Chapter 6

SIX

The streets of Sarajevo were so different from the last time Asher had been there, yet familiar enough that he didn't need a map. As they made their way to Kova?i?i, he saw how people noticed them.

Well, they noticed Harry.

Because of his size and the murderous glare he shot at anyone who dared look at them. Well, at anyone who looked at Asher.

Daris had made an interesting point, but Asher didn't believe he was the target. Yunho was worth an immeasurable amount of money. The information he had access to, the footage, the data—the evidence—was enough to topple empires.

Governments, cartels, oil tycoons, war lords . . .

And what did Asher have?

Nothing compared to that.

He could testify to the hits he'd done, who put the orders in, who'd paid. He could name names but had no evidence. Yunho had it all.

Yes, Asher was good at what he did. He was good with a rifle, he was good at walking over bodies, he was good at compartmentalising the cold reality of the world he'd grew up in.

But he was nothing: a mere pawn in this game.

If anything, he was a loose end.

Nothing more.

"This way," Asher said, taking a hard right and entering an alley. The concrete walls were painted, dirty, with ripped posters glued and falling, torn. The street was dirty, the gutter pooling puddles of rain and god knew what.

The stench was cloying, the people loitering might have looked twice at them, but if they considered approaching them for drugs or sex, one look at Harry and they quickly reconsidered.

It made Asher chuckle. "You're frightening the locals again."

"I don't like this," Harry murmured. He nodded to the windows up on the third or fourth floors above them. "Too many vantage points and easy escapes."

That was true. But he didn't feel threatened here. It was seedy, yes. But the most dangerous person in the neighbourhood was walking beside him.

"You look like my bodyguard," Asher said.

Harry shrugged. "Kinda am."

"Bodyguard with benefits," Asher mused.

"Not really feeling the funnies right now."

Asher gave up trying to lighten the mood. "It's the place with the pink sign and the doorman."

"See it."

He really was in pro-mode.

And maybe it was justified. Asher wasn't sure how to feel. He'd been so angry and scared, and Harry had warned him to get his head right. But they were being proactive now, getting somewhere, he hoped, anyway. And he felt better for it.

He also felt better for the absolute dicking he got last night. The fight and fuck that Harry did so well.

Asher hadn't been on the ground for far too long, and if he was honest with himself, he'd not missed it one bit.

He loved his life back in Australia. The quiet life, being happy in his little town, with Mala to spoil rotten...

Mala.

He wondered how Mala was. How Jacob and August were treating her...

He wondered if he'd ever see her again.

They approached the door and the security guard blocked the entrance and crossed his arms. He was early twenties at best, wore all black, had a shaved head, and a confidence Asher doubted was worth a pinch when shit got real. He eyed Harry first, the bigger threat, and Harry said nothing.

Waiting for Asher, obviously.

Jesus. Focus, Asher.

"Bar or girls?" the man said.

"Neither. I need to see Ivan ?osi?. It's a business matter," Asher said in Bosnian.

The security guard looked Asher up and down with a smug smile that made Harry growl. Asher met the guy's gaze and held it in the way that usually made lesser men look away.

It took about four seconds.

"It's a very lucrative business deal," Asher said. "I just need two minutes. You don't want to be the reason your boss loses this deal."

The man studied him for a second, and Asher could see he'd won. The security guard gave them a pathetic pat down and an annoyed nod. "This way. Wait at the bar."

They followed him into the dingy nightclub. It smelled of stale alcohol. The neon lights illuminated stained lounges that Asher wouldn't sit on for any money in the world. They stood at a tall table by the bar and waited.

Asher smiled at the pretty girl behind the bar. She had a severe haircut, big blue eyes, cheek piercings, and tattoos up her neck.

Asher didn't need to look around too much because Harry stood with his back to the wall, watching everything else. There were some people playing pool and an older man with a younger woman in one corner.

And they waited, Harry getting more impatient with each passing minute.

"I don't like this," Harry said again, murmuring so only Asher could hear.

"I know. But we need the merchandise."

Harry sighed. "It doesn't feel like it used to. My nerves and patience for this are gone."

"Because we got complacent," Asher replied. "We got used to being civilians."

Harry's eyes cut to Asher's, fierce and laser focused. "We'll have it again. I promise. Quiet, in the wilderness somewhere. Just you and me."

"And Mala."

Harry's eyes softened. "Of course." Then his gaze cut over Asher's shoulder, to the end of the bar. "Company."

Asher turned and the security guard was approaching with another man, dressed the same, same stupid shaved head, same stupid ego. They walked with their chests out, trying to appear bigger than they were, which was funny, all things considered. They were basically children and Harry could kill them both with his bare hands—at the same time.

Infants.

Asher wanted to roll his eyes but instead he smiled.

"This way," idiot number one said, implying they should follow.

Asher went first, then Harry, then idiot number two followed behind.

They went through a series of doors, then up some narrow stairs to a hall. Three doors, one window, and an exit sign that Asher assumed led to a fire escape. At the end of the hall was an idiot number three by an open door, and he stepped aside so they could enter.

A guy sat behind a desk, and for the most part it looked like an office to a nightclub and nothing more. But if Daris said this guy was the one who could get them weapons, Asher believed it.

Ivan ?osi? was mid-thirties, maybe. He looked a lot like the guy from that Trainspotting movie—Asher couldn't remember his name—but the shaved heads seemed to be a popular style.

He never stood up from his desk, though idiots one and two never moved, framing them like idiot bookends.

Oh, how Asher wished for a gun.

Then Ivan nodded to the idiot bookends who then proceeded to give Asher and Harry another pat down. So ridiculous. Harry extended his arms, growling again, but Asher found this supposed weapon supplier's amateurish display of security funny.

Once they'd found nothing, ?osi? seemed mollified. "You said you had a business proposition," he said in Bosnian .

Asher considered speaking in English for Harry's benefit but decided against it.

"Yes. I need merchandise and I was told you were the man to get it for me."

He stared at them. "What kind of merchandise?"

"I need three SIG Scorpions, suppressors, thirty extended mags. Two HK G36s with Steiner T332 optics, and all the ammunition you can get, some hunting knives," Asher said simply. "Oh," he added with a slight chuckle. "And a McMillan TAC 50."

?osi? stared at him, then he glanced at idiots one and two before his gaze went back to Asher. He was clearly sizing them up, trying to determine if they were undercover cops or something.

God, people like him were so tiring.

"I don't give a fuck about the hookers or drugs you're running downstairs," Asher said flatly. "I need guns, and I need them ASAP."

?osi? shook his head again. "I'm not sure where you heard that I can get that kind of merchandise—" he began.

"I don't play these games, Mr ?osi?," Asher said, his voice cold. "And who I heard it from is irrelevant. If you don't want the money, I'll find someone who does and tell my informant you're not reliable. They won't like that."

He opened his mouth to respond, but Asher wasn't done. "I also want information and will pay very handsomely."

"Information on what?"

Asher took out his phone and opened his photos to the pics he took of the three very dead Croatian men. He put the phone on the desk so the two idiots could see it too. "These three individuals. I want to know who they are, who they worked for. Do you recognise them? "

The photos weren't too gruesome, but the men in the photos were clearly dead, very pale, with smears of blood and surprised and blank expressions.

"This one," Asher pointed to the first photo. "He was the leader and refused to talk. Even after he watched the other two die."

Ivan ?osi? looked at Asher, not so smug now. Eyes a little wide. "I don't know who they are. Why would I know who they are?"

Asher scrolled to another photo. It was gruesome. The guy's naked torso, gutted like a fish, his innards now outtards. "Sorry, don't mind the mess," Asher said, zooming in to the tattoo on the dead man's arm. "This tattoo. What does it mean? Is it some special forces mark?"

It was a poorly done tattoo of what looked like a star, possibly a sword, and something that was illegible. Most special forces tattoos were recognisable and professionally done. This one, apart from looking like a prison tattoo, was neither.

?osi? looked a touch green. "Jesus Christ," he mumbled in English.

"Ah, you speak English. Good, good," Asher said, in English this time. At least Harry could listen now. "You know this tattoo?"

He gave a nod. "ZBK. It stands for ?ivot bez kajanja ."

"Life without regret," Asher explained.

?osi? nodded again. "It's part of the oath for the old JNA."

"The JNA?" Asher squinted, not expecting that. "Yugoslav People's Army?" They were disbanded a long time ago...

"Yes, or so they started off that way. But these guys," ?osi? nodded his chin towards Asher's phone. "These guys are crazy sons of bitches. It has nothing to do with Yugoslavia, new or old. They're loyalists, separatists, believe in a whole lot of conspiracy theories."

"Right-wing ideologies," Asher prompted.

He shook his head. "Oh, they're way beyond that. They started off like that. Twenty years ago, maybe. Small, quiet, peaceful. Then some ex-general got hold of it, turned it into a money-laundering, drug-running, mercenary faction of white supremacists. Guns for hire."

"Well, three of them are dead now. Who would hire them?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Someone with a lot of money." He shrugged. "I honestly don't know."

"I'd honestly like you to find out," Asher said, almost cheerfully. He pocketed his phone. "And I'd also like you to find out any information you can on a man by the name of Asher Garin."

Asher noticed a slight change in Harry's stance. He didn't flinch exactly, but there was the smallest of movements. No one else would have noticed it, but Asher did.

He also noticed a change in ?osi?. "What are we talking? Fifty grand?" It was more than generous.

?osi? blinked a few times. "Uh . . ."

"I'll pay you a hundred grand. Oh and we'll need a vehicle—nondescript, registered, nothing the cops will notice, with a full tank of fuel—and we have ourselves a deal." Asher took a decent wad of euros out of his jacket pocket. "Twenty thousand to start."

?osi? blinked a few times at the money.

"You have twenty-four hours," Asher said, the deal done. He and Harry went to the door.

"H-h-how will I contact you?" ?osi? said .

Asher stopped and gave him a smile. "You won't. We'll find you."

A little threat never hurt any deal.

He and Harry walked out, back down the stairs, through the bar, and to the street. They walked on the shadowed side of the street to the end of the block, and got into a cab. Asher gave the name of the hotel and thankfully, this guy didn't seem the chatty type.

"That guy was a dick," Harry grumbled.

"Yes, he was. And his two henchmen were ridiculous."

"They were barely out of diapers."

Asher snorted. "We're not that old."

"We're not that young, either."

"You could have ended the three of them before they'd blinked," Asher said.

"Maybe a few years ago," Harry said, looking out the window. "Now I feel like..."

When he didn't continue, Asher prompted him. "Like what?"

"Like I'm out of step. Like my rhythm's off."

"I can assure you, your rhythm's fine." Asher meant it as an innuendo and thankfully Harry took it as one.

He almost smiled before he sighed. "It doesn't feel like it used to."

"Because we got used to a different life these last two years. But I assure you, with the likes of ?osi? and his two idiots, we're miles in front."

"You asked him to find out information on yourself," Harry murmured. Then he shook his head, his gaze finding Asher's. "It's risky."

Asher shrugged. "No one knows what I look like. And if they do have a photo of me, it's from fifteen years ago. I don't look like that scrawny, dead-eyed kid anymore. "

"Your eyes were never dead," Harry whispered.

"They were," Asher replied. "Before you."

Harry's lips twitched in a half smile. "Smooth talker." Then his brows furrowed. "And what's with the two G36s?"

"They're grossly underrated," Asher replied. Then he smirked at Harry. "Are you seriously doubting my knowledge on the effective firing range of a weapon? Because we have no idea what situations, terrain, or temperatures we're going into. I went for the more versatile—" Having to say this out loud to Harry made Asher mad. "I can't believe I have to explain?—"

Harry put his hands up in surrender. "Sorry. I would never question your far superior knowledge on the effectiveness and versatility of a rifle."

Asher relented a smile. "Thank you." Then he let out a long sigh as they passed some restaurants. "You know what I feel like?"

"What's that?"

"Brudet. Then we can spend the rest of the day in our room, doing internet things, and you can fuck me thoroughly." Then Asher spoke to the taxi driver in Bosnian. "Change of plans. Please take us to the best brudet in the city."

The taxi driver's face lit up and he spoke very loudly, using his hands and excitedly telling Asher all about this little place he knew...

Harry sighed. "What is it with you and taxi drivers?"

Later that afternoon, Asher needed a shower after Harry had thoroughly had his way with him. He relished the ache in his ass, stretching his very relaxed muscles, and he caught himself smiling...

Until he remembered the reason they were here.

Yunho. And Lucas, of course. But Yunho was somewhere—somewhere in the world—most likely suffering anxiety and possibly stress-induced seizures.

Almost certainly beaten. Probably tortured.

Nothing he hadn't endured before, but still . . .

Asher dried off and redressed, finding Harry sitting at the table with a phone. "Whatcha looking at?" Asher asked.

Harry frowned. "I checked the news back home," he said. "Searched for anything on Croatian men in or around the mid-north coast." Then he pointed to his phone. "I found this. A small article on page three of the Coffs Harbour newspaper, four days ago. ‘Search efforts of the three men reported missing in the Tallowwood National Park have been called off. Local authorities say the matter is resolved and would like to thank the public for their diligence.'"

Asher stopped. "Resolved? What does that mean? It wasn't resolved. Unless they call finding three carcasses resolved ."

Harry scowled. "This has got feds written all over it."

Asher sat down beside him. "Why would they cover it up?"

"To protect us," Harry said. "Me, anyway. While Parrish's case is still pending. They were happy for my Harrigan identity to be announced killed in action with that fake record Yunho provided. They can't have me turning up alive in the middle of the biggest espionage cases in Australia's history. It'd derail the whole thing."

Asher thought about that for a while .

"Do you think they knew it was Yunho who provided that false record?"

Harry considered it. "No. There'd be no way to trace it back to him anyway. Even if someone did wonder where it came from." Then he frowned. "Do you think whoever took him has something to do with Parrish's case?"

Asher sighed. "Not really. But we can't rule out anything."

The more he thought about it, about Yunho, the bleaker it all looked. "We need to find him, Harry."

Harry slid his hand over Asher's. "I know. And we will. Why don't you try unlocking the tablet," he suggested. "You haven't tried any passwords yet. You just keep staring at it."

"I know," he whispered. "I don't... I don't know what it would be. It's alphanumerical, seven digits. It could be letters or numbers, both. Knowing him, none. I don't even know."

The truth was, all Asher could think of, after wondering what this password could be, was just how much he didn't know Yunho at all.

Harry looked at the tablet and shrugged. "Try his birthdate."

"Jesus Christ, Harry." Asher couldn't believe Harry just suggested that. "Please tell me you don't use your birthdate as a password for anything."

He winced. "Well, I might have Harry's birthdate, but considering all my ID is now Michael Hill, his birthday isn't mine."

Asher sighed. That was probably true.

"What about something from his old life," Harry then suggested.

Asher almost smiled. "He always did have a warped sense of humour. And it's seven digits." Then he added in a passcode, C3S1A63, but didn't hit Enter.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"North Korea law code," Asher replied. "What they'd charged him with. Chapter three, section one, article sixty-three: treason against the state. He'd probably use that as a code because he'd think it was funny."

Because evading death by firing squad was hilarious, according to Yunho.

"Well try it," Harry said, nodding to the tablet.

Asher hit Enter.

Incorrect password.

Shit.

"What else," Harry wondered out loud. "Something that means a lot to him."

"Lucas," Asher replied. "Me." This was so stupid. "He could have used the word parrot because a bird was in the garden at the time. He could have used some random syntax code that changes every twelve hours for all I know."

Harry stared out the window, scowling into the distance. "What if it was a message? Something he'd use that only you would know. Something that only you would guess because he knew you'd come looking for him."

Asher thought about that, hating that it might be right. He thought about all the significant things. The date they'd met, dates they'd escaped, the names of aliases, fake IDs, fake passport numbers, his old North Korean ID number, his military ID number.

"If you get it wrong, we'll just take it to someone to hack into," Harry said. "Not like we aren't resigned to doing that anyway. "

Asher waved off at Harry's phone. "You do your thing. Let me think."

So Harry went back to his phone, making some notes, and Asher let his mind wander back over the years, to the time he'd spent with Yunho. The things he'd said, what he'd divulged, the things from his past he'd let slip.

Admittedly, it wasn't much. Mostly a comment here and there when Asher was on some stake out or on the move in the middle of the night, and Yunho would tell him of the juk his halmeoni would make for him when he was a boy and how he'd have to make it for Asher one day. Or about the first time he travelled abroad, to Japan, and how enamoured he was with the outside world.

And the Japanese men-only baths and hotels.

Oh yes, he'd liked those a lot.

Or how he was faring once Asher had left him in Thailand to do some jobs for him in Europe. He used to venture out to the market for food back then—not that he'd liked doing it—but his reclusiveness steadily got worse. The more money he made, the more he could pay to not leave, and as technology accelerated, so did his agoraphobia.

Asher had thought finding Yunho's island, and the small house that was on it back then was a godsend for him. Now with hindsight, maybe the isolation fed his agoraphobia and made it worse.

But then, when he'd decided to upgrade his house to the mansion it was now, he'd hired a construction manager to oversee the project, making all the necessary trips back to the mainland on his behalf. Trips that Yunho couldn't make.

And that construction project manager was a sexy Englishman named Lucas Edwards. And Yunho's life improved tenfold. Lucas adored him. Didn't put up with any of his shit, either. Asher could recall a time or two when Yunho was sulking because Lucas had put his foot down. Usually about ludicrous things like buying a helicopter or?—

"Your friend Daris," Harry said, interrupting Asher's thoughts. "From the warehouse depot."

Asher remembered how Harry had assumed they'd been lovers. "Yes," he replied. "I will just say you being all jealous was a lot of fun. I'd like to do that again."

Harry glowered at him. "Yeah, I wouldn't recommend that."

Asher smiled. "What about him?"

"You knew him from when you were young..."

Asher had expected this conversation, only that it got waylaid because of the visit to Ivan ?osi?. "Yes. We were in the same training school in Serbia together. We had a lot of similarities, so we stuck together."

"Similarities?"

"Orphans. He was from the same orphanage. We were all orphans. He was smart and older than me. I looked up to him. We moved around a lot together." Asher sighed. "I haven't seen him in a long time. I knew he was here. I'd asked Yunho to run a check on him a few years ago now. Thought he'd be dead for sure. But living a good life. Has a wife and daughter." Asher couldn't believe it. "He deserves some good things."

"Yeah. When he mentioned his daughter," Harry said quietly, "I knew we had to leave."

Asher nodded and sighed loudly. "Three years ago I wouldn't have given one fuck. Well, maybe... because it was him." He shrugged. "Now, it's different. I'm different. "

Harry's eyes met his, and he nodded. "You are. We both are. We had a taste of a normal life. Two years of peace." Then he winced. "And food. I must be twenty kilos heavier now than I was when I lived in Europe. When we have to take down the pieces of shit that took Yunho, I hope I don't have to run over a long distance. Once upon a time I could run for days. Now..." He shook his head sadly. "Now I'm old and got too used to eating cheese and crackers with a glass of wine while we watched a movie. Twenty-year-old me would be appalled."

Asher chuckled quietly. "Twenty-year-old you would be amazed you're still alive."

"True."

"I know twenty-year-old me never thought I'd make it this far." He sighed again. "Hell, five-year-old me didn't expect to make it to six."

Harry's eyes softened, and he lifted his hand to Asher's face, thumbing across his cheek. "You know, for as shitty as life's been, at least my childhood was okay. I used to ride a bike down to the river, spent summer holidays with friends, and didn't have a care in the world." His smile faltered. "I mean, it all went downhill when I turned eighteen and found myself disowned and homeless. But I didn't have to go through what you went through. From such a young age too. I hate that you went through that."

"It wasn't so bad," Asher replied flatly. "I survived, at least. Many didn't. Boys that were my friends that didn't make the cut. I don't know what ever happened to them; if they were sold or killed. Probably killed. Less evidence that way." He sighed and tried to brighten the mood, managing a smile. "You know, Yunho would donate money to the orphanages in Thailand and Cambodia and Myanmar, so the children don't suffer as much. He said he did it for me, but also for himself, I think. He never spoke of his childhood often. Mentioned his grandmother a few times. She would cook him porridge. But he tried to give back." Then Asher laughed. "He told me he once set up a ghost secure data?—"

Asher stopped.

Could that be it?

"A ghost secure what?" Harry asked.

Asher tapped the tablet screen to bring up the passcode window. "Oh god, Harry. This could be it. He set up a secure data vault... it's like one of those old-fashioned safe deposit boxes but it's online. Like a portal to access his mainframe. ‘In case the worst should happen, Asher'," Asher imitated Yunho's voice. "But I never thought about it in years, because nothing was ever going to happen to him. I forgot all about it. It would give me access to all his information, all his money. I told him I didn't want it..."

Harry nodded along at Asher's excitement but still seemed confused. "What does it have to do with the password to the tablet? Do you think it's the same?"

"It could be. A message, like you said. If it's the password for this, then he's telling me to access the portal as well."

"So what's the password?"

God, it was so long ago . . .

"Uh..." Asher tried to wrack his memory. "He told me the password was the sun god. He said it was me because I saved him, or something. It was more ‘like a ray of sunlight in a dark world' or some bullshit. He's always sentimental like that. He said it was a password just for me."

"So what's the password?" Harry asked again. "Which sun god. "

"The Korean one."

"Yes, but what's its name?"

"How the hell would I know?" Asher said. He nodded to Harry's phone. "Look it up."

"He never actually told you?" Harry asked while typing into his browser.

"Well, yes. But it was a long time ago, and I honestly thought I'd never need it. He talked about a lot of spiritual stuff like that, but I was his darling ray of sunlight."

Harry showed Asher the screen with the name on it.

"Yes, that's it!" Asher said, about to type it into the password screen but stopping on the first letter. "Should I use a capital?"

"Oh Jesus Christ, Asher."

"Okay, okay." He typed it in. "Haemosu." He took a breath and hit Enter.

Password correct.

They were in.