Page 37 of Until the End

Sierra cleared one small room that had prayer rugs on the floor and continued down the corridor.

Shouting and gunfire rang out from the front rooms. No silencers. The enemy was engaging Yankee. Every instinct screamed at her to turn back and help him, but the last thing they needed was for any tangoes to get the drop on them from behind.

A toilet flushed and a door opened four feet in front of her. A man stepped into the hallway.

Khan. It was Yosef Khan. The man they’d flown halfway across the world to find.

He spun on his heel and bolted up the stairs.

Sierra keyed her radio. “Eyes on target.” She took off after him up the dark stairwell, running the steps two at a time. She was in peak physical condition, ran marathons, had honed her body with lean muscle, and did stadium stairs for fun. The one thing she knew for certain was that he couldn’t outrun her.

More gunfire came from below.

“This is Yankee. I’m pinned down. Victor, go assist.”

“Just took out one in the kitchen. I’m on it.”

Khan bypassed the bedrooms on the second and third floor and took the stairs to the roof. The adjacent buildings weren’t close enough for him to leap to the next one, but he might get desperate and try jumping for the dumpster at the rear of the building. The fall wouldn’t kill him, and if he landed just right, he’d even walk away unscathed.

Khan burst through the roof door, letting in the last of the fading sunlight. Sierra climbed the last of the steps, reaching the top, and raced outside.

No sign of Khan.

The outbuilding on the roof that sheltered the stairway blocked her view in the other direction. She whipped around the outbuilding. Something hard struck her in the abdomen, knocking the breath from her lungs. She backpedaled, avoiding another blow.

Khan held a wooden two-by-four, wielding it like a baseball bat. His next swing went for her head. She ducked and rolled, barely missing a third strike that landed on the concrete rooftop. Spinning upright onto one knee, she aimed the gun right between his eyes. Instinct and training. But they needed Khan alive.

She refocused on his shoulder. “Drop it or I’ll put a bullet in you.”

Khan didn’t know they couldn’t kill him. He tossed the piece of wood to the side as Victor charged out onto the roof. He came up behind Khan, stuck him with a hypodermic needle, and depressed the plunger. One, two, three seconds—the target’s knees buckled, but Victor caught him.

An explosion rocked the bottom floor.

Sierra’s stomach corkscrewed in panic. “Yankee, tell me that was you,” she said over comms.

Silence.

“Yankee?” She lurched forward, her heart in her throat. “Respond.” What if something happened to him because she’d separated the team and left him without backup?

What if…no.

No. No. She wouldn’t think it. Couldn’t think it. Her husband was okay. He has to be.

She gave Victor a frantic glance.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” he said, sounding as uncertain as she felt.

The airwaves crackled. “This is Yankee. All tangoes down here have been neutralized.”

Her lungs opened and she drew in a relieved breath. Thank God. “Are you all right?” she asked in her mic.

“Bruised ribs. I’ll live.”

“We have the package.” She glanced at Khan, who was out cold. “Ready for delivery.”

“Let’s get him downstairs,” Victor said.

With a nod, she sprang into action, throwing one of Khan’s arms over her shoulder.