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“Yep. Head for the M1.”
“Do we know what we’re looking for?”
Harry smiled and kissed the back of Asher’s hand. “Nope. We’ll know when we find it.”
And find it, they did.
Two weeks later, after driving up the coast of northern New South Wales, staying in the coastal towns and cities, Harry drove them inland. Purely on a whim, for something to do. “There was a cute little town up this way, I remember as a kid,” he said. The hinterland was green rainforests and farming land. Scenic, quiet, tranquil.
The town was still there, still cute. Still small. Not much but a local store, a hardware, a bakery, and a town hall. They grabbed a late lunch from the bakery and ate it in the park, in the filtered sunlight to a chorus of birds.
“Far removed from running along rooftops in Madrid,” Asher said. His hair was a little longer now, curls that Harry adored. “Or passing through rebel checkpoints in the Arabian Desert.”
Harry chuckled. “Seems like a lifetime ago.”
The news of Clive Parrish’s fall from grace was still front-running news. After all, when the Director of the Special Operations Command of Australia’s Defence Force is charged with crimes like espionage, murder, fraud, treason, embezzlement, and about another dozen lesser things, it was always going to be huge. And not just him. There were five senators in jail with him.
It rattled the entire country, especially all levels of politics and military. The case itself could take years, and considering the international interest, every detail would be scrutinised.
The media had grabbed hold of one part of the information they’d been given.
Operation Milvus.
When Timothy “Harry” Harrigan’s name was brought up as an agent sent overseas a decade ago, a death certificate magically appeared, dated 2016, Syria—courtesy of Yunho, of course—and a red line was drawn through Harry’s name. Just like that.
He didn’t mind one bit.
In fact, he felt an immense relief.
It wasn’t who he was anymore, and if letting go of his past would help him shape a new future, he was okay with that.
“What’s out that way?” Asher asked, pointing to a road leading out of town, opposite the way they’d come.
“No idea. Let’s go find out.”
The road was narrow. The scenery would go from tall trees to cleared farmland, back to forest, as it snaked its way around the mountains. It was beautiful out this way—
“Stop the car,” Asher said. Then he yelled. “Stop the fucking car!”
Harry pulled off the road the best he could and slammed the brakes. “What’s wrong?”
Asher got out and almost fell down the embankment. Harry had first thought maybe he was ill. He got out and raced around the front of the car to check on him. “Are you okay?”
But Asher wasn’t ill. He looked around, his eyes wide, and put his hand to his mouth.
Harry had never seen him like that. “Asher, baby. What is it?”
“This road. This right here. Here!”
“What about it?”
“I’ve dreamed of this. I thought it was a memory, but how can it be?” His eyes were still wide, a little teary now. “This road is the place I told you about. Harry, I’ve dreamed of this. Of here.”
Holy shit.
“When you thought you were with your parents?”
He shrugged. “I just felt loved.” He shook his head and began to cry. “I knew when I was here I was safe and loved. I didn’t know... I didn’t know what love was. I just assumed... I wanted it to be my mother so much.”
