Chapter 9

NINE

Harry took one of the G36s along with two mag clips and moved around the left of Asher some hundred metres through the thick of trees and forest.

Two vantage points was the smart thing to do, but Harry was loath to be separated from Asher.

It was foolish, and stupid to think Asher couldn't handle himself. Especially when he was armed with a MAC 50.

But still... Harry was a different soldier now.

He was a different man.

Like when he was in the special forces, when he was a squadron leader, he knew what made tactical sense, but leaving his unit always felt wrong.

Like leaving Asher felt wrong.

Asher was his unit now. His partner.

His entire fucking world.

Having separate vantage points made tactical sense. They would wait until the ZBK men arrived. Then when the final convoy of three vehicles drove in, Asher would take out the front and rear car, leaving the middle car unable to move. The remaining men would then no doubt run out to see what the hell was going on, and Harry would mow them all down.

That was the general plan. Not that these things ever went strictly to plan. These ZBK guys supposedly had training, which was almost laughable, considering they were making themselves sitting ducks in a heavily wooded location with only one entry and exit that was basically only wide enough for one vehicle.

Idiots.

And they were also drug trafficking wannabe terrorists. But mostly they were idiots.

But they were idiots with information.

The first car arrived, three men getting out. Dressed in long blue cargo style pants, black T-shirts, and the same boots as the three now-dead idiots back home. Harry looked through the scope on his rifle and sure enough, one of them had the ZBK tattoo on his biceps. Another one had it on the inside of his forearm like they were some bad-ass boy scouts.

Christ, they were stupid.

They also appeared unarmed.

Idiots, yes. But Harry knew better than to underestimate them.

Harry had no comms with Asher—they couldn't risk radios being heard or relying on phones in no-service areas—but he knew Asher saw them.

Then a second vehicle arrived, parking alongside the first car, and another three men got out. Dressed the same, same shaved haircuts, same variation of their boy-scout tattoos.

They went into the main cabin and two to the newer outbuilding. Harry had deduced it was a storage shed of sorts, and when the two men lifted the roller door, he used his scope to see inside.

There was a vehicle inside. An old white Ford F250 and shelves of crates and boxes. The two men came back out laughing, then proceeded to unload some boxes from the cars and carry them into the shed.

Another car arrived, four men this time, and they were greeted with their boy-scout-bro handshakes and Harry wanted to just murder them all.

Two of them had pistols in thigh holsters at least. Tactical HS2000s with box mags. Somewhat decent.

Finally. Jeez.

One of them carried a duffle bag into the cabin and they all disappeared inside. Harry guessed the bag had money in it, and that the boxes now in the shed contained illegal goods Harry didn't care about.

Another car arrived. Two men got out. These two were also armed. They wore jackets, and Harry spotted what looked like the same HS2000 pistols in a side holster.

Nineteen rounds at least.

They also had what looked like a laptop bag and a decent-sized box, which they took inside the cabin. It could be full of weapons for all Harry knew.

Hell, it could have a cake in it for all he cared.

The inside of the cabin could be a whole damn armoury, and for the sake of his and Asher's longevity, Harry had to assume it was.

Expect the worst, always.

Even if he was certain they were all boy-scout terrorists who were really just low-level crime idiots.

Harry had to remind himself that three of these men had entered Australia with intel on his and Asher's location, which meant they also knew their new names, which meant they had intel from someone in the loop.

So maybe they weren't all idiots.

Then, sure enough, just as Daris had said, three black Range Rovers came up the drive. Like they were in some James Bond movie.

Harry hated them all.

They got closer to the break of trees in the clearing. Two hundred metres. One-fifty. One hundred.

Come on, Asher. Time to do your thing.

Harry trained his sights on the cabin instead and concentrated on his breathing.

He heard the first shot fired. Even with the suppressor, it still had the familiar thup sound. A hole appeared in the windshield of the first car in the convoy, the driver painting the inside with red chunks and mist.

Then, before anyone could even react, a second shot fired and a hole tore into the third vehicle and it exploded into flames.

Goddammit, Asher.

Well, they had everyone's attention now.

The boy scouts raced out of the cabin, wide-eyed and in shock. So predictable.

Harry pulled the trigger. Tink , tink , tink , tink .

Four of them all spun to the ground like they'd been electrocuted. Four headshots.

He'd gloat to Asher afterwards, but the remaining boy scouts quickly backtracked into the safety of the cabin.

Four down, eight to go.

He'd hoped for less but he could work with that.

Asher fired another shot and Harry glanced quickly to see a man getting out of the first convoy vehicle fall to the ground. That was his third shot, which meant he only had two more rounds left in the MAC 50.

He had the second G36 with a full clip but Harry hoped Asher wouldn't need to use it. He studied the cabin again. A flash of movement in the window, Harry pulled the trigger, and they were now down to seven.

He'd also given away his location.

There was a lot of yelling inside the cabin, then a moment later one of the boy scouts stuck his head around from the top right corner of the cabin, trying to get a visual.

His head turned to mist.

Asher had shot him with the G36.

He was using both guns? At the same time?

God, Harry was never gonna hear the end of this.

Anyway, the boy scouts were now down to six.

Harry saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his attention to the convoy. The driver of the middle vehicle opened his door, and when he tried to get a round off, Harry shot him through the windscreen.

He smirked, knowing Asher would like that.

Someone tried to get out of the first vehicle on the far side, another thup sounded—Asher was back on the MAC 50—and the man's entire head disappeared.

Nice shot.

More yelling from inside the cabin and the kitchen window exploded outward and a spray of bullets followed.

VHS-D assault rifle.

Trees splintered above Harry's head. The whizz and whir of bullets far too close.

Asher clearly wasn't fucking with that.

He fired his last round from the MAC 50 into the gas cylinder below the kitchen window and half the cabin went boom. Flames and debris went up in plumes of flame and smoke, and Harry was on the move.

Boy scouts were now zero, but the target was Rozga.

He ran through the forest, still covered by the dense trees, down to the wrecked convoy. His only focus was the middle vehicle.

They had two minutes to extract their target.

Two minutes to be long gone before the cops and fire trucks started descending. Or, god forbid, concerned citizens.

The rear passenger door of the middle vehicle opened on the far side, and Harry saw three figures. Two men and Rozga.

He has three men with him at all times. They're his lieutenants.

That's what Daris had said. Harry deduced that lieutenant number three was very likely dead already...

Then lieutenant number three stumbled out of the vehicle on Harry's side. He was covered in blood, his own and the driver's most likely. He was clutching at his side and in some valiant last act, raised his gun in Harry's direction, but his head turned to mist before he got off one round.

Asher.

One bullet, one shot.

Perfect aim.

Harry kept moving, breaking cover now. He could see the three men, one lieutenant keeping Rozga bent down as they moved into the trees. The second lieutenant was keeping guard on the flank. But a shot whirred past Harry's shoulder.

Someone was unaccounted for .

Fuck!

Harry ducked down behind the first vehicle and this time bullets went over his head. From Asher this time. Three shots. Pop, pop, pop . Then silence.

Jesus Christ.

Harry's heart was thundering.

He snuck to the far side of the fender. He could see now there had been another man in the first vehicle. He was now a smear on the backseat.

The three men were escaping into the trees. Harry didn't have time to aim and fire; he couldn't risk killing Rozga. He had to run. He had to pursue on foot. He would have no cover but the trees now, but he had no other choice.

Asher's sight would be restricted, Harry understood. But he was the best, right?

Harry took off after them. The second lieutenant at the flank spotted him and yelled something, lifted his gun, and fired a spray of bullets at Harry.

Harry ducked behind a tree, splinters flying. Fuck, fuck fuck.

Then another shot rang out and lieutenant number two spun in slow motion, a crater where his forehead used to be.

The first lieutenant shoved Rozga behind a tree, taking cover. He yelled something in Croatian or Bosnian that Harry didn't understand.

Didn't care.

It was the guy with red hair. The one Daris had said could fight. The smart one, apparently. Rozga's right-hand man. When Harry risked a quick glance to get an eval, a shot hit the tree, missing Harry by millimetres.

Fuck .

Another shot came from Asher, and Rozga cried out.

Asher had shot Rozga?

Not a kill shot, obviously. But one to change the odds and make lieutenant redhead react.

Harry broke cover, his 36 raised, and he ran toward them. He waited for the guy to make one move, to give Harry one inch of body mass. But when he made his move, stepping out, before Harry could fire one round, the guy's head opened like a tin of spaghetti sauce.

Harry skidded to a stop. "Jesus Christ, can I kill one fucking person?" he yelled. He stomped over to where Rozga was trying to scurry away. He was clutching his shoulder, blood oozing from the ragged gash where Asher had shot him.

"Six out of twenty-two," Harry grumbled. "That's all I got. Twenty-seven percent strike rate. You know what that does to my average?"

Rozga shook his head, still trying to back away from Harry in the leaves and mud.

"Get to your fucking feet," Harry said, pulling him by his shirt and shoving him in the direction they'd come. "Walk." He began to walk, but Harry shoved him. "Faster."

"What do you want?" Rozga asked.

"I wanted better than twenty-seven percent, that's what I wanted. He's never gonna let me hear the end of it."

"I don't understand," he mumbled. "My arm . . ."

Harry shoved him again. "Yeah, your arm. Not your fucking leg. Move faster. Run."

Harry knew making him run would only make him bleed faster, but he didn't care at this point.

They broke through the trees near the convoy carnage and what was left of the cabin. "This way," Harry said, shoving Rozga forward with the end of his rifle, but Rozga stopped when he saw Asher coming out from the trees. He had his G36 rifle and the backpack, but not his MAC 50.

He looked pissed off. Like really fucking mad. "This way," Asher snapped. "North."

They headed back into the forest, away from the clearing, away from the mess they'd just made, and away from the emergency services that would be no doubt arriving soon enough.

Harry couldn't hear sirens yet, but they'd be coming.

"What do you want?" Rozga asked as they walked. "Who are you taking me to? I won't talk so you may as well kill me now."

Asher rounded on him in a millisecond, in his face and seething with rage. "You have no idea what you're about to endure," he whispered. The wildness in his eyes even scared Harry a little.

He was fucking livid.

Harry nudged Rozga with the muzzle of his rifle. "Walk."

So they walked on, down into a valley, through a creek, and up onto the other side. About half a mile later, they came to a small entrance in the mountainside. Covered by trees and overgrown forest, the tunnel entrance was almost fully concealed. It was old concrete, cracked and crumbling, the entrance was five by three feet. Inside was roomier, more cave-like, made of dirt and rock. It was cold and damp and smelled of earth and rot.

Rozga stopped at the entry, and he turned to Harry, pleading, as if he was the good cop in this good-cop, bad-cop routine .

"Get in the fucking hole," Harry said, kicking him into the tunnel.

He stumbled in, still clutching his bleeding shoulder. He fell and staggered back on his ass, leaning against the wall. Asher took out an LED lantern from the backpack and put it on the ground, then turned his attention to Rozga.

"You're going to tell me everything you know about the kidnapping of a Mr Oh Yunho and Lucas Edwards. And Vadik Istomin, the Russian man responsible, and the Chinese kid computer whiz that works for him."

Rozga shook his head. "I don't know . . ."

Asher took one of the hunting knives and unsheathed it. "Yes, you do."

Rozga eyed the blade. "I don't... I mean, I... he'll kill me. You don't know who you're dealing with."

Asher laughed. "Okay, first things first. You don't need to worry about him killing you. You're already a dead man. And I know exactly who I am dealing with. Do you know who you're dealing with? Do you know who I am?"

He shook his head. He was sweating despite the cold, and whether his paleness was from blood loss or fear, Harry couldn't say. Maybe it was the mood lighting.

Asher leaned over him, the hunting knife pressed into Rozga's cheek. "Do you know how many bullets almost hit him just now?" Asher asked, pointing his free hand back to Harry. Rozga's eyes went to Harry, then back to Asher. "Do you know how many of your men fired bullets at him? Almost killing the man I love most in this world?" Asher said.

Oh Jesus. So that's what he's mad about.

"They weren't that close," Harry mumbled.

Asher looked at him like he'd lost his damned mind. " You have wood chips in your hair from where they hit the tree by your head, Harry. By your head!"

Harry brushed the bits of wood from his hair and sighed. "You could have let me get more kills than twenty-seven percent."

Asher's nostrils flared, and Rozga made the mistake of speaking. "Look, I?—"

Asher had the knife pressed to the corner of Rozga's eye so fast he couldn't even blink. "Look at what?" Asher said. "I will cut out your fucking eyeballs if you tell me to look one more time."

"Asher," Harry whispered. "We don't have time."

"Asher..." Rozga mumbled, his eyes wide, recognition dawning. "Asher Garin. Who works with Oh Yunho..."

Asher smiled. "The one and the same. Now you know who you're dealing with. Tell me about Istomin, and for every second you choose silence, I'm going to choose a tendon in your body and slice it. The pain will be like nothing you can imagine. There are about four thousand tendons in the human body and we don't have that much time, and truth be told, I'm not that skilled with a knife, so hopefully you won't bleed out before I'm finished." Then Asher took the knife and pressed the tip to Rozga's kneecap. "Honestly, that'd be a blessing for you."

Rozga looked at Harry, panic clearly starting to kick in. "He's insane."

Harry chuckled and squatted down next to him. His smile faded slowly. "Call him insane one more time, and I'll start ripping your tendons out with my fucking hands."

Rozga looked between them like a psychopathic tennis match .

"Oh Yunho," Asher said. "Where is he?"

"I-I don't know," Rozga stammered.

"Wrong answer," Asher said. He pulled Rozga's boot off and held it up. "Did you get a group discount on these? Because those three idiots you sent to kill us in Australia were wearing these. They're dead, by the way. Gutted like fish." Asher tossed the boot, twirled the knife, then lifted Rozga's foot and sliced through his Achilles.

He howled, hissing through the pain, and even frothed at the mouth a little. So Harry stripped Rozga's shirt over his head and used it as a gag to muffle the sound.

"Now he can't talk," Asher said, looking at Harry like he was an amateur.

"Let's just fucking kill him already," Harry grumbled. "He's not gonna tell you anything."

Asher gritted his teeth and snarled at him, mumbling something not in English as he ripped off Rozga's other boot. "Take the gag out, for fuck's sake," he said, now pointing the boot at Harry. "How can he talk like that?"

Harry snatched the gag out, making Rozga choke a little. "Happy now?"

"Happy? That you almost died several times today? No, I'm not fucking happy, Harry. Do I look happy?"

Rozga made a pathetic groaning noise, still sputtering. Asher picked up his other foot and looked at Harry. "How many tendons do feet have? Toes have to have tendons, right?"

"I guess so," Harry said. "And I didn't almost die several times today."

Asher glared at him, holding Rozga's foot. "One round missed you by half an inch!" Then he sliced under Rozga's big toe.

He howled again, doing that hiss-breathing thing .

Harry sighed. "You didn't even ask him another question."

Asher looked at the guy, who was now torn between which foot to hold. "Oops."

Harry took the knife off Asher and kneeled down in front of Rozga. "Istomin took Yunho and Lucas. Yes or no."

Rozga nodded. "Yes."

"He sent in a team of mercenaries to extract them. Where did he take them?"

Rozga hesitated, so Harry, holding the knife vertically, pressed the tip of the knife into his bare shoulder, the tip pooling blood.

"Where?"

Rozga hissed but shook his head, so Harry pushed the knife in, blood pooling around the blade. "There's a point between the shoulder humerus and the scapula, where if you slice through the three tendons, the ball joint just pops and renders the arm useless."

Rozga was foaming at the mouth again, trying to breathe through the pain. Harry pushed it through the final resistance. Rozga wailed and his left arm drooped. "There it is," Harry said. "Kinda like deboning a chicken. Just gotta get the right spot."

He gave Rozga a few seconds to compose himself. "Have you had enough yet?" Harry asked. "Because I found your parents' address online. I mean, I usually don't like to fuck with the elderly, but I will. They make it quick anyway. And honestly, the fact I could find out everything about you using fucking Google makes you the stupidest fucking idiot I've ever met. And I don't want to threaten your elderly mother, but if you don't tell me what you know, I will. "

Rozga's whole face changed.

"Now, I'll ask you again," Harry said. "Where are they?"

"B-bel-b," he began, but seemed to be having a bit of trouble speaking.

"Belgrade?" Harry prompted.

Rozga nodded.

"And you do work for him? Guns and drugs, that kind of thing."

He nodded again.

That didn't make much sense to Harry. "What does a low-life piece-of-shit drug and gun peddler want with the likes of Yunho?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Never ask why."

"When he asked you to send three men to Australia, he gave you the names and addresses?"

He nodded.

"The kid he has working for him, the computer whiz. What's his name?"

He shook his head quickly. "I don't know. Yixing, I think."

"And how does Istomin contact you?"

"Text."

Harry patted down Rozga's pockets and pulled out his phone. He held it up to his face, unlocked it, then handed it to Asher. "Disable the Face ID and passwords."

Then he turned back to Rozga. "Tell me everything you know and I'll make your death quick."

He shook his head again, tears, sweat, and spittle marking his dirtied face. "Please don't hurt my mother. She?—"

"Then start talking," Harry barked .

"Pukovnik Radovic," he said. "His name is Alen Radovic."

Harry heard Asher gasp quietly. He looked up at him, and Asher shook his head. "Pukovnik means colonel." He swallowed hard, then focused on Rozga. "The founder of the ZBK, the piece-of-shit colonel who took over a political activist group and turned it into a faction of white supremacist fuckwits, is Alen Radovic?"

Rozga nodded. "Yes. He knows Istomin."

"They retired government buddies or something?" Harry asked. He was kinda lost.

Rozga laughed. He actually laughed. "Not retired. Still active."

"Istomin is active in the Russian government?"

"Long live the USSR and Yugoslavia, and the new cold war," he said, smiling. Pale, defeated—knowing he was about to die—but smiling. "?ivot bez kajanja."

Harry wanted to kick his teeth in. Instead, he drove the knife into the elbow crease of his good arm and severed the joint and tendons in one go. He watched the tendon curl and pull up under the skin of his biceps. "Ouch," Harry mumbled, grimacing. "That's gotta hurt."

Rozga screamed through clenched teeth.

"Tell me what you know about the abduction of Oh Yunho," Harry tried again. "And I'll make the pain stop."

Rozga's head fell back against the concrete wall behind him. He was pale, sweating, and clearly in a lot of pain. He tried to laugh again but he was in no shape for it. "You keep asking about Yunho," he said, panting, groaning out another laugh. "You have no idea."

Asher took the knife then and held it to Rozga's crotch. "If you want to go to the afterlife with your dick intact, you'll speak. "

"Not just Yunho," he said. He was slumping now, fading fast. The pain was too much. "They didn't want just the Korean."

Not just Yunho . . .

"Lucas?" Harry said, shaking him. "They wanted Lucas?"

Rozga sneered, the life in him almost gone. "Don't you know? He's MI6."

Harry and Asher stared at him, shocked into silence.

MI6.

No fucking way.

Harry couldn't get his head around it. He couldn't believe it.

Rozga groaned out a mocking laugh. "You don't even know who you're trying to save."

The sound of sirens far off in the distance spurred Harry into action. He stood, pulled an equally stunned Asher back. "We need to leave. Grab the lantern."

Asher nodded and collected their gear. Harry used Rozga's shirt to wipe their fingerprints off the knife handle, then he wrapped the shirt around the handle and plunged the blade into Rozga's heart.

"Let's go," Harry said, taking the lantern from Asher so he could lead the way. And they walked in silence into the darkness of the tunnel.