Castle downed two shots of whiskey in quick succession, exhaling heavily before slumping against the cabinet. "So… you're my father? My father was a spy?"
"Intelligence officer," Frank corrected, nodding. His gaze held something different—a kind of emotion Castle had never seen before.
Jack picked up his dropped glass and exchanged a glance with Brian. Without a word, they both slipped into the small kitchen, giving the two some privacy. The attic was so small that sound insulation was nonexistent, but at least the gesture counted.
Brian, in need of a drink himself, snatched the half-empty bottle of whiskey from the table as they left.
Castle swallowed, his voice hesitant. "Did my mom know? I mean… did she know you were a spy?"
Frank grunted. "Maybe. What did she tell you about me?"
"Uh…" Castle hesitated, scratching his head. His expression turned awkward. "She said it was a very special night. She fell in love."
"But when she woke up the next morning, you were gone. She never saw you again."
They were all adults here. There was no dramatic outburst or emotional meltdown—just a rare, rational and measured conversation between father and son.
Frank sighed, reminiscing. "That night, I had just finished a mission and returned home. At least, I thought I had finished it.
"But the next morning, I received word that things had spiraled out of control. I had no choice but to leave.
"A year later, when I returned, I was… surprised to learn about you."
Castle's voice rose slightly, frustration seeping in. "So you knew? You knew about me this whole time? Knew we existed? And yet, you never once tried to be part of my life?!"
"My situation was different from your friend's," Frank gestured toward the kitchen, where Brian was. "After Brian retired, he only had to hide his past identity to stay with his family.
"But my work meant I couldn't have relationships. I couldn't have any connections."
His voice was calm, steady. "But I always watched over you. We've met before."
Frank reached into a drawer, pulled out a brown wig, and placed it on his head.
Castle stared in disbelief.
"I used to have hair," Frank said nostalgically.
Jack peeked out from the kitchen. Maybe it was psychological, but with that wig on, Frank did look a bit like Castle—aside from the nose. The creases around their mouths and rounded chins were eerily similar.
"You were ten years old," Frank continued. "Your mother took you to the library. You were looking for a book, so I handed one to you."
Castle's eyes widened, his breath hitching.
"Casino Royale," he whispered.
Frank smiled, nodding. "That's right."
Castle's voice shook. "That book made me want to be a writer."
"When I saw that your first novel was a spy thriller, I couldn't believe it," Frank admitted, his eyes misting over.
"You… read my books?" Castle asked, his voice laced with a mix of surprise and pride.
Frank placed a firm hand on Castle's shoulder. "Every single one.
"When you wanted to research at Langley, I even helped… just a little.
"It wasn't much, but it made me feel—just for a moment—what it was like to be a father. Watching you grow, even if only from the shadows."
——
They didn't have time for a prolonged father-son reunion.
Once Castle's emotions settled, Jack reemerged from the kitchen with freshly cleaned glasses.
"So, who's behind the kidnapping?"
Frank exhaled and removed the wig, his expression returning to its usual calm confidence.
"Gregor Volkov. Former KGB agent, turned traitor. Twelve years ago, I fought him in Paris. He blames me for his wife's death."
That explained why the girls were taken to Paris.
The real motivation wasn't ransom. It was revenge.
Jack didn't bother asking whether Volkov's wife had actually died by Frank's hand. Some questions simply had no objective answers.
"I'm surprised you didn't just hunt him down yourself," Jack admitted.
"I wanted to," Frank said. "But then he got caught by the KGB and thrown into a secret prison in Chechnya. He was supposed to be locked away for life.
"But… he escaped.
"And then he got mixed up with some extremist groups—all while obsessing over finding me and taking me down."
Frank let out a slow breath. "You guys did well, finding their hideout so quickly.
"Even if Volkov intentionally left it for you to find.
"But what he didn't expect—what none of them expected—was that I'd already found him."
Castle clenched his fists. "Then what are we waiting for?"
That short firefight had boosted his confidence. Seeing Jack, Brian, and now Frank in action, he truly believed these guys could handle anything.
"Not 'we'. Just 'us three'." Frank corrected.
"And before we go in, I need to make a phone call—to set the board in our favor."
Frank glanced at Jack and Brian, then pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
The line connected quickly.
Neither side spoke for several seconds.
Then, a deep, thickly accented Russian voice broke the silence.
"It's you. You killed my men in the forest.
"After all these years, you've finally come out of hiding."
"Let them go, Volkov," Frank said. "This is between us."
"Did you spare Anna back then?" Volkov sneered.
"No. It's time to settle this.
"One life for two—you're actually getting a good deal.
"Tomorrow morning. 6 AM. Outside the Palais Bourbon.
"You know the place. The same spot where you made your move years ago.
"If you show up, I'll release them.
"If you don't…
"You'll receive plenty of footage.
"Next, I'll go after your son. After your woman.
"Every single person you care about.
"And everyone they care about."
The call ended abruptly.
Clearly, Volkov never expected to trace a professional's phone.
Castle was already tense. "What's the plan? Are you actually—"
"Of course not," Frank cut in. "That call wasn't about negotiation. It was about setting expectations.
"Now, he thinks we'll wait until morning."
Frank pulled out a stack of blueprints, spreading them across the table.
"Which gives us the perfect opportunity to hit first."
______
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