Papa Jack Chapter 52

"I figure that while we're on our way to Venezuela, we might as well be as comfortable as possible," Richard explains to Kate over lunch from the Comfort Food Truck parked outside the 12th Precinct. "Our actual time in the air will only be about nine hours, but with a required layover, the trip will take closer to 40. I routed us through Miami. We'll be staying overnight at the Mandarin Oriental. It's close enough to the airport without planes flying over us every two minutes. I got us a two-room suite with an adjoining sitting room. I stayed there once before. It had – thank God – great coffee in the rooms. The room service, restaurants, and amenities are decent, too. I think you'll like it. Our flight from Miami will be coming into Caracas. I also got us a hotel there, to get our bearings and make our contacts before we go to Vista Hermosa. The drive to the prison is almost eight hours, not counting rest stops. We're not going through the jungle or anything. It's all on regular roads, but I arranged for a Cadillac STS. That should be easiest on our butts. Things will get complicated once we get to the prison. Rumor has it that guards actually work for the gang boss, Crizuela, who likes money and looking at beautiful women. I can take care of the first. You'll have to handle the second. Can you pack something slinky?"

Kate mentally inventories her wardrobe. She has a couple of things in the back of her closet that she bought after teasing urging from Lanie. "I can handle that."

"Great! We'll get to the really tricky part once we get to Crizuela. If you want to see Bracken, you'll need his blessing. The word is that he speaks English. His family scraped up the money to send him to school in the States, but he got kicked out for assaulting other students. He doesn't have the warm fuzzies for Americans. How convincing can you be about wanting to see the once top American dog whimpering in the muck?"

"Castle, I doubt it will take me much to convince Crizuela. It's the truth."

"All right," Richard agrees. "Then I guess we're set. We take off from Newark Airport tomorrow morning. I have a car service arranged to get us there, but given the traffic – and TSA – we'll want to leave early. Are you all right with the car swinging by to pick you up at 6 am?"

"Castle, I'll be at the curb waiting."

Ms. Necras sighs at another incoming call from Anatoly. The starving actors' and writers' fundraising event is still months away. She has nothing new to tell him. She has other events to handle if she wants to keep her job until Anatoly's plan comes to fruition. She also needs to guarantee that she has a plausible excuse for not being around when the bombs go off. She wants to carefully execute a plan of her own. Still, she picks up the phone. Anatoly will be accomplishing something she's waited for most of her life.

"So, Bro, what do you think about Beckett going on vacation?" Esposito asks Ryan as they go over their latest case report.

Ryan shrugs. "She works her ass off around here. She has a right to go on vacation."

"Yeah," Esposito agrees, "but she's going on vacation with Castle, and they're going to Venezuela."

"She's going to Venezuela with Castle? How do you know that? Beckett isn't exactly a sharer."

"When they were in the breakroom while Castle was making those fancy lattes of his, I heard them talking."

"Did they say why they were going to Venezuela?" Ryan queries. "If those two are a couple, there are easier places to go for a romantic getaway, like Puerto Rico. They wouldn't even need passports or visas."

"I didn't hear that part," Esposito admits.

Ryan shakes his head. "I can't see Beckett just kicking back. After she got a confession out of Coonan, she barely took a breath. And when Castle's around, he spends most of his time researching Beckett's cases. If they're going to Venezuela, they're on the trail of something – or someone. Wait! Didn't the Ledger say Bracken was arrested by the Coast Guard in Venezuela? That SOB's supposed to be in prison down there. Maybe they're going to check out what happened."

"If they are, they'd better watch their asses," Esposito says. "I know some guys detailed to reconnoiter in Venezuela after what happened with Chavez. They said the gangs that run the Venezuelan prisons make the South Bronx look like Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood."

"Beckett knows how to take care of herself," Ryan declares. "And from what I heard about what happened at Madison Square Garden, so does Castle."

"Yeah, I hope you're right," Esposito says. "Castle said he might put a character based on me in his next book."

"Hey!" the Irish detective exclaims, "he told me the same thing. Maybe he'll use both of us."

"Maybe," Esposito considers, "but he'll have to live to write it."

With china cups of coffee and delicate crunchy cookies on a low table in front of them, Richard and Kate sit side by side on a tastefully upholstered couch in their Miami hotel. "This is nice, Castle," Kate says. "Thanks. I mean, not just for the fancy hotel stay before we get back on a plane tomorrow. I mean, thanks for understanding why I need to go to Venezuela."

"Beckett, it's not that hard to understand. I've never had someone close to me killed the way you did, but there was a lot I grew up not knowing. And there were some things I was desperate to investigate and confirm for myself. So I get a little bit of how you feel." The warmth of Richard's smile radiates between them. "Besides, it will be easier to believe there's really justice in this world if I see the guy responsible for so much misery suffer some himself. Schadenfreude may not be strictly honorable, but it's human. We're both human."

Kate leans in closer to Richard. "Yes, we are. Castle, I…." Brass and drums blare from outside, rattling the windows. Kate pulls back. "What's that?"

"I don't know. Oh, wait!" Richard springs off the couch. "I saw a brochure or something with the menus and service directory. Right, here it is! Miami has an Ultra Music Festival around this time of year. That must be part of it. Beckett, according to this, the musicians play a lot of jazz. Want to go out there and see if they decide to play something a bit more sultry?"

"I think I can hear the music too well in here."

Richard plops back on the couch. "The tubas and trombones don't do much for the mood, do they?"

"No," Kate agrees. "They don't."

The writer picks up a cookie. "Well, at least we have these – and a night's expectations of future wish fulfillments. And we have to get up early. As soon as that racket goes away, we should get some sleep." Ponderously rising again, Richard walks toward his room. "See you in the morning, Beckett."

"Yeah. See you in the morning, Castle." The music seems to be moving away from the hotel, but too late. Kate's moment of connection with Castle passed. Sighing, she grabs a cookie and plods across the shared sitting area to her own room. It's going to be a long night.