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The pilot nodded quickly, nervously, but began down the steps. Asher didn’t know if the man’s natural state of being was anxious, but he wasn’t taking the risk.
Harry went next, Asher close behind. There were four men waiting for them, and by the time Asher took the last step down, each had guns drawn and pointed at them.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Harry said.
It was very dark, so it was hard to tell, but they appeared to be holding Uzis.
Uzis?
Then one of them spoke to the other, smiling. It was an Arabic dialect Asher wasn’t overly familiar with.
Where the hell are we?
“Put your bags down slowly,” one man said in stilted English.
These men were not organised. They were excited and nervous. Hardly professionals. But there was an air of desperation that Asher wasn’t about to write off. He threw his duffle bag down with a sigh and Harry let his backpack drop near his feet.
“They haven’t killed us yet,” Asher said to Harry. “So they must want us alive. Let me guess.” Asher stared at the man who had spoken. “You think Interpol will pay?”
“Double fee,” he said with a smile that showed off his missing teeth. “My brother is paid for flying you out of Algeria. We will be paid for handing you over. If not Interpol, someone will pay.”
“Brother,” Asher mumbled, staring at the pilot. He took a step to hide behind his brother.
“Oh, someone will pay all right,” Harry said. Then, in the blink of an eye, he took his gun from the back of his jeans and shot all four men in the head. They fell down like crumpled dolls, and the pilot fell back onto his ass, scrambling backwards in shock and fear.
“Those were some beautiful shots,” Asher said to Harry. And they were. Four rounds, four headshots, in less than two seconds. “I’m impressed.”
Harry smiled at him. “Thanks.” Then he turned to the pilot, who was still scrambling backwards, all legs and arms, going nowhere fast. “You!”
The pilot shook his head, frantic, pale. “No, no. My brother,” he cried, looking at the man on the ground with a bullet hole above his left eye. “Nooo.”
“You called him,” Asher deduced calmly. “While we were asleep. You told him who we are, that we could be worth something. Whoever owns this plane is going to be so pissed.”
He shook his headno, mouthed the word a few times, but no sound came out. Tears streamed down his face.
Harry sighed. “Yeah, fuck you too,” he said, then shot the pilot square between the eyes.
“Goddammit, Harry,” Asher said.
“He sold us out!”
“I was going to ask him where we are.”
“Oh.” He looked around. “Are we not in Saudi Arabia?”
Asher shook his head. “Don’t think so. I couldn’t make out the dialect.” He took one of the Uzis from the closest dead man. “These are twenty years old. Corroded, haven’t seen a decent oil in years, probably doesn’t even fire.”
“They were amateurs,” Harry said.
Asher dropped the gun near the dead man and picked up his bag. “We need to leave. Now.”
Harry grabbed his bag and hurried alongside Asher to the cars waiting by the landing strip. They were older style Toyota Cruisers. One didn’t look any better than the other but only one had keys in the ignition.
“You drive,” Asher said, putting his duffle bag on the floor in the back.
Harry reversed the car, headlights on. There was no sealed road, just a sandy path through the desert. Their only guide was tyre tracks.
Asher had his phone out, and he called Four’s number. He picked up on the second ring. “Asher, my darling. How was your flight?”
