What about Castle's real target, Le Chiffre? What was he up to now?
Well, he wasn't in Africa with his shady clients. Instead, he was begrudgingly seated across from a group of individuals he couldn't afford to provoke, answering their probing questions.
Who were these people?
They were none other than the top executives of Dassault Aviation.
The reason for this meeting was straightforward: as the primary executor of Castle's kidnapping, Le Chiffre's involvement was no secret to these executives. They quickly tracked him down, seeing through his failure—a botched operation that resulted in Castle being rescued, while Le Chiffre lost his foothold in Montenegro along with all his operatives.
The spoiled scion who originally commissioned Le Chiffre for the kidnapping wasn't even allowed to attend this meeting—he lacked the qualifications.
"So, let me get this straight," said a rotund man with a cigar, sitting opposite Le Chiffre. He calmly lit his cigar with a cedar stick before continuing in a deep voice, "You kidnapped the writer, brought him to Montenegro, but failed to extract anything of value from him before he was rescued?"
Le Chiffre, who would normally posture as a big shot before his African clients, sat rigidly upright. Besides the man who had spoken, the other three men and one woman seated across from him were not people to be trifled with. They were the kind of individuals who could make someone disappear without a trace.
Why? Because they were the behind-the-scenes shareholders of Dassault Aviation.
Dassault was no ordinary company. To put it in perspective, the software used by China to design its aircraft came from Dassault. Their renowned "Mirage" series fighter jets were in service worldwide, rivaling even Lockheed Martin and Northrop Grumman in sales.
So, while Le Chiffre might have seemed intimidating in Casino Royale, his bravado wouldn't fly here. One wrong move in front of these true power players, and he'd vanish without a trace—no questions asked, no consequences.
Thus, faced with these indifferent magnates, Le Chiffre didn't dare act tough. He dutifully answered every question.
Within half an hour, the executives had gleaned all they needed from Le Chiffre and determined he was merely a pawn with no real understanding of Castle's significance. Losing interest in him, they dismissed him with a wave of the hand. Only then did the four men and one woman begin discussing whether to proceed with a coercive plan involving India.
They also deliberated how to frame the yoga-loving nation should the plan fail, and whether such an endeavor was worth the risk.
India's overconfidence and lack of self-awareness made them the perfect scapegoat. While they fancied themselves a global power, in the eyes of France, these curry-scented, Ganges-bathing fools were useful only as fall guys in the event of failure.
Collaboration?
Hardly. Any company with even a shred of self-respect wouldn't dare truly ally with India. France might be selling them fighter jets now, but when it came to core secrets, no one in their right mind would involve them.
India's delusions were staggering. They were even planning to kidnap one of the U.S. president's key financial backers in New York City—the economic heart of the United States. Such recklessness was beyond even the proud French.
France's goal was merely to open a dialogue with Castle, hoping to secure the technology through peaceful means. Force was never on their agenda. They understood that the world was watching Castle. With so few countries capable of independently producing fighter jets, any claim by India to have developed the technology themselves would be laughable. Lockheed Martin and Northrop Grumman wouldn't hesitate to call them out.
So, while they outwardly agreed to cooperate with India, the Dassault executives had their own ulterior motives.
Meanwhile, Le Chiffre, sweating profusely, exited the meeting and slumped into his car, wiping the cold sweat from his neck. Since Castle's rescue, Le Chiffre knew he'd made a grave mistake. Though Castle hadn't retaliated, it wasn't out of kindness. Castle had simply deemed Le Chiffre irrelevant to his plans.
Unbeknownst to Le Chiffre, Castle's restraint stemmed from his intention to let the events play out as planned, including Le Chiffre's shorting of the aviation company's stock. Castle wasn't lenient—he was pragmatic.
Le Chiffre was in a financial crisis, exacerbated by the failed operation in Montenegro. Had the Dassault executives not summoned him, he might not have even made it out of Africa.
While these external conflicts brewed, Castle found himself forced to pause his nearly completed work on the visual displacement system to address yet another issue.
Finch and Reese were at it again.
The intel came from Ramsey, the only rational member of Castle's team monitoring the duo. After the fiasco caused by Castle and the "little fatty," Beckett had entrusted Ramsey with keeping an eye on Finch and Reese.
Ramsey was particularly intrigued by Finch's data analytics program, given her own expertise in creating tools like the "Eye of God." She couldn't help but monitor him closely.
This vigilance paid off. Ramsey discovered Finch running data scans, indicating that another victim might appear in Beckett's jurisdiction tonight. She immediately notified both Castle and the "little fatty."
"You're telling me Finch has already identified tonight's potential victim and alerted Reese?" Castle asked, sipping coffee as he stared at the data on his screen. "Seriously? Operating so blatantly?"
While Castle remained composed, the "little fatty" grew excited. "Uncle Rick, look at the victim's profile—his workplace."
Castle glanced at the details and nearly dropped his coffee. "Damn it. If Neil finds out… he's going to lose it!"
The victim was none other than Peter Burke—Neil's eventual mentor and father figure in the original timeline, as well as the head of the FBI's White-Collar Crime Unit in New York.
Without Castle's interference, Peter Burke would have become Neil's partner in the coming years.
Finch and Reese, unaware of Peter Burke's significance, were already debating their next move. Reese, in particular, was hesitant.
"Harold, it's not that I don't want to save him, but look at his profile. He's no ordinary civilian—he's an active federal agent. If I approach him the same way as previous cases, he's bound to notice. And he's armed. He won't hesitate to retaliate if things look suspicious."
Reese knew his limits. Saving vulnerable civilians was one thing, but intervening in a situation involving a trained federal agent was another. Any misstep could lead to being mistaken for an assailant.
Finch, though stubborn, understood Reese's concerns. However, his compulsion to act made him reluctant to let the matter go.
So, what now?
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