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A thud, a stunted groan, and finally another muted ping of a suppressor. Harry pulled out his pistol, his heart thumping painfully, blood rushing in his ears, and he went into the hallway fully expecting to be met with a spray of fists or bullets.
But no, it was Asher, now standing over another body sprawled on the floor. A man in blue, a bullet hole in his left cheek. Asher waved his hand at the bodies. “No, please, take your time,” he said sarcastically. “Did you want to freshen up some more? Maybe grab a bite to eat? Let me be a good host and take care of your guests.” He gestured to the dead men on the floor.
His guests... Harry almost smiled. Until he actually noticed the guy in blue’s face. He couldn’t have even been twenty years old. “Christ. He’s a kid.”
“They’re all kids,” Asher grumbled. “Two French, one Russian.” He took the knife from one guy’s thigh holster; it was a Russian army knife. “Fuckers get younger every year.”
“Let’s go,” Harry said. He had no idea where they were going or just how much he should trust Asher.
He needed answers.
He walked out the door and straight into another young guy in blue who let out a startled curse in Russian and swung at Harry’s head.
Harry took one hit to the cheekbone, grabbed the guy’s arm as he swung through, spun him, took his head in his hands, and snapped his neck. Harry pushed the man’s body into his apartment where it splayed on the floor next to the others. Asher gave Harry a curt nod, relieved the man of his knife and pistol, pulled the door closed behind them, and they walked back down the hall.
Harry’s ankle protested, though he tried not to let on. “We need a ride,” he said.
“I have one,” Asher replied.
They went the way they’d come and, thankfully, encountered no surprises. After assessing the street, they walked quickly down the alley to the next block, where Asher pressed a key fob and a new model black Jaguar car unlocked. Asher drove, expertly manoeuvring them through traffic, heading south through the city.
“I hope whatever is in that bag was worth it,” Asher said.
Harry unzipped his backpack. “Passports, weapons, about 60K cash in different currencies. And now four hitmen we no longer need to worry about.” He pulled out a white pill bottle and threw back two tablets, swallowing them without water. “Where are we going?”
“Gibraltar.”
Which meant next stop would be Morocco.
“Who put out the hit?”
Asher shrugged. “I don’t know. Your people is my guess.”
My people?
“Who tipped you off?” Harry pressed. “Who sent you the assignment? And why would they send you an assignment when you’re the mark?”
Asher gripped the steering wheel and he clearly debated whether or not to answer. Harry wondered whether he’d answer at all, but after a few blocks, he did. “I have... someone. An informant.”
“Not your handler?”
Asher shook his head. “Sort of. What I showed you is a screenshot. My informant sent it to me and told me to get the fuck out of town.”
“So you came to Madrid to warn me?” Harry was having a hard time believing that.
“I was already here.”
Wait.
He was already...
Harry understood at the same time Asher snorted. “I was already here for you. I’ve been watching you for three days. Could have killed you a dozen times. You really should be more careful.”
“You were here to kill me?” Harry asked. “I was your assignment? Three days ago?”
Asher nodded, almost cheerfully. “Yes.”
“So why didn’t you do it?”
