Seeing Chubby practically drooling with envy, Castle chuckled wryly.
"You think that guy is impressive? Don't forget, Neil is the same kind of smooth operator. And if it weren't for his personality, do you really think John couldn't match those two?"
Castle's words brought Chubby back to his senses. Of course—his idol, Neil Caffrey, was a master of charm and wit. And John? The once-feared assassin turned flustered dad? If he had chosen to play the same game, he could easily outclass them all.
To Chubby, John was the true superstar of "soft living." While it was true that John didn't rely on others to survive—his lethal skills spoke for themselves—Castle often spun exaggerated stories about how John, despite his talent, had ended up "eating soft rice" (living off his wife's wealth). It was Castle's way of teasing his friend.
As for whether John or Gianna would actually get upset by these tales, the answer was a resounding no. At the moment, John was too busy being tormented by his milk-guzzling daughter to even notice Castle's jabs.
Having had their fun joking around, Castle and Chubby returned their focus to the surveillance feed. Bond, now finished with his dual-purpose visit—both seducing the woman and extracting intelligence—was getting ready to leave. After all, the room belonged to his target's partner, and Bond, despite his audacious charm, wasn't foolish enough to stick around for a confrontation with the rightful occupant.
Having gotten what he wanted, Bond left without hesitation, his mission now in motion.
Chubby watched Bond's abrupt exit with a mixture of fascination and disbelief.
"This guy is unreal. He doesn't waste a second, does he?"
The years Chubby had spent with Castle had exposed him to many so-called "super agents." Most of them, however, shared one common trait: a reckless approach to their missions. Chubby mused that the only exceptions he'd seen were Ethan Hunt and his IMF team, who had used well-coordinated plans during the Rockset incident. Every other "super spy" seemed to rely on brute force, wild improvisation, or sheer luck—Bond included.
"Is this what 'real' agents are like?" Chubby wondered aloud.
Castle, intrigued, paused to consider the question. Reflecting on all the spies he'd encountered—Brian Mills, Frank Moses, and others—he realized that the newer generation of agents lacked the versatility of their predecessors.
Most of the modern "elite" relied on brute force or flashy gadgets to get the job done. Bond, for example, was a quintessential example: a secret agent who introduced himself as "Bond, James Bond," with zero concern for discretion. Castle shook his head. "Why not join a talent show while he's at it?" he quipped.
The conversation spiraled into an increasingly absurd critique of spy clichés. Ramsey, returning from her earlier exit to escape the duo's antics, overheard their banter and could barely stand it.
"You're impossible, Rick," Ramsey sighed. "It's no wonder you two get along so well—you're just as ridiculous as each other."
She finally interrupted their conversation, bringing them back to the matter at hand.
"Uncle Rick," Ramsey began, her tone serious, "are we really just going to keep monitoring Bond? He's clearly heading to Miami. Are we not going to intervene? What if he fails to stop that guy from bombing the plane? All our work would be wasted."
Castle smiled knowingly. "Who said we don't have anyone in Miami?"
While it seemed like Castle was confined to New York, he had quietly laid the groundwork for contingencies in Miami. Long before Skyfleet's maiden flight was confirmed for Miami, Castle had established a connection with Miami PD's Howard—thanks to his role in taking down Amir Barkawi and leveraging a drug network during Barkawi's escape attempt.
Castle had even shared confidential information about Michael's hidden connections to a Colombian cartel boss, earning Howard's gratitude.
When Castle learned of Skyfleet's plans to hold the maiden flight in Miami, he immediately reached out to Howard. Anonymously tipping him off about a potential sabotage attempt, Castle ensured the Miami PD was prepared.
"Don't worry," Castle assured Ramsey. "I've already taken precautions. Besides Bond, the Miami PD is on high alert. I've also informed Skyfleet about the risks. With three parties on guard, there's no way the bomber can succeed."
Knowing Castle's impressive network, Ramsey and Chubby didn't question his confidence. Their faith in him was well-placed.
Castle had finally embraced a valuable lesson: If I have the advantage of foresight, why not use it? While he might be a self-proclaimed slacker uninterested in direct action, he could always prepare thoroughly to ensure things played out as expected.
Reflecting on Le Chiffre's resilience—his ability to bounce back from ruin and rebuild his criminal network—Castle couldn't help but feel a twinge of shame. Le Chiffre's determination starkly contrasted with Castle's own lackadaisical approach. But even so, Castle wasn't entirely idle. Inspired by Le Chiffre's persistence, he had taken the necessary steps to ensure that everything would proceed smoothly.
Despite his self-deprecating humor, Castle was keenly aware of the challenges he'd faced. His breakthroughs in technology had repeatedly drawn the attention of opportunists and rivals:
The semi-autonomous flight control system he developed had led to an attempted kidnapping of Chubby. The creation of his AI had attracted the ire of CIA factions during the Rockset incident, nearly costing Alexis her safety. The Japanese operatives who abducted Alexis in Hawaii had provoked Castle to dismantle their post-WWII intelligence network on the islands.
These events painted a clear pattern: Castle always seemed to attract trouble from those looking for an easy win.
"Why does this keep happening?" he muttered, reflecting on the cyclical nature of his challenges.
Even so, Castle knew better than to wallow in frustration. If trouble comes, I'll deal with it. He wasn't about to let his guard down—not when so much was at stake.
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