Page 34 of Until the End

Kit would never go for it, which meant Castle had to renege on that part of their deal.

Lying to her was better than letting her stubbornness be her own worst enemy. After what she’d already lost and had been through, he might consider breaking his never apologize for doing his duty rule.

“You can safeguard her at a hotel,” Sanborn added.

That was a curveball Castle hadn’t anticipated. “Sir, there are too many points of ingress and egress at a hotel and their security cameras can easily be breached. The men after her, whoever they are, might be able to find her there. The safe house would be best.”

“I’m all for keeping her breathing, Castle, but her organization was this close to being considered traitors to this country. I’m not letting her in my safe house.”

Keeping her at a hotel with a four-man team was risky but possible. Castle on his own—granted he was one capable, skilled dude—in that scenario was a security nightmare and a flat no-go.

“Well then, I guess I’ll have to take her to my place.”

Sanborn quirked a brow. “You really want to open your home to that? Whether she’s an unwitting victim or deft manipulator still pulling strings remains to be seen. One thing I know for certain, Kit hates everything people like us stand for. Don’t forget that for a second.”

The mistake Castle had made earlier finally registered. He’d said Kit, dropping Miss Westcott. A small slip, but one the boss had noticed. And he didn’t like it at all.

“If I can’t use the safe house, I have no choice but to let the POI into my home.”

“Suit yourself. While she’s in your custody, use a Gray Box vehicle rather than your personal one. Get the hard drive and we’ll catch these guys. I hope your stint as a babysitter will be a cakewalk and we can celebrate with a box of macarons.”

Sounded good to him. After Castle completed a mission—each one a success—Sanborn bought a box of Olivia Macarons. A little bit of heaven in the form of a light and crispy cookie that melted in his mouth. They were addictive.

“Don’t lower your guard because she doesn’t carry a gun,” Sanborn said. “This is a person who uses a computer as a weapon and she’s just convinced you that giving her access to one is the right call. Tread with care. Above all, don’t trust her.”

Castle nodded. The Gray Box would get what they needed—he’d see to it—and in about five minutes, Kit would breathe fresh air. No black sites. No unpleasantness.

With his boss still eyeing him hard, he didn’t let relief seep in just yet.

“One more thing, Castle. If she slips through your fingers or fails to recover the hard drive as promised, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

11

Aqaba, Jordan

12:55 p.m. EDT, 7:55 p.m. local

Wearing an indigenous hijab over her blond hair, Sierra sat behind the wheel of the team’s van in her designated position in the alley. Her weapon was within reach on the passenger’s seat—an AR-15 with built-in suppressor, sweet Geissele trigger for the lightest recoil, and .300 Blackout subsonic cartridges chambered.

They were going in quiet, prepared to pack a serious punch in close quarters. This phase of the plan was the part she’d been itching to execute.

The Islamic State—a barbaric group that also fell under the Arabic banners of ISIL, Daesh, and ISIS—was the most powerful terrorist organization on the planet. As well as one of the richest, spreading violence and its ideology like a cancer throughout the Middle East. They instilled fear and recruited other jihadis by showcasing their brutality—beheadings, crucifixions, and torture—in propaganda videos splashed across social media.

Stopping their next shipment of child brides to their so-called caliphate that encompassed swathes of Syria and Iraq would be a bonus to the primary mission of Sierra’s team. But also an immeasurable win for the young, innocent women saved tonight from a horrific fate of slavery, ritual beatings, and serial rape.

Any dent Sierra could make in hampering the depravity of those rampaging lunatics, she’d take with pleasure.

Their contact, Nasser, was an inside asset who’d managed to infiltrate the architecture of the Islamic State. He secretly worked for the GID, Saudi Arabia’s intelligence agency, and was embedded in a five-man clandestine ISIS cell. Whenever opportunities arose for Nasser to line his pockets selling information, he weighed the potential profit against the risk of betraying both the GID and ISIS.

Fortunately, Sierra’s team was paying extremely well.

“Heads up,” said Whiskey in her earpiece. “I have a Mercedes and a navy van pulling up out front. One male getting out of the van. The driver of the Mercedes is our Tango.”

Yosef Khan. A high-ranking financier and ISIS mastermind. Capturing him alive was their top priority.

“Both are going inside,” said Whiskey.

Sierra was parked in an alley adjacent to the target building, near the side door that Nasser had promised to leave unlocked, where their team would enter. She had a view of the street but couldn’t see the two vehicles mentioned.