Mannequins and Marionettes: Chapter 17
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DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters are not mine at all, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. The others? Yeah, they're mine
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Sunday – 3:05 p.m., April 1, 2012, At NuGenetix Headquarters in Silicon Valley
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Sam Carlos sits in the expansive, upper floor office gazing out over the streets below. A Stanford graduate from the hallowed forest grounds there, he is much more comfortable in a more natural setting than the stoic silicon-chip buildings that adorn the valley. It is one of the reasons that he keeps his residence in the Presidio back in the city. There, the natural beauty of the large forest of trees offer a breathtaking backdrop to the Golden Gate Bridge leading out to the Pacific Ocean.
Here, in the Silicon Valley, however, he finds none of that beauty. He finds himself anxious to get on with this discussion and get out. Across the room from him, Andrew Klein stands at his desk, anxious himself for a very different reason. Sam Carlos has come into his office, and not said a single word. The man entered, nodded his head and walked to the windows.
It has been roughly five hours since his visit there earlier this morning. A visit which left Cassandra Klein, the CEO's wife, infected with the drug RSX3 at the hand of Sam Carlos. Now, hours later, given the progress that Klein's team of researchers made overnight with just a hint of menace from the mobster, Carlos is counting on significantly greater developments to have occurred now that Klein has been 'properly motivated.' He knows that Andrew Klein will pull out all the stops, take more risks, in order to fine-tune an antidote that he now sees as for his darling wife, and not just for some philanthropist author.
And, truth be told, Carlos suspects that continued sedation – while good for preventing additional relapses with Richard Castle – must be a short-term solution for Castle. He's read the studies that suggest the beginning of the loss of brain weight somewhere between the ages of 45-50. While Richard Castle may appear to be a young man, he is – in fact – no spring chicken. The man, now in his mid-forties, is far closer to senior status than his east-coast reputation suggests. And Carlos knows the effect of sedation on those who are getting up in age. He has witnessed this with his own uncle. He has witnessed the delirium that came when they attempted to bring his mother's brother out of sedation after disease had ravaged his lungs. The fear and confusion in his uncle's eyes that morning is something that Carlos will never forget.
It is something he would like to spare his new-found friend at the San Francisco Chinese Hospital. Theoretically, a normal man Castle's age should be able to be sedated for days, perhaps weeks without much concern. But is Richard Castle a normal man? Would he awaken with no cognitive loss? Or would it be an episode similar to Sam Carlos' uncle?
No, he does not want to test this theory. Nor does he have the time, given the recent attempt on Castle's life. Yes, he has taken Barry Adams off the board, but he also has no idea how many people the councilman has sent to deal with the former author. For all any of them know, there could be dozens more attempts already being executed – or none at all. It is a risk he cannot take.
No, the best solution is to get an antidote to Richard Castle today – get him out of the hospital where he is a sitting duck – or a lying duck – and hope for the best. Hope that he will still be able to live a good life. Hope that the side effects of the drug have been eradicated, or at least significantly reduced.
And if not?
Well, again, Cassandra Klein will see the same fate. He trusts Andrew Klein's love for his wife to ensure that this scenario will not come to pass.
Carlos sighs. It was a long evening last night and a longer day today. He decides that he has kept Andrew Klein waiting long enough. He turns toward the CEO, his hands in his pockets, and addresses the executive.
"Well, Andrew," Carlos begins, "tell me what type of progress has been made since our earlier discussion this morning."
It is a test of will that keeps the Silicon Valley CEO from reacting to this greeting.
"Discussion?" Klein angrily thinks to himself. "You damn near condemned my wife to a brutal existence."
Fortunately, for Cassy Klein, a bit more progress has been made. Klein hopes it is enough to hold off the intimidating man in his office.
"I'll be honest, Sam . . . Mr. Carlos," he begins.
"It is Sam, Andrew," Carlos corrects him. "We are friends, no?"
Klein wisely keeps his counsel to himself as he continues.
"I'll be honest, Sam. We have made more progress. Not as much as I would like, mind you, but we are getting there. We have made progress on both the original RSX3 drug and the antidote."
He can see the questions forming in the mobster's eyes and moves quickly to diffuse the situation.
"By working on both the original drug and the antidote, we are better able to see cause and effect," Klein tells him. "It helps us fine-tune things, for lack of a better term."
Carlos merely nods his head, allowing the conversation to continue.
"Long story short, here is where we are," Klein continues. "My drug now takes fifteen to twenty minutes to take effect. I know this is not a priority for you right at the moment, Sam, but given how we both know you will be . . . involved in how this comes to market, I thought you would be interested in both the drug and the antidote."
Klein pauses under the darkening gaze of his guest, and quickly grabs a bottle of water that sits atop his desk. He takes a long swig, both to wet his now-parched throat as well as give him a few seconds of reprieve to keep himself together.
"Fifteen to twenty minutes after being administered the drug, the subject will collapse in a death-like state," he continues. "Unless . . . unless they are significantly startled. If something happens that significantly startles or frightens the subject, the emotional response kickstarts the drug right away."
He waits for a response – any response – from the impassive crime lord. A bead of sweat forms on his brow has he gets nothing in return. He continues.
"They will be asleep for two hours," Klein tells him. "This is good. It is progress. Two hours is much closer to our design goal of two and a half hours."
This gets a reaction from Carlos; a nod of the head. It is enough to spur Klein on.
"In the same manner, we see the antidote working much better in a similar vein. Still not perfect, mind you. Relapses are still occurring, but the good news is on two fronts."
"Do tell," Carlos encourages.
"Relapses occur," Klein repeats, "but they are no longer driven by memories. That's the progress. We don't have to worry about something in their mind, something from one's past being a catalyst to a relapse."
"So, what causes these relapses now, if not memories?" Carlos asks.
"That's the irony," Klein tells him. "As it is with the RSX3 drug, so it is with it's antidote as well. Something that significantly startles someone will cause the RSX3 drug to kick in initially – and the same type of startling event will trigger a relapse as well. And similar to the initial RSX3 drug, the relapse is ten to fifteen minutes, tops. We have the recovery time down to minutes, not hours. That's the second development. Now, understand, we are still working on –"
"This is the second time you have used that term," Carlos interrupts. "A significant startling event. Please explain."
"Certainly," Klein replies, taking another swallow of bottled water.
"By significant startling event, I mean something that really scares the subject. A frightening part in a movie won't do anything. Someone jumping out and yelling 'boo' won't trigger anything. The mind knows that isn't real. But a car backfiring. A tire blow-out. An unexpected explosion. A baseball crashing through a window. Those types of things. The subject will be out for ten to fifteen minutes. That's the other good news. We've kept the length of time down as well. They wake up, but still with no memory of the event. No memory of anything that has transpired since the first time they lapsed into unconsciousness from the drug."
Klein quickly takes another swallow of water, as the silence from his guest is completely unnerving. He knows what this man is capable of. He has heard about it, and now earlier this morning, he has witnessed it first-hand.
"We are still working on the relapses the subjects face," he continues. "Obviously we don't want them reoccurring. But it is progress, Sam. It is progress because it is change. And change is what we are after right now."
Carlos responds by turning his back on the CEO and walking back to the window. He gazes once again at the street below. An electric trolley rolls by on the tracks. He follows the short train until it is out of sight before turning back to Klein.
"I wonder," Carlos begins, "how Cassandra would feel listening to you refer to her as 'a subject'."
Carlos takes a breath, and smiles. It is the smile of a reptile. Of a predator. Klein actually clinches his groin area so he doesn't wet himself.
"I mean, if someone willingly takes your little drug . . . if they know what they are getting themselves into, then they are indeed, subjects," Carlos continues. "That, however, does not apply to your wife. Or my friend back in the city who is currently sedated. They are not subjects. They are victims. I would appreciate it if you – and your team – would approach your efforts with this distinction in mind."
"Yes, yes, of course," Andrew Klein profusely apologizes. Carlos interrupts him yet again.
"I do, however, agree that you have made progress," Carlos admits. "I trust that you will continue working to improve this antidote in the coming days and weeks – if for no other reason than for Cassy's sake."
"Of course, of-"
Carlos holds up his hand to stop the effusive barrage of words from the CEO.
"I – and my friend back in the city – however, do not have days or weeks," Carlos tells him. "I will take a vial of your antidote now, if you please."
"Are you sure?" Klein risks asking. "I mean we are getting close, I just need a –"
"What you need is time, and time is something I do not have," Carlos repeats. "I will take your antidote now – as is – with the understanding that you will continue to work on this. You will continue to work to find . . . a better solution."
"Yes, yes, of course," Klein agrees, sensing that he is going to get the man out of his office. He moves toward the wall behind his desk to the wall-safe there. He quickly tumbles in the combination and opens the safe. Retrieving a small multi-slotted wallet, he takes a single vial of the antidote. He begins to close the safe but is stopped by Carlos.
"Before you close that, I would also like one single dose of RSX3, my friend," Carlos tells him. Klein knows better than to question or argue with the man. He retrieves a capped syringe from a different wallet, and brings both items to his visitor.
"Here is the antidote" he begins as he hands the vial to Carlos. "And here is the RSX3."
"Thank you, Andrew," Carlos tells him as he places both objects in his inner coat pocket. He begins to walk toward the door, to let himself out. At the door, he turns one final time, a menacing smile on his face.
"Again, Andrew, I trust you realize that our business is not yet completed here – not by a long shot," Carlos tells him. "I expect a much better-working solution soon. My friend would appreciate it very much. And I'm sure you wife would as well."
With that, he leaves the shaking CEO holding onto his desk, thankful to get out of another meeting with Sam Carlos without any further damage. He whistles a tune as he takes the stairwell up to the roof, where a chopper sits on the helipad waiting to whisk him away back to the city . . . to Chinatown . . . and a certain patient waiting there.
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Sunday – 3:30 p.m., April 1, 2012, At the San Francisco Chinese Hospital in Chinatown
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Kate Beckett sits in a chair next to Richard Castle, who lies motionless in the bed. Alexis has returned from lunch and is in fan-girl mode, fawning over Lindy Matthews and Junior Boy – and sorely disappointed that she missed the festivities while she was downstairs. She has heard of the fighting prowess of the woman – and let's be real – who wouldn't be afraid of the imposing figure of Sam Carlos' large henchman.
She has noticed the growing welt on Matthew's cheek, as well as the purple swelling under one of the large man's eyes – the evidence of what she has missed while downstairs. She very much wants to question someone – anyone – but thinks better of it.
"I'm fine, Mike," she hears Lindy speak into her mobile phone. That would be Mike Monroe, back at the complex.
Kate half listens to the one-sided conversation and perks up at the word 'complex'. It seems as though it has been weeks since they have been there – yet it has just been a day. What began as a murder complete with mannequins and marionettes has become much more, and now she knows the identity of the puppeteer who has been pulling the strings. And she can do nothing about it, because Sam has taken that option off the table. She shudders at the thought of what Sam Carlos might do with the city councilman.
She has to smile as she listens to a second, separate phone conversation going on next to the window. There, Junior Boy stands with a phone to his ear, explaining how the smaller woman got the best of him to one Willie Crockett.
"Honestly, Junior Boy," Crockett tells him, "I'm impressed you are still here to talk about it. She is one large, redacted walking death of a woman."
"You won't get an argument from me," the large man tells Crockett, glancing over at Matthews who is still on the phone.
Kate is startled by her chirping phone. Seeing the caller, she smiles, then frowns. It's too soon for him to be calling her back, isn't it? She isn't sure whether this is good news or not as she answers.
"Hello, Sam," she greets him.
"Hello, Kate," he replies.
She can hear the sound of rotors and machinery in the background.
"I am guessing you are in your chopper now," she muses aloud.
"Indeed, and heading your way," he tells her. "I just want to give you a heads-up. I will be asking Dr. Argento and her team to revive Richard once I get there."
"You have an antidote?" she asks, anxiously. Her heart begins to race in anticipation.
"Yes, of sorts," he tells her. "More work needs to be done – and is being done, trust me. But for now, we have something that I think will work. Not knowing how many people were dispatched to attempt to deal with Richard, we have to place him in a less . . . vulnerable state, wouldn't you agree?"
"Absolutely," she agrees. "I was thinking the same thing myself. The only reason I haven't been freaking out over that right now is because I have two very fierce individuals in the room with me."
"Oh," he smiles at the other end. "Matthews got there?"
"Yes, she did," Kate answers.
"And?" he asks.
"And what, Sam?" Kate chuckles.
"Oh, you are an evil one," he laughs with her. "In the air now, Kate. I shall see you shortly. I hope our two little warriors play nice."
"Oh, they are best of friends now," she replies, emphasizing the last word. She hangs up, knowing that her words will keep her friend guessing for the duration of the flight. Besides – the important thing is that an antidote is on the way. Which means they can get out of the hospital, out of Chinatown – and if she has anything to say about it – out of California for a while. In four months they have opened an elaborate safety complex, survived an assault on said complex, survived a t-boning wreck that left Castle with a broken arm, freed almost fifty kidnapped women from sex-trafficking . . .
Yeah, a little time away from California will do them much good. Not that she expects Castle to want to leave the women who are gathered over across the bridge.
She pushes those thoughts away, knowing there will be plenty of time for that discussion later. When he is awake. When they put this all behind them.
She glances over at Alexis, who is staring expectantly at her. She smiles with pride at the young woman. She, too, has been through a lot these past months.
"The antidote is on the way, Alexis," she tells the grinning teenager.
"Thank God," the young redhead exhales. "This has been a nightmare."
"Well, we aren't out of the woods yet," Kate thinks to herself, as she wonders about one Barry Adams, about whoever may still be out there coming after Castle, wondering if there have been any more killings which started this entire mess.
She glances over at Castle, and at their fingers which are once again intermingled. She enjoys the sight of their hands together.
"Soon, babe," she tells him aloud.