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“Change of plans,” Asher said quickly. “I need a location check. Can you track me?”
Four’s tone changed immediately, suddenly very serious, and there was a faint clicking of fingers on a keyboard. “What the hell happened?”
“Pilot sold us out.”
“Fuck!” More keyboard clicking. “I’m zeroing in on your location... Oh Jesus...”
“What?”
“Tell me you’re driving, that you have a vehicle of some kind.”
“Yes. Harry’s driving. But I don’t know where we are. It was Arabic, but the dialect was not familiar to me. Their guns were old. There isn’t exactly a road—”
“You need to drive east. Right now. And as fast as you can.”
“Bit hard to know where east is when it’s pitch black,” Asher replied.
“Okay, okay,” Four said, fingers tapping on the keyboard. “Hang on, I can see you’re moving. You’re going in the right direction. Keep driving. Don’t stop for anything. You’ve got about twenty miles to go.”
This didn’t sound good. Asher rarely heard him speak with such urgency. He looked at Harry. “Twenty miles until what?”
“Till you cross the border into Oman.”
Asher baulked. “Oman?!”
“I hope you shot that fucking pilot,” Four said. “He flew you into Yemen, Asher. He dropped you off in a war zone.”
