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Harry saw it was an Omani police report and began reading it.
“What is it?” Asher asked, pulling himself up to sit straighter. He was still half asleep.
“Police report,” Harry said. Then he read it out loud.
“Police have confirmed the identities of seven men found dead at the abandoned military training facility south of Muscat. Five men were members of the outlawed Omani Freedom Alliance, a radical militia group linked to arms and drug running. The two other men were Australian nationals, ex-military, whose weapons have been linked to a murder in Gibraltar. Police say it was a drug deal gone wrong. The Australian government has been notified.”
“The Royal Gibraltar Police have closed the Interpol request,” Lucas added. “You leaving your weapon behind was smart.”
“I had to make it look like they shot everyone, otherwise they’d be looking for someone who left the scene. And Gibson’s gunwasthe weapon that killed the fisherman in Gibraltar. I’d hoped they’d test it.”
Harry looked over to Asher to find him smiling at him. “So that’s it?”
Harry shook his head. “No. Parrish still needs to pay.”
“Oh.” Asher reached into his pocket and pulled out the USB. He held it out for Lucas. “I hope it’s useful.”
Lucas took the USB and the iPad and, with a nod, went back downstairs. Asher sighed and held his hand out for Harry to help him up. “Let’s take a walk on the beach.”
And so they walked in the sand, and they walked with the water lapping at their feet, in the warmth of the sun.
They walked that day, and the next, and every day that week.
Sometimes Harry held Asher’s hand, sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes he had his arm around his shoulder, sometimes they didn’t touch at all. Sometimes they talked and laughed, and sometimes they just enjoyed the sound of the ocean.
The second week, Harry noticed Asher moved a lot better, he laughed a lot more, he ate more, he slept less. They watched movies, they made out some, they cuddled on the couch, in bed. They slept wrapped around each other.
Asher rested well, he regained energy and his snarky sense of humour. He was clearly feeling better.
By week three, he was bored.
Harry understood because he was getting that way too. The island was amazing and staggeringly beautiful. The house was incredible.
But it wasn’t a life for Harry.
And it wasn’t for Asher either.
Weeks ago, when Harry had asked why Asher didn’t just live with Yunho, if he had all the money and resources in the world, why did Asher keep doing what he did? Harry understood now.
This was Yunho and Lucas’ life.
Not Asher’s, and not Harry’s.
Could they take a vacation there every so often? Absolutely.
But live?
No.
But they were putting together a plan for Parrish, and that was the one thing that Harry was striving for. It had to be timed well, and there were risks of course.
And if it worked, it’d be better than killing Parrish. If it failed, Harry could just kill him anyway. That was Plan B.
But Plan A was better.
And it couldn’t happen without Yunho. Hewasgood at what he did. Harry had sat in thewar room, as he called it, and watched Yunho at work a few times. His hands flew over keyboards, he could access almost any network in the world. He watched stock markets, he was a maestro at crypto, and he moved enough money to make Harry feel nauseous.
He could access satellites, view footage in real time, like they did in spy movies. Phone companies, electricity grids, anywhere in the world. Any government, any department, any information.
