Private Eyes 4: Extreme Ways

Chapter 13

She stood in the bathroom in nothing but a tank top and a pair of white cotton panties, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The harsh bright lights accentuated the weariness and stress from the previous couple of days. Purposely widening her eyes, she leaned forward and assessed her condition. Her pupils were no longer dilated. She appeared to be clean. The last vestiges of the side effects had dissipated. And the result had been a piercing headache. It was like having a jackhammer inside her head.

Withdrawing, she ducked her head down and turned the faucet, cupping her hands underneath the spout to collect the water. Closing her eyes, she splashed the water onto her face. Grabbing a nearby towel, she languidly dried off, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric against her skin.

A knock came from the opened doorway, followed by a rich baritone voice that helped settle some of her discomfort.

"How you doing?"

She turned. Reclined against the jamb was her husband, clad in his boxer briefs and a tight white shirt that hugged his solid frame, highlighting his broad shoulders and biceps. Damn, he looked sexy. If only she could properly enjoy the pleasing sight. But, unlike the previous night, she didn't feel like she could even enjoy sex, which was a damn shame, because sex with her husband was the best. At least she'd been able to soothe and tend to him last night in very gratifying and delightful ways while still mildly stimulated by the effects of the truth serum. Now, like the excessively long debriefings they'd endured today, it was torment and torture.

"I have a killer headache," Kate groaned, rubbing her forehead. She glared at him. "Tell me again, why won't you let me take some aspirin?"

"Doctors advised against it, remember," he said. "You need to cleanse your bloodstream of all the drugs before subjecting your body—which is amazing, by the way—to anything more, even if it's of the helpful variety."

"Fucking doctors," she grumbled. "I used to date one, you know, before you. Before all this."

"Yeah, I remember," Castle nodded, scowling a bit. "If I recall, he was a douchebag."

She would have rolled her eyes if it didn't make the pounding in her head feel worse. "You say that about all my exes."

"Of course," Castle said like the answer was obvious, offering her one of his roguish smiles. "It's because none of them can possibly compare to how great I am. You really lucked out, trust me, sweet cheeks."

This time, headache be damned, she did roll her eyes. "You really need to keep that big ego in check."

He chuckled, and waggled his eyebrows. "My ego's not the only thing that's big."

Kate groaned. She thought about admonishing him for such a crude joke, but he did have reason to boast, and she, more than anyone, had the privilege of appreciating the complete package that was Richard Castle. So, instead, she gave him a very mild form of her patented look, before turning back to the sink and filling her cupped hands with more water.

"You'll feel better in the morning," Castle assured, walking up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders.

She sighed, and lulled her head to the side when he started to work the tensed muscles. Oh, yeah. He was good at that. He was really talented with his hands. A low moan escaped her lips, and she felt herself starting to relax.

"There," he squeezed her shoulders. "Already feeling better."

Kate offered him a small smile. "You always make me feel better."

He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "Sure you're not still feeling those side effects?"

She bit her lower lip and shook her head. "Except for this damn headache."

His eyes still showed some concern. "I'll grab you a water bottle from the mini-fridge," he offered. "The best thing for you is to hydrate and get some rest." He flashed her a grin, and gave her behind a little playful pat, and then he was gone.

Kate turned the faucet, shutting off the stream of cool water. Rubbing her forehead, she flicked off the lights and padded out of the bathroom. Their hotel room in Seville wasn't as opulent or large as the suite they still had in Paris, but it was better than any hotel room she'd stayed at back home in the States. And the CIA was footing the bill.

"Here," her husband handed her the water bottle.

The exterior was chilled, and she tipped her head back, swallowing a large gulp, relishing the cold crispness of the water. A sigh escaped her lips. That felt good.

"Another," Castle instructed.

She took another small sip, and her attentive husband seemed appeased. He relieved her of the water bottle, placing it on the nightstand on her side of the bed.

"I see you've provided the turndown services," she noted, moving around him to climb onto the mattress, slipping her legs underneath the sheets.

Castle offered a theatrical bow, proving he was Martha Rodgers's son. It made her laugh, but she found it quite endearing. He stalked back to the door, double checking the bolt and chain latch, before hastily turning off the lights and joining her in bed.

He snuggled in close, wrapping an arm around her waist. Closing her eyes, Kate turned onto her side and wiggled her butt back into him as he bent his knees until they were in the perfect spooning position. A satisfied sigh escaped her lips.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much."

He dropped a kiss on the back of her head, nestling closer, and she couldn't help but smile.

"We'll be back in Paris tomorrow, enjoying our honeymoon," he promised.

She hummed in response, and feeling content, drifted off into sleep.

XXX

He once again found himself in Assistant Deputy Director Pamela Grayson's office. This time it was just the two of them. Deputy Section Chief Emmitt Grisham was in Ops, supervising any and all necessary wrap up details involved with the CIA's operations in Seville. Martin Danberg waited patiently as his superior read through his final report. It was another thing that made her different from Samson York. His former boss hadn't required his presence for the submission and review of a report. Grayson, however, liked having the supervisory officers under her authority immediately available for any questions she had.

At first, Danberg wondered if he was just being singled out because he was a recent transfer into her section, but he soon learned that it was just part of how she operated. Finishing up, Grayson closed the file and folded her hands on top of her desk.

"Thorough," she said, locking eyes with him. "As I've come to expect from you."

He shifted, already suspecting what was coming.

"You didn't hold back."

"No," he answered, keeping it short. He'd already said everything that needed to be said.

"Interesting," she noted, steepling her fingers as she assessed him with keen eyes. "I was curious. I thought that perhaps your attitude might have softened."

Knowing to which she referred, Danberg worked his jaw as he contemplated his response. "Despite recent developments, I still disagree with how we got here."

He kept his gaze locked on hers, refusing to flinch under her piercing stare.

After a long beat, she nodded. "Understood. And accepted. The situation wasn't ideal, but Castle's involvement proved instrumental, even if Elena Markov managed to elude him. Regrettable. But that can be forgiven considering the acquisition of the USB drive. Besides, with the internal leaks this operation has exposed, detaining Miss Markov isn't as high a priority as it once was. There are far bigger concerns at the moment."

Danberg didn't know if he entirely agreed about that. However, he wasn't quite confident enough in his working relationship with ADD Grayson to voice those objections. Yet. Instead, he decided it best to stick with what was clearly the Agency's priority right now.

"Any luck on that?" he asked, curious.

She offered him a tight smile. "I'm afraid that's currently above your pay grade."

He'd thought as much. Shifting, he asked, "What of the USB?"

"Our European division is working on it now," Grayson said. "The device is heavily encrypted, so we don't know yet what information it holds. Only that it was important enough that Mendoza wanted it."

At the mention of the so-called Iberian Prince, Danberg shook his head. "I can't believe the Seville authorities released him."

Grayson sighed, inclining her head in agreement with the sentiment. "Unfortunately, it wasn't entirely unexpected, considering his political connections within the Spanish government."

"At least we have Gaspard Delacroix," Danberg asserted.

"Yes," Grayson nodded. "Since he was once one of ours, the CNI has agreed to extradition terms."

There was something about her tone that told him there was more to it, but Danberg decided that now was not the right time to press. He placed his hands on his thighs and prepared to stand.

"Is there anything more?" he asked.

Grayson's eyes snapped back up. "Yes," she said. "Kate Beckett."

Danberg inhaled a deep breath and pursed his lips as he settled back into his seat, a feeling of dread creeping into his stomach. "Ma'am?"

"Hunt insisted she was a liability," Grayson recalled. "That she compromised Castle's ability to focus."

"Yes?"

"I will grant that her abduction wasn't any fault of hers, but it did raise some concerns," Grayson held up a hand to forestall his impending objection. "However, Castle's response proved Hunt wrong. While he did prioritize her rescue, he nonetheless got the job done, with her assistance, which, considering the condition she was in, I will admit is something I find most impressive."

"You admire her," it wasn't a question, but a statement of fact. Somehow that surprised him.

"Yes, I do," Grayson freely acknowledged, offering the briefest of smiles. "I reviewed the video of her debriefing. The truth serum that she was administered was quite potent, yet she didn't divulge any classified information that she's been privileged to thanks to her relationship with Officer Castle. That fact alone is very impressive. I also took some time to review her service records with the NYPD. Again. Very impressive. The youngest woman in the department to make detective. If her abilities had been discovered when she was younger, we might have tried to recruit her."

Danberg allowed himself a half smile. "I'll have to remember to tell Castle that, if you'd permit it."

She inclined her head. "From what I've learned of him, I'm sure he'd get a kick out of it."

"He would."

Grayson tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. From her expression, he could tell that this next part of the conversation might involve some disagreeable issues. "Speaking of Officer Castle," she said, "after consultation with both Deputy Director Kirby and DNI Scott, it's been decided to retain his service, and keep him on the active roster. At least until a new Director can be appointed by the President and confirmed by the Senate, which, knowing how slow Washington works, might take some time."

Danberg knitted his eyebrows together. "I'm not sure he'd agree to this."

"He will," Grayson said, confident in her assertion. "His public life as a newly published author of mystery novels provides a very good cover that can explain trips overseas."

"Or if he ever felt like shadowing his wife at her work for inspiration and/or research purposes," Danberg added, albeit reluctantly.

"Precisely," Grayson nodded. "I know it won't be easy, that he'll be… difficult, but in the end, I feel quite certain we can convince him."

Danberg let out a grunt. He knew his friend well enough to know that Castle would definitely argue against it, but also knew that the Agency would most probably appeal to his strong sense of duty.

Grayson spread her hands out wide. "What's done is done, Danberg," she offered with an apologetic look. At least, he thought, she showed some sympathy and understanding for the situation. "But we do need him." There was a brief pause, before she added, "And her."

His eyes snapped up.

"What!?"

She waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to recruit her," she said. "She's well ensconced with the NYPD. She does good work there. It's where she belongs."
Frowning, Danberg shifted in his seat. "Then what do you mean?"

Grayson straightened her back, and clasped her hands together on the top of her desk. "We'll retain her as an asset. The paperwork was taken care of in Paris, so nothing else needs to be done."

"Except to inform her," Danberg protested.

"Yes, that," Grayson allowed with a brief nod. "I give that task to you, Officer Danberg." She reached for another file on her desk. "Dismissed."

XXX

With her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, Elena Markov strolled casually through the center opening of the Brandenburg Gate on her way into Pariser Platz. She always liked Berlin at night. It wasn't too late yet, so the crowds were still out, a combination of tourists and locals. She maneuvered around a couple taking a selfie with the Brandenburg Gate in the background. They were struggling to get the quadriga in the shot. Spotting her, they asked if she'd be kind enough to take the photo for them. Deciding it would draw too much attention to be rude and refuse, she flashed them a polite smile and obliged.

With that done, and the happy couple thanking her profusely, Elena ducked her head and made her way further into the square, jogging slightly as a green and white double-decker Berlin City Tour bus moved by.

The buzz of her cellphone interrupted her reverie.

Checking the display screen, she saw a message from her handler.

Glancing up, she scanned the side of the square, seeing the fountain in the center of the green. Tucking her phone back into her pocket, Elena made her way over to one of the benches there. She took a sit in the only unoccupied one, and waited.

About fifteen minutes later a middle-aged man with the look of an academic, wearing a tweed blazer with those funny little patches on the elbows, joined her, sitting down on the opposite end of the bench, leaving a comfortable space between them. He held a rolled-up newspaper in one hand. The golden shine to his brown hair was highlighted by the light that filtered down from the lamppost beside them.

Elena narrowed her eyes as she casually assessed the man, making sure not to look precisely at him, relying on her peripheral vision, which was excellent. After several long minutes, nothing occurred. She stifled a frown as she checked her watch. Her handler was supposed to be meeting her any minute, and she was worried this man would scare him off.

Just as she was about to give up, the middle-aged man cleared his throat, and said, "Tief im Teutoburger Wald liegen römische Gebeine vergraben." Roman bones are buried deep in the Teutoburg Forest.

Elena raised an eyebrow and glanced at the unremarkable man sitting beside her. "It is you?"

"Ja. Nennen Sie mich Hans Tanger."

She glanced at him with a thin smile. "Hans Tanger," she repeated, sounding the name out. "Is that even your real name?"

"Is Elena Markov yours?" he asked in perfect English, no hint of German in his articulations and inflections.

Elena narrowed her eyes.

He smiled. "The loss of the USB drive is regrettable, Miss Markov, but the Regents are willing to forgive. The interference from the Broker and Butterfly had not been anticipated."

"What did Mendoza want with it?" she asked.

Tanger cocked his head and regarded her for a long beat. "You don't normally ask such questions," he noted.

"Circumstances have changed," Elena reasoned.

Her handler rubbed his bearded chin as he mulled over his reply. "Yes, they have," he eventually agreed. "Very well. Señor Mendoza mistakenly believed that with his position as the Broker he deserved a seat at the table."

Elena nodded. It was as she'd suspected. "So, the Regents are now in charge of the Consortium?"

Tanger shook his head. "The Consortium as we know it is no more," he asserted. "The Knave dissolved the Board. The inner circle was exposed. What we needed was a new Shepherd." He paused, glancing at her, seeing if she understood. She did. "The Regents reign now."

"Long may they reign," Elena replied with the smile she knew was expected. It was interesting. The aphorism made famous by the French journalist, Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr, came to her mind: Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Tanger returned the smile, obviously pleased with her response.

"Here," he held out the rolled-up newspaper. "Inside you'll find your next assignment. Don't fail us again."

She accepted the proffered item and nodded.

After which, Hans Tanger stood and turned to her. "Guten Abend, Fräulein," he bowed his head. And then he was off, disappearing into the dwindling crowd of tourists lingering around the Brandenburg Gate.

Elena leaned back, holding the rolled-up newspaper in her lap, just taking a moment to people watch, allowing herself a moment to imagine the life that could have been if she'd never been sent to the Academy for Orphaned Girls after her mother had died and her father lost himself to drink.

Her thoughts drifted toward Kate Beckett. For some unspecified reason, Elena felt drawn towards the woman. There was just something about her. Perhaps it was the similarities in their appearance or even their backgrounds. Two women, born in different countries, worlds apart, yet with much in common, both holding the deep darkness of tragedy inside them. They could almost be sisters.

No. Elena didn't like this line of thought.

She is nothing but a shadow and echo. She is nothing but a shadow and echo. She is nothing but a shadow and echo.

Repeating the mantra helped ease the strange twisting in her belly whenever she thought of the woman who had scarred her. She released a sigh as a feeling of normality returned. Arching her neck, Elena Markov stared up at the darkening sky above. One day, there would be a reckoning.

She is nothing but a shadow and echo.