Page 131 of Until the End

Sanborn and another man dressed as a prison guard climbed out of the raft, tying it off to a post, and walked down the dock.

Castle would rather go up against a squad of jihadis than Sanborn. He was a living legend, the man you never wanted as an enemy. Castle had heard the stories about him—former special forces, a fearless, ferocious meat-eater, the shrewdest Black Ops Whisperer ever. Unfortunately, Castle was learning firsthand how true it all was, but what filled his mouth with an ugly, bitter taste was that just a few hours ago, Sanborn had been the person he’d respected and admired most in the world.

There was no sign of Kit in the raft. It was Castle’s best guess that she was on the boat with Khan like Ashley had described, but only Sanborn would be able to tell him for certain.

This was as good a time as any to strike first, while both men had their guns holstered and Castle had the advantage of surprise.

He took aim at one of the men who’d invaded his home and helped abduct Kit. Steadying his hand, Castle lined up the gun sight and pulled the trigger. A single shot to the head and he dropped.

“Come out.” Sanborn’s voice carried in the wind as he held up his right hand, clutching something in his palm. “Or I’ll blow the boat with Westcott onboard right now. And in case you were wondering, I turned off the jammer, so the signal won’t be blocked.”

A headache pounded at Castle’s temples. He’d completely missed the detonator.

It was almost as if Sanborn had been expecting him, prepared for every eventuality.

Firing without anticipating that had been sloppy. Reckless.

With Sanborn’s finger on the trigger, Castle wasn’t going to gamble with Kit’s life by shooting him. And they both knew it.

Drawing a heavy breath, Castle came out from behind the row of bushes into the open.

Sanborn stepped off the dock onto the lawn. Even though he’d shed his suit jacket and his starched shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, he still had an immaculate, suave air to him. The only thing to spoil his civilized businessman look was his shoulder rig holstering a suppressed gun and a detonator in his hand.

“Toss your weapon,” Sanborn said, “behind the bushes, and really put your back into it.”

Castle hurled his gun, chucking it as far as possible. Then he faced the chief.

“I need you to listen to me, son, before you form a judgment.”

They were well beyond judgment and had reached condemnation, but he’d listen if it meant saving Kit.

“Remove your gun.” Castle approached with his palms raised in the air. “Put it on the ground along with the detonator and I’ll listen to whatever you have to say. I swear it.”

Sanborn crouched down, setting the gun and the detonator on the grass beside his foot. An easy arm’s reach away for someone with Sanborn’s skill set, but Castle would have to take it.

“Please, tell me it wasn’t you,” Castle said. “That you weren’t the one who hijacked a shipment of bioweapons.” Please, tell me you haven’t turned into a full-fledged monster.

“I am responsible,” Sanborn said without a drop of contrition.

“No, no. No.” Castle shook his head, half-disappointed, half-dumbfounded that Sanborn didn’t even try to deny it. The admission struck at the heart of everything Sanborn believed in, that Castle believed in, a cornerstone of the Gray Box itself. Some things you could hide, lie about, but Sanborn’s principles had been consistent since the first day Castle had met him. “You abhor the thought of biological weapons. You wouldn’t steal them. You wouldn’t use them.”

In a strange way, Castle was begging him to change his tune, sing a song he could rally to, because the alternative, this rapidly evolving new reality, was unfathomable.

“Biological warfare is heinous,” Sanborn said. “For a select few to take it upon themselves to hide in the dark, to create monstrosities behind the backs of the American people, that is unforgivable. They used me.” Sanborn’s face twisted in disgust and he pressed a palm to his chest. “They used my people when I was in the CIA. The compound we stole was used to engineer pathogenic viruses, toxins, and bacteria to be more virulent. They used me to create weapons of mass destruction, the deadliest enemy of mankind.”

The moral affront must’ve cut Sanborn to the quick. The insult, the hurt was splashed across his face.

“I couldn’t abide it,” Sanborn said. “How they made me complicit in their sins.”

Castle scrubbed a palm over his head. “So your answer was to steal the weapons?”

“My answer was to protect our republic from those who have gone rogue. My answer was to ensure that abominable program would be permanently shut down and to punish those who sought to create an evil empire.”

Black ops was a gray world where they often had to make tough decisions and hard sacrifices. Where they paid the price for others’ civil liberties with blood-stained hands. This profession left them raw. Empty and wounded, haunted by ghosts in the darkness.

But bad deeds done to achieve a good end was only asking for trouble. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

How had this all started for the Gray Box?