Confession Chapter 42

The FBI sets up a staging area where the road widens about a mile from Simmons' mansion. Agents also come through federal land from the other direction and take up stations in the shacks Tim Wheeler had located. Part of the force disperses through the woods to snag any runners, while, warrant in hand, a team prepares to breach.

Simmons had been feeling nervous ever since Reince Prince was taken out. He got word from the boss' people that Prince had been about to flip and had to be removed. He knows how that can be. He's had risks to his own operation taken out – or had the boss' guys do it for him. But Prince feels different. Simmons hadn't heard a whisper of a problem with him until he ended up dead. He can't help wondering if the boss has anyone closer to home in his sights.

The sounds of the women being wrangled to be loaded back onto a bus distract him. They'll be taken to a dorm, fed, and given a chance to clean up. They'll also be screened for STDs. The last thing Simmons needs is to get a reputation for infecting his customers. Some of them, however, have occasionally infected the girls. Along with an impressive collection of sex toys, the house provides an assortment of the most elite brands of condoms. Still, many of the clients prefer not to use them and they shell out too much for their fun and games for Simmons to push the issue.

Simmons has stayed on top of shifting tastes for other pleasures. Cocaine is still a top request, but fentanyl, ecstasy, and ever-evolving offerings of designer drugs are increasingly popular. The latest designer creation arrived in a shipment the day before and was anxiously received by the more adventurous customers. At the price they paid for it, Simmons plans to order more as soon as the chemist can cook it up.

In a van at the rear of the staging area, Mary Waters and Elizabeth Weston stare at a screen showing video feed from the breach team. A liaison from the DEA watches from behind them. Considering her involvement with the case, Mary had floated the idea of inviting Kate Beckett as an observer as well, but Weston vetoed her suggestion. Mary has a feeling that avoiding communication with the 12th Precinct has more to do with Weston's relationship with Gates than it does with Beckett or the case in general. But Mary knows better than to voice her suspicions. Once they have Simmons and his subordinates in custody, she can send updates to other interested parties – or have Tish do it. That should provide Liz with the insulation she wants.

Assistant director to the FBI's New York field office, James Daltry, gives the order to advance on the mansion. The breaching team surges forward toward the fencing and guards surrounding Simmons' stronghold.

Montague (Moochie) Brown spies what looks like a small army moving toward the gate and elbows his fellow guard Luther (Mac) MacDougal. "Hey, Bro, do you see what's f***ing coming!"

Mac gazes openmouthed at the approaching armored agents. "Sh*t! Our guns aren't gonna be no good against all that. And I ain't getting killed over no bunch of hoes."

"No f***ing way," Moochie agrees. Simultaneously, the two men lay down their rifles and raise their hands.

It takes only one blow from the FBI's battering ram to break through the mansion's ornately heavy wood door. Alarms scream as agents flood inside.

A floor up, vaunted lawyer to the stars Algernon Herskowitz rudely dumps the scantily clad Asian woman who was astride his hips to the floor. Hastily pulling on his $500 Ami Paris pants, he rushes out of the room, almost colliding with a member of the breaching force. "What the hell is going on here?" he demands.

"FBI! Where is Vulcan Simmons?" the agent questions.

Herskowitz feels a relieved breath rush from his lungs. The FBI has a major target. If he cooperates, they won't worry about a minor player. "I haven't seen him since I, uh, came to a party last night. But he has an office somewhere downstairs."

"On the first floor?" the agent presses.

"No, a basement or cellar, I think. I saw a staircase going down," Herskowitz adds.

"All right. Get back in your room and don't come out until an FBI agent tells you to."

"Yes, Sir," Herskowitz agrees backing up into his platinum-level playroom. "I'll stay right in here."

The agent grunts his acknowledgment and turns back toward the stairs.

Vulcan Simmons is trying to put in the code to unlock the door to his escape tunnel, but no beeps sound as he enters the numbers. "Goddamn 'motherf***ers cut the power," he groans to his empty quarters. Shouldn't there be a battery backup? Damn! The f***ing thing beeped at him a few days ago, warning it was dying. But he had special customers coming in and didn't have time to mess with it. He told Ivan to take care of it. The motherf***er screwed up! As footsteps thunder down the stairs, he looks vainly for another way out. But he'd made sure there wasn't one. A way out is a way in. And right now the invaders are using the only one left.

Weston's personal assistant, Joe Martin, hesitantly knocks on her door, before sticking his head in. "Ms. Weston, there's a Captain Victoria Gates of the NYPD out front insisting to see you. She doesn't have an appointment or anything but she says you know her."

"Yes, I know her," Weston confirms. "All right, Joe, go up there and escort her in. But don't walk fast. I need a minute."

Joe nods. "Got it, Ms. Weston."

"Lizzie, what the hell!" Gates demands. "Vulcan Simmons is connected to a homicide within my jurisdiction. And that doesn't even begin to factor in the bigger conspiracy he's involved with, a conspiracy that one of my people brought to you. And you didn't even give me the courtesy of a heads up."

"I couldn't take the chance of a leak," Elizabeth claims.

"A leak!" Gates grits out. "A reporter almost went to jail when someone tried to cover up the existence of that mansion. It's a matter of public record. Someone was bound to go in there sooner or later. And the FBI already announced taking out the operations center of a drug and human trafficking ring. What more could leak?"

"The drugs and human trafficking are just what's above the surface, Victoria. I think you know that. We didn't want to take the chance Vulcan Simmons would be taken out before we had a chance to talk to him about who's really at the center of the conspiracy. But your people brought in Maddox. And your Detective Beckett and her friend Castle have been trying to take down his boss for a long time."

"Beckett came to you?"

"She did. She knew Westchester's out of your jurisdiction, but not mine. She had no choice. And she had evidence that pre-dated you taking charge of the precinct – a lot of it. I've been keeping a lid on the whole thing until we could take down that house and get Simmons in custody."

"Well, you've got him," Victoria declares. "So exactly where do we go from here?"

"I've heard that Detective Beckett is an expert at interrogation. And Castle seems to enhance her success. I figure they could team with some of my people to lean on Simmons and Maddox and a minor player named Tooman. That's if you're willing to share them."

"Lizzie, the last time we shared on a case you wanted me to hide a crime, supposedly for the greater good."

Weston's fingers tighten around a pen. "Which you refused to do, and ruined my case."

"But I put a drug-selling cop away. So what was the real greater good? Who knows how many lives I saved by getting him off the street? And how do I know I can trust you to do the right thing instead of playing along with the system again?"

"Because we both want exactly the same thing, to blow a conspiracy wide open and knock the man behind it off his perch," Elizabeth insists. "Accomplishing that will make me look good in my backyard and you look good in yours."

"We both know that if I was that interested in looking good, I'd probably be deputy chief by now," Gates says. "But we do share the goal that's really important. Beckett can work with you. And I'm guessing that where she goes, Castle won't be far behind."