The Long Game: Chapter 21
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.
The Burnt Remains of Bill and Cynthia Bracken's Home on Long Beach, NY, 5:01 p.m., Thursday afternoon, March 22, 2012
"Kind of creepy that he chooses to do this here, don't you think?" asks Jamie, as he points the large video camera atop his shoulder toward the Senator.
"You know these political types. Always looking for a moment," responds Brenda, her microphone turned off and down at her side.
"Yeah, but this is . . . this is too –"
"Quiet," Brenda whispers, loudly. He's starting. Both stop talking, as does the fairly large crowd of roughly one hundred and fifty supporters of Senator William Bracken, as the tenured politician begins speaking.
"My friends," Senator Bracken begins, "today I come to you with a heavy heart, and the same unanswered questions that burn within each of you. Behind me stands the charred remains of my parent's home. My parents, lying asleep within their bed, were struck down in the wee hours this morning in the most tragic and cowardly fashion. Two people, two good people, two decent people who have done nothing more than attempt to change the plight of the less fortunate. Two decent people who have done nothing more than serve their country during war time. Two decent people who brought themselves to a position of prominence through hard work, heavy discipline and yes, my friends, a little bit of luck."
The Senator takes a moment to use his handkerchief to dab at his left eye, where a single tear has formed.
In the crowd before him, eyes begin to mist, as more than a few hands rise toward their faces, mimicking the Senator's movement.
The same time, at Richard Castle's Hampton's Home, 5:03 p.m., Thursday afternoon, March 22, 2012
"Oh, he is good," Martha comments, as the six adults – plus Alexis – sit around the television in the family room, watching the Senator's performance. Alexis had commented, after receiving a CNN alert on her mobile phone, that the Senator was preparing to make a public statement. So the conversation that was just now getting interesting – a conversation where clear sides were being formed – has now, thankfully, been placed on the back burner.
All are interested in the Senator's comments.
"Actually, he is not acting, Martha," Kate comments. Despite her hatred for the man, despite the fact that she would love for him to suffer as she has suffered – right now, she recognizes that that is exactly what is happening. His parents are gone, murdered in the middle of the night. He's a monster, yeah, but he is also a child. And right now, it is a child's eyes that Kate Beckett sees on the television. The tears are real, the pain is real.
She should feel vindicated, she should feel fantastic. She feels anything but. There is something about a child losing a parent that is unacceptable to her, no matter who that 'child' might happen to be.
"I agree," adds Elena Markov. Elena, while having a strong dislike for Elizabeth Bracken, also has a strong admiration for her husband. Yeah, she too, recognizes the monster he has become. But she has known many, many monsters in this life, and he is much less so than so many others.
"His loss is real," Elena continues. She glances at the detective, nodding her head. Yeah, the detective knows this feeling. Still, she holds no remorse for the Senator's loss.
Nor does Jackson Hunt, who, for now, sits motionless and quiet.
Back at the Remains of Bill and Cynthia Bracken's Home on Long Beach, NY, during the press conference
"I have, for the entire morning, spent hours hashing and rehashing why something like this would strike my parents. For it is clear, this was no accident. This was a deliberate attack. And, my friends, though I stand here, alive and speaking to you, I hold no illusions what has happened here. There are those who question my candidacy for the presidency, and there are those who abhor my candidacy. This is no surprise to me. The surprise, however, is the lengths to which someone has been willing to go to derail my campaign, to send a message to me. To send a message to our great country."
The same time, at Richard Castle's Hampton's Home, 5:05 p.m., Thursday afternoon, March 22, 2012
"Ok, now I think I'm going to throw up," Kate admits to the room.
A few eyes began to roll with the Senator's recent lines from his speech. Richard Castle, despite himself, finds himself somewhat impressed with the Senator's message and with his posture. He is showing just the right amount of sadness, just the right amount of righteous anger, just the right amount of strength. It's a picture perfect performance.
"He's good, I have to give him that," Castle comments.
"Yes, he is, Richard," Jackson Hunt comments. "Yes, he is."
Back at the Remains of Bill and Cynthia Bracken's Home on Long Beach, NY, during the press conference
"Whoever has done this deed, whoever has sent this message – they have woefully underestimated the resolve of William Bracken, and they have underestimated the resolve of the American people."
Cheers break out from the crowd, one-hundred and fifty-strong and growing, who – yeah, you guessed it – have been supplied with tiny American flags. They are playing their role to the hilt, just as the Senator plays his role.
"This is my promise to you, the American people, and to the perpetrators of this horrific crime. I will not back down, I will not step down. I stand strong this evening, stronger than even this time yesterday. This despicable act does not frighten me. It does not alter my resolve. It energizes me. It reminds me, and it reminds each of you hearing my voice of what is wrong with this country. Where the value placed on human life has diminished to almost invisible levels. Where the value of any human being's life is devalued, and – eventually – eliminated."
The same time, at Richard Castle's Hampton's Home, 5:07 p.m., Thursday afternoon, March 22, 2012
"Ok, you have got to be shitting me," a suddenly angry Kate Beckett all but screams at the television. Whatever sympathy, empathy or pity that she had found herself reluctantly feeling for the man have exploded with the words she has just heard come from his hypocritical mouth.
"Kate, this is nothing more than political posturing," Jackson Hunt tells her, as Roy Montgomery picks up the remote control and clicks the television off.
"I don't think any of us want to hear any more of this crap," the ex-captain of the 12th Precinct comments under his breath.
"It will be played and replayed all night on the local stations," Martha agrees. "I for one, however, have seen and heard enough."
"I wonder if something like this will really touch him, change him," Castle muses aloud, and Jackson Hunt both smiles and frowns at the wonderful, optimistic naivety of his son.
"Perhaps this will throw him off the dark path he has chosen," Hunt states, and Castle cannot tell whether he is placating him or not.
"That is no longer possible," Elena disagrees. "Now that he has been touched personally by his own corruption, it can only go one of two ways."
"I know," Hunts agrees. "Perhaps now he will walk the straight and narrow. Now that he has an appreciation for what he has done and the pain he has caused others."
Elena looks at him incredulously, and Jackson Hunt laughs out loud. It is not often that he sees this woman with a jaw-dropped expression of true surprise.
"You know I'm kidding, Elena," Hunt continues, still laughing.
"Elizabeth would never allow that to happen, regardless," Elena comments, brushing her black hair from her eyes with her fingers.
"I know that," Hunt agrees.
"What will you do now," Kate asks, forcing the conversation away from Bracken's nauseating speech and back to their prior conversation.
"What I am supposed to do," Hunt replies, evenly. "Richard is safe. His family is safe. My family is safe. Now I clear the field so that Bracken can get elected."
"Uh, what does 'clear the field' mean?" Castle asks, a worried expression now painting his face.
"Nothing as draconian as you imagine, son," Hunt tells him – and the room at large. "We just keep things running smoothly. We allow him to do what he does best."
"And what is that?" Kate asks, hostility still apparent in her voice.
"Lie," Hunt replies, matter-of-factly.
The simplicity, the succinctness of Jackson Hunt's honest, one-word answer is like a splash of cold ocean water to the face to many in the room. Kate Beckett's hostility is immediately drained, as she recognizes her role in some very big lies that have been told. Roy Montgomery, too, is taken aback with the massive punch a single word provides.
And then there is Richard Castle. This world, this world of mistruths and deceptions and outright lies is new to him. Yet he found himself not only playing the role well, he found it oh so exciting, damn him. The guilt that pounds on the three of them is almost palpable.
All three stand, and make their way away from the sofa and surrounding chairs, walking back into the kitchen in silence.
Yet two other people in the room, whose lives exist within lies, remain calm and comfortable. Neither Jackson Hunt or Elena Markov feel even the slightest of misgivings.
"He will tell people what they want to hear," Elena adds.
"He will pretend that his lies are for the greater good, for the benefit of others. For the benefit of people like us," Hunt adds with a slight frown.
"There are times," Elena continues, her words directed at Hunt, "when I believe assassins are the more honorable of the people in your country."
"A strong case could be made for that theory," Hunt muses aloud.
Hunt and Elena continue to sip on their drinks, sitting comfortably in Richard Castle's family room. The large floor-to-ceiling window gives them a magnificent view of the ocean out in the distance, across the sand. Their conversation has gone too far, too deep for the other adults, as even Martha now has joined Castle and Kate with Roy Montgomery in the kitchen.
Alexis Castle, however, has not moved, as the young girl remains motionless on the sofa, sitting next to her grandfather. She has not strayed from the conversation between the man she has just met, but feels she has known forever, and the woman who she simply finds downright intriguing. Alexis is fighting nightmares, fighting daydreams, fighting fears that threaten to overcome her. In Elena she sees a woman who has none of those nightmares, none of those daydreams, none of those fears.
Richard Castle pours everyone a drink, and as the four friends click glasses in a mini-salute, Castle notices that his father and his assassin are not alone in the family room. Only now does he notice his daughter has not joined them in the kitchen. Only now does he realize that she is part of a conversation with two of the deadliest people on the planet. And judging by the animated hand gestures, this conversation is one he needs to be a part of.
"Excuse me," he tells his mother and their two guests, returning to the family room, in time to hear Elena answering a question, evidently asked by his daughter.
"Why would you want to know my background, child?" Elena asks Alexis. "You sit here in this magnificent home, against that powerful ocean. You have your grandfather here, who you know nothing about. You have a good family friend returned from the dead. Surely your questions are for them and not me. Why do you wish to know more about me?"
"I . . . I don't know," Alexis stumbles. "I just . . ."
"Rule number one," Elena states with a hint of harshness. "Never back away from a question."
Alexis quickly nods her head, as if a student in a classroom with the strictest of instructors.
"If you cannot answer a simple question, then what can you do?" Elena asks her.
Again, Alexis nods in agreement. No, not agreement. Compliance.
"My mother is Russian," Elena begins, while Jackson Hunt takes another sip of the round glass of brandy. "My father is Greek. I am equally both. My mother taught me the terror of sabotage, the harshness of betrayal, of hard living in a cold country. But she showed me the beauty that lies in between the shadows and underneath the coldness."
Alexis listens with rapt attention, and a shudder falls across her father, who now stands behind the sofa, his hands shaking on the sofa back, where the three sit.
"My father taught me the old ways from the old country. The old beliefs, the nobility and the grandeur. And he showed me the corruption and filth that wait under the surface."
"Elena is a beautiful, wonderful complex character," he says laughing, taking another sip of brandy.
"Do you find me difficult?" Elena asks him playfully.
"On the contrary," Hunt replies, looking evenly at the person he trusts more than anyone in the world. "Complex is vibrant. Complex is fun. It adds a spice to the mundane."
Elena's head falls lightly on the shoulder of the older man who sits next to her. For a brief moment, Castle, still standing behind the three, sees a very different side of both people. Suddenly, his heart almost stops as he watches Jackson Hunt take Elena's hand with one of his own, while his other hand searches for – and finds – the hand of Alexis. His father sits, holding hands with a ruthless assassin, and his daughter. And then he speaks.
"My daughters," Hunt says softly, smiling contentedly as both women's heads rest on his shoulders.
William Bracken's NY Hotel Penthouse Suite, 11:07 p.m. Thursday evening, March 22, 2012
'. . . while the events of this morning are truly tragic, the strength and focus that Senator Bracken displayed early this evening out at Long Beach have no doubt helped his candidacy, as recent polls this evening show as much as a 9% bump for the Independent candidate. Today he stands 5% and 6% ahead of the respective expected Democratic and Republican nominees. And while there is a lot of time – just under eight months until the general election - there are some who are already saying that this election is Bracken's to lose at this point.'
Senator William Bracken turns the television off, as he lays his head back against the propped up pillow, and closes his eyes. It's been a long day. A horrible day. A successful day. He wants to leave this day far behind him.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth leans over the bathroom sink, brushing her teeth, clearly satisfied with her husband's performance earlier this evening. Even riddled with guilt and sadness, this man delivers. She spits out the last remnant of water and toothpaste and wipes her lips with the face towel, staring at the image in the mirror.
"We will find him, my love," she whispers to her image, speaking to her husband in the bedroom who cannot hear her. "We will hunt him down and make him pay dearly," she continues. "I will make him pay dearly, I swear this to you, my love."
She turns the light out in the bathroom and walks back into the bedroom, straightening out her short nightgown, and puts a smile on her face, preparing to take her husband's mind off the day's troubles.