Judas: Chapter 3

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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

A/N: Hi . . . my name is Aalon. Nice to meet all of you.

Yes, an introduction of sorts is necessary. It has been over a year since I have written anything. I appreciate those of you who reached out to catch up with me. Early in 2021, my 88-year-old mother who has lived with us for 7 years fell ill. It was a long-term thing with strokes and dementia. All my focus was devoted to what I knew were going to be my final months with her. Mom left us at the end of August, a few months ago. I am finally of a mindset to right again. After all this time, it probably makes sense to go read the first two chapters of this story again, for those of you still inclined to continue with this story.

I've missed all of you. I hope you are all well.

Off we go, continuing roughly ten minutes after the conclusion of the last chapter. Elena Markov has checked in to the Castles Complex and has just completed orientation.

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9:38 a.m. West Coast Time on Thursday, April 26, 2012, at the Castles Complex in Sausalito, California

The classic low-level rolling fog that is often associated with the northern Bay Area blankets the campus this early morning. The orientation meeting broke up roughly ten minutes ago, and Elena Markov immediately begged off from an offer of breakfast in the cafeteria. It was a calculated move on her part. She wants to play the part of a reluctant participant, hesitant to fit in. It is a part she plays well.

She has learned that this . . . reputation that she wants to portray allows her to be viewed as a loner, and someone fiercely private. It is this reputation, this persona, that allows her to move freely in virtually any setting without raising suspicions.

She uses this persona now, as she walks alone across the campus grounds, away from the administration building. The cool air, the smell of the trees, the rustling of the wind, she uses all of these natural elements to clear her head, to become one with her surroundings and think clearly about the task ahead.

"Beautiful," she muses aloud, taking in the magnificence of this place. Try as she might, she is unable to be unimpressed by what she sees.

"Why," she asks herself aloud, wondering why an author with money would choose to pour his money into something like this. There are so many other things men with money choose to do with their gains. She has seen the toys and joys of their labors many times.

As if answering her question, out of the corner of her eye, she catches a young woman walking toward one of the playgrounds. She holds the hand of a young girl, presumably her daughter. The bright smile on the child's face is offset by the stoic but peaceful visage of her mother. Both are noticed by Elena Markov, who simply nods her head in acknowledgement as the young girl waves at her, as Elena continues walking toward the tree line.

The buzzing of her cell phone interrupts her thoughts as she continues walking. She takes the device from her front pocket, and glances down at the incoming call, and smiles.

"Hello Sergei," she answers. "What do you have for me?"

Sergei Shestak is a long-time friend and confidante. He has worked with – and for – Elena Markov for almost seven years now, gathering information for her various missions in the background. Operating out of Kiev, Ukraine, he uses the internet and his own resources to obtain critical information for the spy/assassin. Markov counts Shestak as one of the very, very few people on the planet she trusts implicitly, and whose opinion carries maximum weight with her.

"You asked me to look into a few things for you," Sergei begins. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Let's start with Sam Carlos," she tells him.

She is almost taken aback by the soft chuckle from her European colleague, who doesn't hide his admiration.

"Your friend, the councilman, has made a very, very dangerous enemy," Sergei tells her. "Very smart, very young, old for his years. Ruthless. Strategic. Two things you don't expect from one man."

"Indeed," Elena agrees.

"Stanford graduate, with honors," Sergei continues. "Lost his mother while in school. She was murdered. The police couldn't – or wouldn't – find anything. He found the murderer. Nothing proven, of course, but all information points to Sam Carlos finding and dealing with the problem in the most violent of ways."

"How violent?" she asks.

"The body was found tied to one of the large rock structures below the Cliff House restaurant," Sergei replies. "Evidently a San Francisco icon. People go there to eat, have drinks, watch a sunset over the Pacific Ocean."

"Sounds peaceful," Elena remarks.

"Not when you look down at the large rocks and see a body tied to the rocks," Sergei chuckles again. "Eyes were removed. Evidently the man died blind and drowning in the constant surf and wave action of the ocean."

"Hmmm," Elena offers. It is not often that violence surprises her, but the passion of such a murder cannot be denied.

"Well, it was his mother, I suppose," she muses.

"Still, it began a life that has established Mr. Carlos as the crime lord of San Francisco, and, in truth, the entire west coast," Sergei tells his friend. "He owns CEOs, hospital chiefs, college presidents. He owns restaurant owners, bar owners, bank officers. He has informants everywhere. His reputation is a gangland leader. He is so, so much more than that, Elena. Do not underestimate him."

"I never –"

"Many have said that," he interrupts her. "They do not live to regret it. Let me give you an example, if I may, which leads to the other individual you asked me to look into."

"Please, continue," she tells him, as their conversation takes her on a pathway deeper into the trees. The sunlight barely reaches the ground her, and she cannot contain a shiver from the sudden cold.

"You asked me to look into Richard Castle, the owner of the . . . establishment you currently call home," he smiles into his phone.

"What did you find?"

"Ex-author, playboy, blah blah blah," Sergei answers. "At least that was while he was on the east coast. He shadowed a detective who he presumably used as a character in his mystery novels. But last year, he moved to San Francisco from New York City. He built the woman's shelter you currently reside in. He poured millions of dollars of his own money into this project and raised money from investors."

"This much I already know, Sergei," she interrupts. "Tell me something I don't know."

"The detective he shadowed in New York moved out to the west coast with him," he answers. "Moved out west and moved in with him. Her name is Kate Beckett. Reputation says she was the best detective in New York City."

"I know of Miss Beckett," Elena nods. "I have heard of her through –"

"Kate Beckett is a long-time college friend of Sam Carlos," he interrupts.

The phone call is quiet as Sergei Shestak allows his friend to process this information. He knows she will query him once she mulls this information over sufficiently.

Ten seconds pass.

Then another ten.

Finally, she answers.

"How close are they now?" she asks.

"Richard Castle's daughter was kidnapped last week while Mr. Castle and Miss Beckett and Alexis Castle were in New York for a friend's wedding. The young girl, Alexis, evidently was taken by an alleged former drug lord from New York who had history with Miss Beckett."

Elena Markov stops walking, as she understands her friend's patterns. She knows he is prepared to drop an important bomb.

"According to the street in New York, Carlos sent one of his fiercest soldiers to –"

"Soldiers?" Elena questions.

"There is no other term that applies, Elena," Sergei continues. "The man found Alexis Castle, found the men who took her, killed one with his wife, left another nailed to the front door post, burned down the house of another, dragged the wife of another out of her house by the collar, and blew up the cruise liner ship of the kidnapper."

"Damn," Elena mutters out loud. "That is –"

"In one day, Elena."

This stuns even the hardened assassin. She mulls this information over for a moment. A man flies from the west coast to the east coast – and in one day – finds the perps, kills the perps, burns down a house, blows up a ship, and brings the girl home safely.

In one day?

Seconds later, the final shoe drops for Elena Markov.

"He did this for Mr. Castle," she whispers aloud.

"He did this for Mr. Castle," Sergei agrees. "And if this does not give you pause for your recent excursion to San Francisco, perhaps this will," he tells her.

"I am sending you a video file, confiscated from surveillance servers at a local hospital in San Francisco where – just a few weeks ago – Mr. Castle was a patient."

"I am aware of his stay there," Elena reminds him. "Care of my employer's little drug that simulated death, with some nasty side effects."

"Yes," Sergei agrees once again. "But Mr. Castle's story aside, pay attention to the blonde who protected him. And as you watch this video, understand that this blonde is on the campus, on the security staff. And finally, understand that the completely blacked-out and redacted file I have included with the video is everything known about this blonde woman."

Sergei pauses for a moment. Unknown to Elena, he blinks away concern from his forehead.

"Understand you will have to deal with this blonde, Elena," he tells her. "Understand that I am not convinced you can."

With that, Sergei disconnects the call. He knows Elena will watch the video. He knows Elena will consider his parting words. She is a friend. She is a long-time friend. Even before he began working for her, they were friends. Never lovers. Only the best and closest of friends. His opinion has always mattered to her. He hopes it will matter now.

He has told her it is a mistake to take this job. He has told her that the universe did her a favor by eliminating William Bracken. For her to attach herself to his bastard stepbrother, no matter the favor owed, is something Sergei Shestak has asked – begged – Elena Markov to reconsider.

Back in Sausalito, Elena continues walking until she reaches an opening, and finds a bench of sorts. She sits, phone in hand, watching the surveillance video from Richard Castle's hospital room. She watches a large behemoth of a man – clearly an expert fighter even by her standards – sit watch over Mr. Castle. She then watches as the blonde woman in question walks into the room, and within seconds is airborne. And by airborne, she watches the woman jump higher into the air than seems humanely possible, and then execute an almost impossible maneuver.

In the air.

The altercation lasts less than a minute before the smaller woman has incapacitated her much larger and clearly formidable opponent.

She rewinds the video, multiple times, watching the short fight multiple times. She has never known Sergei to exaggerate. And she recognizes his concern. This woman on the video is not a security guard. Not a soldier. Not a fighter.

This woman is a killer.

She closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose as the greater truth hits her squarely between the eyes.

"Richard Castle has the protection of the most feared mobster on the west coast," Elena Markov thinks to herself. "And he has a security cadre that includes very capable men and women I have met, and one particular woman who is absolutely more dangerous than anyone I have ever faced."

Her thoughts take her back to the articles she has studied about an assault on this very campus months ago that left almost twenty men brutally dead.

"There is more than meets the eye, here at this place," she thinks out loud. She pulls herself up off the bench and turns to walk away before a large stone structure catches her attention. Walking toward the large monolith, she notices the fresh flowers planted at the base of the stone rock. Clearly, someone comes and takes care of this place.

She stands still, reading the inscription.

For Penny – whose courage remains the foundation of these Castles.

Even the hardened assassin recognizes that she is standing on somewhat hallowed ground, in the midst of the trees on this most beautiful campus. She stares at the inscription for another fifteen seconds or so. Without thinking, her right hand moves toward the stone, touching the letters of Penny's name.

"This is the Z," a low-toned male voice behind her softly says.

She turns quickly, surprised that anyone could sneak up on her, even preoccupied as she is. The other surprise is that it is not one person.

"I'm Richard Castle," he says affably as he offers her a handshake, which she takes. But her eyes are clearly on the blonde woman standing with him.

"And I am Lindy Matthews," the woman introduces herself. She does not offer a hand.

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A/N: So, I will admit, when I began this story over a year ago, before Mom's passing, my mind was going to take this story in one direction toward a very specific conclusion. A year later, however, I see a very different, and I hope, much better direction to go.