Homecoming: Chapter 4
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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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FLASHBACK
Four Days Ago, 8:30 a.m. Thursday Morning, April 19 2012, at Councilman Barry Adam's home in San Francisco
The aroma from the glass of bourbon in his hand tickles his nostrils, ironically calming his rising nerves, as he listens to the ringing of the phone on the other end. It is 11:30 her time. She will be – if he knows her at all, breaking away from whatever she is doing for lunch. She will give him the time. It has been days since their last conversation, and they try to keep in touch even more now.
After the fourth ring, he is rewarded with her voice on the other end.
"Hello, Barry," Elizabeth Bracken says, swallowing a drink from what he can only assume is her customary bottle of water.
"Not interrupting, am I?" he asks.
"Certainly not," she replies. "I think you know my schedule and biological clock as well as Will did. What can I do for you?
"Well, Liz, it is what we might be able to do for each other," he begins.
The two were always cordial, friendly toward one another. Their conversations, however, became more frequent – maybe twice a month – after the unexpected death of Senator William Bracken. And now, with Susan Adams missing, his calls with his sister-in-law have become even more frequent – as in twice a week.
"Still no word from Susan?" she asks, interrupting. She knows the loss of his wife has hit the councilman hard, just as the loss of her husband hit her equally hard.
"No," he replies bitterly. "If there were, you know I would have called."
"Well, any time you call I am hoping for good news," she tells him. "Even now, I was hoping that I was wrong, and you were calling with good news."
"Well, not this time, unfortunately, but soon . . . wait a minute," he stops in his tracks. "What do you mean you were hoping you were wrong? Wrong about what?"
"Nothing, Barry," she tells him quickly. "Now tell me, to what do I owe today's call?"
"Liz, cut the crap," he tells her just as quickly. "I know when you have something on your mind. I've spent enough time in the dark out here. I don't need you to do it to me as well. You have something to say, then just –"
"I believe Susan is dead, Barry," she interrupts. She gives him to the count of five before she hears him exhale on the phone.
"I have considered that possibility, but refuse to believe that until I see indisputable proof," he replies, running a hand through his hair.
"I'm sure you have considered this," she remarks. "You're not stupid. Far from it. But you are too close to this one, for obvious reasons. I can see what you do not see, what you will not see, what you do not want to see."
"And what is it that you see?" he asks, after a few uncomfortable seconds of silence.
"I believe you are being played, Barry," she answers. "Based upon what you have told me about this Sam Carlos, I think Susan is likely dead, and this Carlos keeps you on a leash by allowing you to believe she is still alive."
"If he has a problem with me – which I know he does, what not come after me?" he asks out loud. "That is more his M.O. than –"
"You are alive because he needs you," she interrupts. "Why does he need you? I don't know, only you or he can answer that. But it is clear to me that if he holds you responsible for something personal against him, and the only thing that has happened as consequence of this is Susan being missing . . . then I can tell you that she is probably dead, and you are alive only because you are of use to him."
"That's kind of a stretch, don't you think?" he asks.
Her silence for the next few seconds almost unnerves him, as he begins to remember, once again, who was the strategic thinker – in all ways – in his brother's marriage.
"It is what I would do," she tells him, allowing that to settle.
"It is hard to accept, I admit," Elizabeth Bracken continues. "Just as it was hard for me to accept that my William – completely healthy and an exercise enthusiast, God rest his narcistic soul, fell dead of a heart attack. As you know, it was only through my requested – and very off-the-record autopsy with people that I trust that gave me the truth."
"Still can't believe he was poisoned," he replies softly. "I'm so sorry Liz. I really –"
"I know you are, Barry," she reminds him. "We have had this discussion many times. Let's get back to you, and the reason for your call."
He takes another sip from the glass of bourbon, hissing as the warm liquid slowly falls down the back of his throat.
"Starting the hard stuff early in the morning, aren't you Barry?" she asks, knowingly.
"For good reason," he answers. "Anyway, the reason for my call. I just thought perhaps you would be interested to know that Richard Castle and Kate Beckett are going to be in your neck of the woods next week."
"Do tell," William Bracken's widow replies.
"A little birdy told me that there is a wedding out there that they are going to attend," Barry continues. "Not sure when they are leaving to head back east, but if you are interested, I could find out for you. I know there is no love lost on your part with the detective."
"I try to stay focused on my task at hand here," she tells him. "Which is winning the upcoming primary and then the general election this Fall."
"You're a shoo-in to win the primary and you know it," he remarks.
"Be that as it may, as I would often tell William, take –"
"– nothing for granted," he completes her sentence. "I know. Will used to pound that into me as well. Regarding the detective, I know you have suspected she had something to do with my brother's death."
"I have told you of those suspicions before," she answers, and he can hear the tenseness return to her voice. "I have suspicions. I do not have proof. But I have a feeling. She was on a quest, on a mission. I have to believe that – somehow – she discovered what Will had done to her mother –"
"Actually what you had ordered, as I understand it," he corrects her.
"Whatever," she remarks. "I have to think that somehow she got to him. The only reason she is alive right now is because I have no proof. I have suspicions, but I also have a small, lingering doubt that I cannot shake."
"And that doubt is because she was actually out here when Will died out there," Barry finishes her thought. Yes, they have had this conversation before. More times now than he can recount.
"Yes, exactly that," she agrees. "Sure, she could have had someone do it for her, but that does not line up with her. That does not seem to be her way. She is brash. She is impulsive. If she knew, she would have done it herself. I am convinced of it. But she was there on your coast, not mine."
He can hear her taking another swallow from her always-available water bottle.
"But I cannot shake the feeling that somehow she was involved."
"Well, you know what her partner has done to me out here," he laments. "Everything that has gone wrong with my life this last year is all due to that damn author . . . ex-author . . . whatever the hell he is. He has cost me everything. My political fund. My good crew. My wife."
He whispers those last two words, barely getting them out.
"I warned you about him, Barry," she gently reminds him. "Back in January when you first told me about the shelter he was building out there. I told you then that when he was here, he was more than an author. Now that he is there, I told you he is more than a philanthropist. I wish you had listened. Perhaps you would not be feeling the pain that you are now experiencing."
She pauses for a few seconds before continuing.
"A pain I know all too well," she whispers.
"I know you do, Liz," he remarks. "And I appreciate the I-told-you-so."
"That is not my intention, Barry," she corrects him. "My intention is to help you not make the same mistake again, with the same man. And his woman," she spits.
"Well, they will both be out there," he continues. "I figured you would at least want to know."
"Thank you for this," she tells him. "But I know there is something in it for you as well, so spill it."
"Well, I have come up with a plan," he begins, but she interrupts him.
"Baaarrry," she remarks, drawing his name out.
"No, hear me out," he remarks. "For this plan, I need that damn Castle out of the way, out of my hair for a week or so. Keeping him out of my hair keeps Sam Carlos away as well."
"What are you planning, Barry?" she asks.
"Don't ask, don't tell," the councilman laughs. "You know my motto."
"Your motto has not worked well for you lately, brother-in-law."
"Again, enough with the I-told-you-so comments," he groans. "I just need to know that Castle won't be returning to the Bay Area for a few days. A week if possible. Something that will keep him preoccupied and not focused on what is happening here. And who knows. While he and the detective are out there, perhaps you can discover whether or not she . . . or they had anything to do with Will's demise."
She is quiet for a few seconds, and he can tell she is intrigued . . . she is thinking about this. If not for him, then for herself and her own peace of mind.
"Come on, Liz," he encourages. "You can't deny that both of them have become – at different times – pains in our asses."
"Let me think about this," she tells him finally, a thought brewing in her head. "Perhaps I can arrange to solve your problem and answer my own questions once and for all. But for this to work, you have to get out of town. Visibly. So that –"
"Not a problem," he tells her happily. "My plans actually are going to take me out of country over the weekend. I should be back by next Monday afternoon."
"Really? Good. Good, that works well," she tells him. "And Barry – do not call me, do not text me. When the time is right, I will call you. This is important, Barry. It is apparent that this Sam Carlos has eyes on you. If anyone asks you what is going on, it will be important that you are genuinely surprised. Your reaction – especially to Carlos – will be critical."
"I trust you, Liz," he tells her. "And thank you. For . . . for everything. For this favor. And for your honesty."
"We are family, Barry," she tells him. "Now more than ever. And family will always stick together. Especially now."
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END FLASHBACK
Back to the Present, 7:45 a.m. Monday Morning, April 23, 2012, at Sam Carlos' Presidio Home
"Are you sure he asked for me?" a very surprised Willie Crockett asks. "And . . . and you're okay with me leaving?"
Sam Carlos smiles into the phone at his friend and right-hand-man. His loyalty is never in question.
"He asked for you, not me, my friend," Carlos tells him. "Right now, Richard Castle needs a detective, not a mobster."
"He has a detective out there," Crockett counters. "Why would he –"
"Both Mr. Castle and Kate are far too close to this, you know this," Sam responds. "He needs – and I quote – 'someone who is not afraid to think the unthinkable' – unquote. You were a cop, Willie. You still think like a cop. That is what he needs right now."
"He needs a cop now, sure," Crockett agrees. "But he may need something more than a cop soon."
"We will cross that bridge if and when we get to it, my friend," Carlos replies. "Mr. Castle asks that you head across the bridge to the airport in Novato."
"I know the place," Crockett tells him.
"I know you, do," Sam smiles. "And Willie – you are flying in a most luxurious manner – and very, very fast, so don't get too comfortable."
"Ah . . . charter flight. Sweet," Crockett chuckles.
"The flight will be ready to leave as soon as you get there, and they need you there ASAP," Carlos continues. If you can be there in the next forty-five minutes, you can be in New York around 4pm with the time changes."
"So . . . someone took his little girl," Crockett muses aloud. "Bad move on their part."
"Indeed," Carlos agrees. "Find out who did it. Take care of them."
"Understood," Crockett tells his boss.
"And Willie," Carlos remarks in conclusion. "Gloves off. Send a message. A strong one."
"Understood," Crockett repeats, hanging up the call. And for once, the large man is not smiling. No, this one is personal. Both men are fond of Richard Castle. And his boss is right. A message must be sent.
Back at the Presidio, Sam Carlos hits redial, and within seconds is reconnected with Richard Castle.
"Sam," Castle answers on the first ring.
"It is done, my friend," Carlos tells him. "Willie is on the way to the airport. He should be there by 8:30."
"11:30 my time," Castle calculates.
"Yes, and that would put him in New York around –"
"4pm, unless he can fly faster," Castle interrupts, again calculating in his head the maximum speed for the Cessna Citation X and the approximate mileage from the Bay Area to New York City.
"If luck holds, he can get here in under four hours," Castle speaks under his breath.
"That's pushing it," Carlos remarks.
"Things need a little pushing right now," Castle reminds him. "Thank you for this, Sam."
"Not a problem, Richard," Carlos replies. "I will keep an eye on things out here for you in your absence."
"I appreciate that," Castle answers. "But understand, my team is going to be on high alert out there. So let them know if you are coming. As I mentioned before, this is too coincidental. I get here, and in less than eighteen hours, my daughter is abducted? Someone knew I was coming. Someone knew we were coming. This could have been done back at home. That it wasn't simply tells me that –"
"– that someone wants you away from here, for a while," Carlos finishes the thought for him.
"My thought exactly," Castle agrees. "I'm sorry, but I have to think like this. And right now my first thought is my new nemesis, Mr. Adams."
"I agree that is a possibility, but not likely," Sam surprises him. "I have eyes on Barry constantly now, and I can tell you that Barry boarded a flight for Europe this past weekend and has not returned stateside. His final destination was Chernihiv."
"Ukraine?" Castle whistles?
"Exactly," Carlos agrees once more. "Now why would a city councilman with larger political ambitions be going to the Ukraine?"
"A war chest is my guess," Castle remarks.
"A war chest, indeed," Carlos tells him.
"One that will make him highly indebted and leveraged to foreign forces," Castle realizes out loud, surprised at this news.
"Not our problem," Carlos mentions. "What is important is that I don't believe Barry was involved with the taking of your daughter. Finding out who was involved will be Willie's first line of business in New York."
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Now 11:14 Monday Morning, April 23, 2012, Somewhere in Washington Heights, NYC
Alexis Castle is blindfolded, and she can tell that she is walking through either a basement or an underground tunnel. She is confused now, as her kidnappers quickly put masks on once in the car. However, they didn't bother to blindfold her until they got to the bank building in Washington Heights. Once there, she was taken into a back office, blindfolded and taken to a stairwell. Obviously they went downstairs, but just the smell and air down here tells her she is in an area that is used for transit purposes.
She vaguely remembers her father mentioning something about drug runners in Washington Heights a couple of years ago, and now her mind is racing with possibilities. In her reverie, she stumbles but is quickly caught by one of her perpetrators.
"Careful, Miss Castle," one tells her. "We don't want you hurt or damaged."
She believes them. They have treated her – current blindfold aside – with an almost reverence. As if someone has given instructions to treat her gently, kindly. In fact, she is almost certain that at one point in the car, she heard one of them mention something about 'him wanting her safe and sound.'
"And thank you for not screaming anymore," another tells her. "We can promise you, you will not be harmed."
She isn't sure if she believes them – long-term. Clearly, they are likely after her dad, since she is the one that has been taken. But questions abound in her mind.
"If they wanted Dad, they could have grabbed Grandma any time they wanted. Dad would've flown back in an instant."
"If they wanted Dad, they could have come out to California, and grabbed me there."
There are too many possibilities, so for now, she is going to be the obedient captive, and wait to see what kind of ransom these guys want. Minutes later, she is being gently led upstairs once more. Seconds later, she realizes they are back outside, and another, deeper voice that she does not recognize speaks.
"Nice job, now get lost and keep your mouths shut if you know what is good for you," the deep voice booms.
He leaves her blindfold on, and suddenly she hears a car door slide open, and she is moved into the vehicle. The man with the deep voice slides in beside her, and then shuts the door with a sliding motion once more. The fact that she heard a door slide open and shut tells her she is in a van of some type. She hears him bang on the panel or the side of the inside of the vehicle, and suddenly they are moving again.
Now she is worried. This entire time, she has been considering possibilities. And she knows enough from her dad's books and the security at the campus back home that video surveillance is everywhere. She was counting on this. Counting on the cameras outside Martha's loft to pick up the kidnapping. Counting on detectives to be able to follow the vehicle as it passed by various cameras. Counting on those cameras to lead the police – her dad, Kate – to her location.
But now she realizes that they have intentionally led those who would search for her in one direction, into Washington Heights. But the trail will stop there, at the building they entered some ten minutes ago. Now, she has no idea where they are going, and panic is starting to set in.
Her thoughts are interrupted by large, gruff hands taking her blindfold off. Now she is face to face with a large black man who sits beside her.
"Good morning, Miss Castle. My name in Vulcan Simmons. We're going to be together for a short while, so let's get to know each other a bit."
The fear grips her chest tightly, as she realizes that someone who kidnaps you and tells you his name is not a man who will likely leave witnesses.