Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.
"Why did you bother to reseal the envelope?" Beckett asks as she taps the dove gray envelope in her hand, drawing out the moment. After all, she's certain Lynch has already read what's enclosed and was unable to wring any useful information from whatever is written within.
"Good manners," Lynch replies without even a smirk. All here know what's going on, so there's no reason to pretend or dissemble.
"Well, it's probably personal. You know how writers are," Beckett replies with an airy wave. "Perhaps I'll hold onto this until I can read it from the comfort of my own home."
Lynch finally reacts, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "Fine. Detective Beckett, you have my most sincere apologies for interfering with your communications and impinging upon your privacy. Even though the paperwork you signed explicitly allows me to do both of those things. Now, will you please review that communication and tell us what it means?"
A gracious 'winner' (after all, she's a little disturbed by what else might be in that paperwork she signed without the opportunity for review), Beckett nods before turning the envelope in her hand and using a fingernail to tear the edge. With a careful hand she withdraws and smooths the note.
Beckett,
My apologies for my quick departure from the hospital. Let's face it: you and I don't have good luck with hospitals, so I'm hoping that getting out of here helped us avoid any bothersome circumstances. Or people.
I'm sorry, too, for leaving before giving you a call. I fear there are things I need to do, people with whom I need to meet before I can rest in the hope that our adventures (at least those related to this particular tormentor) are behind us.
But, cheer up! At least this time I left a note before haring off on my own. That warrants a reward for good conduct, right? I'll confess that you've inspired me to behave (at least a little), since I'm hoping we can get back to normal at the precinct. Let's get back to our usual Beckett-flavored cases, like mixing homicide with America's pastime or having words with a mummy about a curse (which was completely real, by the way). I'm even looking forward to seeing Ryan and Espo again. I'd prefer to have colleagues who enjoy a good bet or good humor rather than those who set us up to have bombs dropped on our heads. Hell, with that thought, even Victoria's old demeanor would be an improvement!
It shouldn't take me more than two or three weeks to wrap things up, but I'll find a way to contact you before then. I promise to be careful and to not push my limits as long as you promise the same. Okay, fine, it was worth a shot. I've tugged my ear and tweaked my nose in anticipation of your response to my impertinence. If I can't barter, though, I'll just beg: please be careful.
Castle
Having read the letter through once, Beckett scans it again to give herself time. Her partner really is a clever boy, she marvels as she works to keep her face obviously blank. She knows what Lynch is thinking and she knows he's awaiting a denial from her. So, time to emulate Martha and give one more short bit of performance.
"Jackass," she mutters in mock annoyance upon finishing the letter. Looking into Lynch's inquisitive stare, she explains. "He's just trying to soften his landing, make things easier for him to return after ditching me and disappearing yet again. But there'll still be hell to pay when he gets back."
Lynch tilts his head slightly as he considers her words. She's impressed by his acting skills, too, as she wonders if he's going to call her on her 'lie' or not.
"So, no clues as to his destination?" Lynch asks.
"None that come to mind," Beckett replies with a little irritation that's not entirely forced. "Lucky for him."
"And the sign beneath his signature?"
Beckett lifts the letter again, lets a finger trace the symbol that Castle included. Again, clever, since Lynch must know what it is and would take not of its absence.
"It's Castle's way of telling me he wasn't under duress while penning this letter," she answers to Lynch's slow nod. "As if the personality behind the words left any doubt."
Lynch gives her another long, silent look before nodding. "Very well," he appears to concede. "Then we'll have to hope he can take care of himself until such time as he reaches out. For now, we both have places to be. Shipton, Talbot, let's move out. Detective, you don't want to keep your Captain waiting."
Then, surprisingly, the group disbands and Beckett finds herself pointed down a hallway and left to walk on her own. Following the directions leads her to a door that leads to an underground garage, where someone has arranged to have her cruiser ready and waiting, key already in the ignition. Compared to the cloak and dagger routines in which she's been swept up since returning from her father's cabin, the abrupt return to normality is more than a little uncomfortable.
So, she only feels a bit uncomfortable as she lays down on the floor of the parking garage and shimmies far enough beneath her cruiser to ensure there's no obvious tracker or explosive device. Rising again and taking note of the black hemispheres in the ceiling that shelter security cameras, she shrugs and checks beneath the hood and in the trunk of the cruiser before finally sliding into the driver's seat. A short prayer precedes the turning of the ignition key, which starts the engine and not any car bombs.
Idling, Beckett thinks about what to do next. After all, she's got three options.
Option 1: Head towards one of the false locations Castle provided in his letter. Her little show of checking her car for explosives has given Lynch time to send people in these directions. If he's genuinely interested in finding Castle. Anyone with Lynch's access to resources would be able to correlate Castle's references to the significant locations involved in those cases. So, her partner provided two false locations in his short letter: Cano Vega Field (from the reference to America's pastime) and the New York History Museum (where he'd encountered his 'curse').
Option 2: Head to the precinct for the meeting with Gates that Lynch set up. Perhaps Lynch's efforts in establishing that meeting were related to closing the case and freeing his team to move out. Or, perhaps they were actually meant as an assist to herself and Espo. Or, perhaps the meeting was a way to make sure that Beckett was in a known location and immobile for a certain period of time.
Option 3: Head towards where she knows she'll find Castle.
As much as she wants to pick the third option, she knows she can't – it would be wildly naïve to think that someone with Lynch's resources wouldn't have a way to track her, people to follow her, or both. So, she thinks as she lets a wicked smile spread across her cheeks as she shifts the car into Drive, Option 2 it is, but why not let them think I've picked Option 3 and see what happens?
What follows is, for Beckett at least, a haphazard, harried, but ultimately fun diversion. Sometimes, she drives like a maniac, blatantly abusing her lights and sirens to weave through traffic, cut through intersections, ignore one-way directions, and even avail herself of a bike or walking path. Sometimes, she cuts the lights and sirens while creeping down alleys and through parking garages. That's before she ditches her car altogether in a parking structure near Times Square.
Now on foot, Beckett weaves in and out of pedestrians and stores. Again abusing her position, a flash of the badge lets her cut through businesses to access the kitchen or stock-room doors that admit to dirty back alleys. Weaving her way south from Times Square, she ducks into the Modell's sporting goods store next to Madison Square Gardens and purchases the first set of clothes she can grab. Laughing at how garish she'll look in a Knicks sweatshirt and Islander sweatpants, she tosses a Mets hat into her purchases as well while thinking back to how ridiculous her therapist looked while wearing a ball cap.
Purchases secured in a plastic bag, she darts out of Modell's only to take the escalator 50 yards further down the block. For under the Garden sits Penn Station, with its many Amtrak and commuter trains and many, many more commuters. Letting herself get swept into the tide, she emerges on 31st Street, again laughing while thinking of someone trying to tail her through that swarm of humanity.
From there, she ducks onto the subway, slipping through the morning commute traffic and jumping on and off trains while slowly zeroing in on her final destination. Tired but invigorated, she finally emerges at her usual subway stop before making her way to the precinct. Hoping that someone either managed to follow her through the full routine or was stationed to watch the precinct, Beckett walks proudly up to the precinct door. Happy with her performance, she turns and performs a sweeping bow for to any nearby watchers.
Martha would be proud, she thinks as she enters the precinct, ignoring the confused looks of the uniformed officers nearby.
"Captain Gates?" Esposito calls out from the doorway to her office.
"Come," Gates replies without looking up, still focused on the paperwork she's been reviewing in anticipation of this meeting.
"Actually," Espo replies hesitantly, "Beckett sent me to ask if we could hold the meeting in a conference room? She's kind of set up in there and it'll be tough to get it all back together."
Gates lifts her head and her eyebrow as she assesses the detective. He looks a little embarrassed, probably about his role as messenger, but he's standing at the ready with eyes taking in everything and body poised to move. It seems his assistance with the Feds who'd lured Beckett away has awakened some of his dormant military training.
Sweeping her files together, Gates grasps the folder and stands. Motioning the detective forward, she follows silently to let her thoughts run.
Those thoughts crash to a halt as she enters the conference room and sees what Beckett's managed to spread across the table. Rather than files, paperwork, photos, or news clippings, the conference table sports the disassembled pieces of Beckett's firearm. And rather than focus on its reassembly, Beckett seems focused on doing the same to the wallet that contains her detective credentials. Poking at the wallet with an Exacto knife, she doesn't look away from her task as Gates and Esposito take seats at the table.
"Problem?" Gates asks after watching Beckett for several long moments.
Having already opted for blunt honesty, Beckett replies while teasing the seam of her wallet with the knife's slim blade.
"Castle slipped the Feds' leash and they're trying to use me to track him down," she replies as she spies something that catches her attention. "I know where he is – he left a message for us that the Feds couldn't figure out – but I want to make sure I don't lead them to him."
"Why not? I thought you were all on the same side," Gates replies, her suspicions of Beckett's paranoia replaced by confusion. "According to the file I was provided, the Feds have nothing but praise for how things went. They even reached out to the brass and the mayor about commendations!"
"They're very happy with the resolution of the op," Beckett replies as she frays the seam of the wallet. "But they're happier with the gray area than we are. You'll note, obviously, that we have no one in custody and no pending trials. What you probably don't see in the paperwork they provided is that the ringleader, the one Bracken answered to, went down in his chopper. The Feds assume he's dead, but we've no confirmation."
That bit of news startles Gates and prompts her to fully abandon the agenda she'd thought up for this meeting. "Why?" she asks, befuddled. "That seems damn sloppy and doesn't explain their glowing reviews."
"One of theirs was on the chopper," Beckett replies, grinning as the wallet's seam finally gives way. Dropping the knife, she uses both hands to pull the wallet apart, providing short ripping sounds as the two leather pieces separate. "And they're convinced he doesn't fail."
"Because he doesn't," Espo notes with finality, entering the conversation for the first time.
Gates shifts her attention to Esposito, who quails not a sliver under the inspection. Beckett's chuff of satisfaction recalls her attention. Looking back at her lead detective, Gates is shocked to see what looks like a metallic ribbon being pulled from the separated wallet by the edge of the knife.
"Gotcha!" Beckett chuckles while laying the ribbon on the tabletop. "How much fun do you think Tory could have with this?"
"While I'm sure she'd find it fascinating," Gates replies, "I'd prefer we not endanger the lives or freedoms of the technical staff. Evidence, perhaps, or maybe we tuck it away in a safe place for later use?"
Beckett shrugs and nods, smile still in place. Truth be told, she feels a little vindicated after her theatrics this morning. She imagines it's similar to what Castle would feel if one of their cases actually did involve a yeti or a CIA conspiracy. Actually, now that she thinks about it, she's going to have to stop giving him trouble about the plausibility of government conspiracies…
"So," Gates prompts, turning back to their interrupted discussion, "the Feds had someone in the chopper, it went down, and they're confident the ringleader perished and their agent survived. I still don't understand how Rick is involved."
Finally dropping the wallet and lifting her head to focus on the conversation, Beckett casts a quick look at Esposito, who shrugs in reply. With him ceding the conversation to her, Beckett thinks for a few moments about how to reply.
"I don't think they want to harm Castle, not directly," she begins, still trying to arrange the words in her mind. "He was seriously injured and has more recovery time ahead of him. But…"
"More?" Gates interrupts.
Damn it, Beckett realizes as she chastises herself. So much for a careful reply. She must be more exhausted than she realized to make a verbal slip like that. And while she doesn't know her well, Beckett knows her boss well enough to know that she won't let this subject drop.
"Remember the conversation we had when my team stepped away from the Cambridge case?" Beckett asks to restart the conversation, recalling the investigation that had put the city's mayor (and Castle's friend) in the spotlight.
"Yes," Gates nods. "You said something about other people being targeted, that another victim had reached out to you. You said…," Gates trails off, eyes alight as her mind races. "It was Mr. Castle, wasn't it? They did something to him, too. That's why he's involved."
"This summer," Beckett replies with a sigh, "while I was away recuperating and Castle was out of the precinct, they took him. They held him for five days. He was tortured until they were convinced he was pliable. He was supposed to be the inside man or they'd go after his daughter."
"Dealing with a family issue," Gates says quietly, containing the horror of the situation through years of experience.
Nodding, Beckett continues. "Once he was released, Castle surprised them by hiding his family away and going on the offensive. That's how he came to the attention of the Feds."
Gates remains silent for several long moments, allowing Beckett the opportunity to finish her inspection of her wallet and badge.
"The machine shop where we found your shooter?" Gates asks, connecting the dots faster than Beckett would like and startling her in the process. Espo, too, looks both shocked and, grudgingly, impressed.
Worrying that they're approaching topics for which immunity from prosecution might be questionable, Beckett doesn't reply. But her silence confirms Gates' guess.
With a hand rubbing her forehead, Gates tries to integrate these disturbing revelations with what she knows about the Bracken case. After a few long moments, she again returns to the previous conversation.
"What is it about Rick that has them so interested?" she asks. "I've been forced to admit that for an untrained civilian, he appears to've contributed to your cases. But that doesn't seem like enough to warrant the kind of attention you're talking about."
Beckett sighs, thinking again about how much information to disclose. Thinking about how close Castle seemed to get to Gates when he resigned from the precinct, she decides to trust the captain with one more piece of information.
"The man that went down in the chopper was the Feds' leader. The man you met is his… chief of staff, I guess you could say, or maybe his tactical director. But the team leader is someone, something else. He's got a fearsome reputation in the military for effectiveness in the most dire and trying circumstances." Beckett's frustrated at her stumbling explanation, but notes that Espo's resolute nod at her description seems to convey more information to their captain.
"If he survived, the leader will want to know where Castle is. He was impressed by Castle's performance, even relative to specialists with military training on the team," Beckett continues the explanation, deciding not to share the information that some of those 'specialists' should be sitting in jail for a recent attempted bank robbery.
"He seems to be interested in training Castle," Beckett finally draws to the conclusion with a deep breath. "To take over the family business."
Gates sits at the table, stunned for several long moments. "His father?" she finally emits.
Beckett nods, sadly. "Unknown to him until this summer."
"He really wasn't kidding when he said he had family business to tend," Gates replies, missing the look shared by her detectives at her comment. Then, with her eyes coming back into focus, she zeroes in on Beckett. "You don't sound happy about this. And you must not be, if you're looking to protect Castle from his father's team."
"I don't know what'll happen," Beckett admits, "and I'm way out of my league. I can't shelter him, or hide him, forever. But I'm hoping we can at least stay off their radar until he's healed. And maybe until he can bring his daughter and mother back out of hiding. My father, too, come to think of it."
"And Detective Ryan, I assume?" Gates adds, eyebrow raised again. "Somehow I'm finding it increasingly unlikely that his fiancé's grandmother really had a stroke to justify his current 'medical leave.' Not that I have the time or interest in looking into it."
"I'm sure she's probably recovered by now," Esposito offers in a quiet voice, prompting rolled eyes from the boss.
"Alright, here's what we're going to do," Gates offers, finally taking charge. "Detectives, based on the report from the Feds, you're both owed several days off. You might consider using those days to help your partners recover from their recent medical events or encounters. Detective Beckett, I want you to recall the conversation we had while Senator Bracken was our guest in Holding. This precinct, this department, has invested far too much in Rick to let someone else swoop in and profit from our efforts. Please convey to him our interest in his return following his convalescence."
"Yes, sir," Beckett answers with a smile.
"Anything else?" she asks, surveying both detectives. "Then I'll take that," she says, pointing to the ribbon Beckett removed from her wallet, "and you should both head out."
"Will do, sir," Beckett replies while Esposito nods. Then, pointing to her Modell's bag in the corner before letting her hands drift back to her disassembled firearm, "Just as soon as I put the pieces back together and make a quick change down in the gym."
"Wise," Gates admits. "Let me know if you want any help moving to your next location."
With some borrowed props, Beckett makes her surreptitious escape from the precinct by walking out the front door.
She'd taken Gates up on her offer of assistance, which they decided was easiest to accomplish with the help of the ribbon Beckett had found. With one simple call, Gates asked the motor pool for a vehicle with tinted windows, which she then assigned to the pair of uniforms responsible for prisoner transfer. When those officers departed, they had a ribbon in the car along with the prisoner, leading any watchers on a merry chase to the penitentiary. Even better, the drop-off at the penitentiary is in a closed garage for security purposes. The ribbon will makes its way from there to the warden's office. If any watchers happen to think Beckett or Castle are inside, they'll have the unenviable and somewhat unusual task of trying to break into prison.
And, just for kicks, the warden has instructions to mail the package containing the ribbon back to the 12th precinct by US Post, care of 1PP. So, any watchers will also get to follow the meandering path of inter-departmental mail transit. That takes care of the ribbon for the next week or two.
Beckett, meanwhile, donned her new sporting wear and some borrowed sneakers before going to the class she'd avoided assiduously. Preferring her own gym after the debacle with Demming during Castle's second year, she's avoided the yoga classes the precinct began to offer as part of the NYPD's invigorated wellness initiative. Timing her arrival for the end of class, she melded with the crowd (who were quick to give her trouble about her non-attendance) and moved with the pack to a local bar. Once inside, she slipped out the back and traveled several blocks before pounding on a door in an alley. Flashing her badge when the door was hesitantly opened, she slipped through the hotel's kitchen and out the front, queuing with guests to catch a taxi.
Now safely nestled in the relative anonymity of the ubiquitous yellow cab, Beckett provides her destination and looks forward to reconnecting with Castle. She chuckles to herself as she thinks about the most recent letter Castle left for her and wonders if Lynch's team are keeping an eye on the false locations. To be fair, Lynch probably suspected they were red herrings, but in the absence of any alternatives, what could he do?
Realistically, Castle didn't really have the time to set up any elaborate destinations before he made his escape. He was hospitalized, injured, and likely still had his head and ears ringing from the explosions that preceded Bracken's demise. And he barely made it out of the hospital ahead of Lynch's retrieval team. Under those conditions, there's really only one place she'd expect him to go.
But, of course, he provided clues within his letter that Lynch wouldn't recognize. In fact, the clues wouldn't trigger a text search of the words used in the missive, which she expects Lynch would've run by now, if not immediately. And, on the very rare case the clues were recognized, Lynch wouldn't know what to do with them. No, instead Castle changed things just enough for her alone to recognize. And, like his false trails, there were two clues for her:
First, "That warrants a reward for good conduct, right?"It's not surprising that Castle would wheedle for a reward. But she recognizes the reference here. What many people don't know is that A.C. Doyle wrote much more than detective fiction; in fact, he was reportedly ambivalent about Sherlock Holmes, Doyle's creation for which so many know his name. One of Doyle's other projects was a stage production with J.M. Barrie, creator of Peter Pan. And the title of that work? "The Good Conduct Prize."
So, Castle pointed her at Doyle. But, just in case that wasn't obvious enough, there was the second clue, the one that likely sent Lynch in the wrong direction: "Let's get back to our usual Beckett-flavored cases, like mixing homicide with America's pastime or having words with a mummy about a curse (which was completely real, by the way)." With Doyle already accounted for, the reference Poe's satirical "Some Words with a Mummy" is obvious.
So, here she is again, though this time she's much less self-conscious. Paying the fare with cash borrowed from Gates, Beckett exits the cab and strides into the hotel and heads directly toward the manager's station. Unfortunately, her friend Devin isn't on duty, so this must be his colleague Neville. Unlike Devin, the current manager is less smooth and proves unable to stop his eyebrows from wiggling slightly after Beckett requests a room for the Moriarty-Pym wedding.
"Popular event," Neville offers as he arranges for a key card. Writing the room number on the paper sleeve into which he slid the card, Neville doesn't even walk her to the elevator, instead sending her on her way with a nod and a wink.
She doubts she and Castle would've had their first night here had Neville been on duty at the time. Another homicide to address, perhaps, but not a night together upstairs.
Lost in her grumbling, Beckett's still wary enough to exit the elevator four floors away, using the fire stairs to finish the journey. Finally, she's ready to see her partner again. She chastises herself after she realized she was squaring her shoulders. This isn't a case – she's not about to confront a suspect or a recalcitrant witness. Chuffing at her own nonsense, Beckett takes a deep breath, relaxes her posture, and even takes a moment to adjust her hair. She even makes an effort to rap lightly on the door rather than using her usual firm knock.
Her efforts seem worthless as the door slowly opens only to reveal a beautiful Asian woman. But before either of them can utter a word, they both hear a voice from deeper in the room say "And don't even think about getting out of that bed!"
A/N: It's the story that won't end! I really wanted chapter 30 to be the end of this tale, but there's a bit left yet. Just one chapter. Where have you heard that before?
I was going to just push through to completion but got one of those dreaded calls at work, the one that goes 'So, ah, we might have a new project. You'll need to run a large team. And, ah, no sleep. But it'll only last a week!' I'll find out later today if the project is going ahead. So, I've posted this in case I get called into yet another disaster project. As attested by my writing frequency, there have been a lot of those in the last year.
Finally, a quick note of thanks. Work took me to Garrae's town, where I was treated to an excellent dinner of the cuisine featured in her story What's In A Name? If you haven't read this story, what are you doing wasting time on this note? Go look it up!