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“Tell me you’re okay?”
“We’re okay.”
He let rip in his native tongue, a whole rant that Asher didn’t quite catch. He got the gist though. Four was relieved but pissed off about the pilot and helpless that he couldn’t do more.
“I said we’re fine,” Asher said again. “Forty thousand dollars lighter, but alive. And we still have our guns, so there’s that. May need a change of underwear though.”
He half laughed, half sighed. “Thank God you’re okay.”
“Whatever we were going to Saudi Arabia for will have to wait.”
“Don’t worry about that. Do you still have the USB?”
“Yes.” Asher could feel it in his sock. “Can you still see our location?”
“Yes. You’re in Oman. In about fifty kilometres, you’ll come to an intersection. Turn left. There will be a town on your right. Get fuel if you have to, but I want you to keep moving. Get to Muscat and I’ll arrange transport from there. You should be safe in Oman... well, safer. Theydohave an extradition treaty with Gibraltar, but it’s not likely to be enforced; they don’t exactly have much faith in Interpol. Just try not to break any Omani laws and you should be okay. You still may need to lie low for a few days because I don’t know who I know in Oman. Let me see what I can arrange.”
“Thank you.”
Four was quiet for a long moment. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Asher smiled, but then he remembered... “Oh. When we left the airport in Algeria, our two Australian tracker friends were on our tail. Just minutes behind us.”
“Christ.”
“Find out where they are now.”
“I will. You be safe.”
“Talk soon.”
Asher ended the call, took out his sugar-free mints, and popped one in his mouth. He handed one to Harry, who took it without a snide or sarcastic comment. “Thanks.”
And they drove for what felt like hours, until the sun was up and neither of them could keep their eyes open. They made it to Muscat, not a huge city, but large enough to afford them some anonymity, and Asher found them a motel.
This one was nicer than any of the other motels they’d stayed in. Well, there were no stains on the floor, which was nice. The shadier places tended to not have cameras or ask questions or demand ID, and they appreciated the cash payment, just like Asher appreciated the bed and the hot shower. There was even a TV.
He dumped his duffle bag at the foot of the bed and sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I’m too tired to argue about the bed. It’s a double. We’ll both fit. If you lie on your side, maybe.”
Harry took Asher’s arm and turned him around. He had an odd expression, much like the scared look he’d worn when they faced the rebels. Then he slid his other hand up to Asher’s jaw, his gaze a penetrating blue.
“What are you doing?” Asher whispered.
Harry’s hand at Asher’s jaw tilted his face upwards, and he held him there. Harry moved in, leaned closer...
Asher realised, far too late, that Harry was about to kiss him. His heart was hammering and he thought he might pass out, or puke, or die. “Harry,” he whispered. He was so close, their noses almost touching. Asher’s blood was electric, he felt warm all over, and his head was spinning.
Then Harry closed the final inch and kissed him.
* * *
“What doyou mean they never landed in Saudi Arabia?” Parrish barked down the phone. “Where the fuck did they go?”
“We’re waiting on the flight logs,” Gibson said. “The plane they were in can only get so far without a refuel—seven hours, maybe.”
“Hm.”
“Oh, and get this. Brett Fitzgerald spoke to Harrigan when they were waiting on the pilot. Had no idea he was wanted by the cops. Just got back from two weeks’ vacation and had no idea about anything, apparently. Said Harrigan told him he was in the private sector nowadays and was with a French guy. We showed Fitz the photo of Asher Garin and he said it was him. Without a doubt.”
