Confession Chapter 43

"Jimmy, what the f**k happened?" Bracken demands. "You were supposed to eliminate all possible exposure. Now the f***ing SDNY is working with the NYPD and that bitch Beckett to drag everything they can out of Simmons and Maddox."

Jimmy Carmack swipes his forehead with his coat sleeve. "Maddox has never failed us before."

"Hasn't failed!" Bracken retorts. "Beckett should have been dead in Chicago. Instead, she pulled in that asshole writer, Castle, to put out a string of damning stories. Our PR people have barely been able to keep up with it. And worse, if anything happens to one of them or their families, the finger will immediately point back at us. And Simmons will do anything to save his ass. It's a sh*tstorm, a f***ing sh*tstorm. So what are you going to do about it?"

Carmack takes a step back. "What the hell can I do? Maddox and Simmons are under federal protection. Even if someone I send could take them out, everyone who has a phone or reads a newspaper would figure out who was behind it."

"How about an accident? Those used to be your specialty."

"An accident would raise just as many suspicions," Carmack insists.

"Not if you handle it right. Do we still have sources who could point us toward witness transportation routes?"

"Maybe, with enough incentive."

"All right. We have more than enough untraceable cash to arrange something. But it has to be massive and take out a sh*tload of people, not just our targets. A high death toll disaster will get very different press than a couple of suspicious deaths. Our targets will just be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Calculation flies over Carmack's face. "Or the right place at the right time."

Bracken nods his satisfaction. "Exactly."

Forrester Sims is always the first one at his office in the morning. He's managed to avoid being nailed by law enforcement all these years for a reason – he's careful and trusts no one. He's developed a regular routine of sweeping for bugs and checking that the telltales on his private files are undisturbed. As far as he's concerned, he's not paranoid, just smart. But this morning his routine is disrupted when he spies the plain white envelope that had obviously been slipped under the door. He's seen similar envelopes before, but not recently. It seems too small and light to be explosive. Just in case of something infectious, he puts on gloves and a protective mask before opening it. He needn't have bothered. Inside is a terse note. "Instructions and remittance in location B." He immediately feeds the note and the envelope into his shredder and checks his watch. Location B won't be accessible for over an hour, but in morning traffic, it may take him that long or longer to get there. He relocks his office and leaves. The secretary who insists on calling herself his assistant will open it again and handle any routine business until he returns.

Joe Martin meets Kate and Castle in the reception area of the SDNY offices. "We're set up in Conference Room A. If you'll follow me."

The pair trail the assistant down a hallway. Weston looks up from her seat at a long table and waves them to chairs. "Detective Beckett, Mr. Castle, I'm glad you could make it on short notice." She nods at her assistant. "Thanks, Joe." Martin leaves, closing the door behind him.

"I wanted you here to help work out the logistics for questioning Maddox and Simmons," Elizabeth explains. "I prefer to use one location and as few sessions as possible, preferably over the span of a single day."

"To minimize possible incidents with transportation?" Kate questions.

"And involve as few people for as short a period as possible," Weston replies. "We also want to use the most secure building available."

"The fact that it isn't open to the public undoubtedly adds to the mystique, but rumor has it that other than the Federal Reserve, the old AT&T building at 33 Thomas Street is the most secure spot in town. I heard from a very reliable source that the NSA was once headquartered there and might still be conducting operations from that space," Castle says.

"I can't comment on the NSA, " Weston replies. "However, you are correct about the security, Mr. Castle."

"Right," Kate agrees. "No windows, no way a sniper can get a shot. The building is within the 12th Precinct's jurisdiction, so we keep an awareness of such issues."

"It also has very limited entry," Weston adds. "So, Mr. Castle's assumption was correct. We will be using space in that building for the session. And as I indicated, we want to keep the timing as short, tight, and precise as possible. We also want to keep the details tightly restricted. I expect that both of you will be able to arrive on very short notice."

"The drive from my home would be under ten minutes," Castle figures.

"And about the same from my apartment or from the precinct," Kate says.

"So both of you could get there with almost no warning," Weston assumes.

"Unless I'm working on a case out of the immediate area," Kate responds.

"As I understand it, you completed your present case. Is that correct?" Weston queries.

"Except for the paperwork, that is correct," Kate confirms.

"Then it isn't a problem," Weston declares. "I've arranged with Captain Gates to keep you close until after our session with Maddox and Simmons."

"You and your sister have a nice little chat?" Castle queries.

Heat rises in Weston's face. "I should have realized that as a writer you'd do your research, Mr. Castle. Yes, Victoria and I are sisters. But I assure you that any discussions we've had about these arrangements were purely professional."

"Of course," Kate quickly inserts. "So how will you be reaching us when you want us at the Thomas Street building?"

"I believe a one-word text would be the most difficult communication to interpret, even if intercepted. Mr. Castle, you're the wordsmith. Pick a word."

"How about 'cheeseburgers?'" Castle proposes.

Weston's carefully manicured hand rises to conceal a smile. "Cheeseburgers it is."

There are branches of three banks within close proximity on 181st Street in Washington Heights. Sims has keys to safety deposit boxes in all of them. Right now he only needs to use his key for the one at the Capital Bank. His jaw tightens as it sticks a little. The banks up here never seem to keep things running smoothly. But he finally gets it open and takes it to the camera-free room provided for patrons to examine their private treasures. He withdraws a sturdy envelope and cursorily glances inside at a stack of bills. He doubts the big man would take a chance on shorting him, but he'll count them later. A message accompanies the cash. "Location, time, ASAP."

"No problem," Sims murmurs. He'd been waiting for this ever since Maddox got in touch. But until he was precisely aware of his role, he'd had to play it straight. He'd played it so straight that no one could ever expect his involvement in what was to come. And the best thing is that even if asked, he had no idea what it will be. Once he communicates the required information, he'll be out of the loop. When he gets a chance, he can spread the cash around to various accounts in amounts too low to trigger any alerts to the IRS. He can even treat himself to a few Cuban cigars.