Private Eyes 4: Extreme Ways
Chapter 9
"Castle!"
He groaned. Everything hurt.
"Castle!"
Like a memory, the flash of frantic hazel brown eyes and the whiff of a familiar vanilla cherry scent invaded his senses. Desperate pleas assaulted his ears. It was like lightning struck, and all that had occurred came rushing back. The image of her being taken from him was a burning slice to his very soul. His heart lurched in his chest, and his eyes snapped open.
"Kate!"
"Whoa, easy there, Castle." Soft hands gently held him down. "You might have a concussion."
Blinking, he glanced up.
"Kate?" Castle gasped, squinting in the sudden light. But as his blurry vision slowly came into focus, he realized it wasn't his wife kneeling over him, gently brushing her hands along his shoulders to keep him steady as he awoke. He worked his jaw and swallowed, pushing the name out in question, unsure and unsteady. "Gibson?"
Officer Kelly Gibson nodded, her eyes filling with relief as she pulled one hand up to tuck a loose strand of auburn hair back behind an ear.
A flood of memories assaulted him, disjointed and fractured. The fight with the traitor, Officer Wes Parker. His grisly death. The momentary reprieve before Gaspard Delacroix arrived. Le Papillon. The Butterfly. Ha. More like the Bastard.
The fragmented pieces of his recollection coalesced and his eyes went wide as he remembered. "He has her!"
"What, who?" Gibson asked, trying and failing to stop him from shoving his way up to his feet.
Steadying himself, Castle jerked his gaze about the cabin, realizing they weren't alone. Three other men were also there. By the manner of their dress, it was safe to assume all three were train security. The most senior of the three was staring at him, clearly expecting some sort of explanation for the chaotic state of the kitchen car. Wind still rushed in from the broken window. He blinked, recalling Parker slipping out of that window and… catching another train.
Shaking his head, clearing his mind of the grisly image, Castle turned to Gibson. "We don't have time for this," he spoke urgently. "Beckett's been taken."
"What?" her brow furrowed. "Parker?"
He shook his head. "Dead."
A flicker of emotion past across her young face before it disappeared. He instantly recognized the compartmentalization training as a form similar to the one he'd been taught at the Farm. He was attempting to do the same. The last thing Kate needed was for him to panic. Panicking wouldn't help her. It would only exacerbate the situation.
Castle put a hand on Gibson's shoulder and squeezed. "Sorry."
She swallowed and nodded.
"Monsieur, we have some questions," the older security officer stated, stepping forward.
Castle grunted, glancing back to Gibson. "Deal with them, I need to contact HQ."
Gibson sucked in a quick breath and offered a nod. She turned towards the head security officer, flashing him a polite smile. "Laisse-moi expliquer." Let me explain.
Castle rummaged through his pockets for his TCD-74 and drifted away as Gibson fired off a rapid explanation in French. She seemed to have everything well in hand. He flipped the device open and punched in a number, impatiently waiting as the call connected.
"Hello."
"Vikram," he greeted, and then hurried on before the younger man could respond. "Sorry, no time for pleasantries. I need you to search for a tracker with the following ID number: 361018A81087CB."
"Right, right," came the younger man's voice. He could hear the clatter of keys over the cellular connection. "What am I tracking exactly?"
"Beckett's wristwatch."
"What!? You put a tracker on your wife's wristwatch? Why?" Vikram exclaimed in shock. "I don't think that's good for a relationship, man. If she finds out—"
"Under the circumstances, I think she'll forgive me," Castle interjected.
"Okay," the analyst drawled out, sounding doubtful. "Oh, got a hit… uh... um, okay, that's weird."
"What?" Castle nearly snapped at the man, his anxiety and concern for his wife reaching Mount Everest level heights.
"Well, it can't be right," Vikram huffed in disbelief. "Something must be wrong with the trace, or you gave me the wrong number."
"No, the number is correct."
"You memorized that? Wow! How'd you do—"
"Just tell me what you've found out," Castle coaxed, gritting his teeth.
"The signal from the tracker is moving fast, like really fast," Vikram informed him. "It also doesn't appear to be on the ground. This is only a guess, but I'd say it's on a plane or helicopter… but I'm leaning towards plane."
Castle closed his eyes, and released a soft breath. "Then she's still alive."
"Yeah—wait! What?" came the startled response from his young friend. "Castle… what's going on?"
Taking a deep breath, attempting to utilize some of those techniques he'd learned during his training on the Farm, Castle was able to hold back some of the rising panic over his wife's abduction. He then quickly and efficiently told the analyst everything that had happened since the train's departure from Avignon that morning, ending with Parker's death and the arrival of Gaspard Delacroix.
"Oh man, this… how can you be so sure she's still—?"
"Because the only other alternative is unacceptable," Castle ground out. "I will not lose her. Not now. Ever."
"Right," he could picture his friend nodding. "Okay, what do you need from me?"
"Hold a sec," Castle shifted and waved a hand to get Gibson's attention.
The young CIA officer disengaged from the aggrieved security officer and stepped over. "Yes?"
"Where are we right now?"
She checked her watch. "We should be in Barcelona in 40 minutes, more or less."
Castle nodded and, ignoring the questioning look Gibson shot him, returned to his call with Vikram. "We need faster transportation from Barcelona to Seville." It was a gamble, but a safe one, he thought, seeing that Seville had been Elena Markov's original destination. Besides, it really was his only lead. He just had to hope his guess was correct.
"I'll need to get approval from the DSC," the tech hedged.
"Just do what you can, and as fast as you can," Castle shot back, and then, after another calming breath, added, "And Vikram… thank you."
"Anything for you, Castle."
He disconnected the call, and looked over Gibson's shoulder at the annoyed security officers. He sighed and met the younger woman's gaze, hoping he could trust her. Parker's betrayal made him wary. He couldn't help but wonder if Gibson had purposely led him on a wild goose chase to divide them, leaving Kate alone and vulnerable. It was difficult to give her the benefit of the doubt, but for Kate's sake, he had no choice. Besides, his gut was telling him he could trust the junior CIA officer, and if he couldn't trust his instincts, then all was lost.
XXX
He burst out of his office, and hurriedly jogged down the corridor. His pulse raced as he growled with frustration when the palm scanner glitched on the initial pass. Clenching his jaw, he slowly breathed in and went through the procedure again, this time forcing himself to be patient. A buzz sounded from the panel and the door hissed as the security seals unlocked. Grabbing the handle, Martin Danberg opened the door and rushed into the dimly lit operations room.
"How the hell did we miss this?" he demanded.
Emmett Grisham turned and scowled.
"Thomson and his team are pulling apart Parker's apartment in Paris," the Deputy Section Chief said. "Nothing so far."
"And what about Gibson?" Danberg questioned.
"I have Finch running a deep dive on Officer Gibson," Grisham nodded towards a dark-haired female analyst.
Danberg scrubbed a hand down his face and stalked over to her station, glancing over her shoulder. "Anything yet, Stacey?"
Finch narrowed her eyes, focus retained on her work. "I'm running another search through secondary connections, both personal and professional. Triple checking her financials. So far, she's clean."
He patted her shoulder. "Keep me in the loop."
Finch nodded.
"Any news on Beckett?" Danberg asked, his chest tightening with worry for his friend's wife.
"Castle gave Mr. Singh a tracer ID number," Grisham said, but before he could say more, the door to the conference room burst open.
Assistant Deputy Director Grayson marched in with two other senior Agency officials. Danberg immediately recognized the tall, thin faced man with glasses and a mane of peppery gray hair as Aaron Talbot, the Director of National Clandestine Services, Samson York's replacement. The other man wasn't as tall, but wore a serious expression that matched his serious haircut. Everyone in the building knew him. Deputy Director of the CIA Arthur Kirby. Scuttlebutt was that the new president would likely tap Kirby to replace Director Reynolds.
"Report," Grayson took command of the room.
Emmett Grisham immediately stepped forward and rapidly went through the bullet points. As the senior officers conferred, Danberg moved towards Vikram Singh's station. The analyst glanced up and nodded when he saw him approach.
"Why didn't you call me earlier?" he asked in a low hiss, aggravated that he was behind on so much that had recently occurred.
The younger man blinked. "Sorry, everything was happening so fast, and I had to get authorization from Mr. Grisham. And… well, you needed the sleep."
Danberg sighed. Yeah, he had. But still… "Next time wake me," he told the tech. "Something this big. I need to know."
He glanced over to where Grayson and Grisham were discussing matters with the Deputy Director. Meanwhile NCS Director Talbot looked annoyed. Wes Parker had been one of his. Danberg could only imagine what the Agency would do. A coverup was likely. After the revelation of ADD Dan Kovaks's ties with the Consortium, the CIA couldn't take another hit like that.
Shaking his head, glad he didn't have to worry about the politics of it, Danberg turned back to Vikram.
"The tracer?" he asked.
"Beckett's wristwatch," Vikram informed him. "When Castle first called, it was moving really fast, possibly indicating she was aboard a plane."
"And now?"
"Castle was right," Vikram said, clearly impressed. "Seville."
"Can you narrow that down?"
Vikram bobbed his head. "Working on that."
"He still on the train?"
"Nah," Vikram shook his head. "We got him and Gibson aboard a Gulfstream in Barcelona. Currently in route to Seville."
Danberg nodded as he stood back. He dug his cellphone out of his pocket and sent off a quick text of support to his friend. A response came moments later.
The text message read: I'll hold you to that.
Danberg couldn't help but smile.
"You see, don't you, that I was right," came a deep voice.
Jerking his head up, Danberg narrowed his eyes and scowled at the speaker. Agent Jackson Hunt always seemed to emerge from the shadows, even when there were none to emerge from.
"I said it at the very beginning, and no one listened, least of all my son," the senior man went on. "That woman would compromise him."
Unable to take the man's bullshit anymore, Danberg stepped forward. "If you hadn't tricked them into going to that restaurant, then they wouldn't have been involved in the first place. That, sir, is on you."
Hunt remained standing tall, unaffected by the clear contempt in Danberg's voice. "Wes Parker's betrayal proves I was right we needed an operative like Castle on the mission," the older man stated, smug in his validation. "We need someone with experience we can trust. Parker clearly wasn't that. And I still have my doubts about Officer Gibson."
Danberg opened his mouth to respond, but stopped himself. He simply held up a hand and shook his head. "I don't have time for this," he said, and pointedly turned his back on the senior agent, shifting his focus to Vikram. "Let's see if we can narrow down that tracer signal."
Vikram grinned. "Yes, sir."
XXX
The mansion was of the kind that had clear Moorish influences mixed with Western designs that made it uniquely Spanish. The inner courtyard was surrounded by polylobed arches with intricate floral and vegetal motifs etched above the archways. The walls were decorated with colorful tilework in geometric designs with a focus on eight-pointed and sixteen-pointed star motifs. All beautiful and gorgeous. Works of art.
Marring that beauty were the armed guards that line the inner courtyard and upper balcony. The babble of water from the marble fountain in the center was the only sound, save the white noise of the bustling city beyond the estate's walls.
Elena Markov strolled out onto the upper balcony that lined the courtyard. Placing a hand on the iron railing, she closed her eyes and leaned forward, basking in the warm afternoon sunlight. It felt good.
A noisy engine from a sport car interrupted the tranquility of it all. Blinking her eyes, Elena glanced down and watched as two guards opened the metal gate to admit a man, tall with dark features, reeking of power. He entered with an entourage. Slipping back behind a column, she observed their progress through the courtyard, listening as the man barked out orders in Spanish with a voice that matched the quality of his status and power. He disappeared into one of the lower chambers, along with several members of his entourage. A smaller segment drifted in other directions.
The Broker.
It had to be him.
Frowning, she stepped back into the room she'd been told to wait in. She went straight for her leather satchel, opening it and locating the Keystone. The USB drive felt heavier in her hand than it had when she first acquired it. Despite all his bluster, Le Papillon had been right about one thing: There was a power struggle going on within the Consortium.
Ray Kilmer had eliminated the Board, decimating the leadership. In the aftermath, the Kingmaker (formerly the Chairman) had been arrested. Nature abhorred a vacuum, and those in the lower chains of command within the organization were clearly at work to secure power for themselves.
Her extraction from CIA custody was just another link in the chain. Her services were needed, and her skills were so valued that her current employer was willing to wait while she recovered from her injuries. From an early age, it had been drilled—often violently—into her not to ask questions. But, as she stared at the Keystone, Elena couldn't help but wonder what was so important on the USB drive that necessitated the extremes in which the Broker was willing to go to acquire it.
She didn't like being played with.
A sudden commotion arose from the courtyard, interrupting her dark ruminations.
Pocketing the USB drive, Elena quietly moved back out onto the balcony. The gate was opened and a group of men were stalking in. She recognized the strong frame of the leader. Gaspard Delacroix had arrived. And he hadn't come alone. Her eyebrow raised as her gaze alighted upon the familiar individual.
Trailing behind him, being carried by two henchmen with thick necks, was a slim woman with long brunette hair. Even from this angle, looking down from above, and without a glimpse of her face, Elena knew who the woman was. Kate Beckett.
Interesting.
Gaspard and his men stopped just inside the courtyard, and were greeted by the head guard. Yes. That would be Rojas. A thoroughly unpleasant man. Elena had made it a point to never let her guard down when he was present.
Cocking her head, Elena watched the scene unfold. Gaspard gestured towards Beckett, and Rojas moved forward to inspect the unconscious woman being carried by the two thugs. He gripped her hair and pulled her head back to examine her beautiful face. Satisfied that she was still sedated, Rojas stepped back and spoke in rapid Spanish. The thick neck grunts dragged Kate Beckett away, following another guard into a room on the opposite side of the courtyard.
Elena arched her neck to glance back towards the entrance, expecting to see a similarly unconscious Rick Castle hauled in, only to be disappointed. She narrowed her eyes as the gate to the outer compound was shut without any further admittance.
A shout pulled her attention back, and she saw Gaspard had spotted her. He offered that damned charming smile, and waved. She watched as he hurried forward, disappearing beneath. Leaning against the inner wall, Elena turned, prepared to greet the Butterfly.
Gaspard bounded up the stairs with a grin, rounding a support column with a preening quality to his stride. Elena pursed her lips and knitted her eyebrows together.
"You brought a guest," she greeted when he was within earshot.
He inclined his head with a smug grin. Oh, the hubris. "Snatched her from Castle with little effort. It was shockingly easy," he feigned a crestfallen expression. "Quite disappointing, really. I'd expected better from him."
Elena just shook her head. "You're a bigger fool than I thought."
Gaspard let out an indignant huff. "I took that which he treasures most. He'll be lost without her. Distracted. Useless."
"If that was your intention, then you've failed," Elena said. "He'll stop at nothing to get her back now. All his focus will be lasered in on rescuing her. And you've brought her here. He'll find her. And, by extension, us." She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. "It was a mistake to take her, Gaspard."
His sharped eyes flicked up to meet her challenging gaze. "It matters not," he asserted, arrogant to the last. "He'll never make it past the guards."
"You underestimate your adversary at your own risk," Elena said. "Need I remind you, Richard Castle brought down Ray Kilmer. The Knave was the most feared out of all of us, and he was no match for them."
The Butterfly smirked. "Them," he repeated, jabbing a finger in the air. "Precisely. Castle didn't take Kilmer down by himself. His woman was with him. You were there, mon coeur. Who fired the fatal shot?"
Elena absently rubbed at the spot on her lower torso. She glared at Gaspard. The man had seen the scars last night when they'd had sex, had ran his fingers over them as he'd played her up and up with his mouth. He knew who had been responsible for giving her those scars before he'd seen them. He simply liked to play. And she'd allowed it, enjoying his ministrations. But now it left her feeling oddly exposed. And that was not a feeling she relished. Releasing a breath, she forcibly dropped her hand, angry at the weakness she'd displayed for succumbing to her baser desires.
"I still say it's a mistake," Elena persisted, after regaining control and hiding behind her well-worn mask of mild indifference. "Castle won't stop until he finds her. He isn't the same man you remember from before. She's changed him."
Gaspard shrugged. "I can take him, if it comes to that." Always cocky and full of himself.
A noise from the courtyard caught their attention. Gaspard glanced down as Rojas appeared from one of the chambers. The head guard stared up at them.
"The Broker wishes to see you both," he shouted up, his English layered in a thick Spanish accent. "Bring the Keystone."
Elena gestured for Gaspard to lead the way, and she followed him down the stairs and across the courtyard, walking around the central fountain and towards the polylobed arch Rojas stood waiting beneath. The unpleasant man squinted his eyes as he appraised her for a moment, before grunting and turning to conduct them to the meeting with her current patron within the remnants of the Consortium.
She glanced briefly at the Butterfly, who grinned at her and then followed Rojas into the room. Elena waited a beat, knitting her eyebrows together as she hurriedly strategized potential actions once she met the Broker and learned whatever plans he deigned to share.
Sighing, she willed her legs forward and moved to join the others.