Castle

"To Farrah,

"may the greatest mysteries of your life

"lie ahead.

Richard Castle."

Thank you so much.

You know, our pilot is also a huge fan.

You think you could sign a book for her, too?

I'd love to. All I ask in return is that

she deliver us to Heathrow safely.

Hey. Hey.

Enjoy your stay in London, Mr. Castle.

Thank you.

I got bumped out of my assigned seat.

You said you'd fix it.

I said you had my apology.

This is the only seat available in first.

Do you know who I am?

I don't know who he is, but I know what he is...

a giant ass. Whoa!

Whoa! Whoa! Whoa. Whoa.

Dad, when did you become such a nervous flier?

I'm not. I just don't like turbulence...

Or sudden drop in cabin pressure

or mechanical problems

or crashing.

There's nothing to worry about.

It's just a little bumpy air. That's all it is.

Air, by nature, should not be bumpy.

Just look at the flight crew.

If they're up and smiling, then everything is fine.

Yes, well, they're up, but they are not exactly smiling.

Dad, it's a long flight.

You should really focus on something else,

or it'll seem even longer...

For both of us.

Fine. I shall ignore the grim specter of death

and focus... focus on our itinerary.

All right. Car is going to pick us up from the hotel,

whisk us off to the Sherlock Holmes society,

where I will speak to my fellow mystery writers about...

Actually, I made plans for tonight.

W... what plans? With who?

Oh, some friends who are doing their semester abroad in London.

We're meeting a pub in south Ken.

But the, um, Sherlock Holmes society

is convening at 221b Baker Street.

You don't want to miss the actual home

of Sherlock Holmes.

You do know he's fictional, right?

Yes, but his address is real.

And I will be speaking, and if you're not there,

- who will be proud of me? - I'm always proud of you, dad.

But I've heard you speak a million times.

I know what you're gonna say.

That is improbable.

You'll say you don't believe in writer's block,

that you wrote your first novel to impress a girl.

That reading great writers inspires you,

and drinking with them inspires you

to beat them on the best-seller list.

Okay.

Clearly I need to develop some new material.

But this was supposed to be

old-fashioned father-daughter time.

Dad, watching you speak to your cronies

isn't exactly father-daughter time.

Besides, I'm not 12.

We don't have to be attached at the hip.

Okay. That impending specter of death... it's back.

Oh.

Hey. Beckett. How did you get in there?

Through the magic of wifi.

I figured you'd be online.

So I thought that you would want an update.

We solved the case. The race car driver did it.

Ah. That's good to hear.

Is everything okay up there?

Just a little turbulence.

Whoa!

Castle, is something wrong?

Yeah... everything's gonna be just fine.

Hey, Castle.

Castle?

Is it just me, or does everything not seem just fine?

Beckett, relax.

Even the most heinous turbulence won't bring a plane down.

And every day, 20 flights leave New York

and land in London without a problem.

It's gonna be the same for Castle's flight, too.

Yeah.

It's gonna be all right.

Folks, this is Captain Edmunds.

We hit some chop there, but we've climbed

to 39,000 feet and expect a smooth ride

all the way to Heathrow.

See? There's nothing to worry about.

Yeah.

Now why aren't they smiling?

Dad, you heard the pilot.

I'm telling you, something is not right.

And I am going to find out what.

Excuse me.

Sir, the seat belt sign is still illuminated.

If you could please return to your seat...

You're not smiling. None of you are smiling.

And the captain's here? What's going on?

Is there some kind of mechanical problem?

- Please, sir, just return... - Jim, wait. Um...

Maybe he can help.

Mr. Castle, I'm Captain Edmunds.

You work with the N.Y.P.D., right?

We could actually use your assistance.

My assistance with what?

This is Kyle Ford.

He's the air marshal on this flight.

I saw this guy. He's sitting in my row.

He... at least, he was sitting in my row.

What does this have to do with the air marshal?

An hour ago, he sent a text to his field office

about a security issue on board this air craft.

What kind of security issue?

"Possible threat to Oceanic Air flight 57.

I'm investigating."

That's all Ford said in his text.

And what did he tell you?

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to talk to him.

Mr. Ford is missing.

Missing?

Missing?

How could he be missing? Did you search the plane?

From front to back.

Given the circumstances, I've been instructed

to lock myself in the cockpit and continue on to Heathrow.

- Terrorism protocol. - Precisely.

Right now, with the air marshal unaccounted for,

you're the closest thing we have

to law enforcement on this plane.

Which in itself is cause for concern.

Will you help us, Mr. Castle?

Yeah. Yes. No, of course.

Of course. Okay, um...

When you searched the plane, where did you look?

- Um, the restrooms, the galleys. - Good.

- Uh, cargo hold. - Great.

Even the overhead bins.

Okay, well, Mr. Ford is on the plane somewhere.

We just have to search again.

Maybe... skip the overhead bins this time.

I don't know. It's like he just disappeared.

It doesn't make sense. Excuse me.

How well do you know the air marshal?

Not that well.

Mr. Ford only flies with us like twice a month.

He's very professional, very polite. There you go.

Okay. This...

Is the only other place

we haven't given a second look.

Does Ford know how to get down here?

Of course. He has access

to the entire plane, just like we do.

Runs the length of the plane. And you looked everywhere?

Well, we didn't pull out all the luggage

'cause there was no sign anyone was down here.

Aah!

There's a snake on the mother-flyin' plane.

You're lucky it wasn't the pit bulls

we had to ship last week.

Look at this luggage.

Since when does the airline allow

clothes hanging out of bags?

They don't, not usually.

That's three different bags...

From three different passengers.

That doesn't make any sense.

- Unless... - Unless what?

Unless someone took the clothes

out of another suitcase,

stuffed them into those three bags.

You don't think...

One way to find out.

Oh, my God.

That's Air Marshal Ford.

You've got to be kidding me. The air marshal is dead?

Not just dead, but bonked on the head, murdered.

And there's more.

There's more?

Kyle Ford's holster is empty. His gun is missing.

Okay, so, uh, we have to assume that the killer is armed.

And they may have another agenda...

taking hostages, hijacking the plane.

F.Y.I., this is not the relaxing London getaway I had planned.

So who else knows about this?

Well, just the flight crew, the air marshal service,

and the FBI.

And how can I help?

Uh, they gave me a copy of the flight manifest.

I e-mailed it to you. You should have that by now.

Good. I'll coordinate with the FBI.

And start running names to look for red flags.

Are you okay?