Page 96 of Until the End

Castle’s mind somersaulted, tumbling over itself for a safe spot to land. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. He worked to keep his eyes on Sanborn’s, not veering in the slightest.

This was a test. He couldn’t pass unless he abandoned Kit, which wasn’t an option, making this a no-win situation. His Kobayashi Maru.

There was only one feasible thing to do. Castle had to redefine the scenario.

“Sir, I vowed to keep Ms. Westcott safe. This is a matter of integrity and a reflection of my character.” He slowed his cadence but didn’t lessen the intensity of his voice. “I intend to honor my word, which you agreed to.”

“Yosef Khan,” Sanborn said, changing gears without missing a beat, “is on American soil.”

Shit. Khan was a high-ranking facilitator in ISIS, a big-time money and idea guy. Men like him didn’t move senselessly or without a specific purpose.

A hundred questions lined up in Castle’s head. His instincts fired hot to pick up the chase and smoke the bastard’s ass before he did any harm.

Then Castle realized what was happening.

Sanborn was doing a little redefining of his own, and it was working.

Castle dragged a hand over the day-old stubble covering his head. “How did he get in? Where is he?”

“Private flight from Canada, registered under a new alias. Surveillance cameras at Dulles caught him. There was a lot of SIGINT chatter the day prior, and we obtained electronic intercepts mentioning Khan and an incident planned to take place in America on or around October tenth. The timing, considering what we know from this video of Westcott’s, can’t be coincidence.” Sanborn paused, letting the shiny bait work its magic.

Without a doubt, Castle was tempted. He was hardwired for this. Three thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine days pulling off extraordinary renditions—capturing and exporting terrorist suspects offshore for interrogation—and killing confirmed baddies. Rinse. Repeat. But he wasn’t a programmed robot.

He was a man, with free will, and had already made his choice about this.

“Your whole life has been preparing you for this.” Sanborn rested a hand on Castle’s shoulder.

Instantly, Castle felt like Atlas, bearing the weight of the world.

“Your vigorous training as a SEAL,” Sanborn continued. “Years hunting the enemy in Afghanistan and Iraq. Then with me, those treacherous skills fine-tuned to perfection.”

No one was perfect. A lesson Castle had learned the hard way. Regardless of how much talent someone had, everyone got tripped up sooner or later. This business chewed up and spit out all.

“Counterterrorism is your specialty.” Sanborn gave Castle’s shoulder a quick squeeze and let go. “Not babysitting.” He made a whimsical gesture. To anyone else, it would’ve been overlooked, but Castle saw it for what it was. A sign of disgust. “I need you on this, son. Track and find Khan. Cross him off my list of most wanted terrorists. For me.”

The wording, the tonal inflection stilled Castle. Was he so much like Sanborn that he’d spoken to Kit in the same manner when he’d convinced her to agree to store Ever Shield in a safety deposit box for safekeeping?

His life so far had led him here. To this defining moment. To this mission.

But it wasn’t to hunt Yosef Khan.

“I’m nothing special, sir. No counterterrorism superhero. I’m just a man. No more competent or capable than the other operatives you already have working this problem.”

“If you weren’t special, you wouldn’t be one of mine.” Sanborn’s steely tone suggested the offense he’d taken from Castle’s comment.

“I meant no disrespect. I don’t know if leaving this war front to join that one will have an impact. I do know deep in my gut that if I abandon my duty to Ms. Westcott, she’s as good as dead. I can make a difference here.”

Sanborn was always extremely guarded, the best spy left from a dying era, but his eyes darkened with concern. “Your judgment may be clouded. Are you sure your commitment to this is purely professional? Have things gotten personal between you two?”

Professional. Personal. Primal. Providence. His commitment to keep her safe was all those things. Perhaps more, but the minute he admitted to losing his objectivity in the slightest, he’d be pulled.

He stared at Sanborn, the lie on his tongue, but he couldn’t voice it.

Yes, he was bending the rules. The lines were so blurred they’d faded completely. Yes, he’d omitted details and deceived, but he had never told Sanborn a bold-faced lie.

The distinction, however minute, was important.

“I need to do this, sir.” If he didn’t and something happened to her, it would weigh on his conscience for the rest of his life. “I need to finish what I started.”