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The utility Harrystole was very likely older than him. He found it with the windows down, cracked seats, corroded dashboard, dented and rusted exterior. Not too unlike himself, Harry thought, older than anything else on the market but an absolute tank.
He had the duffle bag of guns on the seat beside him, his phone on his lap with a map on screen, a little red dot his destination.
Parrish never did call him back, not that Harry was surprised, but he would make Parrish pay for that.
For this whole damn fucking mess.
Harry’s plan now consisted of two objectives. Get Asher back and take Parrish down.
Nothing else mattered.
He had to take Highway 17 south, out of Muscat and back into the desert mountains. It was dark now, and Harry couldn’t see past the side of the highway, but he had Four on speaker. Yes, Harry had a map, but he couldn’t read Arabic, which made signs a nightmare, but with Four guiding him via satellite—or whatever whiz-tech shit Asher had talked about—it was so much easier.
It also kept Harry calm, which was probably the reason Four had insisted Harry call him the minute he had some transport.
When Four had said Harry would come to a huge intersection, he did. When he said Harry would go through a tunnel, he did. So when he said Harry would see a huge Shell petrol station and he would need to exit the highway, that’s what Harry did.
It made driving incredibly easy.
The beacon or phone, or whatever it was Four was actually tracking for Asher’s location, had stopped moving. Which meant they’d probably had Asher out of the van for about ten minutes already.
Harry tried not to think about what they could be doing to him. Harry had never really liked Gibson. He was all about the power-grab, thinking his rank gave him the right to treat other people like shit. Whereas Hull just did whatever he was told.
Could they do some serious damage to Asher? Absolutely.
Would they kill him? Not if their plan was to lure Harry. They wouldn’t kill him yet, anyway.
At least Harry hoped so.
“There should be a road that goes behind the Shell,” Four said. “It leads to the town about half a mile from the highway.”
“Okay, I see lights. Houselights, streetlights.”
“Good. Stay on the road you’re on. The town is in between two mountains, so it’s long and narrow. You’ll pass a supermarket and a school.”
He did.
“Now about two miles out of town you’ll pass an old shooting range. About two hundred metres after that, on your right, there’s a road. Or a track. Or it could just be tyre tracks in the sand, Harry. I can’t see it clearly.”
Harry began to slow down. “How far off the road are they?”
“About a kilometre.” There was the faint clicking of fingers on a keyboard. “I think it’s an old military training ground. Closed down in the ’90s.”
Just fucking great.
“The terrain looks rough, Harry,” he added.
“No doubt.” Harry saw the turn off ahead and came to a slow stop. It was an older road, claimed by the desert, but there were fresh tyre tracks on the sand. He killed his headlights. “Okay, I’m going in quiet. I’ll see how far I can get before I go on foot. And thank you for getting me this far.”
“Just get him back.”
“That’s the plan.”
Four was quiet for a long few seconds. “Call me when you’re done. Or better yet, have him call me.”
“Will do.”
Harry clicked off the call and edged the utility slowly along the same path the van had gone. Without headlights, he couldn’t go fast anyway, but the night was clear, the moonlight in his favour, and given the lack of all light pollution out in the middle of the freaking desert, he could see quite well.
