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“Because your two Australian ex-army friends were last seen heading south of Madrid, toward Gibraltar.”
What the fuck?
“Why didn’t you start with that?”
Asher zipped up his duffle bag and grinned at him. “Because it turns me on when you get mad.”
Harry stared at him. He took the longest, calming inhale he could manage and exhaled just as slow. “You must be really turned-on,” he mumbled. “Because I’m really fucking mad.”
* * *
ALGERIA
The pain in Harry’s ankle was a constant thrum. Both sharp and dull, with every step. When Asher had said there’d be walking, he wasn’t wrong. It didn’t help that the ground was rocky, sandy, and uneven.
They’d paid Mr Sadik handsomely for the old van, and after midnight, they’d driven east to the small town of Ahfir, made a very stoic exchange with two men, and were driven through mountain desert farmland through a checkpoint and were dropped off in the middle of freaking nowhere. Asher got out, Harry followed. Asher gave the men a nod, and without a word they turned around and drove away.
Not one word had been spoken throughout the whole ordeal.
“What the hell just happened?” Harry asked.
“We just entered Algeria without paperwork.”
“Do I want to know how you organised this?”
Asher gave half a shrug. “My informant is well connected.”
Harry shook his head and took in their surroundings, lit up by the almost-full moon and cloudless sky, thankfully. There were mountains to their north, open desert to the south, and not a road or a landmark in sight. Harry was never fond of the desert at night. Too many shadows for his liking. And the landscape played tricks on the mind, as did the wind, and it was far colder than it should be.
He fixed his coat and then his backpack. “What now?”
“Now we walk.”
And so they walked; east for about five kilometres until, as the sun began to rise, they came to a quarry of some kind. The setting made Harry nervous, like they were walking into an ambush, but Asher seemed very familiar and his ease was a little reassuring.
In the quarry, they found a small and battered truck. Harry took out his pistol, senses on high alert, but Asher just smiled and opened the driver’s door. “Put your gun away and get in.”
“It would probably help if you told me the details of the actual fucking plan,” Harry grumbled.
On the seat was a large envelope, which a smiling Asher handed to Harry before he started the truck. The engine rumbled to life, loud in the still of the early morning, and Asher began to drive.
Harry peered into the envelope and couldn’t believe what he saw.
Passports.
He pulled them out. Two for Asher; one Algerian, one Saudi.
And one for Harry. It was Australian; his photo with some random name and dates.
“How did you...?” Then, answering his own question, he asked, “Just how well-connected is your informant?”
Asher grinned. “Very.”
“So this is how you skip countries all over Europe and the Middle East?” Harry deduced. “You have some guy at an agency. Someone on the take.”
Asher’s expression became cold, his jaw clenched, and his eyes lasered into Harry. “Speak of him again that way and I will shoot you.”
Oooh. A raw nerve.
