Forty-Seven: Chapter 18
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012 – 1:03 a.m. – At Cole Maddox's apartment in Lower Manhattan
A couple of minutes have passed since Cole Maddox – nee Cedric Marks – has uttered the words that have paralyzed Detective Javier Esposito. Two things dominate the detective's mind right now.
First – this totally explains why – after almost ten years of searching and searching – they have never been able to find out who killed Kate's mother. All this time they were looking for some local hood, possibly a gang leader; maybe a corrupt businessman or police officer. They have been so, so horribly wrong. Cedric taking his orders from the government means that someone in the military, or someone in the CIA or FBI – perhaps a corrupt national politician – someone much bigger than they have ever imagined is behind all of this. And those are the type of people who know how to hide their actions. Those people have made a career of doing whatever it takes to get whatever they need or want while staying invisible – untouchable.
The second thought is an extension of the first – and that is, now that Cedric has shared this information with Javier, he knows there is no way his old childhood friend can let him just walk out of this apartment. This is going to get ugly. Deadly ugly.
"I'm not sure I even know how to respond to that," Esposito finally tells his friend. He is both buying time and information. "You're saying that our government is behind all of this . . ."
"In a manner of speaking . . . unofficially . . . yes," Marks smiles, knowing that he is playing coy. He too, realizes that by sharing this information, he has signed a death warrant for one of them. He is already assessing Esposito, sizing up his old friend. There was a time when it was a fifty-fifty proposition as to which of them would win in a winner-take-all kind of combat. At the same time, he is looking for avenues – any avenues – of retreat. Any option of getting out of this apartment without a bloodbath with his old friend. His oldest friend.
"How are you involved?" Esposito asks. He too, is glancing around, gauging his surroundings. He is definitely on Marks' home turf. It doesn't intimidate him. He's been here before. His time on the NYPD force has taught him to reign in the killer instinct that was embedded in him during his time in the Army. However, he fully knows his life – tonight – depends on his ability to call up that instinct again.
"No one had any use for a wounded and suddenly available killer from an increasingly unpopular war," Marks says with a bit of disgust. "Unless I – like you – was ready to settle in with a position with a local police agency . . . which I was not."
"So you settle for life as a merc?" Esposito counters.
"The pay is noticeably better," his friend smiles menacingly.
Javier has slowly begun to straighten himself up on the sofa. His next move will quickly bring him to his feet. He knows the sudden movement will put Marks into combat mode, involuntarily unless he gives him a reason otherwise. Before that, however, there is one thing he needs to know. He plans on surviving this encounter, and this information may explain a few things.
"So, why Smith?" Esposito asks, placing his hands on his knees. The readying movement goes unnoticed by Marks. If he does notice, he isn't reacting.
"Smith?" Maddox laughs. "Mr. Michael Smith is not the innocent benefactor your little team probably thinks he is . . . excuse me . . . was."
"Enlighten me," Esposito replies.
"The Sen . . . my employer has a number of people within his employment, Javi, as you can probably imagine. I'm certainly not some lone agent at his disposal."
Esposito nods his head, and makes an exaggerated motion to look at his fingers, moving them as if trying to bring life into hands that have suddenly fallen asleep. He gazes back up at his friend, who continues.
"Everyone . . . Coonan, Lockwood, Montgomery, Smith . . . all of them – me included – have either been under his employ, or locked in some mutual agreement with him. Smith was no different."
"How was he involved?" Esposito asks.
"The better question, Javi, is when did he become involved? And the answer is, from the very beginning."
Marks/Maddox cannot suppress the smile at the look of surprise on his friends face.
"That's right, Javi," Marks continues. "From the very beginning. Roy Montgomery was a rookie cop who came across a kidnapping scheme. While Roy was ultimately intrigued enough to join the party, initially his better nature took over. He saw the scheme and wanted to thwart it. When it became clear that he was not going to be able to do that – probably through threats from the other involved officers, I'd imagine, he took the next logical step for a rookie cop."
"IA?" Esposito laughs, and Marks laughs with him. Both know the folly of engaging Internal Affairs against fellow officers.
"No, Javi, not IA," Marks replies, still chuckling. "An attorney. He called his lawyer."
"Smith," Esposito nods, as the dominos now start falling.
"Smith and Roy were old friends, pre-dating Roy's joining the force," Marks/Maddox explains. "So when Roy wanted some guidance, some legal advice, he went to your Mr. Smith. Smith, however, saw this an opportunity for a little extra cash . . ."
"Do tell," Esposito spits out, following the train of thought.
"So while my employer received his cut of the take, he had to share it with a very ambitious lawyer who had decided that he, too, wanted a piece of the action. Smith was smart, though. From the beginning, he made it very clear that he had information on my employer. Should anything happen to Smith or his family then that information was going to be made public."
"So the deal Roy ended up cutting for Beckett's life –" Esposito begins, "was essentially the same deal that Smith had cut for his own life, years before."
"The exact same deal," Marks nods. "You always were a quick study, Javi."
"So all this time, Castle has thought that Roy sent this Smith guy files to keep the deal Roy had for Beckett intact . . ."
Javier lets the thought trail off, confident that Marks will pick up and finish the thought for him. He is not disappointed.
". . . all that time, it was actually Smith who had originally shared the files with Roy that Roy used to keep your detective alive," Marks replies with a smile. "I mean, if you want a series of files to keep the wolf at bay, who's going to have the better data – present the better story – a cop or a lawyer."
Esposito nods his head, watching the falling domino show continue.
"So when Montgomery was killed by Lockwood – let me stop there for a moment, Javi," Marks tells him. "It's important to me for you to know that I liked Roy. I wasn't the one who put him down. I actually argued for keeping Roy around. But – and here is the key – once you and your colleagues found out what Roy had been involved with all those years ago – well, buddy, you guys punched his death certificate then and there. My employer saw the benefit in keeping Roy around, even though he had temporarily lost control of your detective. But having your team find out the truth? No, Roy had to go at that point."
"Why kill Smith though?" Esposito asks, touching on the one flaw in the argument. "He's dead, and now those files he had are going to be made public. Your employer still loses."
"Cutting loose ends, Javi," Marks says simply, his tone matter-of-fact. "First of all, things are moving forward and loose ends, frayed ends . . . they have to be eliminated. Second – those files becoming public? I don't think that's going to happen," he smiles.
"You do know," Javi counters with a smirk of his own, "that you are one of those loose ends, C-Mark. One of these days, you're not going to be the hunter. You're going to be the hunted. What then?"
"Then . . . I take my chances," Marks tells him, now taking a step backward, allowing his friend to stand. He's still undecided over what is next, but his hand begins moving toward his back, where a serious looking knife is stashed in its sheath.
Esposito notices both movements – the step backwards and the hand motion – and uses the opportunity to stand up from the sofa.
"So . . . are we really going to do this?" Esposito asks the best friend he has ever had, readying himself for the attack he knows is coming.
"Give me an alternative, Javi," Marks tells him, and even in the dark, although he cannot really see his friend's eyes that well – Esposito can hear it in his voice. He's conflicted. There may be a way out of this after all. Then he remembers. This is the man who shot Beckett. For three months, no one heard a peep from Kate. For three months, Kate isolated herself from everyone, trying to heal. Three months later, she comes back, and she's still a mess. She's alienated from her team. From Castle. She suffers from PTSD. Javier knows what this is like, first-hand. All of this – because of his best friend standing in front of him.
"Wish I could, bro," Javier tells him sadly, and he can almost see the disappointed nod of the head from Cole Maddox in front of him. It's dark, so this will get interesting. And it's Marks' house, so this is a road game. His friend has the home field advantage.
"You'll need it," Javier notes mentally, "because I was always a little better than you."
Perhaps it is the darkness. Perhaps it is because Marks' is distracted – even only the slightest bit – but Javier's pile-driving front kick – aimed right at the groin of the mercenary assassin – lands in its intended location.
His military training keeps Marks on his feet for just a second – wobbly though they may be – but little training eliminates the shocking pain of a genital attack. Probably not fair – but as both men have learned from their Special Forces training – it is not about fair. It's about winning. At any and all cost.
Esposito does not give him a chance to recover. His next strike is an open palm blow to the neck. He uses the opportunity to grab Marks by the head, and pulls down, driving his knee into the man's forehead. Marks crumples with these final blows. Javier isn't going for a kill. The goal at this ungodly hour has been to survive. Get the information needed and get out alive. Plus, he doesn't have his service weapon, which he was forced to give up back at the hotel. He knows that his surprise attack would have ended the confrontation with any normal person. Cedric/Cole is not normal, by any stretch of the imagination.
Esposito reaches the door just in time, as he sees the man rising to his feet, the full anger now upon him.
"Quid pro quo, buddy," he tells him as he walks through the door, closing it behind him. "I will see you again."
Cole Maddox stares at the closed door for a second, then drops back to his knees, allowing his body to temporarily succumb to the attack.
"Count on it," Maddox says toward the door, promising himself that the kid gloves will be off the next time they see one another.