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“You can’t catch someone who doesn’t exist.”
Harry didn’t quite believe it. “But he’s a real person. Everyone is trackable, traceable. Findable.”
Asher smiled, almost serenely. He slowly shook his head. “No, they’re not. But now you understand why I will never say his name.”
Harry stared at him, and Asher stared right back.
“So, when or if your number Four calls again,” Harry said, “we just do everything he says?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what we do.”
Harry scrubbed a hand over his hair and sighed. “So what are we supposed to do in the meantime?”
A slow smile spread across Asher’s face and he gave a suggestive nod down to his crotch, at his unbuttoned fly. “I can think of something you could be doing with that mouth instead of all this talking. Come over here and suck this.” He rubbed himself, giving himself a good squeeze.
Harry glared at him.
But then he looked at the bulge in Asher’s jeans, then up to the smug smirk on that asshole’s face.
Asher laughed, because he totally knew Harry was going to do it.
Harry stood up and pressed one knee on the mattress, then none too gently, dragged Asher down the bed by his ankle. “Shut the fuck up. You want your dick sucked or not?”
Some hours later, Four called again. Asher listened to the five second call, then pocketed his phone. “Get your bag, we’re leaving. Now.”
Harry was already on his feet. “Where are we going?”
“Airport.”
* * *
Asher had expectedHassi R’Mel airport to be no more than some huge hangars and a landing strip in the middle of the Saharan desert, but he was surprised by the modern terminal. A few miles from the gas and oil fields, and while it was a public airport, its primary purpose was to cater to the private planes and jets of the extremely wealthy owners of said gas or oil fields, which probably explained the funding. In the fading daylight, as the sun set over the desert, Asher might even say it was pretty.
“I don’t want to point out the obvious,” Harry said as they drove into the lot. “Even if we’re not recognised as wanted persons, how the fuck are we going to get through security? I have four passports, two pistols, and a whole stack of cash, and you have enough weapons to start your own war.”
Asher smiled at that and slowly drove through an entrance to the right of the main terminal. “Private flights are separate to public, and you’d be surprised at the discretion money can buy.”
“Private?” Harry sighed. “How much... you know what? Never mind.”
Asher drove past a large hangar, and upon seeing other cars parked in a lot alongside the fence, he parked with them.
They could see two men, aviation mechanics, Asher would deduce by their coveralls. Then another was loading something into a plane, and a man in a suit who appeared to be supervising.
“I don’t like this,” Harry whispered.
Truth be told, Asher wasn’t too comfortable either, but he’d never been let down yet. “Just relax. We need to look the part. Confident. And pleasant, if you could try smiling.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “This is gonna get us both killed.” Then he took one of his pistols, lifted his jeans leg and shoved the gun in his boot, then pulled his jeans back down. Then he shot Asher a glare. “What?”
Asher shrugged, indifferent. “Hope the safety is on. Though I do have to say, the irony of you shooting yourself in the foot would be beautiful.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t. Come on, let’s go.”
They took their bags and walked back to the hangar. They were to meet a man called Bashar, and as it turned out, Bashar was the man in the suit. He met them, expectant, it would seem, with his clipboard in hand. Asher did all the talking, and apart from Bashar giving Harry the once-over, they never spoke.
Which was probably a good thing.
