by Juno Rushdan
In this business and with their select skill set, being one of the best at snapping necks, renditions, torture—a real meat-eater—people’s paths tended to intersect again and again. Whether it was while collecting a government check or working freelance. Only a matter of when and where.
It was good to spot someone you knew first. Otherwise, you might catch a round in the brain stem.
A miracle that Bravo didn’t know any of the guys on his own current team, but of course that also meant he now had more people to worry about running into in the future.
Bravo took out his burner phone from the pocket of the khaki Dockers he’d changed into and dialed.
The line rang and then it was answered.
“You’re breaking protocol,” the cold voice on the other end said. “You’re never to call me here.”
“It’s an emergency,” Bravo said.
“Where are you?”
“Cambridge. MIT.”
“You were told to stay put and await further instructions,” the voice snapped.
“I saw an opportunity and took it. Good thing I did. We have a problem. I’m staring at Randall Wheeler. He works on the black side of Zanteon and he’s after our target as well. But I think I know who hired him. And how to fix this.”
* * *
“How bad is it?” Castle asked Alistair. “Where are you hit?”
A hysterical laugh riding an exhale came out of Alistair. “In the bloody ass.” He walked at a hurried pace through the courtyard, his limp barely perceptible to the untrained eye. But Castle knew the agony Alistair was in, the effort it took to mask how badly he was injured.
“How on earth is that funny?” Kit asked.
It wasn’t, but the response wasn’t atypical among operators working in the thick of it. Laugh through the pain rather than cry.
“Better than getting shot in the kidney.” Alistair winked. “But come on, I’m the one using nonlethal force and it comes back to bite me, quite literally, in my arse?” More psychotic laughter. “I’d say that’s worth a chuckle. Wouldn’t you?”
Castle noticed activity in the parking lot ahead. Two parked police cruisers. A couple of cops spoke to passing students. The rest talked on walkie-talkies.
“Officers!” Castle called to the police. “We heard shots fired back there.” He pointed in the direction of the auditorium. “Two men armed. I think one or two people may have been killed.”
The officers drew their guns from the holsters on their hips and ran in the direction that he’d indicated.
Castle glanced over his shoulder. The auditorium door slammed open behind them. Two Zanteon contractors ran outside with their guns at the ready, only to encounter the police.
“Freeze!” one of the officers said. “Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air.”
The two from Zanteon were red-faced, chests heaving, and looked pissed but had no choice other than to halt. After lowering their guns as instructed, they raised their palms. Officers put them on their knees and cuffed them.
One less thing to worry about. For now.
On the way to Castle’s car, parked in a lot by the alumni fitness center, Alistair’s limp worsened. Red seeped through his jeans, and each step took a heavy toll on him.
He wasn’t trailing blood yet, but he would be soon.
Kit reacted with good instincts. She handed Castle the box and threw Alistair’s arm around her shoulder, letting him lean on her and alleviating some of the strain.
If Castle had done it, they would’ve stood out, making Alistair’s injury more apparent. With Kit, the two of them looked like a couple, strolling affectionately.
They finally reached the Hummer. Castle helped Alistair in and grabbed the med kit. His buddy grunted as he eased into the back seat and rested on his uninjured side.
“I have to treat that,” Castle said. “Do what you can to slow the bleeding for now.” He handed Alistair the kit and got in the driver’s seat.
Castle peeled out of the lot and cut onto a main street, headed away from campus.
In the back, Alistair groaned with each turn and bump in the road. He ripped open a packet of gauze treated with Celox, a blood-clotting agent, and stuffed it down his pants, pressing it on the wound.
“Where are we going?” Kit asked.
“Safe house. We have one in most major cities.” Fortunately, their sole safe house in New England was here in Boston, the largest metropolitan area. Castle had confirmed the location and access codes once he’d learned they were headed to MIT. With Bravo popping up, hot on their asses, there was the off chance they’d need it. And he was right.
One thing his special warfare training had taught him, if nothing else, was to always do your due diligence. It could mean the difference between survival and bleeding out.
Driving as fast as traffic allowed, he took turns with the fluidity of a race car driver, all to ensure they weren’t being followed. With two different teams after Kit, that was the last thing they needed.
Castle programmed the address he’d memorized into the GPS. The projected arrival time popped up on the screen. Closer would have been better. “It’s an hour away. Can you make it?”
The vehicle slammed over another pothole, bouncing and rocking.
Alistair grunted, sliding along the bench, and snatched hold of the rear grab handle, keeping himself from crashing against the front seat. His wound must’ve stung with each jolt. If Castle could’ve given him a smooth, cushion-padded ride, he would’ve.
“Hungover. Knackered. Shot,” Alistair hissed. “And I have to contend with you driving like a tosser too. Bloody hell.”
Yep. Allie was going to make it.
27
“Yes, sir,” Wheeler said on his cell phone as he walked across the courtyard, oblivious Bravo was so close that he could almost reach out and touch him. “We had her but—”
A pause on Wheeler’s side as he listened, shaking his head, his chest heaving.
“She isn’t alone. She had help.”
An aggravated sigh. Wheeler ran his fingers through his hair like he might rip the strands from his scalp.
“What that means, sir, is I lost six good men today. Two dead. Two arrested, another two with broken arms. This is going to cost extra. A million on top of what you’re paying Zanteon. The money comes directly to me.” Entering a parking lot, he took out a key fob. “Yes, it is a big number. But that’s what it’ll cost to get this done.”
Wheeler tapped the key fob. Lights flashed on a black SUV. Still on the phone haggling. Still distracted.
“Think it over, sir, while I regroup. I’m your best option.”
We’ll see about that.
Wheeler disconnected, slipping his phone in his jacket pocket as Bravo whipped out what appeared to be a six-inch-long ballpoint pen. The instrument was nothing so ubiquitous or harmless.
Unscrewing it in the middle, he removed the cover and unsheathed a stainless-steel ice pick that had an armor-piercing point.
Wheeler’s instincts kicked in too late. He spun, drawing his weapon.
Bravo grabbed the wrist of Wheeler’s gun hand and held the muzzle away and down. Bravo rammed the sharp end of the shaft up to the hilt through the ballistic nylon vest and between Wheeler’s ribs, popping his lung. The body armor had been made to stop projectiles but offered little protection against chisel-like blades. The maneuver was executed with deft speed and proficiency that the thirty-three-year-old had spent more than a decade honing.
Wheeler staggered back, hitting the door of the SUV. He clutched his chest, sliding down the side of the car to the ground. His eyes filled with shock and confusion. Then panic and pain. Blood seeped from his lips.
Bravo stood over him, listening to the slight gurgling sound coming from him.
Killing Randall Wheeler solved little. Th
e person who hired him would find a replacement. Killing Wheeler wasn’t personal either.
Their paths had crossed once before, the nature of which had been drearily neutral. No quarrels, no levied threats. All rather forgettable, except that Bravo never forgot a face or a name.
Killing Wheeler had simply been quick, fun. A glorious release from days of pent-up rage. The sport: hunting a fellow predator.
True satisfaction came from watching him choke to death on his own blood.
28
Boston, Massachusetts
10:17 a.m. EDT
The safe house was a detached townhome spread across two levels, essentially a single-family unit on a tiny, low-maintenance plot. Located on the east side of the city, it was steps from Boston harbor. An active area with lots of Airbnb rentals, where strangers wouldn’t be noticed.
To access the attached garage, Castle entered a five-digit code and pulled the Hummer inside. He cut the engine, tapped out another PIN on the digital lock, and disabled the alarm from a panel beside the hall closet.
Pain compressed Alistair’s features as he hurled insults that blistered even Castle’s ears. At least he was conscious.
Quickly, Kit helped Castle get Alistair into the house. Each of them draped one of his arms around their shoulders and hauled him in.
The private entry led to the main floor through a laundry room and into the kitchen. Not wanting to take any chances in case they’d been tailed without his knowledge, Castle engaged the high-security function. With a push of a button, bulletproof shutters rolled into place, covering the windows and doors to prevent forced entry.
As they passed the kitchen, Castle did a quick visual sweep. “Bedrooms must be upstairs. You’d be more comfortable there. I could carry you up.”
“How sweet,” Alistair said, gritting his teeth through what must’ve been sheer agony. “The Beast wants to take this bromance to the next level. You can sod off. Dump me on the bloody sofa.”
“Just when I was starting to think I was special,” Kit said, “here you are offering to carry everyone.”
Castle bit back a grin and bore the brunt of Alistair’s weight as they got him to the leather sofa. “Your pants have got to come off.”
“First the bedroom and now my trousers.” Alistair tsked, setting the medical kit on the sofa, and undid his belt. “Whatever will she think of you?”
“I’m more concerned with you bleeding out.” Castle had shaved fifteen minutes off the estimated travel time, but it had still taken too long. The wound needed to be treated quickly.
“Might want to shield your eyes, luv. Once you’ve seen all my glory, you’ll never want to go back to that.” Alistair gestured to Castle.
“Kit, would you mind looking for some towels?” Castle asked, putting on latex gloves from the med bag. “Check to see if there’s a change of pants that’d fit him.” Every safe house was stocked with medical supplies, weapons and ammo, extra clothes in a variety of sizes, and nonperishable food.
She nodded and left the room, going upstairs.
Alistair dropped his pants around his ankles and peeled his blood-soaked boxers down far enough to expose the injury.
Castle lowered himself to one knee. “Ready?”
With a curt nod, Alistair tensed and leaned against the couch, bracing for the pain.
Castle wiped blood away with gauze to assess the damage. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”
“How’s that? A hole in my bum doesn’t feel too lucky.”
“You’ve got two holes. Not one.”
They both knew what that meant, an entry and exit wound. Left buttock and hip, three inches apart. Castle wouldn’t have to put him through the torture of digging out the bullet.
“I can practically hear the jokes already.” Alistair flashed a tight smile.
Yeah, their tightknit crew would give him a good ribbing over this.
Kit returned with towels, a pair of sweatpants, and a glass of water for Alistair that he promptly chugged. They set the towels out on the sofa, and Alistair settled onto the cushions, lying facedown.
Castle cleaned the wounds with a premade saline solution. “I have to check for frag.” The bullet might have broken apart as it entered or exited. Any tiny pieces left in his body could cause further damage. “No need to suffer through it. Or worse, make me suffer through your mouth.” He held up an autoinjector of a powerful painkiller mixed with a sedative.
They were high-speed low-drag operators who handled the toughest of tough assignments. No Gray Box operative had anything to prove or to gain through pointless suffering.
Alistair flashed a lopsided grin. “Only to spare you.”
Castle injected him in the leg. “I’ll call the chief, have you airlifted out of here.”
He deliberately hadn’t requested air transport to Cambridge. Reaper, their only pilot, had been out along with the others working a mission. Regardless of how hardcore his friend was, the man needed sleep. But a more complicated reason was that Castle didn’t want to deal with any scrutiny from Sanborn where Kit was concerned.
That was unavoidable now. No way Alistair would make it nine hours in the Hummer to get back to Virginia. At least Kit had led them to the hard drives. The win had to count a little toward changing the chief’s mind about her.
Within a minute, Alistair’s eyelids grew heavy, his gaze turning detached and floaty. “That’s beautiful. You’re a good chap. Can’t remember…the last time…” He was out.
Castle prodded the wounds, pressing around the edges. No sign of any fragments. “Clean shot. No vascular damage.”
Lucky. But Alistair would have a solid week of throbbing discomfort and a couple more before he’d lose the limp.
Castle tore open a packet of Celox and poured the gray granules into the injuries, ensuring they got deep into the holes to stop the bleeding. Then he bandaged them.
“Is he going to be all right?” Kit asked.
“Yeah. Alistair is always all right.” He’d been through dark, terrible things and lost more than any of them in the Gray Box. But that smile still stayed on, hiding pain that ran deep. “I’m going to change his clothes.”
Kit took the hint, leaving the room, and went upstairs, taking the package with her.
Castle cut Alistair’s bloody things off and put the sweatpants on, adjusting him into the most comfortable position possible, considering.
By the time Castle found Kit in one of the bedrooms, she’d opened the box and set the hard drives on the bed. Three of them were dark gray, four inches wide, two inches thick, and six inches long with Sentry written across the top. The other was a commercial external hard drive. A couple of cables lay beside the laptop that she hadn’t yet turned on. “What’s with the external drive?”
“It’s blank. It’ll hold a terabyte of data. I got it with the little cash I had left. I’d thought about copying some of the files and sending the drive to friends in Romania. But I didn’t feel right releasing it out in the world without the ability to monitor what happened to the information. Not when I had no idea what it was. I didn’t want to inadvertently make the situation worse.”
Smart call. While on the run for her life and desperate for answers, she’d kept her wits about her, used prudent judgment. No easy feat for a civilian with no training.
Kit opened his encrypted laptop. “Copying everything the Outliers worked on for those two days will take time. I should get started.”
“You should copy more than that.”
She recoiled, her eyes narrowing. “We had an agreement.”
“You said the Outliers were asked to pass some test. When did that happen?”
“About a week ago by now.”
“And you don’t know how Jasper found Bravo?”
She shook her head. “He never said. I think he hid it to make himsel
f seem like an irreplaceable team member who could bring in a seven-figure payday.”
“What if Jasper met him online? If he did it at the Lair, there’d be a record of it, wouldn’t there?”
“There might.”
“Give me everything from the time Jasper walked into your life.”
Kit considered what he’d said, her gaze never leaving his. “Okay. You’re right. I want to make sure you—your team—has everything they need to catch those men.”
She slid her hand across his thigh, derailing his thoughts, filling him with a wild desire that electrified him ten times better than adrenaline. Heck, they weren’t even having a verbal sparring match.
He corralled his libido and forced himself to focus. “Can you show me the video you decrypted?”
“Of course.” She inserted a cable into the laptop and connected the other end to one of the hard drives from the Lair. It took her less than a minute to scroll to a media file and bring it up on the screen. She hit play.
The video was what Kit had described. A man wearing a balaclava spoke to the camera in Arabic with an Islamic State flag in the background.
Castle wasn’t as gifted as his sister, Maddox, who spoke six languages, but he knew four and this was one of them. As he listened, he compared what the man said to the English words scrolling across the screen.
One word, attack, had him rewinding and replaying it to be certain. “He’s claiming responsibility for the attack that happened last Thursday—but the date makes it this week. In three days.” Not much time, but they had a definitive day to work with. “Get started making the copy. I have to make a call.”
While she set up the external drive, he phoned Sanborn.
“I’ve got it, sir.” Castle stayed seated beside Kit, watching her sort the files and initiate a copy as far back as four months. “But there’s a hiccup.”
“What is it? Did Westcott try to run?”
As a matter of fact, she did. But Castle would sooner swallow his tongue than give credence to what his boss already thought of her. “It’s Alistair. He’s been shot. Not critical. I patched him up, but he’s going to need an airlift. We’re up in Massachusetts.”