Page 26

LOKAN

T he safe house creaked with age as Lokan walked across the floorboards to finish packing their belongings.

Through the grimy window, he could see the rising sun over the Mongolian steppes, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, welcoming the new day.

The family who owned this place had been gone all night, just as Turner's contact had promised, but they were supposed to return by midday, and it was time to move.

"Check weapons, documents, and supplies," Grant said from the main room. "Make sure nothing gets left behind."

"Don't leave a mess," Carol added. "These people don't have a maid to tidy up after us."

Lokan zipped the backpack closed and glanced at her. Even after a night of rest, shadows lingered under her eyes. The tension was taking its toll on her.

"Ready?" she asked after making the bed.

He nodded. "You?"

She shrugged. "As ready as one can be for sneaking across international borders while being hunted by enhanced killing machines."

"When you put it like that, it sounds almost exciting."

She smiled. "Darling, your idea of exciting needs work."

When they walked into the main room, Grant looked up from the topographical map that was spread across the kitchen table. "Good timing. We need to discuss the route."

Lokan joined them at the table, noting the various markings on the map. The official border crossings were circled in red, with X marks through each one.

"Turner's contact supplied intel," Dougal said. "Suspected mercenaries have been spotted at every major crossing point between here and Kyakhta. They're not even trying to be subtle about it. It's like they want you to know they're there."

"They are herding us." Lokan studied the map. "Trying to force us into a specific route where they can ambush us."

"That's what we were thinking," Grant said.

Carol leaned over Lokan's shoulder. "What's the alternative?"

Dougal traced a finger along the map, following a winding route through what seemed to be empty terrain, but then most of Mongolia was like that. Mountain passes. "This region here is too tricky for vehicle passage, so it's likely to be ignored."

"Ignored by whom?" Lokan asked. "The Mongolian border patrol?"

Camden nodded. "Yes, and I bet your father's minions will not bother for the simple reason that there are too many of those mountain passes, and they don't have enough enhanced fighters to cover each one of them in addition to the regular border crossings, even if they pair them with normies.

Smugglers have been using these routes for decades.

Drugs going north, weapons coming south.

It's rough terrain, but passable if you know what you're doing. "

"And do we know what we're doing?" Carol asked.

Grant's grin was sharp. "I've been through worse. At least here we don't have to worry about IEDs."

"Just enhanced immortals who can go weeks without sleep and are resistant to mental manipulation," Carol said dryly. "That's so much better than improvised explosive devices."

Grant shrugged. "At least you can see the enhanced Doomers coming."

"True," Carol conceded.

"Since the van can't make it through the passes," Lokan said. "We'll be on foot for parts of it. We'll have to leave some of our things behind."

Dougal looked up from the map with a triumphant smile on his face. "Not necessarily. We can use motorcycles—dirt bikes that are built for rough terrain." He tapped a spot on the map. "Starting here, we can make the border in about four hours if we push hard."

"Motorcycles," Carol repeated. "Because nothing says 'stealthy border crossing' like the roar of engines in mountain passes."

"Would you prefer walking?" Grant asked. "Because that's about a three-day trek through rough terrain. Once the Brotherhood realizes that we are not showing up at any of the official crossings, they will figure out we had to go through the mountains, and they'll find us before we make it halfway."

She held up her hands in surrender. "Motorcycles it is, though I've never driven one. I've sat behind a biker plenty of times, but that doesn't count as experience, right?"

Lokan quashed the flare of jealousy Carol's reminiscing had brought about. His mate had a rich history of lovers, and it was best if he didn't think of that. It wasn't as if he had been a monk while waiting for her to enter his life.

"You can ride with me," he said. "I've had plenty of experience with bikes."

"When?" She turned to him in surprise. "You never mentioned being a motorcycle enthusiast."

He shrugged. "I've lived for a very long time, sweetheart. You pick up skills if only to alleviate the boredom."

"My mate, the biker spy." Carol patted his arm. "You continue to surprise me. But I still want my own bike. I'm a fast learner."

"Where can we get bikes?" Lokan asked.

"Already arranged," Grant said.

Lokan arched a brow. "Another of Turner's contacts?"

"Who else?" Dougal said.

"Right." Grant rubbed his hands together. "But we are getting only three bikes, so we will have to pair up. We should move out. Our window is narrow, and every minute we delay gives the Brotherhood more time to tighten the net."

As they loaded into the van one last time, the vehicle groaned under the weight of five immortals and their gear. Lokan took the wheel, with Carol sitting in the passenger seat beside him and the three Guardians arranging themselves among the supplies.

He opened the window, enjoying the crisp morning air, which was a stark contrast to Beijing's perpetual smog.

Under different circumstances, Lokan might have taken pleasure in admiring the stark beauty of the landscape and the way the grasslands seemed to stretch forever beneath an endless sky, but his attention was focused on the road, on the mirrors, on signs of pursuit.

They rode in tense silence, the only sounds the van's laboring engine and the rattle of equipment in the back.

The meeting point was an abandoned petrol station, its pumps long dry and its building half-collapsed from neglect. But as they got closer, Lokan saw three motorcycles waiting in the shadow of the ruins, next to a flatbed truck and a lone figure.

"That's our contact," Dougal said.

Lokan pulled up beside the bikes, studying the man who stepped forward to meet them. Middle-aged, Mongolian features, with the hard look of someone who'd spent most of his life exposed to the elements.

"You're late," the man said in accented English.

"Traffic was murder," Grant replied, clearly delivering a code phrase since there had been absolutely no traffic the entire way.

The man nodded, satisfied. "Follow the tracks north for five kilometers, then bear east at the split rock. The pass begins there."

"Did your people notice any suspicious activity on the routes?" Camden asked.

"Government patrols increased yesterday, but they focus on the valleys, not the high passes. Still, be careful. The mountains have eyes."

The guy didn't wait for a response. He simply climbed into the truck and drove away.

"Subtle fellow." Carol walked over to the bikes.

"In this business, chattiness is not a virtue." Grant followed her to inspect the bikes. "Not pretty, but functional."

Carol chuckled. "You should post a meme with that line, under the heading of 'things you can say to your bike but not to your girlfriend.'"

"Right." He frowned, clearly confused.

"Just forget it." She waved a hand.

They redistributed their supplies into backpacks that could be worn while riding. Everything else would have to be abandoned with the van. Lokan felt a pang watching Carol sort through their belongings, deciding what little they could keep from their Beijing life.

Grant took the lead bike, Lokan swung onto the second and Carol climbed on behind him, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist. Camden and Dougal took the third.

The engine rumbled to life beneath him.

"If you drop me off this thing, I'm filing for divorce," she said against his ear.

"We're not married," he pointed out, revving the engine.

"Then I'll marry you just so I can divorce you."

He laughed. "We are getting married when we get to the village. That's a promise. Now, hold tight. This is going to be rough."

She pressed her soft body to his back. "You have to ask me first, lover boy, and tempt me with a huge diamond ring."

"Done."

They set off across the steppes, following tracks that were barely visible in the sparse grass. The bikes handled the terrain better than expected, though Lokan could feel Carol's grip tighten with every bump and dip.

The split rock appeared exactly where their contact had said it would, a massive boulder cracked down the middle as if struck by a giant's axe. They turned east, and the terrain began to change almost immediately. The grasslands gave way to scrub, then to bare rock as they climbed.

"How are you doing?" Lokan asked.

"Peachy," she said, though her death grip suggested otherwise. "Contemplating the life choices that led to this moment."

The path, such as it was, wound between increasingly large rocks and steep drop-offs, but Grant led them well, choosing routes that the bikes could handle while maintaining decent speed.

They'd been climbing for perhaps an hour when Camden, who along with Dougal was bringing up the rear, suddenly accelerated past them.

"Company!" he said into the comm. "Two bikes, coming up fast!"

Lokan risked a glance back and saw them—two motorcycles kicking up dust clouds as they pursued.

"How did they find us so quickly?" Carol asked. "Do those drugs induce precognition?"

Lokan wondered the same thing. There was no way his father's goons could have found them so fast out here without inside information. He hadn't even seen any drones hovering above that could have been collecting and transmitting information.

"Questions later," Grant said. "Camden, you and Dougal are with me. We'll try to lead them away. Lokan, maintain course. The pass levels out in about three kilometers. We'll regroup there."