The Kite, page 8
Harry opened the door a little but there was no way he was standing in front of it. He stood next to Asher, his boot jamming the door from opening any further. He pointed the pistol, ready to take the head off anything that tried to come through.
“It’s the man who showed us to the room,” Asher murmured. “He’s alone. Let him in.”
Harry let the door creak open, and Asher, holding his rifle down by his thigh, stepped around him to greet the man. “Come in.”
Harry stood there with his pistol, ready.
The older man stepped in warily, doing a double take when he saw Harry. Then another when he noticed they were both armed. He put his palms up instinctively to show he meant no harm.
“What news do you bring?” Asher asked, this time in English. Harry assumed for his benefit.
“Three officers come,” he said. “From special police. GIN officers. Asking about two foreigners.”
Asher glanced at Harry. “GIN is combat police. Like SWAT.”
Harry had gathered that much.
The man reached into his pocket and Harry regripped his pistol. The man noticed, of course, and shied away a little. He very carefully lifted a key from his pocket and handed it to Asher. “Five streets across, two up. Blue car. You need to leave. Now.”
Asher stared at him. “Who sent you?”
“The same man who had me meet you, show you this room.” He shrugged. “No name. Never a name. Just the number four.”
Asher smiled and took the key.
The number four . . .
Who the hell was the number four?
“Thank you,” Asher said in English, then again in Arabic. “We didn’t mean to cause trouble. We’ll leave tonight.”
“No, now. He said you leave now.” The man looked at his watch. “Prayer in five minutes. You leave then.”
Asher’s eyes flickered to Harry’s before he turned back to the kind man and gave a nod. “Understood. Thank you.”
The man backed out of the small room, sparing Harry only a brief glance before he was gone.
And Asher was already repacking his duffle bag. “We leave now.”
Harry frowned. “So this . . . four person says we leave, and we just do whatever he says?”
Asher slid a pistol into the back of his jeans. “Yes. Exactly like that.”
“Who is Four?”
Asher pulled up the zip on his duffle. “Pack your shit, Harry. Or I leave without you. When he says I move, I fucking move. It’s how I stay alive. Now move.”
Harry tucked Asher’s pistol into his waistband and pulled his coat on to conceal it. He grabbed his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and met Asher’s hard glare with his own. It took all of three seconds. “Done.”
Asher kept an eye on his watch and, when it was time, put one hand on the door. “Don’t shoot unless we’re shot at first.”
“Do you think I’m an idiot?”
Asher raised one eyebrow.
The fuck?
Harry would have been pissed if that hadn’t stung. And why did it sting? What the fuck was that emotion?
It’s called indignation and pride, Harry. Because you care what he thinks about you.
Before Harry could reply, to Asher or to himself, Asher huffed and shook his head. “No. I don’t. I think you’re an idiot for turning me down, for not fucking me like I wanted. For that, you’re an idiot. But not anything else.”
If only Asher knew how thin Harry’s self-control was.
Asher made a thoughtful face. “Actually, the dick sucking was pretty good.”
Harry tapped his watch. “Shut the fuck up and get out the door.”
Five streets over, two streets up was the instructions given, and in this rabbit warren of winding, narrow alleys it was so easy to get turned around and lost. Harry was beginning to think they’d taken a wrong turn, wondering how long it should take, wondering if they were running into a trap.
Wondering if this would be his last day.
Wondering if being on the run with Asher was how he wanted it all to end.
It really pissed Harry off that he enjoyed Asher’s company. As much as he annoyed him, as much as Asher infuriated him, Harry absolutely hated that he liked him.
The sound of laughter somewhere close by startled Harry. The silence of afternoon prayer was over, and it was perfect timing too. They came to a street that cars could actually drive on, not just cobblestone walkways, and in the lines of cars parked along one side, sure enough, there was a blue sedan.
Asher pressed the key fob, the car beeped and unlocked. Asher put his bag in the backseat, Harry kept his by his feet in the passenger side, and in no time at all they were driving.
Could it have been that easy?
It wouldn’t have been if Asher’s informant hadn’t sent the man with the keys to a car.
“I have a lot of questions,” Harry said.
Asher patted down his pockets as he drove. “Like how I could be out of mints? We’re going to have to stop.”
“We’re not going to stop for fucking mints.”
“They keep me calm,” Asher said.
“How do you not have diabetes? Or rotten teeth?”
“What is it that you say to me all the time?” Asher pretended to have to think about it. “Oh, that’s right. Shut the fuck up.”
Harry ignored that. “First question. Who is Four?”
“My informant.”
“What is the number? Is it like some lame James Bond shit? 007? Or is it some identifier he was given instead of a name in some brutal cyborg factory?”
Asher shot him a wild glance. “You are never choosing which movies we watch. Those are terrible guesses.”
“Watch your speed.”
“Do not tell me how to drive.”
“So are the mints a replacement for cigarettes? Because you’re a little grumpy.”
Asher’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I never smoked.” Then he nodded pointedly at Harry’s pocket. “Can you please look on a map and tell me where I’m supposed to be going?”
Harry took out his phone. “You need to get on the N1. Follow the signs to the N1.”
Traffic was beginning to bank up but still moved, thankfully. Just then, a swarm of police cars went screaming past, sirens wailing. Harry held his breath, Asher kept his eyes on the road until they’d gone past, and then he watched them in the rear-vision mirror. Harry turned to see, and thankfully, they kept going.
“Do you think they’re looking for us?” Harry asked. Those cops were racing toward the Casbah, after all.
“Hard to tell.” Asher put the radio on. It was in Arabic, naturally, so not understanding much, Harry kind of tuned it out.
He was just happy to keep putting miles between them. They made it to the N1 and, in a consistent line of traffic, made their way south and out of the city. The traffic thinned, the city became green farmland, and they weren’t being followed. For a good long while, Harry watched the scenery pass by, beautiful green mountains in the fading daylight . . . Until he realised he was admiring the fucking scenery like he’d admired the architecture . . .
Christ.
That was Asher’s fault. One hundred percent. Harry shot him a scathing look when he realised Asher had been quiet for a long time.
Harry assumed Asher was listening to the radio, just thankful that it kept him quiet. But maybe it was something else. It was the longest Asher had gone without speaking . . .
Was something wrong?
“You okay?” Harry asked.
Asher nodded.
“Well, that’s not convincing.”
He was quiet for a few more miles. “I need to speak to my informant.”
“So call him.”
He shook his head.
Harry clucked his tongue. “Oh, not in front of me. I see how it is.”
“It’s not my rule. It’s his.”
“Number Four.”
Asher almost smiled. “Yes.”
“How does he know everything?” Harry asked. “He’s one step ahead. You said he’s well connected, but he has no country. So who does he work for?”
“Himself.”
“So he’s like some secret independent agency that knows everyone’s business, has eyes everywhere, contacts everywhere. Got us across every border so far, had vehicles when we needed. People on the ground to give us a room, a car. To warn us.”
Asher considered this. “Yes. That’s correct.”
“Why didn’t he call you to warn us? Why send the man to the door?”
“For the key to this car. If we’d have stolen something, we risk alerting the police and having them be on the lookout for the vehicle.”
“Do you think those cops we passed were looking for us? Is that why your friend told us to leave straight away.”
Asher gave Harry a look that said yes, that was exactly what he thought.
“So he has contacts in local police everywhere? Or just Algiers?”
“Not contacts,” Asher said. “This isn’t the ’90s.”
Harry glared at him. “So he has access to information,” Harry deduced. “Christ. He’s a hacker.”
Asher laughed. “Something like that.”
Harry kept staring at him until he explained more. No more information was forthcoming.
“Then why can’t he just hack into Interpol and delete our files?”
Asher snorted. “Oh, Harry. You’re cute.”
“Don’t be an ass. You make it sound like he’s some almighty tech guru that can do shit like that. And he does have contacts, like the old guy with the room for us, and the guys who took us across the border. The fisherman.”
Asher sighed. “Okay, some contacts.”
“Like it’s the ’90s.”
Asher shook his head and laughed. “You’re insufferable.”
They were quiet for a few more miles.
“So . . .” Harry tried to sound casual. “How long have you known him?”
Asher flinched a little. “A long time.”
“How did you meet him?”
“Why are you so curious about him?”
“Because we’re taking orders from him, and I want to know something about the man who seems to know a lot about me.”
“He’s saved our asses enough times this week to earn a little trust, yes?”
Asher was so defensive of him, and it just made Harry’s curiosity worse. “So, is he—”
“Oh my God, you are jealous! I was only joking when I said it before, but it’s true. You are jealous.”
“I am not.”
“Clearly you are.”
“I’m curious,” Harry bit out. “I’ve not worked with anyone for ten years. This is all very new to me. Being with you . . . Christ, I’ve not spent this much time with the same person since . . . well, a long time.”
“Since when?” Asher asked, his gaze going from the road to Harry’s. “Was there a special someone you spent time with?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “How could I have ever had anyone in my life like that?” Then he thought about Asher asking . . . “Wait? Did you?”
Asher laughed. “Not exactly a life for a boyfriend, no?”
Boyfriend.
The word rattled around in Harry’s brain.
“Was there someone in your army days?” Asher asked.
“No. I was never in any place long enough.”
“So. Men or women? Both?”
Harry considered telling him to fuck off, but in the end, he settled on a sigh and the truth. “Men.”
His smile plucked at Harry’s heart. “Isn’t that a coincidence?” Asher said. “I happen to be a man who also is attracted to men. And here we are. Just us two.”
God, they were back at this again. Asher was persistent, Harry had to admit.
“Yes, what a coincidence.”
“In all the intel I had on you,” Asher said, “nothing was ever mentioned about you being gay.”
“You certainly won’t find anything in my military record,” Harry said flatly. “Or on any surveillance . . . Wait, so not even your special friend Four had that info?”
Asher shook his head. “No. I must tell him he was missing some very key details. He’s getting complacent. Or you’ve just not had any kind of sex in a really, really long time.”
There was no way Harry was admitting the latter was probably closer to the truth.
“I’m very disappointed about there being no surveillance,” Asher said, almost wistfully. “Imagine that footage. With full audio.”
“How much longer do I need to suffer being in this car with you?” Harry asked. “Is there a petrol station or a motel? A bridge, perhaps, that I could throw myself off.”
Asher laughed. “We’ll need fuel, but we should stop the night in some backwater motel. You’ll have to throw yourself off a bridge some other day.”
Harry sighed, disappointed, which, of course, made Asher grin at him.
When they stopped for fuel, Asher walked off with his phone to call Four—whoever the hell he was—and Harry filled up the car. He watched as others came and went, the customers, the vehicles.
He also noted the closest buildings, estimated distances, the angles for best long shots, the exits.
The pistol tucked into the back of his jeans was a comforting weight.
It was colder here than Harry had realised. The last time he was here, it had been hot. Now, the desert winter evening air had some bite.
Harry could see Asher, no more than a shadow in shadows, and Harry had no doubt that Asher was watching him too. Sure, he trusted Asher. Somewhat.
But not that much.
He went inside to pay and to see what they had in the way of food. It was a small station off the highway—the kind less likely to have recording cameras—so he didn’t have high hopes, but he found some seasoned chickpeas, which he liked, and those soy crisps Asher had eaten in Tangiers. There were some questionable fruit packs that he left alone, but the flatbreads looked good and the tubs of hummus seemed to be homemade so he took two. He grabbed some bottles of water and made his way to the counter.
And there, at the checkout, were packs of those damn mints Asher liked.
Harry grumbled, and lord, how he hated himself, but he grabbed three . . . no, four packs and added them to his purchases. Now he was buying things for Asher? The crisps he liked and those damn mints that were going to rot his teeth . . .
Before the clerk had put the sale through, Harry swapped the mints out for the sugar-free ones. Asher was going to be pissed.
Harry hated himself a little less.
Asher was in the passenger seat when Harry walked back out, and Harry tossed the bag at him a bit too cheerfully. He started the car and drove back toward the highway. “I bought you a surprise.”
“You did?” Asher’s expression was so genuinely happy, for one split second Harry regretted not buying him the real thing. He rifled through the bag and was like an excited child pulling out the mints . . . until he read the label. His brow furrowed and he aimed his glare at Harry. “These are sugar free.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t say thank you.”
“They’re your favourite.”
“These are sugar free. My favourite are not sugar free.” He held up the small tin of mints like it offended him. “You did this on purpose?”
“Your dentist will thank me.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
He shook the mints. “I haaaate you.”
“I bought you those soy crisp things you like as well.”
Whatever tirade he was about to unload faded slowly. He closed his mouth and pouted for a bit. “I still hate you.”
Harry smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“I did not say thank you.”
“Did you get ahold of your informant? The mysterious Number Four?”
“I’m not sure I can tell you.”
“Why not? If I’m following his goddamned orders—”
“Because you got me the sugar-free mints. If you got me the real ones, I’d tell you everything.”
“You absolutely would not.”
“Now we will never know.”
Harry laughed. “I’m actually surprised at how well we get along.”
“I hate you.”
TEN
Harry, as Asher had instructed, had stayed in the car while he went in to speak to the motel office about a room.
The motel was rough, but it was off the highway, at the back of a small town an hour out of Ghardaïa.
There were two other cars in the lot, no cameras, no streetlights. Certainly no room service or hot spa.
Asher had said it would be better if he went in for the room because he spoke Arabic, but also because Harry, being a six-foot-three white man was someone who would be remembered in these parts. Asher could be boring and blend in. Harry, not so much.
Asher came out of the office with a key and walked to the end room. He unlocked the door and Harry followed him in with their two bags.
“There’s only one bed,” Harry grumbled.
“You complain about the bed and not the smell?”
The bed, the smell, the stained walls, it was all bad. God, the floor . . . “You got the bed last time, so tonight you take the floor.”
Asher looked at the floor and grimaced. “Or we could share the bed.”
“I thought you hated me.”
“I do.”
“But you expect me to share a bed with you?”
“Would it be the first time you ever fucked someone that didn’t like you?”
Harry raised a brow at him. “We went from sharing a bed to fucking. That was quick.”
Asher began to smile. “But you agree now?”
“I never said I agreed.”
“You never said you didn’t.”
Harry put the bags down, made sure the door was locked, and Asher cocked his head, hopeful.
“I’m taking a shower,” Harry said. “You’re not invited.” He heard Asher sigh as he closed the bathroom door.
The showerhead resembled an outside garden tap and the water ran brown for a good minute before it became clear, but it was warm and wet, the soap washing away the last few days of grime and sweat.
