Monster: Chapter 13
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe.
Day 12: Goose Island, just south of the Main Tangier Island, 1:42 p.m.
The small Cessna 172 Skyhawk dips gently, banking to the right yet again over the northwestern tip of Goose Island. Flying roughly one hundred feet above the ground, the single engine plane gives Kate Beckett and pilot Keith Hopkins a perfect view of the lush grounds below. This is the first island they have chosen to search in the chain of islands here in the Chesapeake Bay. So far, it has been a discouraging escapade, as the early exuberance of flying through the morning skies have darkened, replaced by frustration and a growing sense of dread.
"Keep your spirits up," Hopkins yells loudly as he gives her a quick glance. The bubbly personality he saw when they first took off is long gone. In its place is a woman who is letting the worst thoughts possible cram their way into her mind.
"Contrary to what you see in Hollywood, this actually takes a while," he reminds her, as he initially told her this morning. "People get found in a few minutes in the movies," he continues, now staring out his window as well. "In real life, it just doesn't work that way."
She nods in reluctant understanding, knowing exactly what he means. Often have she and the boys laughed at movies where they accomplish in sixty minutes what each of them knows takes weeks in a real life precinct.
So far this morning, she has seen birds. A lot of birds. And that's basically it. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that screams for a second look. Nothing resembling the video, with the fenced-in area and a single building on the interior.
She refocuses her eyes, now growing tired from the exertion of just a few hours. The sun is well hidden behind the clouds. Ahead of them, they can see the storm clouds coming. A tropical storm hit landfall to the west of them on the other side of the peninsula earlier in the wee hours of the morning off the Atlantic. The winds have died down considerably before landing, but the storm – which now approaches from the west – will still force this tiny plane back to the ground. They have less than a couple more hours before she knows Hopkins will call it a day. She bites her lower lip, and blinks quickly, not wanting to miss anything. Just searching . . . searching.
Day 12: The compound on one of the Tangier Islands, 5:11 p.m.
The rain is falling at a constant rate now, and the winds have picked up considerably. Without the Weather Channel or the local forecast, Richard Castle has been completely taken by surprise by the remnants of the tropical storm that now pound the little island – and his compound. At first he relished the cold front, the smell of the coming rain. The first few drops were heaven. Now, this downpour has gotten ridiculous. But it's the winds he worries about the most.
That fence outside looks sturdy enough, it looks like it can handle a little wind. But twelve days into captivity will do something to one's normally optimistic view of the world. The lightning isn't helping either. He almost thanks the heavens for no hail, but stops himself, not willing to issue that challenge.
Then it hits him, and Richard Castle laughs out loud, pumping his fist excitedly. The lightning!
A lightning strike is rare. A lightning strike would have to be precise. But whoever is watching him can see the change in weather, and can see the lightning and high winds. They know the danger that is approaching – if they are watching him, or even watching their television. If something just happened to occur that would damage or take out their video camera in the trees . . . well, it's a plausible possibility. One that he now realizes he can take advantage of.
"If something were to happen to the camera, if I disable it, they will have to come out here," he thinks to himself. "They would need to check on it, because they want to keep an eye on me." And the lightning will give him the cover, the plausible explanation for why the camera is no longer working.
The good thing is that although the protective darkness is still a couple of hours away, the coming night is not needed. The storm and heavy cloud cover has taken care of that, giving his little home-away-from-home a dark complexion. It could easily pass for well after sundown now, and the rain can give him cover.
He walks over to the box of food in the corner, and retrieves one of the sharpened can tops that he has kept. He has found a use for them now, and as he retrieves the can top, he muses on the role these sharp babies will play tomorrow – or the next day. Whenever they come for him. Whenever they come to fix their camera.
He walks out of the cabin, into the downpour, rejuvenated by the plan that is currently forming inside his head. A few more steps and he is drenched, but he is at the tree now. He approaches from behind the camera view, glancing upward at the branches above him. Taking a breath, and falling back on his childhood training for a second time in the past three days, he begins climbing. Limb by limb, he makes his way upward, slipping occasionally on the wet branch trunks.
Finally, he reaches the video camera, and sees the camouflaged power cord connected to it. Taking his can top, he saws against the power cord before catching himself.
"What happens if this guy gets wet," he wonders aloud, staring at the wire. Unsatisfied with the possibilities, he crawls back down the trunk of the tree, and returns to the cabin, content to let the downpour pass over his little home before taking their vision away from them. Undeterred by the slight setback - knowing it is just a delay, only a postponement, not a cancellation – he puts his plan in motion in his mind.
He believes that they are under instructions to keep him alive. In fact, he is counting on this probability.
"I was getting sick – they saw that and dropped me antibiotics and medicines and vitamins," he thinks to himself yet again. "That's not something you do when you are trying to kill someone. That's what you do when you want to keep someone alive. Well and alive."
Yeah, they could have let him grow sick and die. They could have left him to the elements, allowed nature to decide his fate. But they had intervened, flying out here and dropping medicine for him. They want him alive and doing well. So when they come tomorrow – or whenever – to check on the camera, he is counting on their normal aggression being dialed back a bit. Once he makes his move, once he attacks, they won't be in kill mode. They will be trying to protect their cargo, not kill it. He can use their hesitancy to his advantage. When he makes his move, he is counting on having two things to that advantage: the element of surprise, and their likely tendency to hold back.
He doesn't realize how accurate his thoughts are. After all, Elizabeth Bracken has given everyone clear instructions – he is to be kept alive and unharmed. One of her pilots allowed his anger to get the better of him regarding Castle. He received a trip to the lion's den for his efforts. What could have easily turned out badly for the writer had proven deadly for the pilot.
And Elizabeth Bracken did not hesitate to turn this into a lesson for those working for her. A man defied her will, and paid the price. All of her men know this. So yes, if they come here to this island for the writer, they definitely will be – as he called it – dialed back.
He thinks of escaping. There will be options available to him, but the one thing he has decided is that he will have to go west. From what he remembers of the Tangiers Islands, and the scribblings in the dirt he has used to remind himself of their location – going west will take him to the mainland. Going east will take him to a peninsula which leads to the Atlantic Ocean. Going north takes him toward the mainland – but it is a longer route. Too far south, and he is in the open ocean.
No, west it has to be. It is the shortest route to safety – true safety – and civilization that he can trust. Whether by the chopper he hopes to entice here, or simply by foot – past the beasts – and borrowing a boat, he needs to go west.
Day 12: New York City, 7:52 p.m.
Jackson Hunt remains on the rampage through the city's underworld. He knows that Kate Beckett is in the Tangier Islands. She has called Martha earlier today to update her. He knows that her search today has not yielded fruit, cut short due to bad weather. He also knows that she will continue her search tomorrow when the weather clears.
"Good girl," he thinks to himself, pleased to see that the detective hasn't just burrowed into the ground that is their loft, simply waiting for good news.
More – Martha has told Kate about Jackson and his . . . unique methods of soliciting information. According to Martha, Kate's feelings on Hunt are decidedly mixed. However, she does have to admit right now that she is glad that the man is here – and on their side.
During their call, Martha has also told Kate about her visit from Captain Victoria Gates. She tells her that Gates didn't exactly accuse Kate of being a suspect in the recent barrage of killings in the search for Castle – but she clearly let it be known that others consider Kate in that regard. Kate, however, seemed nonplussed on the matter. She knows she isn't the one doing the killing, and she has decided that she can't spend a single minute worrying about that right now.
The good news, however, is that the NYPD has finally gotten serious about finding Richard Castle, and about finding anyone who has any information on his disappearance. Before Jackson Hunt showed up, Richard Castle's disappearance was a media story, with a few NYPD detectives assigned – part time at that – to finding the missing writer. After all, they have real crimes to solve, and the majority is still out on whether or not Castle has been kidnapped or simply gone off on an ill-timed boondoggle. No ransom note, no request for money, no demands. No – the jury is out in the court of public opinion, as Kate has received both massive support and equally increasing scorn and ridicule in the social media fronts.
Jackson Hunt's methodology for finding answers, however, has changed all of that. The NYPD now considers finding Richard Castle to be a top priority. The emotional and illogical side of Kate's brain curses her captain and the NYPD in general. Yeah, now they are interested in finding Castle, now that bodies are piling up. It dawned on her during her phone call with Martha that this might have been Hunt's plan all along. If the NYPD wasn't going to make Castle's disappearance a priority, then, by God, he would make it a priority for them.
Hunt puts these thoughts out of his mind, as he looks down at the half-conscious, frightened man that lies on the floor, his hands bound by handcuffs. Danny Moreno offers fleeting glances at the three other men in the room who have clearly left this world in a most inglorious fashion. The young Puerto Rican was – until today – a rising star in the established drug gang, but he has never used physical discussions as a means to an end. Tonight, he finds himself on the wrong end of such a discussion, and is completely unprepared for the violent assault on his senses.
"Now, Danny," Hunt begins as the young man stirs completely awake, his senses now on overload from the carnage of death around him.
"Danny, focus on my voice, Danny," Hunt tells him. "I want you to know that I am actually considering allowing you to live through this little talk," he continues, "if you give me something useful."
Danny opens his mouth to begin speaking, but Hunt quickly places a finger over the man's lips, with a stern warning.
"Now wait, Danny. Before you say a single word, let me instruct you, let me warn you – I have had a long day, and I have killed over a dozen men and women today. One more really doesn't matter to me. Do you understand what I am saying, Danny?"
The frightened man nods his head quickly up and down, trying desperately to calm himself. If this guy is telling the truth, then he may get out of here alive. If not, well there is nothing he can do about it. He chooses door number one. This man has been the topic of many a discussion in his neighborhood circles for the past day. Danny figured that just purely by statistical odds he wouldn't run into this guy. He figured wrong, of course, and now his life is literally hanging on his next words.
"Are you ready, Danny?" Hunt asks him. "And when I say ready, I mean ready to have a forthcoming conversation."
Danny nods his head again, careful not to say anything – not even a single word – that isn't an answer to his captor's questioning.
"Someone knows something, Danny," Hunt begins calmly, sitting on a chair in front of the Latino. "This is a big city. People disappear all the time, I get that. But someone always knows. Someone always has eyes and ears. Now Danny, I completely accept that you don't know anything about my son's disappearance."
Hunt can see Danny Moreno visibly relax, and he smirks to himself.
"Oh no, Danny boy, you are not getting off this easily," the CIA agent muses to himself.
"What I don't accept, Danny, is that you have no ideas, no ideas at all, of who might know something. What I don't accept, Danny, is that something like this occurred with no one in this city the wiser. What I don't accept, Danny, is that – with your life hanging in the balance – there isn't even one name, one bonafide name that you can give me. Someone who I can go and question."
The fear and hesitation in Danny's eyes is clear, and Jackson Hunt actually finds himself admiring the man somewhat. He knows that the man could easily give up a few names to save his own ass, knowing full well that he would be turning this ruthless killer loose on whoever he gives up. That he still says nothing is duly noted by his captor.
"I know it is a tough thing, Danny," Hunt continues with a genuine smile that does nothing to calm Danny's fears. "But please understand, I am going to kill you if you don't give me something useful."
"May I speak, sir?" the young man finally gets out, his mouth finally outweighing his fears. Hunt finds himself – again – admiring this one.
"Yes – I am hoping you will," Hunt replies.
"I – don't – know – anyone," Danny says, emphasizing every word. "Trust me, I know what is at stake. But I can't just sign someone over to you to save my own skin, knowing that they probably are just like me – completely in the dark. I just can't, man!"
Hunt nods, smiling at the man's courage and convictions. Interesting to find them in such a place.
"So you are in the dark, Danny?"
"I am shit under the mushroom dark, man! I'm telling you the truth," Danny offers quickly.
Hunt stands, causing young Moreno to flinch back in terror. He ignores the cowering man, and walks toward the door, considering his words. Suddenly, a thought appears to Danny Moreno – a thought that saves – and changes – the young man's life.
"There is one thing," Moreno considers quickly. Hunt turns to face him, still standing a good fifteen feet away from him.
"There was a guy who had a bit of a hard-on for your son," he tells him. "For you son and his detective friend."
"Fiancée," Hunt corrects.
"Yeah, her," Moreno quickly agrees. "Guy's name was Simmons. Vulcan Simmons. Ran the drug trade for years."
"You refer to him in the past tense," Hunt notes with curiosity.
"Yeah, he died," Moreno tells him. "Not too long ago. But he has a son – Rodney. And you know what they say – blood is thicker and all that. Rodney might know something."
"You do realize that I plan on having a discussion with Rodney," Hunt tells him. "A discussion that might not end well."
"I'm not asking you to kill the guy, mister," Moreno replies quickly. "I'm just telling you, if you want more information on your son, I gotta think Rodney might know something. I'm not saying that he's behind it all or anything, or even involved. But he might know something."
Hunt doesn't say anything, but stands motionless, staring at the man across the room from him. Making up his mind, he walks toward the man, and pulls out a key. He bends, and the man immediately cowers away once again as Hunt does the unthinkable. He unlocks the handcuffs, and turns his back on the man. Now completely confused, Danny Moreno stands, rubbing life back into his wrists.
"Here is my deal for you, Danny," he tells the younger man. "I like you. Somewhere deep inside you there is a streak of honor. It showed itself under great duress. Normally, it is the exact opposite that occurs. Deep inside you, Danny, is a man, not a monster like myself."
Hunt turns back, now facing the confused man.
"If you want to remain alive, Danny, then from today forward, you're going to work for me," Hunt tells him. "I work in the employ of a certain governmental . . . well, let's just say I work in secret. But I can only do so much without knowledge, without good data. I have people around the world who play this role for me. They feed me useful information, at useful times. I would like to add you to the mix."
Danny Moreno's face cannot hide the surprise that paints it – as he considers his luck that he might go from certain sudden death, to undercover espionage in a blink of an eye.
"You gave me a name," Hunt continues, "but were willing to die before giving up someone innocent just to save your own skin. That is precisely the type of person I need. That is precisely the type of person I trust. Can I trust you, Danny?"
"Yeah, man," Danny offers without a smile, without hesitation. "You can trust me."
"Good," Hunt tells him as he places his pistol back in the shoulder holster. "Now, you can start by telling me where to find Rodney . . ."
"Simmons," Danny reminds him.
"That's right," Hunt smiles, pleased that Moreno has passed this first little subliminal test. "Rodney Simmons. Tell me where I can find Mr. Simmons."