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Monday, 13 May 2013, 11:10 A.M.
Lincoln MKT Town Car,
Brooklynn Bridge
Brooklynn, NY
"And that brings me to another question," Alexis pushes forward, "How old a friend is he?"
"Oh, he's about my age."
"Not what I meant, and you know it," she glares, "When did you meet him and where. You don't run just run into a Foreign Legion Paratrooper on the street."
"Calvi, Corsica, 1989," Rick answers honestly, "If you recall from the book, that is the base of the 2nd Foreign Legion Para Regiment."
"What were you doing in Corsica?" Alexis asks, confused by the unusual destination.
"I was out of high school," He recounts, "I'd already finished In a Hail of Bullets and was trying to get it published, but I was working up some outlines for more novels. So, I decided to put my French into practice."
"Why Corsica?" Alexis grins coyly, "I thought all young writers yearned to make their way to the Latin Quarter on the Left Bank in Paris to follow in the footsteps of the Lost Generation…T.S. Elliot…Hemmingway…Fitzgerald…you know the."
"Never held any attraction for me," Rick rolls responds, "Bunch of cynical bohemians using their writing to wallow in their disillusionment, feelings of alienation from society, and pessimism over a bleak and uncertain future.
"Take Hemingway, most of his stories are ultimately depressing with heroes regretting about what could've been or just as they have happiness or success within their grasp, have fate it rip it away, often by their own death or some disaster."
"This coming from someone who killed off Derek Storm?" She teases.
"That's different," her father counters, "Derek had years of fighting the good fight and seeing success on his own terms…going out in courageous act of sacrifice with honor, bravery, and a sense of duty fulfilled, a good death as they used to called it."
"You mean like Uncle Roy," the redhead says somberly, "Anyway, I thought you said Hemmingway was a fun read."
"His life is a fun read, full of action and adventure" he clarifies, "But to be honest, I have feeling that if I ever met him, I likely wouldn't be able to stand him."
"You mean Eric Vaughn…." She teases in an attempt to rattle her father.
"Nice try, Pumpkin," Rick beams at his daughter with fatherly pride, "But I'm really not that easy to knock off balance."
"Worth a try," Alexis giggles, "But again, why Corsica?
""The cost of traveling to France was out of my price range at the time," He points out, "And Cal had some freelance work, so he brought me along as an assistant."
"And he was he doing the freelance work for?" she asks.
"I think that would be pretty obvious," He grins, "Not many employers in Calvi were in need of a specialist in training interrogators to spot lies."
"Hmmm…"
"Now what?"
"Just doing some math in my head," Alexis explains, "If you skipped a year, then you graduated high school when you 17 which would've been June of 1989. But you didn't enroll in college until you were 19, spring semester of 1991. So, this job lasted for over two years?"
"It was supposed to be a summer job before college," He recounts, "Cal's contract was only for three months, but other NATO countries soon found out about him, so he set up shop at Calvi which was the unofficial start of the Lightman Group. He offered to let me stay on and I agreed.
"I had time. Between AP and CLEP exams, I was already done with the first two years of college anyway. I got to stay in France and had time to work on some other books besides, not to mention being there gave me great inspiration for a character I was developing."
"Derek Storm," She then recites the back story revealed in Storm of Lights, "The young American who was a Foreign Legion paratrooper before embarking on a life as an international adventurer."
"I thought a more original origin story than the usual former CIA, Marine, SEAL, Green Beret, Ranger, or U.S. Special Operations ones," He shrugs.
"I always thought so," his daughter nods.
"Thank you, Pumpkin," He smiles slyly knowing the complement is the opening to more interrogation.
"You never mentioned that's where you came up with the idea," Alexis notes, trying not to let her frustration show, "Normally, you're all about giving credit where credit is due."
"You mean like with Beckett?" Rick asks.
"Yes, like with her." Alexis spits out. Rick hated to play the Beckett card again, but he needed to confirm that what he feared when he learned of Kate's actions and which the tone of the continuing venom in his daughter's voice did. It was different from her normal anger for Kate over hurting him,
"That would require me revealing I was Cal Lightman's protégé," He replies calmly, knowing he couldn't fix anything right now, "I'd never get anyone to play poker with me again."
"Uncle Bob plays with you," She points out, "I figure he would know about it."
"Oh, he does, but I let him win enough for it not to hurt," Her father smiles a wily smile, "Besides those games are more about the business of political networking. It doesn't matter whether he wins or loses to me so long as he can get a chance to read the others in the game or have me do it for him."
"And I bet you had access to a lot up close and personal research in that job," Alexis keeps pressing, "I mean a lot of people commented on how accurate you were with description of Legion life, training, weapons, and even their fighting style…what was it called?"
"Systeme de Combat au Couteau," he supplies then translates, "Knife Fighting System."
"Did they give you take training?"
"They did actually," he confirms, "But I never really took to it. It's a mixed martial arts system the developed in the 80's that combines elements of Savate or French Kickboxing along with Judo, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Krav Maga, and few other things but I never really liked it that much.
"When I was growing up, I was taught Jeet Kune Do and others that emphasize efficient and direct striking techniques. My instructors steered me away from ones that depended to much on grappling and submission holds because they lead to situations which might put me too close to the opponent which the Judo and Jiu-Jitsu parts would do."
"So did they teach you anything else?" She keeps up the interrogation, "Like parachuting?"
"Seriously," He chuckles, "You think I'd be dumb enough to jump out of a perfectly good airplane?"
"Yes, yes I do," She huffs, ""I also know your need to not to put anything in a book without deeply researching it first, sometimes too deeply, and I have all of all our bonding moments [rolls her eyes] to share with a very good therapist."
"Now don't be like that," he chuckles, "Lockpicking, safecracking, pickpocketing, abseiling, legerdemain, escapology, how many girls could pursue a career as a cat burglar if they wanted."
"High on my list of career choices," she rolls her eyes then turns the conversation back, "And you didn't answer the question."
"Just don't tell your grandmother," He smiles without revealing much more, knowing the answer wouldn't leave her much to work with.
"So, during this research," the redhead wasn't giving up, "Did you go out into the field like you do today."
"Come on, the Legion is hardly the NYPD.," He father chuckles, "There's a big difference a between the war on crime and actual warfare. They don't take civilians into combat situations. They might take a reporter or some expert along but that requires an order from the top. I hardly had that kind of pull with Minister of Defense."
"Okay," She nods, thinking You didn't say no, did you., "I jus wonder why you had Derek join the Legion at age 17."
"17 ½," He corrects her, "That's the minimum enlistment age for the Legion."
"I remember from the book," Alexis nods, then thinks which would've been exactly your age when Dr. Lightman's original contract ended. Interesting coincidence.
"Felt right," he smiles, knowingly, "Because that's pretty much the age when I first came up with the idea of Derek Storm."
"Then when he was nineteen," She continues, "You had him wounded heroically stopping an attack a gathering of NATO leaders by terrorist for hire after only year and half of service, then allowed to muster out of the Legion early. The same age as you when you left Corsica…. coincidence?"
Rick didn't know whether to be proud of his daughter's interrogation skills or worried. He decided to go with being proud.
"By then, Black Pawn had agreed to publish In a Hail of Bullets, and it was released," He replies, "I guess I couldn't help aligning the life changing event in my real life with the one in his fictional life."
"Having Derek awarded the Legion of Honor was a nice touch," She adds, "France's highest French for bravery…it's like their Medal of Honor…right?"
"That was a really cool plot device," Rick explains, "It is both a military award for bravery and a civilian award for exceptional service to the people, culture, government, or society, the medals are actually identical except for the ribbon that comes with them. It also has five different degrees.
"Derek should've received the Grand Officer, the second highest, for profound impact on the nation, or the Grand Cross, the highest, for a lasting impact on France. But the cover story, to prevent panic, it was for stopping a gun running operation by the Corsican Mafia, so I had him warded the lowest."
"Chevalier or Knight," Alexis supplies, remembering from the book, "Which you always said you received for your writing. Which seems kind of a high honor for such a young writer, especially an English language author."
"Okay, you got me," He throws a wily smile, "What Cal and I did was considered invaluable, worthy of the award, but classified. So, Cal cut a deal. He received his for his research which raised his profile and me for being the boy genius writer and all that. So, I used the same idea for Derek's situation."
"How very clever you," She rolls her eyes, in stumped again but with one more card to play, "And you never went into the field or put yourself in danger?"
"Why are we coming back to this?"
"Français par le sang verse," She keeps probing, "Isn't that how Derek earned his French Citizenship."
"French by spiled blood," Rick translates, "Kind of had to. He was wounded in the line of duty so he would be allowed to apply for French Citizenship immediately instead of the typical three years."
"Well, I imagine you gained yours during this time," Alexis tries to poke holes in his story, "But you weren't there for three years."
"It's five years residency for most people," He smiles, "Three years is for the Legion. But again, in recognition of the work we did, Cal and I were both allowed to have a sort of virtual residency for the remainder of the time. Which is why we both owned small places in Corsica."
"And I'm supposed to believe that?" She huffs in frustration.
"Come on pumpkin," He gives a lopsided grin, "It was only a book."
"Why don't I believe you, father?" the redhead glares.
"I wouldn't blame you if you didn't," He responds honestly, while handing her a bag, "By the way, I got you something."
"A satphone?" Alexis looks over the gift in surprise, then narrowing her eyes at him.
"I sent Professor Rankowsky the check for your Costa Rica trip," He explains, "You're going to be miles away from the nearest phone and hours away from the nearest hospital. It's pre-programmed with numbers for emergency numbers for a medivac service run by a guy I know."
"I thought you didn't want me to go?" She looks at him suspiciously, her gaze raising questions about the motive behind the sudden change.
"I guess I was being overprotective because of Parish," His smile fades, "Even for six weeks, you'll be in the rainforest jungle, possibly the world's meanest salad with the local fauna is not very welcoming to people, not to mention some of the people."
"Is this from personal experience?" She keeps her glare focused on her father.
"Now what makes you say that?" He replies with a smile and a tilt of his head.
"Do actually expect me to still go after everything I leaned today?" The redhead narrows her glare even more.
"I expect people to be themselves," Rick answers, "And I think we've covered enough of my misspent youth for one day. Besides, we've arrived."
"Alright," Alexis acquiesces in huff as the car comes to a stop, "But be sure about one thing, we're definitely not done talking about your past, father."
"Looking forward to it, daughter" Rick notes, his tone not dismissive but full of pride in his child.
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FBI Headquarters
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Office of FBI Executive Assistant Director Anthony Freedman
Washington, D.C., U.S.
After her final round of interviews, Kate Becket stands looking out the window of the very imposing office on the top floor of the building, taking in the view of the Capitol Dome.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Detective Beckett," FBI Executive Assistant Director Anthony Freedman, "I was held up at the RFK building."
"Not a problem, Sir. You're a busy man," Kate responds politely.
"Tell that to the Attorney General," Freedman responds humorously, "He just had his first grandchild. Now he wants to show me pictures. Please have a seat."
"Thank you, Sir."
"I haven't heard back from everyone you interviewed you today," Freedman begins, "But I have received a glowing recommendation from your superior office, Captain Gates, and even one from Police Commissioner Reagan himself."
"You have?" she silently curses Castle.
"We only called him up to make sure there aren't any hard feelings," Freedman explains, "Frank can get pretty unpleasant when we poach his people, but he was fine with. He gave you a glowing review."
"But I barely know Commissioner Reagan," Kate responds stunned.
"Well, he knows about you," Freedman notes, "I guess that's what happens when you partner up with someone who's like one of his kids."
"You mean Castle?" she silently curses the author again.
"That's right," Freedman responds, "Frank mentioned that Rick Castle kept his connection to the family hidden to avoid any special treatment."
"Yes, sir, I only found out about it today."
"The Commissioner echoed Agent Stack's high opinion evaluation of you," Freedman continues, "Said you're a Smart, tenacious, innovative thinker."
"Where is Agent Stack," Becket asks, remembering what she'd been told, and hoping to steer the conversation away from Castle's odd family tree.
"He's out on another assignment," Freedman answers, his features giving away nothing, "But said you were a good candidate for the opening on the AG investigative team."
"Well, I appreciate his confidence, Sir." Kate responds a bit uncertainly.
"You don't agree?"
"No, Sir. It's just that, um..." Kate tries to hedge, "Well, I'm- I'm a homicide detective. I-I don't have any federal experience."
"The Attorney General's not looking for federal experience," Freedman clarifies, "There's a building full of them here. The AG wants people who can get the job done. Tough determined, out of the box thinkers if you will. And from everything I've read, that might be you."
"Well, that's very kind of you, Sir…"
"It's not kind," Freedman cuts her off, "It's what you believe to be true, isn't it? It's why you got on the plane this morning, because given your background, your qualifications, and your track record, you know that you're headed for bigger things.
"Just like you know that opportunities like this come along once, maybe twice in a lifetime. But if that's not what you believe, if you think that you're just a homicide cop…Door's right over there."
"No, Sir. I know why I'm here," Kate replies.
"Good," Freedman nods, rising up, "It'll take a few days to get in all the evaluations from the interviews. In the meantime, Agent Berrigan will drive you back to the airport to catch your flight home."
"Thank you, Sir," she gets up and shakes the Executive Assistant Director hand. Great Diana freaking Berrigan.
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Author's Notes:
I've never had an affinity for the Lost Generation of writers, so I had it reflected in Rick POV. Personally, I find Hemmingway himself more fun to read about than anything he actually wrote.
Abseiling is essentially the same as repelling and the two are used as synonyms. Some people use abseiling to refer to it when it's done inside buildings as well as outside on rock faces. But really, I just like the way abseiling sounds better.
Legerdemain a term for stage magic, especially the skillful use of one's hands when performing tricks or illusions, sleight of hand. It's good way of saying "close up magic".
The Robert F. Kennedy (RFK) Building is the headquarters of the Justice Department in Washington, D.C. It's separate from the J. Edgar Hoover FBI building but not very far away.