A Fly in the Garden: Chapter 23
DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters are not mine at all, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. The others? Yeah, they're mine
Tuesday Evening, February 21, 2012 – 8:08 p.m. – At the Castles Complex in Sausalito
In the hidden bunker beneath her fourplex building, Pamela Hamilton sits nervously on the small sofa, surrounded by three other women from their respective residences in this building. The lights flickered first, then went out completely about four minutes ago. The women had been warned that a power outage was possible, but not probable. So the fact that they have lost power has everyone on edge. Forget the lights. It's the lack of air conditioning. It's only been minutes, but it is already feeling stale and confined in the small bunker, which is getting smaller with each passing moment.
"Mr. Monroe said that the power wouldn't go out," an agitated Wendy Abshire wonders aloud, voicing the concern that each of the women in the bunker are thinking about.
"No," Georgia Martins corrects her. "He said that it was unlikely. I think the term he used was possible, but not probable," she continues.
"Semantics," Brenda Johnson exclaims. "The fact is – the power is out. Which means that something has gone wrong up there. I'm telling you, we're sitting ducks if we stay down here."
"And I'm telling you, no we aren't," Georgia replies testily. "Mr. Monroe was very clear that no one even knows about these bunkers, and that they aren't even in the building schematics that would be available to someone."
"Well, Mr. Monroe was wrong about the power, so who is to say he isn't wrong about these bunkers, too," Brenda responds, her voice rising.
"Do you want to go outside and check?" Pamela interjects. She has been quiet up to this point. She feels responsible for all of this. Of course it isn't her fault. She knows this. But she also knows that were she not here at the Castles, then this wouldn't be happening right now.
The silence that greets her question is all she needs.
"I didn't think so," she continues. "Look, none of us like this – most of all me because I feel this is all my fault –"
"It's not your fault, Pamela, we've been through –"
"It's kind of you to say, Georgia," Hamilton tells her. Georgia has become a friend in the past few days. Each of the women eventually begin bonding with one or more other women. For Pamela, it was the Martins woman who lives upstairs on the floor above her.
"It doesn't matter. They are fighting for us up there. None of us are going upstairs until one of Mr. Castle's security team comes and gets us. I've put all of us into this mess, and I won't let any of you go get killed because of me."
On the Campus grounds, 8:08 p.m. – At the Castles Complex in Sausalito
"We are getting our asses handed to us, Benny!" screams Frank Abrams. Frank is in full retreat, having watched a tall and sinfully-too-large black man literally snap the neck of Cory Thompson, and Thompson was no small man himself. At 6'1 and 220 pounds, Thompson resembled an NFL free safety, and was built lean but hard.
Yes, Frank feels bad for running away like this, but dammit, this was supposed to be an easy gig. He didn't sign up for some full-fledged damn war. None of them did. It's not a job out here anymore. This has become a battlefield, and they are getting slaughtered.
"Get in, get out, get laid and get paid!" Benny had told the crew. And Benny had never steered Frank wrong before, so there was no reason to doubt him this evening. But clearly Benny was wrong, was misinformed, about a lot of things. Right now, the fight or flight mechanism is in full force for Frank Abrams, who has opted for the latter.
The scream he hears from some thirty yards away jars him to his core, pushing his legs faster. The burn in his thighs blisters him as he prays and wills them to keep moving, one in front of the other. Fifty more feet and he is free. He sees the fence peering through the foggy mist, almost taunting him. He never sees the thin wire stretched between the two trees in front of him. The last thing he remembers is a stinging sensation in his neck before everything goes black.
Back at the Administration Building, 8:08 p.m. – At the Castles Complex in Sausalito
Lindy Matthew is trying hard to stifle a snicker as she watches the hapless crew beat on the door, trying to bust their way in. One other attacker has already tried the window about ten feet away, and has moved back to the door step. All attempts at stealth abandoned, the four men are frantically and noisily searching for a way in.
"Not the brightest bunch," she thinks to herself, as she draws closer.
She stays low, using the ground cover of the fog for a blanket, her right hand loosening her grip on the baseball bat just slightly. She wiggles her wrist, allowing the bat to rotate freely before tightening her grip one final time. She breathes in the cool misty air and sets her sights on her first target.
She reaches the first man and stays low to the ground, swinging hard for his right knee, which explodes with a sickening thud. The man screams as he leg shatters, allowing gravity to do its work. His partners from the car have barely turned their heads to react when Lindy completes the home run swing and launches herself upward, now swinging the bat with a vicious golf uppercut, breaking the next man's jaw and snapping his neck. She lands on her feet at the end of her swing and immediately initiates a hard, ninety degree spin in a clockwise motion, her arm – and the bat – extended. Her weapon smashes into the face of the third man. His nose collapses and his upper row of teeth lose their bearings as he crumples backward into the door frame
The final man – Barry K as he is known – has raised his arms in surrender. He wants no part of this warrior dressed in black and painted in blackface. Lindy allows the bat to drop to her side, and Barry K offers the heavens a prayer of thanks, grateful for the undeserved reprieve. She, however, in the same motion as the bat drops, switches the bat to her left hand, and with her now free right hand, reaches into her shoulder holster and retrieves her handgun. She points it at Barry K's head. He never hears the explosion from the gun that ends his life.
Screams echo across the front patio area where four men now lie – two of them very dead. She glances down at her third victim and – without a second glance – steps over him as she casually puts a bullet in his brain as she walks over to the first victim, who screams incessantly.
"Bitch broke my leg!" he cries, tears of pain streaming down his face. His eyes suddenly enlarge in terror as he sees the weapon now pointed at his head. A single gunshot is heard, and Lindy Matthews walks away, without a backward glance at the carnage behind her, now jogging around the building and toward the wooded area beyond the residence homes, searching for anyone who might have been unlucky enough to make it through the gauntlet that Mike had set up as a welcoming party. She knows the where the team members should be, based upon the breaches that she watched on the monitors with Jeffries. She immediately makes a beeline for the area she suspects Mike Monroe will be defending.
On the Campus Grounds, 8:10 p.m. – At the Castles Complex in Sausalito
The scattered gunshots that Benny hears do not give him any comfort. He knows the sound of a successful attack, with coordinated gunfire, a beautiful choir that cannot be described. Tonight, that is not what he hears. No, tonight he hears undisciplined panic in his ranks. He hears it in their voices that he knows are now in full retreat. He hears it in the gasps of dying men – a sound he knows only too well, but has always been on the delivering end.
Randy, thankfully, is still with him. He has no idea how many others are still even alive, and is struggling to comprehend how all of this is the work of one woman. Yet there is no doubt that it was clearly a woman's voice earlier – Dawn's voice – issuing the challenge to them. In the confusion now, he and Randy have lost their direction somewhat, and have ventured off their intended path. Coming across Rudy and Lorenzo, lying dead with single gunshot wounds in their foreheads was enough to change his mind. Screw Donovan. They are getting slaughtered out here – and for what? So Donovan can get a few more of his damn playmates? They could have killed the writer and his bitch girlfriend earlier – but no – Donovan got greedy. And now God only knows how many of Benny's men are dead because of it.
He and Randy are making good time back toward what they hope is the perimeter fence. Of course, arriving at a different spot than they breached from just minutes earlier is problematic. As in they have no ladder. How they are going to navigate that beast is a huge question mark. But they will worry about that when they get there. Right now – the goal is just to get there.
Elsewhere on the Castle Grounds – 8:10 p.m. – At the Castles Complex in Sausalito
Dawn Harrison sits upright on the ground, focused on the task at hand. That task, for now, is staying in the game. Her black shirt is off, and she shivers in the cold mist, now wearing only light black jeans and a black sports bra. Her shirt is now wrapped in her hands as she creates a make-shift bandage for her leg, which is bleeding more than she would care to see.
In the massive confusion as Benny's force began their helter-skelter, undisciplined retreat, men began firing their weapons in any direction. It's just bad luck that one of those errant rounds found its way into her right thigh.
Tightening the shirt around her leg, she manages to stand, and take a few steps.
"Manageable, but vulnerable," she thinks to herself, quickly making the battlefield decision. She reaches for her headset, fighting back any wincing or wobble in her voice.
"This is Dawn. I'm hit. Leg. Stable but losing blood," she tells the team at large.
"I'm on my way," Colin Alexander states immediately. "I've got your coordinates," he tells her directly, glancing at her location. Each of them carries military-grade GPS, which locates any of them within a few feet.
"I'm hit as well," Mike Monroe says suddenly, he as well the victim of crossfire. "Errant fire – don't think they know I'm hit."
"On my way," Lindy Matthews exclaims, and it is clear that she is running. She is in full sprint toward the coordinates shown for Monroe. "How bad?"
"Just a shoulder shot. Got it covered, Lindy," he tells her – and the group.
"And I've got you covered," she tells him, ignoring anything else he has to say. It's no surprise to anyone, as all know how close Lindy and Mike have become in the past six or so months. The two knew each other – very well in fact – from earlier military deployments. Their new . . . relationship . . . didn't come about until recently, though.
Meanwhile, Kate Beckett has spotted a rapidly retreating Benny and Randy, quickly realizing they are headed for the presumed safety of the perimeter fence. How they plan on getting over the fence is something she briefly wonders about, but immediately pushes the thought out of her head.
"Stay focused," she tells herself, as she quickly begins tracking the men, following behind them.
The fence comes into view, and Kate is treated with a laughable sight. Both men have reached the fence, and Randy has hoisted Benny on his shoulders, with Benny reaching vainly for the top of the fence. The humor of the moment fades quickly as Kate hears rustling behind her. Pivoting with her weapon raised, she lifts the barrel skyward when she sees the camouflaged face of her friend.
"Geesh Jen, give me a heart attack!" she whispers, putting her finger up to her mouth indicating the detective should remain quiet. Blackard looks into the distance, and sees the comical sight playing out some twenty-five yards in front of them.
Detective Jennifer Blackard is the one person out here in Mike Monroe's game plan who operates at a disadvantage. She's a cop. She can't just see the bad guy and shoot first. She has to identify herself. Even on a battlefield such as this, where such a necessity can get one killed.
Further, the only instruction Richard Castle offered the team earlier – other than to not get killed – was simple.
"When this is over, the only thing I ask – well, don't get yourselves killed is the first thing," he had told them, chuckling while keeping his arm immobile.
"The second is this. No cops," he had said, staring directly at Jennifer. "I know you are with us, detective, and I am honored. But officially, you were never here. No warnings – no identifying yourself as a police officer."
"I don't understand," the detective had questioned, but both Mike Monroe and Kate Beckett had nodded their heads simultaneously.
"When this is over, the word will have gone out about this place here," he tells them. "That word will be one of two stories. One story will say that this place is clearly under police protection. The other story will say that this place can take care of itself, and doesn't need police . . . forgive me for saying this, Jennifer . . . this place doesn't need police interference. For the women we want to attract here, and for the men they are trying to escape from, that second story is far more powerful. Men who beat their women aren't afraid of a police response. If they were, they would take a different course. But those men will be scared shitless of the type of brutal response I suspect you people are capable of rendering. That's the story I want out in the city, in the Bay Area after tonight. If this goes down, tonight."
Castle's request in her mind, Jennifer is unsure how to proceed. Fortunately, Kate immediately recognizes the quandary her friend struggles with this evening. She isn't that far removed from having to operate under those exact same parameters. Somehow, yelling out the words 'Police Officer, hold your hands in the air' doesn't seem to be the safest option tonight. She motions for them to split up, moving Jennifer twenty feet to her right. Nodding her head, Kate stays low, issuing a warning of her own, knowing the backup that she has.
"I don't think that is going to work, boys," Kate tells the two men. Their reaction – hilariously – is the stuff of a Hollywood comedy. Randy turns quickly, fumbling for his weapon. His quick movement, along with removed his hands from Benny's legs on top of him cause the crew chief to lose his balance. With a frantic leap, he grabs ahold of the center horizontal bar, but is now left dangling on the fence, his feet a good five to six feet off the ground.
"Hey, dammit!" he screams out, while Randy fires his weapon in the general direction of the voice he has heard. Fortunately, sticking to the plan, Kate has stayed low to the ground, as Randy's bullets whistle harmlessly some four feet above her head and ten feet to the side. His action, however, enables Jennifer to open fire without further hesitation. Two shots from the SFPD detective hit Randy squarely in the chest, and the hood slumps to his knees and falls forward.
"Wait! Wait a minute!" Benny yells, trying to turn and see who is behind him while maintaining his tenuous grip on the iron wrought fence bar.
Seconds later, Kate Beckett and Jennifer Blackard stand below him, Kate focused on Benny while Jennifer scans the area protectively.
"Got a name?" Kate asks with a smirk.
"Go fuck yourself!" Benny replies, more out of habit than bravado. He immediately recognizes his mistake as Kate begins to lift her weapon toward his head.
"No! No, wait minute, wait a minute, dammit!" he begins, bargaining for his life. "Benny. They just called me Benny."
"Well, Benny, here is the deal," she tells him. "I think it is apparent by now that this little raid of yours was a very bad idea," she tells him with a menacing smile. "And Benny, understand this. I don't like you. But I don't care about that. I don't care about your little raid here. I don't care about your other friends out there – who by the way – are getting slaughtered like lambs. All I care about is the women. The kidnapped women. Now, my friend here and I are on a tight schedule, as you can imagine."
She allows her weapon to graze along his leg, just adding a bit of tension to an already surreal moment. It's clear that Benny can only hang on for a few seconds more before he drops. He might break a leg, or at least severely sprain an ankle or knee. He doesn't look in the best of shape, but it's dark, so who knows.
"Tell me where the women are, Benny, and you get out of this alive," Kate tells him firmly. "Play stupid with me – even once – and I pull the trigger right here," she tells him, pointing her weapon at his knee cap and putting pressure there. "Then I ask the question again, and look for more interesting parts of your body to blow off. And don't give me any bullshit about Mexico, Benny. I'm not in the mood."
There is something about the tone of her voice, and the continued gunshots he hears in the distance, that tells him that this woman is deadly serious. It is a losing proposition. He will just have to take his chances with Donovan, because amid all of this carnage and loss of life – he is not going to take chances with this woman. Or her friend.
"Angel Island," he tells her.
"Where on the island, Benny?" Kate asks, already marveling internally that Castle had been right. The women were, indeed, on the island.
A/N: Just a side-note. Military grade GPS today is supposedly accurate down to centimeters. This story occurs back in 2012, so I am assuming that the technology at that time with the military would be accurate within feet. Logic tells me that three years ago our military GPS was even more accurate than that – but for this story, a few feet was sufficient.