Nothing mattered up to now. All the time and money invested to this point has very little chance of contributing to the downfall of the dragon. Yes, they confounded the fake suicide plan for Beckett - temporarily. Yes, Richard Castle prodded an official, quiet investigation based on Montgomery's notes. Yes, the writer has an acting guild using journalistic ruses to snoop around, and yes, canary traps and jailhouse snitches are in play, but it is all plays, plots, and ploys. What he needs is hard intel on Bracken and his network.

He needs to go into the dragon's lair.

No. It's time to stop making Bracken larger than life. He is just a man. Yes he is rich, powerful and has spent decades building an evil empire, but he's just a guy who's gotten away with it - until now. The creator of Derrick Storm and former CIA shadow needs to use Bracken's methods to undo Bracken's fiefdom. He needs to pay Bracken a visit - one that the perp knows nothing about. Castle realizes quickly that the little, tightly constrained task force can never get enough traction to take down an organization with the control and reach of this cartel. The puppies (that's how he thinks of them - the loyal former boyfriends) would chase every bone tossed their way, but will end up chasing their tales without a handler to direct them. If KB is sidelined, it's up to him to point them to the right direction. Finding the right scent to let the doggies run means he needs to already know the trail is worth it. All the while no one - good guys and bad guys - can suspect his involvement.

He presses Martha into service again. "Mother, Alex Jones needs to come out to play."

"Why not use Roger Richardson again? You haven't resurrected Mr. Jones in years! Is that driver's license you charmed that rural West Virginia clerk into issuing still valid?"

"Yes, I keep it current. It gets used when I want to check into a hotel without a publicity trail." Years ago Meredith got him an ID made by a Hollywood prop guy and he wanted to see about supporting documents to go with it - in the name of research. He was surprised as anyone when the fake ID passed muster and gave him his first alternate background. He's wary about overusing the CIA issued identification.

"If you've been renewing it, the DMV photo must be very close to your likeness. Why do you need a professional disguise this time?"

He sputters, "Professional? I'm just asking you to bring home the gut padding and do that thing you do with my hair. I've still got colored contact lenses from Halloween."

Humph! "I am a professional actress and highly trained in the art of stage craft. A little more respect would be in order if you expect me to take time out of my busy day and schedule you in."

"And I might retort that I do respect your abilities, which is why I want you to do it and cannot trust anyone else." He gave her a look.

"Oh, this is about the thing which cannot be said. Say no more but please assure your doting maternal parent that all will be well."

He pulls her in for a hug and inhales the familiar perfumed embrace of his mother's love. "Someday soon, if it is at all within my power, all will be well."

Castle's plan is simply to go to the places where the senator feels most secure and is therefore most likely to speak freely: his residence in New York and the senate office in Washington DC. The first problem was how to listen in. Someone as paranoid as Bracken would have regular sweeps done for listening devices. Castle solved that problem with a hefty stack of gold bullion to one of his CIA guys. Certain devices by foreign governments had been found spying on American interests over the years. A few of these were very special "resonance devices" used by the Russian KGB in the American Embassy in Moscow. Those particular goodies were off limits, but enough other devices of similar ability were laying around in storage areas and a few found their way into Castle's procession. If Bracken's crew finds them, it will appear the rising senator has garnered notice of clandestine services from other nations, and nothing will lead back to Beckett.

That's why he is just an unremarkable guy named Alex meeting a guy named Dew at the Jalopy Shop on the outskirts of the city at dusk. It's cliché to be wearing black long sleeves and dark jeans to go along with his beer belly, long hair and altered looks, but the author is being careful that this contact can't testify to anything about Richard Castle in a court of law. Dew turns out to be a freckled twenty-something sitting behind the wheel of a dilapidated green jeep.

"Dew, my man, climbed any mountains lately?"

"Hey good one! Let's roll."

Alex slips in the passenger seat (a familiar place that threatens to distract him about the good-ole-days when he had a partner and faced criminals head on, but he shakes off the longing. He's done with the past.) The universe has other ideas and pokes him with a memory. The springs in the Jeep's seat gave up long ago, and layers upon layers of cardboard are fitted into the frame where padding should be. The glossy coating must provide waterproofing, but the end result makes Beckett's cruiser a luxury ride by comparison.

"Please tell me you are going to use some of this money to buy a better vehicle?" He hands over a stack of cash, the first of many payments that will occur with the ongoing need for the young man's services.

"Naw, gonna move out of the apartment over my parent's garage."

Castle has background on the guy, and people he trusts vouched for him, but the man plotting the caper has to be sure, "You have everything you need to do this?"

He gets only a nod and a not so subtle hint to shut up as the driver blasts music.

Castle is nervous. Hell, he is convinced the tension in his stomach is about to become a bleeding ulcer. He reviews this scenario for the hundredth time. Once the problem of how to listen was solved, the next hurdle was actually placing the "bugs." The senate office is a highly secure facility, but it is still an accessible target with thousands of workers coming everyday and at every hour. Castle turned to the number one guy on the list who could pull it off. Powell the retired jewel thief said yes - he'd love the challenge, but it still cost a hefty sum.

The problem is the NY residence. According the man Powell sent out to do surveillance, it is a fortress. Getting inside without arousing any suspicion in the time allotted is not possible. Bracken's not-so-humble abode has nice green buffer zone where the tree line ends and a twelve foot high brick fence begins. More importantly, it also is wired with a few cameras, motion detectors and infrared sensors. The open lawn makes anything larger than a bird an easy target. A 24-hour armed guard is always present at the gated entrance. The report also warns that additional security is housed in a state of the art facility that once was a carriage barn.

Since getting into the manor isn't an option, the devices have to be placed on the outside. They also can't broadcast what they hear because that make them more susceptible to being found by anyone doing a routine sweep for bugs. As if that wasn't limiting enough, there is no way to plug the devices in, so they have to be retrieved and recharged. The solution of delivering and retrieving these espionage tools is in the hands of a kid who prefers to be called by the name of his favorite soda and stuffs cardboard into the passenger's seat. Castle needs him to live up to his reputation.

Castle raises his voice to be heard over the blaring music and wind from the open windows, "Any problems making the modifications?"

"No."

Damn. It's wrong to involve an unsuspecting kid. He's been out of drug rehab for a few years after losing his college scholarship to study engineering at the University of Knoxville. "What about making the mounts? You remembered to wear gloves and..."

"Dude, chill." He speeds up the vehicle in a not so subtle effort to get to the destination quicker and be done with Alex and his nervous tension.

Dew (who's parents refused to acknowledge the dropped "r" and still called him Drew) now gets his thrills from racing - - drones. While that may net enough winnings not to starve, the kid has a lucrative side business getting videos of cheating spouses and delivering cell phones over prison walls using his drone and superb flying skills. Getting the listening devices, correction - getting the resonance devices on specific windows of Bracken's residence is in the hands of a kid and his quadcopter.

Castle, currently known just as Alex, carries the cardboard box stuffed with various tools, glue, batteries and a symbolic bottle of Mountain Dew. Castle is suddenly feeling parched and wishes for a bottle of water but quickly ignores the signals his body is sending him. The long sleeve shirt is pathetic protection against the scratch of branches as they push through the woodland. He makes mental notes to orient himself in the event of a quick departure.

They stop a few feet back from the open grass and fence so the trees obscure them. The report confirmed there are no motion detectors on the outside of the fencing. The security structure is a massive brick barrier with black wrought iron spikes along the top to discourage interlopers.

Dew shrugs off his backpack, puts on gloves, and starts unfolding the drone, powering up transmitter, and checking video feeds. "Dude, I got 30 minutes of life in each battery for this size unit. That's 10 minutes to fly high, 10 minutes to get it in position and deploy, and 10 minutes to get back before it drops out of the sky and lands on the wrong side of the fence."

No - that was wrong based on his research. "I looked up the specifications on your gear after we spoke. The battery output should last for 45 minutes which is the necessary margin..."

"Don't try to tell me about my stuff. You saw factory specs - not real world limits when you are carrying max load with a light wind." He pauses to give Alex a searching look, "I usually work alone but you insisted on some shit about sight-lines from inside the rooms so you had to be in on this. You need to worry about your own crap. I'm telling you now that controlling a drone is tricky and you gotta be fast with the directions - it's top, bottom, left, or right - not picky shit like two inches up and then over. Focus on that."

Satisfied they understand each other, Dew proudly shows off his engineering skills, "This probe has a spring to absorb the impact when I place the mount. I'll use a contact adhesive for the side that sticks to the window frame. The cool part is that I made the mounts look like a small wasp nest and the holes give me lots of targets for getting the device on the mount when it's time to replace them!"

He's so proud of his work and Castle can see the kid spent hours planning and building the custom pieces. This just might work. He suddenly feels over whelming gratitude for money and connections and ingenious people on their side. He channels Beckett and squashes his emotions and mummers, "First target is a bedroom, second story, first window on the right." It's time to turn the tables on Bracken.

"Set a timer. Tap me on the shoulder one minute before the ten minute limit for each segment. Don't distract me with chatter." Dew puts on "first person view" goggles and a hum fills the air. The black quadcopter darts up, around a few branches, and gains a fair amount of altitude.

It's quickly invisible in the dusk and Castle is glued to the tablet with the video feed. The drone pauses just long enough to scan 360 degrees for unexpected obstacles. Finding none, the little UFO zips toward the house. He knows Bracken is in D.C. so the light spilling from the target window must be on a timer. The approach is slowed and Castle mummers, "Nine minutes."

The voyeuristic craft hovers so Castle can see into the room. A large bed is to the left and a sitting area to the right. "I need to see the next window."

The video shows a small table with a land-line next to a wingback chair. Decision time: where is Bracken more likely to talk - in bed or sitting in the chair? "Go back to the other window. Place it on the right, as far up as possible but near the edge of the glass."

The unit eases upwards ever so slowly, and only then starts moving towards the target area. It's almost impossible to tell where the glass is with a single lamp filtering out into the evening sky. Precious minutes tick by. The probe and device ever so gently touch the glass and Dew has it darting back immediately.

"Shit. Didn't stick!"

"Now what?"

"Shut the hell up and let me concentrate."

Physical pain is shooting through his gut and he's helpless to do anything but watch.

The pilot gets more aggressive, moving the copter forward and back a few times, getting a feel for the distance and how the cargo affects maneuverability. After about a dozen practice maneuvers, he thrusts the drone forward with enough force that the aircraft wobbles for a second but then responds to the instantaneous command to reverse.

They both pause, process the visual feed, and give identical exclamations, "YES!"

Damn it - "Total flight time is 23 minutes. Sorry, I got so caught up watching you fly that I..."

"Can't you shut up? Follow directions?"

"Sorry, shutting up now." He watches as the craft stays lower, sacrificing the stealth of altitude for the shorter distance of a straight line. He's rendered mute as the 30 minute mark passes and the drone isn't back yet.

The kid gets it over the fence and lands it immediately. He flips off the goggles, shuts down the equipment and sports a grin that threatens to light up the woods. "That rocked!"

Castle slumps against a tree grateful for something solid to prop him up. He watches as the pipsqueak twists off the cap and gulps his namesake beverage. He tries to shake off the jitters because they have to do this again to place the other device on one of three windows in the library where Bracken has his office/desk. And the next run is a bit more tricky because it's on the first floor on a side of the manor even further away than the one they just did.

The author is thrust into a familiar role as observer as the kid resets. He switches batteries and adds more glue to the mount this time before powers the equipment back on.

"Dude, ya think you can follow directions better? I'm really gonna need to know each ten minute segment."

"You can count on me."

The flyer pops up and over the fence and runs fast showing off those racing skills. It's on target as Alex calls out the nine minute warning. Each window gets a brief look but there is only a dim accent lighting to illuminate the room's layout. He spots the desk and office area but it's between the second and third windows. "Middle window - low, either side."

The dance repeats. The pilot does few practice darts back and forth and attempts it on the fourth approach. Again the unit stutters from the force of the impact but Dew shows he is worth every penny as the device sticks in place.

"18 minutes."

The 'copter spins around and both men are in unison again, "SHIT!"

They get a glimpse of a man jogging around the perimeter just inside the fence. They have a minute before he is in their area, but the drone has to cross his path to get back to them. The pilot reacts instantly shooting the quadcopter as high as the roof. He finds the closest flat spot and lands to conserve as much power as possible. He rips of the goggles and grabs the tablet that is now laying on the ground instead of clutched in the money-man's nervous grip. He pulls up the screen info for battery power and previous flight path and does some quick calculations in his head. Okay. He turns to offer an option but loses all coherent thought...

Alex has a gun trained towards the top of the fence. His eyes are darting around, accessing, and he's holding the piece like a cop would except there is some real fear radiating off this guy.

"Dude! What the hell are..."

The response is so very soft it makes things even more dire, "Lower your voice. Be very still and don't make a sound. We have several minutes of utter quiet ahead of us. If he comes over the wall, run, don't look back no matter what you hear." Castle is ready to kill. It won't be the first time.

"Um, it's a 10' high fence. Running-man can't just hop over it. We'll be..."

"There are footholds on the inside just for this purpose. Now to echo your own words: shut-the-hell-up."

Was the drone seen? Did they trip a wire? Did Bracken have him followed and he led them here and they called in "special security" to handle him? Are more of them waiting at the car? What will happen to the kid? There is also a very real possibility that if they are discovered, Bracken's security team won't call the police but take matters into their own hands.

Shit. Shit. Shit! His mind plays out the worst possible scenarios. The soft footfalls of the runner are close by. Castle takes several deep breaths remembering Beckett's tidbits about keeping the heart rate below 140 to keep cognitive abilities at their peak, and the best way to do that is to slow down panic breathing. He slowly exhales and can see the trembling in his hands lessening.

His heart threatens to stop beating but the jogger doesn't. After another minute the only sounds are the stirring in the woods at their back. Could it be that the staffer jogging around the fence was a random event? Regardless they have another problem to overcome.

The kid stares at the gun until the beer-gut old coot engages the safety and puts it back under his shirt in the holster. He is a little wary of the man paying for his skills, but can't waste time with the geezer or goggles. He has the tablet superimpose a heads-up-display like a fighter pilot uses. Since the drone is on the roof it lets him direct it straight at them and he's got his little bird flying steady with no jerky movements to use minimal power. Theoretically this can work, but it's taking longer than the time allotted. The really good news is the jogger is past them and facing the wrong way to see anything now.

The low-power indicator beeps a warning when the copter seems too far away. Dew backs off the thrust a little more hoping momentum will carry it the rest of the way. After a minute that seemed much longer than 60 seconds the super trooper makes it over the fence and crashes into branches sending the props free wheeling as it lands in pieces at their feet.

"Shit, will you be able to fix it? How long will it take because if it's going to impact the schedule I need..."

"Man you talk a lot. The drone will be fine. I have to deal with lots worse after races."

"Are you okay? I mean it was pretty scary with the..."

"Seriously? You hired me because I do illegal shit like fly crap into prisons. Those places have a lot of guns and dogs and this was no big thing." He starts piling stuff in the box.

"Oh, yeah, right. We're good. Everything is good." Castle stumbles over himself to lend a hand.

The kid pauses, then decides it worth saying, "Dude, you need to chill out. You're not cut out for a life of crime."