He took a proper bandage from his bag and proceeded to bind Harry’s ankle. “Keep it up if you can. I will bring you an ice pack and a special boot. Will help heal quicker.”
Asher took some of Harry’s cash and handed a decent sum to Mr Sadik. “For any supplies and food. And thanks to Mrs Sadik for cooking.” Mr Sadik floundered momentarily. It was, after all, ten times more than he’d need. But he took the money, probably so as not to risk offending either man, and left with promises to return later in the day.
When they were alone once more, Asher closed the front door and went back to Harry. He fixed the cushion for him so he could recline a little and keep his foot up. He turned the TV so Harry could see it better and handed him the remote control.
The playfulness between them from earlier was long gone. Harry wore that scowl again, a dark expression on his face. Was he pissed about his ankle? Was he pissed that Asher had helped him? Or was he remembering the bomb Asher had dropped on him earlier regarding his own government lying to him?
“I’m going to have a shower,” Asher said. He got to the door and stopped. He was going to say something compassionate or even meaningful to try and lift the dark cloud that now hung over Harry. But instead, like he always did, Asher went for humour.
“Uh, I don’t expect to be long, so if you’re gonna jerk off while I’m in the shower, at least let me watch.”
Harry looked around for something to throw at him, and only finding a wad of money, he threw it at Asher. It was a left-handed backward throw, an awkward object with absurd trajectory versus gravity ratios, and it still managed to strike Asher in the chest.
He was a really good shot.
“Is throwing money at me while you perform sexual acts a tradition in your country? Which one of us does this make a prostitute?”
Harry pulled out his pistol and engaged the chamber. Asher burst out laughing as he ducked for the bathroom and locked the door behind him. “Just as fucking well,” Harry yelled.
Asher smiled as he showered. The hot water and soap were a luxury he’d never take for granted. He hadn’t expected to like Harry. All of his intel on the man had said he was stoic and cold. And he was grumpy and irritable. That much was true. But there was a decent man under the prickly armour. There was an incredible body too.
Asher tried really hard not to think about that while he showered. And afterward, Harry didn’t speak much. He barely uttered a word for the rest of the day, lost in his thoughts. Asher would catch him with a deepened scowl or a blank, far-off look, and he knew it was best to leave the man alone.
He didn’t joke; he didn’t make any snarky or snide comments. Asher assumed Harry was trying to put together the jigsaw pieces of information he’d given him about his government, about the political games, so he left him alone. And later that night, when the room was dark and silent, Asher’s assumptions were proved correct when Harry spoke.
“Tell me everything you know.”
* * *
AUSTRALIAN SPECIALIST OPERATIONS COMMAND - SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA
Director Clive Parrish looked out his office window, lost in his thoughts, in the knowledge of what he was about to do.
The intercom on his desk buzzed, his receptionist spoke. “Gibson and Hull to see you, sir.”
“Send them in.”
Parrish ran a very cut and dry operation. Cut and dry, yes. But not black and white. It was a world of murky grey. A dark world of secrets and covert operations seldom few had the stomach for.
Gibson and Hull entered the room and stood opposite Parrish’s desk. They were good soldiers. Tough, dedicated, and never questioned their duty. Even in civilian clothes, they stood with their feet apart, hands clasped behind their backs.
Gibson was a hard-ass. A mean bastard if Parrish was being honest. It’s what made him good at his job. His short brown hair was greying a little now. His ten years in this division had hardened his blue eyes.
Hull was a yes-man. More brawn than brain, he and Gibson had been partners a long time and they made a formidable team. It was why Parrish had asked to see them.
He gave both of them a nod. “You know Harry Harrigan. I know you trained together, served together. He was your CO. A good soldier.”
Both Hull and Gibson nodded. “I know him,” Gibson answered. He never agreed with Parrish’s statement, and Parrish didn’t care either way.
He didn’t need to say that this would be personal. “We’ve lost contact with him and he’s now acting on his own.”
Hull gave a solemn nod. Gibson’s gaze hardened. “Sir.”
They understood. Parrish knew they would. “Last confirmed sighting was Madrid. His phone pinged in Paris, so start there. I want your feet on the ground. See what you can find out... Or take him down.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You should know,” Parrish added, almost as an afterthought. “Independent contractor Asher Garin was assigned to neutralise him and hasn’t reported in. He’s probably dead. If he’s not and you run into him when you’re tracking Harrigan, take him down too.”