Beckett. It didn't fit with the psychological evaluations and behavior profiles that the CIA had on the detective. She had spent the previous night reading most of those reports, from which Turner had expected to find something more spartan and utilitarian from someone as work obsessed as Beckett.
She didn't like it.
After already making conclusions based off of supposedly solid intel, she didn't like being surprised.
Surveying the furniture with a critical and disapproving eye, Turner took in the colorful throw pillows and knitted blankets with disdain. She preferred finer things, high quality and superior, modern and chic, not the clashing assortment and mishmash of styles that she viewed in this apartment. It looked far too lived in for someone who was supposedly hardly there. Where did Beckett find the time to collect all this… junk?
Shaking her head and scowling in displeasure, disliking the energy flow Beckett's choice in decoration exuded, Turner moved around the sofa, and approached what appeared to be an office space, where most of the agents were clustered. Agent Johnson was working at the desk, going through the detective's personal computer. He looked uncomfortable in the dark blue FBI windbreaker. She spotted Agent Danberg speaking with two men she didn't recognize. One was a brown haired, blue-eyed man with impeccable dress sense, and the other looked like a macho ex-military type who probably thought he was God's gift to women thanks to his Latin blood.
Danberg excused himself from the discussion and stepped over to greet her. "Should I even ask how your call with the Director went?" he asked, picking up on her sour mood.
Turner inclined her head, frowning as she remembered her superior's terse words. He had not been happy with the chain of events.
"That bad?" Danberg raised an eyebrow.
"Who are they?" she asked, ignoring his question and tilting her head to the two men standing by the opened window that led to the fire escape.
He glanced back over his shoulder. "Detectives Kevin Ryan and Javier Esposito," he said. "They're Beckett's colleagues at the 12th Precinct. They got here before us. Had already interviewed the witnesses, and were in the process of surveying the apartment. After I announced that we were taking over the case, they offered to… lend a hand."
Turner narrowed her eyes at the two men, who were glancing around at all the activity with far too much interest for her liking. "I bet they did."
"I'll make sure to be polite as I turn down their offer of assistance then," Danberg said with a tight smile, eyeing her pointedly.
"Sorry," she grumbled, taking a sip of her coffee. She'd never been good at interagency cooperation. Castle had always been the sociable one. "Rough morning."
"No need to apologize," Danberg flashed her an easy smile. He really was a good partner. Whatever may come in the approaching future, she could only hope that nothing ill befell him. He gestured towards the two unwelcomed detectives. "I'll just see to Detective Ryan and Esposito."
As Danberg dealt with Beckett's two colleagues, Turner walked around the office space, taking note of the bookshelf that covered one whole wall. Intrigued, knowing that the books someone reads can often tell something about them, she stepped over and brushed her fingers along the well-worn spines as she gazed at the titles. This woman was definitely a reader with tastes as varied as her home décor.
Scattered throughout the amalgamation of book genres, Turner spotted some Russian literature, Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, to name a few. They weren't alone. It appeared Beckett was had copies by other famous authors from different parts of the globe… all in their native tongues. That was interesting. Besides her semester abroad in Kiev during college, Beckett's file hadn't mentioned anything about the woman's linguistic talents. Turner could just imagine Castle getting a thrill out of the brunette's talented tongue.
Judging from the severe creases in some of the book spines, Beckett was not just an avid reader, but would also often re-read certain books. There were two that were particularly loved, both in the mystery genre: In A Hail of Bullets and A Rose For Everafter. Both were written by R.A. Rodgers, a pseudonym that Turner was quite familiar with. A sly smile formed across her lips. She wondered if he knew.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, interrupting her thoughts, and she quickly whipped it out, checking the caller ID. Her brow turned into a frown. Turner glanced back at Danberg as he thanked the two detectives for their offer of assistance and began to escort them out of the apartment. Satisfied that she wouldn't be overheard, Turner pressed the green answer button and brought the cellphone up to her ear.
"What is it?" she hissed in a low voice. "I thought I told you never to call me on this number." She paused, listening to the caller's response. "Shit… okay, okay. Fine," she sighed, not happy at all. Yet another mess she'd have to clean up. "You have my permission. Do what you have to do, just remember that flash drive is mine."
XXX
"Coffee?"
"Yes, please," Kate took the proffered cup from Castle, and raised it to her lips, taking a cautious sip. Her eyebrows came together in surprise, and she let out a small moan when the rich flavors touched her tongue. Tilting her head, she glanced over at Castle with a questioning look.
"Grande skim latte, two pumps sugar-free vanilla," he declared with a relaxed expression. He turned his head to look at her with a boyish smirk. "I get it right?"
She inclined her head. "Yep," she grinned and eased back against the side of the dark silver Taurus, enjoying her latte as the gentle breeze swept in from across the East River. Castle took a long gulp of his own coffee before leaning his back against the side of the car as well, his eyes never leaving her.
"How did you know?"
"Huh?"
"My coffee preference."
He smirked, and let out a light chuckle, eyes twinkling. "Spy, remember."
Kate pursed her lips and rolled her eyes, grinning back at him. "Well, however you found out, thanks," she said, taking another sip of her coffee. "I needed this."
"You're welcome," he replied, he smiled at her. "I know you didn't sleep well last night, so I figured you could use a pick me up."
She nodded, and thanked him again, placing a hand on his arm and offering a gentle squeeze of gratitude. He was a man of many surprises. And this… bringing her coffee was actually kind of sweet. Kate felt her heart clench at the thought, and she swallowed down the emotion with another sip of the rich dark brew. She released a sigh of contentment, feeling the dark liquid warm her whole body as it moved down her esophagus. Staring out at the impressive view of the Brooklyn Bridge, towering in the background, Kate took in the rest of their surroundings as she enjoyed the remainder of her coffee.
Looking left and right down the street they were parked, all Kate could see were a bunch of warehouses, with two storage facilities on either side and what looked like an old packing storehouse off to the right. There weren't too many people about, only one or two, all packed tightly in coats against the fall chill. Not the ideal place to be hanging out. But Castle seemed at ease, unconcerned. And from the display of skill he'd exhibited last night, she supposed he had no reason to worry.
Kate, on the other hand, was still suffering from the lingering affects of being shot in the chest. During their first session, Dr. Burke had cautioned her that it was a long process. There was no quick fix, and she shouldn't expect to ever really be 'cured', because there was no really cure to PTSD. It would be with her the rest of her life. The best she could hope for would be to control it. Traumatic events, like the one she'd experienced, left many scars, and not just those visible on her flesh. It wasn't going to go away over night.
Somewhere off in the distance a car backfired and on instinct Kate flinched, much to her chagrin.
"You okay?" Castle asked, glancing at her worriedly.
"Yeah... yeah, I'm fine," she lied, unconsciously bringing a hand up to her chest, pressing her fingers against the scar hidden beneath her blouse and jacket. He looked at her uncertainly, but thankfully he didn't press. "So, what are we doing here?" she changed the subject.
"Enjoying a mid-morning coffee break," he replied with a witty grin.
She rolled her eyes, grateful for the lightheartedness he brought into the conversation. "I meant here, around all these warehouses," she offered with a pointed look, trying to put on the mask of Detective Beckett, and hide the face of Kate, the woman who'd survived a bullet to the chest.
"Nothing slips by you, Detective," he said, winking as he downed the last of his coffee, and then tossed the cardboard cup into a public trash bin not far away. He stepped around her, and reached inside his jacket to retrieve his old-fashioned phone-like device. He flipped it open, pressed a button, and the trunk of the dark silver Taurus unlocked and popped ajar. Just as he was about to lift the lid open, the shrill ringing of Kate's phone sounded.
Kate quickly dug it out of her pocket and looked at the caller I.D. "It's Esposito," she supplied, looking at him with a questioning expression.
He blinked. "You should answer," he said without any hesitation.
"But… I… I don't know, won't they be able to track us or something?" She thought it was a reasonable assumption. Kate may not be into the world of covert espionage, but she knew enough about surveillance operations to know that a phone could easily be traced.
"No, it's all good," Castle dismissed her worries with a shake of his hand. "Answer."
Kate shook her head in disbelief, but didn't object. Looking back down at the ringing phone in her hand, she chewed on her bottom lip and quickly weighed the pros and cons, before relenting to Castle's suggestion, swiping her finger across the screen and accepting the call. "Hey, what's up?"
"What's up?" echoed Esposito, almost incredulous. "Seriously?"
"Good morning to you, too," Kate grumbled, rolling her eyes as she shifted her hips, turning to watch Castle as he opened the trunk lid and rifled through a gray-blue rucksack she remembered him putting in the trunk when they departed that filthy safe house earlier that morning.
"You okay?"
"Yes," she smiled when her gaze locked with Castle's. He winked at her, before ducking his head back down as he rummaged through his rucksack.
"Are you sure?" he asked, sounding unconvinced. "Because Ryan talked with your building manager… Mr. Hostetler, and he mentioned that there was some guy following you. You sure you aren't being… pressured into anything?"
Kate shook her head, laughing lightly at Esposito's big brother routine. It was quite amusing listening to him trying to be all delicate about his word usage. "No. Nothing like that. I'm quite aware of what I'm doing," she said, looking back down at Castle, admiring the way the jeans hugged his amazing posterior as he leaned over the edge of the trunk to reach for something that had slid to the back. She quirked up an eyebrow and repeated, "Quite aware."
"Then what the hell is going on!?" Esposito demanded, his frustration snapping her out of her lustful thoughts. "We were just kicked out of the crime scene that is your apartment by the Feds. You've got to give me something, Beckett. Why would they put out an APB for you, calling you a person of interest in a matter of national security?"
She glanced at Castle. "It's complicated, Espo," she said.
He scoffed, "Not buying it, Beckett. You've got mixed up in something that's dangerous, and I'm not going to let you face it alone."
"I'm not alone!" she asserted, surprised at her defensiveness. Castle looked back at her, and she waved away his concern.
Despite narrowing his eyes and casting her a doubtful look, Castle still relented and turned back to what he was doing. His trust in her seemingly absolute. He finished quickly and closed the trunk, turning back to her as he adjusted his khaki jacket, and tugged a distressed red baseball cap onto his head, ducking it down to shield his eyes. As she watched him, Kate couldn't stop the small smile that touched her lips. She recognized the outfit from the check-in queue at Reagan National four days ago.
"I don't like this, Beckett. Everything's too secretive. Who's this guy? Are you sure he can be trusted?"
"He's a friend, and yes," Kate said, purposely being evasive and keeping her answers vague, suddenly aware that in all likelihood their conversation was probably being recorded by the CIA. Before they had left her apartment, Castle had done something to her phone, which had made him unconcerned with her using it now. So, she was relatively certain that if this call were being recorded, it would most likely be on Esposito's end. He'd be completely unaware of it, of course. But Kate wasn't willing to take any chances.
"Talk to me, Beckett, I can help," Esposito insisted, growling in frustration.
Kate bit her lower lip, her brow creasing with guilt. She wanted to tell him, she really did. But right now, it wasn't safe for the boys to know anything. Ignorance was going to keep them safe. It was for their own good. She had to protect them from the bad people that were threatening Alexis. "Later," she promised, and then hung up, sighing remorse.
"He'll understand," Castle said, startling her with his close proximity. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, his fingers kneading the tense muscles. She willed her body not to react. It would have been far too easy to lean into his touch. But she couldn't. She had to stay strong, stand on her own.
She nodded as she stared down at her phone. "Castle, I was wondering…," her voice trailed off, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows as she frowned down at the device in her hand.
"Yes?" he hedged.
Kate glanced up at him, surprised by the nervous quality in his voice. She hesitated for a moment, pondering over reasons why he would be nervous, until her curiosity got the best of her and she eventually asked, "What did you do to my phone?"
Castle released a breath, sighing with relief. She raised an eyebrow, slightly amused at the anxious look that had been on his face. Perhaps he was worried that she was going to start questioning getting involved with his quest to keep his daughter safe.
"Well?" she prompted.
Castle looked around, before gesturing towards a storage facility down the street. "Let's walk and talk."
Kate inclined her head, and gulped down the last dregs of her latte, before tossing it into the trash bin and then catching up with Castle as he walked down the sidewalk. Grinning, he snagged her arm and looped it around his. She bit her lower lip, and happily followed his lead.
"So," she pressed. "What did you do to my phone that made me accepting a call from Esposito okay?"
"It's a long story."
"I'm all ears," she grinned cheekily.
He smirked. "Okay. So after 9/11 certain agencies were given a broad authority by congress that opened up legally gray areas that allowed them to tap the phones of suspected terrorist," Castle explained. "However, off the record, these discretionary powers were soon expanded to non-combatants as well."
"You mean civilians?"
"Yes," he inclined his head. "To be brutally honest, the NSA and CIA have been illegally listening to American citizens' phones for years. Hell, they did so even before the advent of cellular devices. With the addition of wireless and Wi-Fi capabilities, it just made it a hell of a lot easier. Congress had no idea the can of worms they'd opened up. A couple of years back, the CIA developed a covert listening surveillance network, if you will. They called it Overlord. Every things all top secret, of course. Very hush-hush. Actually not many people are even aware of Overlord. Only special units and operatives were even given access to the network."
Kate stared at him, aghast that such a system was in place, and used to spy on American citizens. "Oh my God," she exclaimed. "And you were one of those… operatives?"
Castle nodded. "I needed it for a case I worked a couple of years back," he responded, not volunteering any more information than that.
"God, I don't know," Kate breathed out, shaking her head as she tried to grasp the full enormity of what he'd just told her. "I wish I could find this more shocking than I already do. If the world was a different place, I'd only expect to see something like that in a spy novel."
"Tell me about it," Castle grinned boyishly. "God, I love spy novels. James Bond is my favorite. I know, kind of cliché, but when I was a kid, this guy at the New York Public Library handed me a copy of Casino Royale, and I've been a fan of Ian Fleming ever since." He paused, seemingly lost in his memories. "Back then, I never would have thought I'd actually get to be something akin to James Bond."
"Oh really?" Kate beamed, glancing at him with interest, delighted at this brief glimpse into the mystery behind the man.
"Yep," he glanced at her with a look of nostalgia glazing across his eyes. "Believe it or not, there was a time I'd dreamed of being a writer." The spark in his eyes dimmed a little and he sighed. "Dreams of a child, nothing more." He shook his head, and smiled, but she could tell it was forced. After a moment's pause, he shifted gears back to their discussion of the Overlord network. "I couldn't risk being found, so I had to ditch my fancy new iPhone for this old piece of junk." He held up the old flip phone, his eyes twinkling with undisputed amusement. "Actually, to be honest, I prefer this old friend to those new products."
"I could see that," Kate concurred with a nod. "It's been field tested, and it obviously works."
"Extremely well," he added. "Took them a while to even realize I was using the TCD-74."
"TCD? What does that stand for?"
"Telecommunications device."
"How original," she said dryly.
Castle shrugged. "It was an off year for the lab coats at Langley." He grinned. "Anyways, the circuitry I removed from your phone was what linked it to the Overlord network. Once I disconnected it, your phone went 'off the grid', to borrow a phrase."
"So like a burner phone?" she asked.
"Sort of, but different," he was reluctant to agree. "Overlord can actually pick up and trace burner phones. It's built into it… in the circuitry. Manufacturers have unknowingly been assisting the CIA for years now. But with the right components removed, your phone is finally secured once again from nosy eavesdroppers with a government salary."
Kate was silent for a moment after he'd finished. "Wow," she said. "Just wow. I had no idea—no idea—that such things actually happened. I'd always assumed that was just some crazy conspiracy theory."
"Welcome to the other side, Detective Beckett," he grinned impishly. "Where the impossible is possible. You'll soon discover that even amongst all the crackpot theories, the truth is out there." He started to whistle The X-Files theme song.
"Oh, now you're just being silly," she lightly slapped his shoulder playfully, smiling back at him.
Castle grinned, a dopey expression on his face. Kate felt her heart flutter as they locked eyes. The rest of the world faded away, and she was struck with an overwhelming urge to just kiss that lopsided grin off his face. But before she could make good on that impulse, Castle's head twisted away and she felt his muscles grow tense. Blinking her eyes, and heaving in a couple of quick breaths to regain her equilibrium, Kate turned to follow his gaze, shifting her eyes away from his handsome features and to a series of uniform building, all with neon orange rolling doors.
They had arrived at the storage facility.
Letting her eyes wander, interested in seeing what it was that had alerted Castle, Kate concentrated on pulling up all her skills and experience as a seasoned investigator. It didn't take long to spot the two black escalades parked unobtrusively behind the storage facilities front offices, where all the blinds were conveniently pulled shut.
Castle released her hand, spinning his place as he quickly shoved her back, pressing them up against the cinderblock wall that acted as a barrier between the storage facility and the street. The entrance was only wide enough for a single automobile to pass in or out. Kate held her breath and waited for him to make a decision. Castle frowned, his eyes darting around as he thought.
He swore under his breath, and then looked back at her. "Before we go in, I need to give you something," he declared, and Kate licked her lips, irrationally thinking he was referring to a kiss. But instead, and slightly to her own disappointment, Castle reached inside his jacket and produced a Glock, which he then handed to her.
"Trusting me with a weapon? How brave of you, Mr. Castle," she smirked, trying to lighten the mood as she deftly cocked the slide back and checked the magazine.
"You are one of the NYPD's best," he contended, soundly mildly offended that she wasn't aware of this. "Besides, sweet cheeks, I couldn't ask for finer back up," he added, waggling his eyebrows at her.
Kate let out a snort, fighting a grin, pleased he was acting more like the Rick Castle she'd come to know and love… to like. Yes… to know and like. Schooling her features, she tossed a pointed look back at him. "You know, I should probably shoot you for that 'sweet cheeks' comment," she countered. "But just this once, I'll let it slide."
"Much appreciated," he declared, taking out his own weapon with a flashy flourish, as if he was attempting to impress her. He did not. He shot her a pout, before checking his Sig Sauer, and flicking the safety off. She followed his lead. Castle flashed her a boyish grin, eyes sparkling with mischief, belying the seriousness of the situation. "Ready?"
"Ready," she asserted with a nod, feeling more like the detective she was, the familiar weight of a Glock in her hand agreeing with her. "Lead the way."
And with weapon in hand, Beckett followed Castle around the corner of the wall of cinderblocks and into the storage facility.
