Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the characters used in this story.
N/A: Down below
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"Okay, Castle. Okay," Shaw relents. "But I don't want you with him alone. Beckett goes, too."
"Of course she does," Castle replies as if this was the obvious thing in the world. "I wouldn't want to do this without her."
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Castle cabin near Hillsdale, New York, Monday ~ 8:30 PM
"Rick, are you sure this is a good idea? You need to take some painkillers and get some rest," Beckett says, marveling that Castle's still on his feet after everything that's happened today, physically and emotionally. Their destination – an old picnic table with fading paint on warped planks behind the cabin – is in sight, but Castle seems to slow with every step. A naked lightbulb jutting from eaves of the cabin provides the only illumination as the sun has set and the lack of city lights allows for the full inky blackness of night.
"Almost done," Castle says quietly. "One conversation with Bob, then we'll go to Jordan's hidey-hole and get some rest."
As Beckett helps Castle maneuver onto the table's bench, she catches the sound of movement behind her as she sits to Castle's right. Turning her head, she sees two of Shaw's agents escorting a cuffed Weldon to the table. His shuffling gait reveals that the feds are taking no chances, having secured his ankles as well as his wrists.
Weldon takes his place across from Castle, swiveling awkwardly due to his restraints. At Castle's nods, the agents escorting Weldon back off about 25 yards, out of earshot and lost to sight in the darkness but close enough to react quickly if necessary.
After simply staring at each other for several minutes, it's Weldon who breaks the silence. "I guess the inside of the cabin was wired?" he says tiredly, words slurred due to his injured jaw.
Nodding, Castle confirms the mayor's conclusion. "Not out here, though."
"It'll never stand up in court," Weldon says, but he's not even trying to argue. It's as if he's just reciting the words that are expected of him, a defeated man looking at the horizon and seeing no hope.
"Maybe, maybe not," Castle says with equal calm. "We both know that it doesn't really matter." There's no fight or flinch from Weldon, just a pursed-mouth nod accepting Castle's words.
"I thought maybe we could talk out here without the cloud of Bracken or the feds hanging over us," Castle offers. "Just Rick and Bob, trying to figure out what the hell happened to us and how we'll get out of it."
Weldon casts Beckett an obvious glance as if to point out that she's not part of 'just Rick and Bob,' but instead he says "There's no getting out, Rick. I was a fool not to recognize that from the start, but he's a pro. He made sure that I was compromised from the beginning so that I couldn't back out, and it only got worse from there. It's how he works. And I'm not the only one."
"Bob," Castle says seriously, "I'm not here to pump you for information. I'm here to help my friend."
Sighing, Weldon moves as if to rub his head, then collapses in on himself slightly as the manacles on his wrists remind him yet again of his situation. "I wish you would have offered back when all this started, before I fucked up," he says, his voice still empty of passion.
"I'm sorry about that, Bob. I was facing my own problems and let them get on top of me. I shouldn't have cut out my friends and family, should have reached out to you, too." Though he's talking about himself, his words easily describe her own situation, Beckett realizes, returning yet again to that desperate summer when she was healing and others were obviously addressing their own troubles, some related to her. Risking the chance that it will change the dynamic of the conversation, Beckett reaches out to clasp Castle's right hand on the tabletop.
The motion and the gesture capture Weldon's attention, and he seems lost in thought as he stares at their linked hands.
"I guess I was off with some of my remarks in the cabin," Weldon finally says.
"Not just in this respect," Castle says. While Beckett's trying to stay out of this conversation, she can't stop the nod that shows her agreement with Castle.
"I … there's no excuse for what I've done, what I said," Weldon says quietly. Beckett doesn't react to this beyond giving Castle's hand a gentle squeeze. She'd use Morse code for the pulses to his hand to say 'sorry your friend is a remorseful, homicide- and sexual-torture-threatening jackass,' but he might actually decipher her comment.
Nodding, Castle chastises his friend. "I'm sorry that we find ourselves here, and I still want to figure a way out. But I'm not sorry for your jaw or dental work – you more than earned that."
"I'm really sorry about that, Rick. God, I can't believe those words came out of my mouth," Weldon says while looking down and shaking his head. "I was scared and casting about for anything I thought might work. I even thought about threatening your partner," he confesses, voice low.
"And you would have received the same witty rejoinder," Castle replies fiercely, pulling Beckett's hand a little closer to him.
Nodding, Weldon lapses back into silence briefly. Then, raising his head and showing the first spark of engagement that Beckett's detected, he looks at Castle and says "I guess this makes us even," lifting his cuffed hands to allow an index finger to gently touch his swollen cheek.
"Not even," Castle scoffs. "I owed you before today, and I still owe you."
"I think that setting me up with the woman who left me should count at least as much as a sock to the jaw," Weldon replies.
"You're such a pansy," Castle answers. "It's happened to me twice and you don't hear me whining about it."
The verbal sparring had started to put the ghost of a smile on Weldon's face, but the moment his reality comes back to mind is obvious as his demeanor falls along with his shoulders.
"What am I going to do, Rick?" Weldon whispers disconsolately.
"Here's what you're going to do," Castle replies in a low, confident voice. "You're going to go and prize whatever sleep you can steal from this dark night. You're going to keep your mouth shut. And, you're going to think." Castle pauses a moment before continuing to let his point sink in.
"I'm not going to push you to help us," Castle continues. "I think we have enough to take him down, so if you're worried about jeopardizing yourself or Rachel, you can hunker down. If you want to talk, we'll make sure you've got a good attorney and protection."
"You don't have enough, Rick, you'll never have enough," Weldon says sadly. "Men like him can't be stopped."
"Have some faith in me," Castle cajoles. "I've learned some things, like not using the original documents in a sting operation."
"Those weren't copies," Weldon interjects. "I checked."
"You'd be surprised what you can accomplish with a good color photocopier and an undergrad looking at a thousand-dollar cash tip," Castle gloats. "Plus, Bracken's playing on turf where I know some things. I like our odds," Castle concludes with confidence.
"Maybe you do," Weldon says quietly, but his voice has returned to a hopeless monotone. "He was worried about you, you know. You have too many friends and too much money. And you fell in love with the one person he couldn't turn. Just …," Weldon trails off. "Just keep your family safe until this is done, and even then be careful."
"Is he …," Castle starts, looking concerned. "Was he behind you and Rachel? Does it go back that far?"
Weldon goes still and stares at his lap for several long moments before he looks up and says "I never thought so. I deserved what happened there. But knowing him, it's possible that he had a hand in it. God, what hasn't he tainted?"
"Bob, you and I have known each other for a long time. I know who you are, behind the smiles and handshakes and compromise votes. He can't have tainted that," Castle says with quiet confidence. "We just need to shake you free of his grasp."
"Rick," Weldon mumbles, "once upon a time I would have believed that. But I know who I am now. You know, I actually thought I could change things from the inside? God, what an arrogant jackass I was. I mean, how many naïve staffers joined my team thinking the same damned thing? I indulged them all knowing they couldn't change the lightbulb, much less the system."
"And he let me think I could do it," Weldon continues, voice finally showing some dark emotion. "Our first confrontation – our first face-to-face – included me going to bat for you. I was still pissed about the murder investigation, but I felt … virtuous, I guess, doing what I could to move you out of harm's way."
Beckett sneaks a glance at Castle, seeing in his shadowed profile an intense look as he watches his old friend try to explain how they all ended up here.
"Virtuous," Weldon scoffs at himself. "Well, we saw how long that lasted. When you didn't fall in line at the Bureau, it came back on me. You were my problem. When he figured out that someone was digging for the file again, Bracken made it clear that it was you or me. That's how long my virtue lasted – I'm the guy that will sacrifice a friend and his family and his colleagues to save a corrupted life of indentured servitude."
Beckett watches as this last comment, a reference to slavery made by a minority politician who's been dominated by a privileged white man, seems to cause Weldon to collapse from within.
"Sorry, Bob, but shut the hell up and stop feeling sorry for yourself," Castle replies, obviously turning to a more abrasive approach in an effort to get at Weldon. "You made a series of bad turns and believe me, brother, you're in a bad neighborhood. So don't stop to feel sorry for yourself. You might have to push the damn car, invest some serious effort, but we'll get you out and back where you belong."
Castle pauses to look across the table at Weldon and frowns when he realizes that he's not making any inroads.
"You're really going to let him beat you?" Castle asks. "You're thinking about throwing in the towel?"
"Rick, I've got nothing left," Weldon replies.
"Then what do you have to lose?" Castle asks, truly bewildered.
The pair goes silent again, Castle staring across the table and Weldon, who is staring at his shackled hands in his lap. Beckett startles when Weldon begins to awkwardly rise from his seat.
"Rick …," he says as he stands and watches the FBI agents approach. "Thank you," he says quietly. "Thank you for being my friend." Then, before Castle can rise from the table, Weldon turns and starts shuffling towards the agents to hasten his return to wherever they're holding him.
"Rick," Weldon calls from the edge of the light, an agent holding onto each arm. "Scott Riley. Tran Nyguen. Vulcan Simmons. I don't know details, but that's where his money comes from." Weldon turns without another word and walks into the darkness.
Castle remains quiet as he and Beckett watch Weldon until he's lost to sight. Beckett spins in place and moves her feet to straddle the bench on which they're sitting, scooting closer to Castle. Looking at his face in the flickering light of the cabin's lone bulb, her heart cracks a little at Castle's forlorn look. He was hoping so desperately to reach his friend, to light some ember within him, but he's obviously convinced that he failed.
"C'mere Castle," Beckett whispers, pulling his right leg over so that he straddles the bench, too, when he moves to follow her motion. Then they both lean forward, each resting a head on the right shoulder of the other. It's an odd embrace, Beckett thinks as she wonders if she's ever done this before. But it's intimate, draws them together, and mingles their breath as they lean into each other.
"He was a good man," Castle whispers. "The list of things for which Bracken will answer just keeps getting longer."
"Shhh," Beckett susurrates in response while guiding her hand to run her fingers over the nape of his neck. "Let's just take some time to remember your friend in better times," she offers, trying to cheer him.
After a few minutes during which the only sound is the movement of Beckett's hand as she traces patterns on his neck and through his hair, she leans back and says "Let's go, Castle, you need to steal some rest from this dark night, too."
As they round the corner of the cabin, they see Shaw walking toward them. Apparently, they were moments from being recalled had they not shown up on their own. Shaw points them to a waiting SUV, and Beckett finds herself hoping that one of her colleagues took care of moving the vehicle that they'd borrowed from Castle's car service.
Before approaching the vehicle, Castle breaks off to walk slowly to the dry well. Meaning to kneel down, his movement is more of a controlled collapse and for a brief moment Beckett's terrified that he's going to tumble in. Instead, once stabilized, Castle reaches into the well and stretches in a way that must be causing him pain. After a moment, his hand comes back into view, clasping a plastic-wrapped file folder.
Castle gives Beckett a weary smile as he approaches and halts directly in front of her. Then, with some pomp, he bows as he extends the package to her. "Another advance copy for you. It's no Alexander Rodgers, but it'll probably still prove to be an interesting read."
"Thank you," Beckett says sincerely as she stares at Castle, unable even to turn to the file before he knows how much she appreciates what has led them to this point.
The moment is broken when the SUV's engine roars to live, a not-so-subtle hint to get moving. As they turn to the SUV, Castle mumbles "I think I'm ready for the painkillers now."
Shaw holds the door open for them as they climb into the back of the SUV, where Gates already sits. As they get belted in, the vehicle starts to move. "We've got a place where we can spend the night," Shaw explains. "It'll take about a half-hour to get there, and your medication is ready and waiting, along with your bag from your rental car. By morning, we'll have Ms. Haas in attendance and we'll know if Avery caught anyone."
After nodding tiredly, Castle leans his head back on the headrest and closes his eyes, but he keeps talking. "What about the fixer – did you get him?"
"No," Shaw says, causing Castle's eyes to fly open as his head comes forward. Before he can say a word, Shaw explains. "He was a professional – as soon as he realized that we had him cut off, he took himself out. He must've been a pretty cold guy to drive around sitting in a car rigged to blow, but it went up in a flash and burned hot. We'll see what we can find, but I don't expect to recover anything."
"Do you think he called it in before he pushed the button?" Beckett asks, wondering if their plan for tomorrow is blown.
"The honest answer is that we don't know," Shaw confesses. "I'm told that it went down quickly, so we can hope, but we won't know. Our only advantage is that we'd commandeered vehicles from the local sheriff to mask the federal move, so if he did call it in, Bracken might assume that his fixer ran afoul of local yokels."
"So we expect to go forward with Mr. Castle's plan for the interview?" Gates asks.
"That's the plan," Shaw confirms. Turning to Castle, she asks "So, what's your take on Weldon?"
Sighing and placing his head back against the headrest again, Castle closes his eyes as he answers. "Fifty-fifty," he says, and Shaw nods. "You won't let him do it, right? You'll have him on suicide watch tonight?"
"My team will keep a careful eye on him and Ms. Mazar. I'm sorry, Rick," Shaw answers in a gentle voice.
"I'm still hopeful," Castle replies. "But, my estimate is based just on his demeanor. He'd make a good witness, so when this thing breaks there'll be others trying to take him out. It doesn't look good for him – maybe more like twenty-eighty he'll be alive two weeks from now," Castle says with a heavy sigh.
"We'll see," Shaw replies cryptically.
"Mr. Castle, I don't mean to be rude, but I don't understand your concern," Gates says with obvious confusion. "Everything that's happened to you in the past several months can be laid at his feet. For God's sake, he was this far from killing us all and then following up with your family! I don't understand why you aren't celebrating!"
An hour ago, Beckett might have agreed with Gates. But there was something about the conversation between Castle and Weldon that's stayed with her, a sense of structured tragedy. They're like two brothers, she thinks, who wound up fighting for different sides in the Civil War. Divided by belief but connected by love, forced against each other by the maneuverings of others.
Castle's long sigh recaptures her attention. "You know how I always 'know a guy'?" Castle asks quietly. "I know people from all over the world, all walks of life, a variety of ages and races. They are people I've met during research, book tours, at the bar, or just by luck. I'm friendly with all of them," Castle says quietly, "but not many are true friends. If you'd asked me to name the most important people to me not in my family or at the precinct, he'd top the list."
Castle's clearly exhausted, or beyond trying to mask the raw emotion in his voice. Beckett's not even trying to hide her concern for him in the presence of her Captain, instead staring at him so that if he opens his eyes, he'll see her sorrow and support.
"But it's more than that," Castle says as he blinks and turns to look over the seat to Gates. "Every uncharitable thought you've had about me, every concern you've had about my behavior or personality – every one of those was spot on four years ago. Then I met an extraordinary person who changed my life, who just through the beauty of her existence laid bare how insubstantial I might become. Since then, I've worked to become a better person, a better father, a better partner. I'm proud of who I am now. And that's thanks largely to Kate," Castle says while reaching out for Beckett's hand, which she happily accepts directly in front of Gates, "but Bob opened the door, let me into the precinct. Twice."
"I know that he jeopardized the rest of you, and you should hate him for it," Castle admits. "But I'm here because Bob was a good man, a good friend, when I wasn't. How could I not try to be the same for him?"
Rural Farmhouse, Attlebury, New York, Tuesday ~7:30 AM
As the unfamiliar ceiling slowly comes into focus, Beckett can't stifle a low groan that marks the start of the day. She's still sore from 'the Battle of Marlowe Prep' (as Castle has threatened to immortalize it) and yesterday's stress had her running on empty. Still, as soon as she's up and limber, she knows that last night's sleep will serve her well.
Turning to look at Castle, she engages in a short internal debate. 'Letting him get some more well-earned rest' narrowly defeats 'caress his cheek until he wakes and gives me that sleepy, only-for-me smile,' to her mild annoyance. Maybe she'll compromise – let him sleep a little longer but wake him with coffee.
Climbing carefully and slowly from their bed so as not wake him early, Beckett checks to ensure that there's no tell-tale sign of the file that she read last night. Granted, under the mattress is hardly a novel hiding place, but it has the advantage of requiring her to physically move to provide access. Once Castle wakes, they'll talk about the file and not let it out of their sight.
Donning her clothes and slipping out, the door across the hall opens as she exits her room and she's immediately concerned about keeping the noise to a minimum. Catching Gates' glance, Beckett puts a finger to her lips while nodding back at her door. If Gates had any doubts about them after last night's hand-holding in the car, the sleeping arrangements certainly clarified the situation.
Falling into step together, the two women head down the stairs and to the kitchen of the rural farmhouse. Both had been concerned that this was an FBI safe-house, which wouldn't be terribly safe given Shaw's corrupted colleagues. But it turns out that, like Castle, Shaw 'knows some guys,' including someone in commercial real estate who had a vacant and remote agricultural listing.
Wandering into the kitchen, the women see a simple breakfast spread that someone must have retrieved from a supermarket: bagels, pre-packaged fruit cups, yogurt, cream cheese, bread, cold cuts, fruit juice, and bad coffee. It might not be fancy, but after yesterday's turmoil, it tastes divine. Taking small plates of food, they walk past some of the FBI agents at the table and out onto a screened-in porch.
"I'm trying to decide how to feel about the personal relationship that's obviously developed between you and Mr. Castle," Gates says, starting the morning off with a bang. As she did the last time she had a conversation like this with Gates, Beckett opts to remain quiet and see where the conversation goes.
"If he was a member of the Department, we'd be talking about a transfer for at least one of you," Gates says while casting Beckett a pointed look. Gates is initially surprised by Beckett's unworried look in return, then grows pensive.
"You've already thought about this, haven't you?" Gates asks, receiving only a casual nod from Beckett in return. Looking completely at ease, Beckett returns her attention to smoothing a thin layer of cream cheese on her bagel. "I take your lack of concern to mean that you are not worried about being split up," Gates assess. "Why not?"
"It wouldn't be a smart thing to do," Beckett says simply. "You heard Castle last night – this is hardly a new development. Has it affected our performance?" Beckett asks rhetorically. "Besides, I know about the benefits he brings to the Precinct," Beckett says, thinking back to Castle's assertions at the conclusion of the Cartwright case, "the contributions to our closure rate that he provides without cost to the Department, the benefits of the attention he brings to the 12th."
"But more than that," Beckett continues, "there's no doubting that he's an asset. I know that you see it, too – otherwise this joint task force idea never would have happened, regardless of the reason for the FBI's initial interest in him."
"He may have disproven some of my reservations about him," Gates agrees. "But it's still not a good idea to have involved partners in the field together."
"We both know that's not true," Beckett challenges. "If it was, regular police partnerships would have to be broken up – those are tighter bonds than many marriages. I'm surprised that married officers haven't challenged the NYPD policy, and I don't doubt that they'd win if they did. As for relationships between an officer and a consultant, there is precedent there," Beckett concludes confidently.
"Really?" Gates asks, genuinely surprised. "It sounds like you've done your homework."
"Not me, sir," Beckett admits. "My partner has proven to be surprisingly organized on this front."
"Why am I not surprised?" Gates asks with a tone of indulgent exasperation.
"Sir, this is something that I'm willing to fight for, but I'm hoping that I won't have to," Beckett says earnestly. "Why don't we see how this goes, take some time for you to observe my team with this knowledge before we take any next steps?"
"I'll make no promises, Detective," Gates replies, "but that sounds reasonable, at least for now. A suggestion like that …," Gates begins, but trails off at hearing some commotion in the kitchen behind her.
"Okay, what the hell is going on? Hottie here picks me up this morning and tells me that the FBI needs my help, but now we're at some dirt farm. What is this, a cult or something? If so, I'm going to be the leader," the abrasive tones of Paula Haas cut through the farmhouse.
Beckett's about to rise from her seat to intervene when Paula comes onto the porch, trailed by Shaw, Graham, and another agent.
Seeing Beckett, Paula sighs and comes to a halt. "Ah. I shoulda' known," Paula says as she pulls up a chair and sits at an angle. "If it isn't Shiva, Goddess destroyer of book tours, speaking engagements, and client availability," she says with a smile. This is one of the reasons that Paula makes Beckett uncomfortable – she's never sure if the smile that follows abrasive or offensive words is meant to show that they were said in jest or to show that Paula is happy while gutting you.
"If you're here, then Rick must be kicking around here somewhere, too." Craning her head to look around the farmhouse and the assembled personnel, Paula turns back to Beckett and says "Yeah, I can totally see how spending time like this increases his book sales. So, where's my boy?"
The room seems slightly stunned by the wall of personality that Paula carries with her. As Beckett casts a quick glance around the room, she notices that Paula's captured everyone's attention, and there're even three more people in the doorway – another agent, Ryan, and Esposito. Commanding attention is her job, Beckett thinks, so maybe she shouldn't be surprised that Paula is so effective at it.
"He's upstairs recovering," Beckett says quietly, as if her voice could wake him if all this racket hasn't already done so.
"Recovering? From a night with you? Not likely," Paula replies flatly but with an inquisitive look. "Unless you brought some friends?"
Beckett gets sprayed slightly by the orange juice that Gates accidentally spits out upon hearing Paula's comments. Jordan's eyebrows have risen so high that they're part of her hairline, and Graham looks scandalized. Esposito, who'd cut through the crowd to be close to the action, earns a glare from Beckett for his chuckle.
"Ha!" Paula crows as she reaches over to steal the bagel off Beckett's plate. "Feds. Always so uptight," she says as she munches on the bagel. "But still cute," Paula adds as she gives Graham a predatory look.
"Paula, it's impolite to play with your food," Castle says from the doorway, "And I wasn't talking about the bagel." Using his good arm to pat Graham on the back as he walks into the room, Beckett sees that while his left arm is in a sling, he's using that hand to hold a plate. As he approaches, he uses his right hand to deliver the plate to her, already replacing the bagel that his agent stole. Beneath the plate is the file, which he was smart enough to not leave unattended.
"Ricky, you gorgeous bastard," Paula says as she stands quickly and embraces him. Though she aimed for an off-center hug to spare his left side, Beckett can see from his flinch that she wasn't entirely successful.
Stepping back, Paula gives him an assessing look. "I can make this look work, Ricky. The unshaven thing is totally hot. Work the hair and get a looser shirt, or maybe just a tank top undershirt, and we can have women lined up around the block – or across the alfalfa field, I guess – to nurse the recovering rogue. Damn, boy, you've been working out," she says as she considers him from different angles.
Castle starts to speak until Paula steamrolls right over him. Beckett's probably not the only one who is glad to see that even Castle can't seem to control this woman.
"Not that you need it. Have you heard?" Paula asks as she plucks a coffee cup out of the hands of a still-stunned agent standing nearby, takes a swig, then grimaces and hands it back. "The Turning feedback has been unbelievable. We've got to talk," she says as she catches his good elbow with the intention of dragging him out of the room. "There's a nasty fight about whose blurbs we'll use to sell the book. We've got incredible leverage."
"Paula, stop," Castle says calmly and, unbelievably, it works. "You're here to make some people famous, but not me." Paula looks confused for a moment, looking around the room again. It finally sinks in that she's in a hideout filled with law enforcement personnel, that she's been spirited away from New York City, and that her client who has typically downplayed his role as consultant has brought her into an operation.
"Ricky, what's going on?" she asks, looking to get a handle on the situation, or maybe an angle.
"We have evidence that a high-ranking official has been engaged for years as the head of a corrupt empire," Castle says, building his story. He's laying it on a little thick, Beckett thinks, but he probably knows better than anyone how to sell something to Paula.
"He's had people killed, used his influence to ruin inconvenient careers and bolster others. He portrays himself as a man of the people while raising money through racketeering, blackmail, and extortion," Castle says, almost seductively. And that's what this is, Beckett realizes, a seduction: he's inflaming Paula's desire for attention, information, and control. And he's doing it very well.
"Now, imagine that this person doesn't realize how much information we have. Imagine that he's smug and arrogant, the stereotype of someone who thinks he can get away with anything, because he can buy or threaten or kill his way out of any situation. Now, imagine that he's already committed to let local media interview him tonight for a live broadcast," Castle coos. Paula's eyes are dilated and she's taking short, panting breaths.
What a weird, disturbing situation, Beckett realizes. First, that someone could become so … aroused … about something like this. But also because Castle knew that this would be her reaction and seems to be able to channel it so effectively. Casting a quick look at the profiler, Beckett can tell that Shaw is having similar thoughts.
"Can you think of anyone who could help us plan a way to take him apart on-screen, in front of his adoring public? Can you think of anyone who could help us identify the people who would be able to ask the tough questions, who would launch their careers tonight, who would owe their success to whoever positioned them for this interview?" Castle concludes with an enchanting whisper.
Paula's eyes drift closed, and Beckett can only imagine the thoughts running through her head. Paula's wearing a small smile, and with her eyes closed she sways slightly in place. As Beckett's looking at her, Paula's eyes flash open and she looks focused. And annoyed.
"Why the hell are all you slackers just sitting around?" Paula asks the assembled crowd. "We've got work to do!"
Rural Farmhouse, Attlebury, New York, Tuesday ~8:30 AM
With Castle set up in the living room with Paula, starting to sketch out the broad outlines of the story and what they have in mind for tonight, Beckett gives Shaw a nod. They drift into the farmhouse's small study, a room that looks like it was converted from a pantry. As they begin to sit around the room's small desk, Gates enters with a chair she's brought from the kitchen. With an inquisitive look, she enters after receiving nods from both Beckett and Shaw.
"We need to go through the file," Beckett says, "for a couple reasons. We need to figure out what questions we're going to have Paula feed to the interviewers, we need to figure out who to watch, and we need to figure out when we're going to bring other into the investigation."
"We're in a little bit of a bind," Shaw says. "Just from the names the Weldon provided, we've got five people we need to watch, excluding Wilson, and this list could easily grow. If the Bureau is already compromised, I'm not sure how we could hope to staff a project of that scale without word leaking."
"Castle and I talked about this last night, until his drugs kicked in," Beckett picks up. "We were thinking that we should leave the money men out at first – Riley, Nyguen, and Simmons. One of the reasons to shake Bracken tonight is to threaten him, get his supporters to pull back for fear of going down with him."
"Detective Beckett, is that the same Simmons with whom you've had prior dealings?" Gates asks, much to Beckett's consternation.
"Yes, sir," Beckett confirms. "I suspect that might have been a contributing factor to Castle's support for leaving him to the side for now," she replies with a bit of annoyance. That Gates nods in agreement doesn't improve her mood.
"So, what's in this file?" Gates asks. "After all this trouble, it had better be good."
"There's a lot of stuff in there. Some files are of obvious value – correlations of Bracken's off-the book cases and the kidnappings, photographs of Bracken and the others involved in the scheme, notes – presumably in Bracken's handwriting – with times, names, and dates," Gates looks increasingly surprised that Bracken was foolish enough to take notes or let information like this out of his control.
"Then there're the pieces that will require more investigation. Banking records, wire transfer documentation, auditing documents. This stuff is probably pure gold, we just need some time to link them and figure out what we can do with them," Beckett concludes.
"If those are financial records," Shaw adds, "there could be a host of tax-related charges that we can add to the file against Bracken. Not only are those easier to prove, but they have some fierce sentencing guidelines. And if they link to others, the RICO charges are even nastier."
"Alright," Beckett says, tired of spending time on the summary. "Let's work through the documents and figure out what we can give Paula."
"Sounds good to me," Shaw agrees. "Lord knows I want to be prepared to deal with her when Castle turns her loose."
Just as they're about to set into the file, a knock from the doorway interrupts them. Turning and expecting to see Castle and Haas, they are surprised to instead see a beaten but jubilant Agent Avery. He's disheveled, looking like he tried to pull himself together hastily, and there's a bloody wrapping around his left thigh. But there's no mistaking his mood with that smile spread across his face.
"Good fishing trip, then?" Beckett asks and Avery's nodding before she finishes talking.
"We bagged three," Avery says as he approaches and shakes the hands of those in the room. "Including our dear colleague Agent Wilson. He hung back while two others rushed the room," Avery explains. "No IDs, but the other two look like they might fit in at Vantus. We're holding off on running prints until after tonight, in case doing so trips any alarms."
"Good thinking," praises Shaw, clearly very happy with this turn of events. "Everyone okay?" she asks while giving his thigh an obvious look.
"Freaking Castle," Avery grumbles, noting that he's now three-for-three on leg injuries for cases on which Castle is involved. "One of the guys that busted into the room was pretty good with a knife," Avery explains, "at least he was until he got tased. No worries, it's shallow, just a few stitches."
"Was anyone else injured?" Shaw asks, worried but also relieved that Avery's injuries weren't more serious.
"No," Avery responds, "but their driver got away. We didn't get a good look much less an ID, but she had a brown ponytail."
.
A/N: Hi all. I rushed to get this written to stay on schedule, so apologies for any typos. I appreciate that the action has ramped down from last chapter, but I've got to move the pieces into place, and I'm not sure the characters could withstand another day like yesterday (not with Paula storming around, certainly). RL looks to be more under control this week, so I'm looking forward to spending some time on the next chapter, which I hope to post on Wednesday. We're close to the end – three chapters, give or take, and maybe an epilogue.