Finding the Fit Chapter 39

"Get some rest, Castle," Kate urges as she drops him off outside the Broome Street building. "We should get an early start at the 12th, tomorrow."

"I'll get an early start, Beckett, but I think I can do a better job from here," Rick says. "You remember the subscription service I use to find articles from publications? From what I was able to make out about that house in the dark, I believe an architect would have had to specially design it for the owner. That would go double if it could serve as a secure place to store gold or process drugs. There might be an article about it in some obscure publication. I'm going to find out."

"Then I should see if I can get the building plans," Kate considers. "I'll have to go through the bureaucracy to access anything outside of the city, but at least I can get the ball rolling."

The smack of Rick's clapped hands cuts through the night air. "Excellent! We can meet for lunch. I'll bring it."

Kate's eye-roll is invisible in the dim light as Rick turns to go up to his loft, but her lips upturn as she starts the van.

With a mug of extra-strong coffee at his side, Rick attempts to get comfortable in front of his keyboard. With the case – and Beckett – rolling through his mind, he didn't get much rest. His back is stiff, and his stomach isn't too crazy about the continual influx of acid-laden caffeine, but his enthusiasm for his search drives his discomfort from his awareness. The GPS on his phone rendered the approximate address of the mystery mansion, even if he couldn't pull up any images. With no other domiciles in the immediate area, that will be good enough to home in on the records he's seeking. He doubts they would be too old, probably dating since Bracken's tenure as DA. They might even just date since he came to power in the Senate. But Rick will go back a decade, just to be sure.

He can only find 16 mainstream architectural magazines and journals based in the U.S., but there are a number of academic publications and theses as well. He guesses that for the unusual requirements of the mansion, those will be his best bet. In many cases, the terms of art are unfamiliar, slowing his usual swift absorption of text. Still, on his third mug of coffee, he finds what he's looking for. The article describes clearing a wooded area in the mansion's general location and the subsequent erection of a peculiar half-fortress, half-luxury dwelling. The building has a deep foundation, sufficient to support considerable weight. It also has a below-ground level constructed of steel-reinforced concrete. "The perfect treasure cave," Rick mumbles to himself. The living space above ground features two floors of high-ceilinged rooms, wired to accommodate high power usage to be provided by an on-site off-the-grid generator. "So much for law enforcement cutting the power before a raid," he mutters again. He notes that the grounds are laid out with ample space to park multiple vehicles, including buses or trucks. They are also set up to provide complete security, including electronic surveillance and alarms. "Good thing Beckett decided against trying to sneak in last night," he reflects.

The time at the bottom of his screen catches Rick's attention. He has just enough time to prepare a precinct picnic. He's observed that Beckett really enjoys putting three things in her mouth: savory protein, vanilla-spiked coffee, and chocolate. He intends to oblige her on all three counts.

Despite the pleasant lingering sweetness of a fudgy brownie, Kate scowls as she takes in the last page of the printout Rick brought her. "This place looks more secure than any NYPD safe house I've ever seen."

"Probably because the NYPD can't spend millions of dollars on building them," Rick offers. "Don't they just adapt existing houses in regular neighborhoods?"

"For the most part, they do," Kate acknowledges. "I did see one once that had been seized from a drug dealer. It had a state-of-the-art alarm system, cameras, an electrified fence, the whole deal. But it still wasn't up to this level. Even with help from the FBI or the DEA, if we tried to raid this place, it would be a blood bath."

"Then why raid it? Why not just be let in?" Rick asks.

"And how would we do that, Castle?"

"If they're transferring operations from Simmons' shop to the woodland retreat, they'd have lots of people coming in: the ladies on the bus, the casino staff, a new bag man, and the marks themselves. With all of those folks making entry, someone should be able to infiltrate the premises."

"If one of the ladies comes down with the flu or something, they would need a replacement," Kate considers.

"Beckett, you aren't thinking…."

"Why not, Castle? Don't you think I'm hot enough?"

"Are you kidding? You make the sweet things that were working at Simmon's den look like ice cubes. But with the kind of security these guys are using, they'd check you out well enough to know you're a cop. Wouldn't a mark be easier? The city must be full of guys committing a little larceny or fraud here and there to compensate for living above their means. Seems to me it should be easy enough to turn one who got caught – in exchange for a clean slate. And they wouldn't have to learn a fake background because they'd have a real one."

"Sounds like you have someone in mind, Castle."

"Several someones, actually. Remember those executives who sold their equity positions in Cheman's just before the stock took a dive? They got busted for violating SEC rules all over the place. But they haven't even been tried yet, and the FBI hasn't tracked down where they stowed all their ill-gotten gains. They'd be just the kind of guys a gambling den would love to fleece while it's still possible. I interviewed a couple of them as background for a potential character. One of them seemed very, very nervous about the prospect of ending up in prison. He might find the opportunity to avoid it compelling, especially if all he has to do is spend a night or two playing his favorite games and reporting on any security weaknesses he observes."

"Does this potential spy have a name, Castle?" Kate inquires.

"Edmond Georgeson. He was the senior Vice President at Cheman's before it crashed and burned. Went to Wharton, always flew at least business class, regards being surrounded by the dregs of society as a fate worse than death."

Kate's fingertips stroke her lips. "I should go see him."

"What if he's spotted with a cop?" Rick demands. "Simmons' people would never let him in and could just kill him for the insult. But he's a fan of Terra Quest and plays in a gaming den. That's where I met him for our interview. We could meet him there again without raising any suspicions."

"You play Terra Quest, Castle?"

"I couldn't play video games, not even the ones with primitive graphics when I was growing up. Compassionate Hearts didn't have the resources for anything like that. And with my writing in college, I definitely didn't have the time. But now I occasionally like a game. I tried Terra Quest. I wasn't bad at it, and it gave me an in with Georgeson. But I like Halo better. I've gamed with Esposito a few times. He's very good – fast reflexes."

"He does have those," Kate agrees. "But about Georgeson. How fast can you line up a meeting?"

Rick pulls his phone out of his pocket. "Let's find out."