Now What? Chapter 34
Meryl Keller and George Sleeback sit with Rick at a round table in The Ledger's lunchroom, enjoying the well-stuffed sandwiches he sprang for. "Yeah, we've been traveling with the Bracken campaign on and off for months," Meryl says. "He likes to have reporters on the bus with him and his staff. It's part of his pitch. The bus runs on natural gas, which is supposed to be a bridge to full electrification."
"Much of his rhetoric is about the environment," George adds.
"Yet his bus still pours carbon dioxide into the air," Rick points out. "Why not just go for smaller electric vehicles?"
George finishes chewing a large bite of his sandwich. "You caught that, huh?"
"It would seem pretty obvious," Rick replies.
"Not to a main financer of his campaign," George replies. "There's this billionaire, Fickens, who has it in for OPEC, at least partially because they're the competition. He started a grassroots campaign, town halls and stuff, pushing for an energy economy to make the US independent of foreign oil. Wind, solar, and other green energy sources are part of it, but he's very big on natural gas."
"Let me guess," Rick says. "Fickens is the major stockholder in a company producing a lot of natural gas."
"Good guess," Meryl says.
"So Bracken wraps himself in an environmentalist banner while taking money from Fickens' operation?" Rick asks.
"Right again," George confirms. "But that's not all of it. Some of the OPEC countries are supporting terrorists who control a piece of the drug trade. It's only a rumor, but it's a loud one. Bracken wants to put a lid on their support to the extent he has more control over that drug trade himself."
"Are we talking about drugs out of Afghanistan?" Rick queries.
George nods. "Among other places. Bracken used his congressional junkets and powers to get his claws into the market there."
"'Claws,' why did you use the word 'claws?'" Rick probes.
"Because the word is that over there, he's known as "The Dragon," George explains.
"And anyone who tries to cross him gets burned," Meryl adds.
"Do you have any reports or evidence on Bracken as 'The Dragon?'" Rick presses.
"Not as much as we'd like," George admits, "but some."
"The NYPD could really use it to investigate at least two and possibly six murders," Rick says.
George shakes his head. "I don't know. It could be a huge story. If the information gets out before we're ready to tell it, we'd just be doing follow-up, and that doesn't make the front page."
"It would be absolutely confidential," Rick promises. "Detective Beckett guards information about current investigations like she's a dragon, only with sharper teeth and claws. And when something breaks, you'll get first crack and full credit."
Meryl and George look at each other before nodding in silent agreement. "All right," Meryl says. "Walt Shaw trusts you. And if you do break our agreement, he can make sure that your books never get decent reviews in The Ledger again."
"That's fair," Rick agrees. "You won't be sorry, but hopefully, Bracken will be very sorry indeed."
Kate's computer beeps an alert. As she refreshes her screen a copy of a driver's license appears with the face of one of the phony cops. "Buford Pliny. Got you, you bastard!" Noting the address, she turns toward Ryan and Esposito. "Let's go arrest a flash banger."
Buford still has the regulation haircut Kate remembers, even if he and his cohorts screwed up on their collar pins. The rest of him, however, looks more like a merc than a cop. He's wearing a camo shirt and pants and sturdy boots more suited for mountain trails than city sidewalks. Esposito takes the weapon he has in his side holster before he can finish drawing it, and Ryan finds two knives on him. As Kate finishes intoning the Miranda warning, the two male detectives hustle their tightly cuffed prisoner into the back of their unit. Kate follows them back to the 12th Precinct, alert for any moves Pliny might make to escape.
Rick arrives from his meeting with Meryl and George just as Esposito chains Pliny to the table in Interrogation One. Kate sits opposite the prisoner, Rick on one side of her and the detective partners on the other. "So, Buford, you thought it would be amusing to set off flashbangs in a crowded courtroom?"
Buford responds only with a baleful stare.
Rick glances at Kate. "Guess he's not the talkative type."
"Then he can listen," Kate says. "Buford, you aided and abetted in the escape of a murderer. That makes you as guilty as he is. And I'm sure the DA can think of a list of charges to add to that. You're unlikely to find a friend in a judge, either. They don't tend to think kindly of guys who set off devices in courtrooms."
"They're kind of territorial that way," Rick interjects.
"The way I see it, Buford," Kate continues, "you have only one way of helping yourself. You see, you're small potatoes. Even with charges that will send him away for life, so is Lockwood. We want your boss. You help us get him, and you might have some hope of breathing air that doesn't come through a prison ventilation system someday. You keep your mouth shut, and you'll be behind bars for the rest of your life."
"But the upside is that probably won't be long anyway," Rick says. "Your boss has a way of terminating any link to him – with extreme prejudice."
Even as Pliny continues to sit unspeaking, dark stains are appearing under his arms and down his back. Kate rises from her chair. "We'll just leave you here to think about it for a while."
As soon as Kate exits the room, she adjusts the temperature control upwards. "Wow, you really want him to sweat," Rick notes.
"If he's a merc, physical discomfort isn't going to mean much to him," Esposito opines. "He'll put up with anything if the money's right."
"I don't think he'd find the $.12 to $.23 an hour he'd earn at prison very motivating," Ryan says.
"We'll let him think about his future for a while," Kate decides. "I want to find out what the unis we have searching his place uncovered. Maybe there's something we can use without his cooperation."
"I'd like to have a look at his lair," Rick says. "Even if we don't find anything, it would provide good background for a merc character. But I have a feeling we'll find something. A guy dressed like that isn't looking to play innocent. He wasn't expecting to be caught."
"I hope you're right," Kate says. "Either way, let's go."
Rick gazes around Buford Pliny's apartment. "Pretty sparse furnishings, but," he points to a weapons cabinet the uniformed cops already opened, "he has a sizable collection of what is apparently closest to his heart. I wonder what else he keeps around." Rick starts tapping on the walls.
"Castle, what are you looking for?" Kate queries.
"If Bracken is dealing in drugs, his guys might have a taste for the candy. Zack hid Brian's steroids in the wall, so I thought…." The hollow response to his raps turns into a dull thud. "Beckett, I think there's something back there. Ooh, look, a hidden compartment."
"Castle, gloves!" Kate cautions. "We don't want Pliny claiming something was planted."
"Right," Rick agrees, pulling an extra large pair of nitriles from his pocket. "OK, here, I've got it open. Sonofabitch!"
"What is it, Castle?"
"It's a manuscript." Rick starts flipping through pages. "Pliny is writing a book about his adventures. Oh, whoa! It's more complicated than that. His talent as a wordsmith leaves something to be desired. However, he was a merc in Afghanistan, and he… oh, Beckett, you're gonna love this. But Bracken isn't going to. He's not going to like it much at all."