Page 127 of Until the End

“Sanborn plans to swap the device your team just recovered with the real one at some point in the Gray Box before it’s handed over to the CDC. To give you a major win.”

“He wouldn’t go that far. Sanborn wouldn’t cross that line.”

“We thought he wanted to teach the president, Pomeroy, and Boswell a lesson, just scare them, but Sanborn actually plans to use Z-1984 today. He’s going to murder the senator and the director of national intelligence. And I’m not sure if he’ll stop there.”

There was still healthy skepticism written across Castle’s face. No doubt the ugly bombshell she’d just dropped was tough to accept, but the precious seconds she had left were running out.

“I don’t have much time.” She had to go back inside. If she didn’t, Bravo was going to kill two people in cold blood. Lee Pomeroy and Ed Boswell weren’t innocent by any stretch of the imagination, but she wasn’t a vigilante. Sanborn didn’t have the right to be judge, jury, and executioner. She’d helped create this nightmare, put the bioweapons in Sanborn’s hands. Walking away wasn’t an option. She had a responsibility to end this before more lives were lost. “You were able to find us,” Ashley said, “because I didn’t remove the tracker from Ms. Westcott’s hip.”

Desperation flashed in his eyes and rose in his voice. “Is she alive?”

“Yes. Sanborn has her on a boat with Yosef Khan. He plans to rig it to explode with both of them onboard. He wants it to look like Khan was trying to flee the scene of the attack with his accomplice when the explosion happens.” Her watch vibrated on her wrist. “I have to go.”

“Where are they? Where’s Kit?”

“The dock.” Ashley backed away from him, toward the door, keeping her eyes on him. “Southeast corner of the lawn,” she said as he took off in a backward jog in the direction she indicated, his gun sight still focused on her. “Quarter of a mile down. Hurry.”

* * *

3:09 p.m. EDT

The gag bit into Kit’s mouth and the zip ties were so tight they cut off the circulation in her wrists and ankles.

Seated upright, she kept her knees pulled into her chest to make herself smaller, not wanting to draw Sanborn’s attention. The other captive, the man they called Khan, was in a different position on the boat, closer to the cockpit.

The speedboat rocked and bounced on the choppy open water. After dropping off his murderous minions on the dock, Sanborn had driven the boat away from shore.

From her low position, she couldn’t see how far out they were, but they’d only gone a minute or two before he cut the engine.

Kit’s frantic gaze scoured the boat for anything that could possibly save her. Sanborn and his goon were working with the only tools she’d spotted, and both had guns. A ring-shaped lifebuoy hung on the side, but with her hands bound behind her, it was useless.

The one who went by Echo came up the steps from the cabin below. “Everything is set. The engine is rigged per your specifications.”

Sanborn gave a thumbs-up from the rear of the boat, close to her as he meddled with the gas tank. “Inflate the raft and get the motor started.”

Echo nodded.

Sanborn went back to tinkering with the gas tank and caught her watching. “Curious?” he asked, his voice taunting. “Let’s just say the tanks aren’t made strictly out of molded polyethylene. Nothing will survive the explosion.”

She squeezed her eyes closed, regulated her breathing, and prayed for a miracle.

* * *

3:11 p.m. EDT

This wasn’t the time or place to be late, but Ashley was one minute off schedule. She prayed the drama with Castle played out in his favor.

Part of her was ready to finish her own drama with Bravo and hightail it back to her husband, but the scene unfolding in front of Ashley stole the rest of her focus.

Bravo and Charlie had lured Pomeroy and Senator Boswell to Section 10 off the west corridor with the bait of urgent landline phone calls for both. With the cell signals blocked in this technology-on-demand world, every attendee had fingers itching to swipe right, check an email, send a text.

The two had surely jumped at the chance to take a call.

Bravo opened the door to the insulated room. Sanborn had cut the ventilation system to the entire section so Z-1984 would be completely contained.

The older gentlemen strolled inside, chatting animatedly, unaware the space was meant to be their tomb. The door closed behind them. Through the huge plate-glass window, she watched Pomeroy and Boswell. Their conversation stopped as their gazes homed in on the bioweapon sitting on a stand in the corner, counting down. Both men froze.

Their expressions shifted in confusion, evolving into denial, blossoming into horrified desperation.