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“Widow.”
Harry stopped, sighed, and kept talking. “Speak to the widow. There’s an airport not far from there. It’s what the oil and gas bosses use, the tycoons and shit. We can fly out of there for the right price.”
Asher smiled up at him. “You’re not just a pretty face.”
“What’s your plan?”
“What you said.”
“That’s my plan, not yours.”
“Mine is the same.”
“It was not.”
“Was too. Except mine was better.”
Harry sighed. “You know what? I don’t care. Your plan is great. Let’s go with that.”
Asher grinned. “Really? So do you want me bent over the table or on the bed?”
“That’s not... That wasn’t the plan.”
“It was myfirstplan. Remember?”
Harry inhaled slow and deep, trying for patience, when a quick rap on the door shot them both into action.
Asher ripped open his duffle bag, took out a pistol, and threw it to Harry. It was a 9mm SR-2 Udav. “Where the fuck did you get this?” Harry hissed at him.
“Off the Russian who tried to kill you.”
Then, out of the duffle bag, Asher lifted out a freaking rifle... no, a semi-automatic... no... Harry squinted at him. “What the fuck is that?”
“It’s a Covert,” he whispered, walking toward the door. Then he spoke in Arabic. “Who is it?”
The man replied something that Harry didn’t quite catch—he spoke in a rushed whisper—then Asher replied something else.
“Open the door,” Asher murmured, then held his fingers about an inch apart. He stood behind the door, back a little, so he could see through the crack.
Harry opened the door a little but there was no way he was standing in front of it. He stood next to Asher, his boot jamming the door from opening any further. He pointed the pistol, ready to take the head off anything that tried to come through.
“It’s the man who showed us to the room,” Asher murmured. “He’s alone. Let him in.”
Harry let the door creak open, and Asher, holding his rifle down by his thigh, stepped around him to greet the man. “Come in.”
Harry stood there with his pistol, ready.
The older man stepped in warily, doing a double take when he saw Harry. Then another when he noticed they were both armed. He put his palms up instinctively to show he meant no harm.
“What news do you bring?” Asher asked, this time in English. Harry assumed for his benefit.
“Three officers come,” he said. “From special police. GIN officers. Asking about two foreigners.”
Asher glanced at Harry. “GIN is combat police. Like SWAT.”
Harry had gathered that much.
The man reached into his pocket and Harry regripped his pistol. The man noticed, of course, and shied away a little. He very carefully lifted a key from his pocket and handed it to Asher. “Five streets across, two up. Blue car. You need to leave. Now.”
