Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.


Espo's waiting for them as they pull up to the dock, looking ridiculous.

"A guitar case?" Castle laughs as he takes hold of what Espo passed down to him before he lowered himself into the raft.

"I got my insertion backpack in the case. You really think a regular gun case would draw less attention?" the sniper growls as he nearly loses his footing while Beckett starts maneuvering the boat back into the center channel of the river.

"How many people would know what a sniper case looks like?" Castle wonders aloud, letting his gloved hands slide down the guitar case. "Besides, you never struck me as a guitarist."

"Why not?" Espo growls in reply, wrenching the case out of Castle's hand and stowing it gently before hunkering down in the raft. "And answer carefully, 'cause that's not the only gun I've got on me. One reference to 'more cowbell' and I'll use it."

"It's like talking to Beckett, this disturbing propensity for violence," Castle grouses quietly before cutting her a quick look. With the noise of the motor he knows there's no way she could've heard him, but he's still nervous about her raised brow. "Anyway, I always pictured you as more of a DJ than a lead guitar-type of guy. You know, performing out front but with your tools around you."

"Well, that's okay then," Espo replies after some brief consideration. "Now, enough with that, tell me what's going on and why I brought my rifle to this freezing-ass joy ride on the river."

Castle settles in front of Espo, pulling a file out of his jacket and unclipping a small lantern that had been attached to the side tube of the raft.

"Simple setup," Castle starts while holding the folder in place so it doesn't blow away, dropping into a tone of voice appropriate for briefing but still speaking loud enough to be heard over the wind as they skim across the water. "The main team's in a riverside meatpacking warehouse. The refrigeration requirements mean thick walls, insulation that'll impair infrared scopes, and separate rooms as fallback positions."

"Nice," Espo comments, looking at a small overhead drawing of the layout.

"Riverside access will be blocked by two trawlers, each of which will have a fortified emplacement with sufficient firepower to deter an approach from the water."

"That your exit plan, too?" Espo asks. "Not gonna get away fast in a trawler."

"No," Castle replies, shaking his head. "Too obvious, since that's how we'll arrive, though we'll turf our raft there as a distraction. We've got vehicles inside and a bolt-hole if we need to hunker down. But we're not planning to escape. No need to flee when you're the last one standing."

"That'd be nice," Espo agrees with a pragmatic nod, "but you know it never goes down as planned."

Castle agrees with a simple shrug and returns to the briefing. "We've got forward positions here, here, and here," he says as he points to the drawing. "They'll wait until the building is assaulted, then engage to catch the assault force from the rear and flanks."

"How many?"

"Ten. Three teams of three on the outside," Castle answers quickly. Then, with a sigh that's barely heard over the noise of the motor and the water passing beneath them, he adds: "And one free agent."

Espo furrows his brow and scowls. "A floater in the middle of all that? He's gonna get dead real quick, shot from one side or the other, maybe both."

"Can't shoot a ghost," Castle answers tersely. At Espo's widening eyes, he confirms the guess. "Yeah, the ghost of Tuweitha. Or, as I could call him, dad."

"You're shittin' me," Espo gulps, jaw still hanging slack. "He's here? And he's your dad?!"

"Well, he's my father," Castle qualifies, the distinction he's making apparent at least to himself. "So, yeah, watch out: if the Precinct ever has a father-son picnic, we'll be unstoppable. Hard to win a three-legged race when you've been knee-capped by a government-trained assassin."

Espo huffs a grim laugh and casts a quick eye at Beckett to see if she can hear the inappropriate conversation. Like Castle, he's concerned about her attentive look even though there's no way she could hear them. Is there?

"Okay," he says to get them moving again. "So where are we going?"

"We'll drop you here," Castle says while pointing at the map again. "From there, you've got three options we've scouted." Lifting the drawing, Castle reveals an overhead picture with three locations circled in red marker, each with a letter beside it. "Each offers a vantage over the main approach. This one," he says, pointing to one of the circles, "also affords a view of the water."

"Bit obvious," Espo replies, thinking about the layout. "If I was a bad guy, that's where I'd look for a sniper."

"That's why it's your call," Castle agrees before turning in place and reaching for a small bag. "Keys for A and B are inside, along with a bolt cutter for C. And a burner and headset, pictures of the 'good guys,'" he says with air quotes, still hesitant to embrace the redemption of Talbot's gang of would-be thieves, "and some documentation you can pull if the authorities come calling."

"A bolt cutter?" Espo asks incredulously. "Nice to work with proper professionals."

Castle shrugs, confident that Espo worked with far less while in Special Forces. Espo, meanwhile, flips between the tactical drawing and the overhead photos. Finally, he shrugs, packs up the folder and tucks it beneath his guitar case. While he turns to extracting his rifle and repacking, Castle shuffles over to Beckett's side where he crouches silently as the biting wind from the water reddens their cheeks.

Fifteen minutes later, they leave Espo at river's edge where he can scramble to whichever overlook he determines is most attractive. They've got a few hours before they expect to need him, so he's got time to get set. And, after thinking about it, they decided perhaps it was best if Beckett and Castle didn't know where he'd be. They can discuss that later over the headset if necessary, but they retain plausible deniability until then. None of them are sure if they're hiding Espo's presence from their opponents or Jackson's team.


"I suppose we shouldn't rig this to blow," Castle grudgingly admits as they tie off the raft between the two trawlers on the back-side of the meatpacking warehouse serving as they're redoubt and Bracken's prison.

"Assuming there's no assault from the water, it'd be nice to have a back-up escape plan," Beckett agrees. In all likelihood, someone will disable or sink the raft for exactly that reason, but their enemies are unlikely to commandeer the craft.

Castle nods while he takes off a glove and dials a number on a cell phone Beckett doesn't recognize.

"Yeah, it's us. Unlock the back door, will you? Baloney. You knew it was us or we would've been blown out of the water. Yeah, yeah, yeah. No, it was one if by land, two if by sea. Seriously? Shipton, you need some American history lessons. Yes, there is too such a thing," he huffs while letting Beckett see him roll his eyes at Shipton's apparent nonsense on the phone. "Bloody Brits, still can't accept that their empire barely covers their puny island these days," he grouses before disconnecting the call.

"No flirting with the help," Beckett reminds him as they bump shoulders and approach the river-side door to the facility, from which the sounds of disengaging locks are already audible.

"Just bleeding off some tension," he replies to her teasing.

"I'd tell you to leave the flirting to me, but then you'd engage in some male fantasy that'd have you distracted for the rest of the night."

"Too late," he grins, ignoring Shipton's raised brow as they enter building.

"So much for not participating in the siege," Shipton says as she closes the door and resets the locks. "Lynch wants to see you both."

Shipton's lack of humor likely means she got reamed while the partners were approaching the warehouse, so both Castle and Beckett gird for a chilly reception from Lynch. Unsurprisingly, he's tucked into a central office with surveillance screens and communications equipment arrayed around him. After escorting them into the room, Shipton leaves silently to return to her post.

Lynch ignores them while fiddling with some of the communications equipment. If this were Gates or anyone else at the precinct, Beckett would suspect they were being purposely slighted. But Lynch doesn't seem like the kind to engage in that type of behavior – he would've just left them out on the dock, or had the trawlers sink their raft on approach.

"You're late," Lynch breaks the silence, his eyes on the surveillance screens but his attention on them.

"Needed to make a stop," Castle shrugs.

At this, Lynch looks up fiercely, his intelligent eyes already spinning through the implications. "If your back-up shoots anyone on my team I'll drop you where you stand," he promises in a calm voice before returning his attention to the screens.

Castle nods, unaffected by the quiet threat. Beckett, meanwhile, again ruminates on the acceptance of lethal violence among this group. It makes her even more anxious to get herself and Castle away from them.

"You've got guard duty," Lynch continues, pointing to a screen that features an overhead feed of a bowed and bound Senator Bracken. "You're the last line of defense if they try to free him."

"You mean we're fodder," Castle replies. "They need him silenced, not retrieved. He's too much of a liability."

"Probably," Lynch agrees dispassionately. "But they might want to get a handle on how much he told us. But if do try to take him and you get pinned down, I expect you to kill him before they take you."

Again, Castle answers with a nod. Such a simple movement to acknowledge that they'll be in the line of fire and will murder a captive before they let him be rescued. What frightens Beckett the most is that she nodded, too.


"Don't I get a last meal?"

Those are the first words they've heard from Bracken since they joined him several hours ago. In all that time, he'd sat unmoving, appearing catatonic. Beckett, who'd wondered if she'd feel any better for engaging in another verbal showdown with the architect of her mother's demise, found herself appreciating the silence. Castle, too, had been quiet. It wasn't a companionable silence among the three, but it was certainly a contemplative one.

So, of course, Bracken had to ruin it.

To her surprise, Castle remains silent even as he rises. After rooting around in a duffel, he extracts a few granola bars. After tossing one to Beckett, he unwraps two others and drops them onto the table beside which Bracken sits. With each wrist and ankle bound to his wooden chair, the only option Bracken has is to lower his head and eat like a pig at a trough.

"Can you…"

"No," Castle answers immediately, unwilling to entertain the thought of freeing even one of Bracken's hands and annoyed at having to speak. But, seeing as the silence has been broken, he offers a short explanation. "Your sole value at this point is as live bait. This will all likely be over in the next twelve hours and I expect you'll make it that far without any food or water. That," he says while pointing at the sad little bars of sustenance, "is as charitable as I'm willing to be."

"I thought I was supposed to be the willing conspirator," Bracken replies, trying to sound tough. His efforts are distracted by his covetous glances at the granola bars. "If… others find me like this, they'll see through your little scheme."

"Nice try," Castle replies with a grim smile as he picks up one of the bars he'd left for the disgraced senator and pops it into his mouth. "At this point, the only reason they'd want you alive it to know exactly how much you told us. Whether at our hands or theirs," he pauses as he swallows his stolen bite, "you're a dead man."

It's a sign of exactly how far Bracken's fallen, how cowed he is by his circumstances, that this cold declaration doesn't change his demeanor. Instead, he turns his head to face Beckett, though his facial tick reveals his concern that Castle might take the rest of the food.

"And you? You're a cop. You're okay with this? Kidnapping, torture, murder?"

Recalled from her own thoughts, Beckett slowly focuses on the shackled man in front of her. He doesn't look like much of a monster, but her job has taught her that they usually don't. The worst, most deranged killers she's caught looked innocuous, sometimes even friendly. So the senator's appearance elicits little sympathy.

Instead, she thinks about how they got here. Murder, corruption, a raw torrent of sadistic, selfish violence stretching back decades and most recently culminating in Castle's torture and threats against his daughter. She's lost her mother, nearly lost her father, and nearly lost the man with whom she wants to spend the future.

"I'm not okay with this," Beckett starts. She's not trying to inflict more harm to Bracken, but she appreciates the brief glimmer of potential relief in his eyes because she knows her next words will crush his hope. "That's insufficient to describe how satisfied I am with this situation. Coonan is gone. Simmons is gone. And soon, you'll be gone, too."

"I suppose you think this is justice?" Bracken asks, his attention finally pulled away from the forlorn granola bar.

"Justice?" Beckett scoffs. "No, we needn't dissemble. This is vengeance," she admits with a shrug. "Mom will dispense justice. I'm just happy to send you on your way to meet her."

"And there's nothing I could do, nothing I could offer…," Bracken rallies, testing the waters. His effort trails off as Beckett rises from her seat and glides over to face him. Castle, who'd been lounging against the table, retreats several steps to cede this discussion to his partner.

Beckett's eyes bore into Bracken's as the seconds crawl by. Shortly, he begins to fidget. Several times he looks as if he's about to say something, only to swallow his words every time. When Beckett finally stoops to look at him from only inches away, he recoils from her icy stare and the low, sepulchral tone.

"There is only one thing you could do," she whispers as she towers over her demon. "Only one thing you could offer that might sway me. Only one chance at redemption."

"Money?" Bracken stutters, too wary to be optimistic. "I've got money. Money not even Zoltick knows about."

When Beckett looks unimpressed, Bracken panics and casts about for another offering.

"Names!" he whimpers. "I know people. Bad people. You could bring them in, protect people from them."

Castle, in the background, finds himself fascinated with this experiment. Bracken started his appeal with greed, which failed quickly. Interestingly, he jumped from there into an offer to enable Beckett to help people. It's an unusual move – he would've expected an offer of protection for Beckett's father and co-workers. At the very least, he thinks while acknowledging the macabre tenor of his thoughts, this conversation has proven to be more interesting than his tête-à-tête with Simmons.

Bracken, meanwhile, has noticed that his second offer still didn't hit the mark. Growing desperate, he gives up.

"Anything!" he promises. "Just tell me what you want."

"What I want?" Beckett replies to a vigorously nodding Bracken. "All I want is…," she trails off, letting Bracken dangle as he leans forward and stares beseechingly. "All I want is… a granola bar." With that, Beckett turns and returns to her chair.

Bracken looks absolutely dumbfounded. Her nonsensical answer leaves him locked in place as he tries to make sense of it. Then, suddenly, his mind lurches back into gear. "Here! You can have…," his heart breaks along with his voice as he looks at the empty table where his sustenance had rested just moments ago. But it's gone. Somehow, Castle or Beckett liberated the last bar without notice. And now he's left with nothing – nothing to offer, nothing to eat, and nothing to anchor any kind of hope.


A/N: So, it's been a while. But I'm back in action. We're close to the end of this one, probably just one more chapter (or two if I decided to split it as I did for tonight's posting).

Before I turn to posting the next chapter tonight, a few quick words of thanks. Aalon, bponder, P2PW, and Smitty provided encouragement to get my tail writing again. A twitter conversation between Wendy and Lou also reminded me about how much fun this can be. So, thanks!