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"Possibly. I can't get deep into their mind from this far away. They seem to be looking for someone." He gave it another try, straining to collect more fragments of thoughts. "They're looking for us. Four men and a woman."

The patrol was getting closer, their search pattern methodical. In a few minutes, they'd be within visual range even in the darkness.

"I can handle this," Lokan said. "Human minds are easy to?—"

"You," one of the Russians called out in accented English. "We know you're there. Come out. We mean no harm."

Everyone tensed. Carol was already aiming her weapon in the direction of the voice.

"We are sent by a mutual friend," the voice continued. "To escort you to safety. Please, no shooting. We are all friends here."

"Could be legitimate," Camden whispered. "Turner's people would know our group composition."

"The Brotherhood knows it as well," Grant countered. "This feels like a trap."

Lokan had to make a decision. They could fight, but gunfire so close to the border would bring every patrol in the area. They could run, but the Russians knew their position now. Or he could trust in his abilities and handle this his way.

"Stay here," he told the others. "I'll verify their intentions."

Before anyone could protest, he stood and stepped into view, hands visible but ready to move if needed. "I'm here," he called in Russian. "Approach slowly."

Six men emerged from the trees, weapons lowered but not put away. They wore Russian military uniforms, but Lokan's enhanced vision caught details that didn't fit—non-regulation boots, personalized equipment, the too-casual way they held their weapons.

The leader, a grizzled man with sergeant's stripes, smiled broadly. "Ah, excellent. You match description perfectly. You are expected, yes? Transportation is waiting."

Lokan reached into the man's mind, expecting the usual ease of reading human thoughts. Instead, he found focus, discipline, and underneath it all, a core of absolute certainty about their mission.

These men had been paid, but not by the Brotherhood. The mental signature was different—cleaner, more professional. Turner's network, most likely. But something still felt off.

"Where is this transportation?" Lokan asked, maintaining his mental probe.

"Less than two kilometers down the mountain. Your friends can come out now. We all want to go home, yes?"

The sergeant's thoughts remained consistent: escort the targets to the vehicles and deliver them to the extraction point. Simple. Professional. But there was something else, a slight note of discord that made Lokan hesitate.

"Carol," he said without taking his eyes off the Russians. "Bring the others. It's safe."

She emerged first, weapon still ready, followed by the three Guardians. The Russians showed no surprise at their appearance, which meant they'd known exactly where everyone was hidden.

"Ah, the famous Carol," the sergeant said with another broad smile. "Such beauty! No wonder you risk so much to protect her, yes?"

Carol's expression could have frozen fire. "Let's skip the charm offensive. How do we know you're really Turner's people?"

The sergeant reached slowly into his pocket, producing a sealed envelope. "Message for you. Authentication, I am told."

Grant took the envelope, examining it carefully before opening it. His expression shifted from suspicion to relief. "They are legit. These are our escorts."

Lokan still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He pushed deeper into the sergeant's mind, past the surface thoughts to the darker corners where secrets hid.

And there it was. A secondary payment, already received.

A promise of more to come, from someone who wanted to know the route they'd take, the safe houses they'd use, the extent of Turner's network in the region.

It wasn't necessarily someone in the Brotherhood, but who else would want that information?

"Sergeant," Lokan said calmly in Russian. "Tell me about your other employer."

He could have compelled the man to tell him what he wanted to know, but Russians were notoriously difficult to compel and thrall. Lokan was surprised he managed to get the few flashes of memories that he got.

The man's smile faltered for just a moment before returning full force. "We work for your friend, help you reach safety."

"The ten thousand euros in your account say otherwise," Lokan continued, plucking the figure from the man's startled thoughts. "Who's paying for information about our route?"

The other Russians shifted nervously, fingers moving closer to triggers. The Guardians responded instantly, weapons coming up in smooth precision.

"Now, now," the sergeant said, but sweat had begun beading on his forehead. "No need for unpleasantness. Yes, okay, someone pays for information. But harmless information only! Route, timing, nothing more. We still take you to safety, everyone wins."

"Who?" Carol's voice was ice.

"I don't know," the sergeant admitted. "Electronic transfer, encrypted communications. They want to know about the network, about how people move through the region. Information only, no interference with mission."

Unless the sergeant was an exceptional actor, which he wasn't, he really didn't know who his secondary employer was. The Brotherhood didn't operate that way.

They might use humans, but it was usually done by thralling and not by anonymous money transfers. Then again, things were changing, and Navuh's army of goons was becoming more sophisticated. On the other hand, what were the chances that the Brotherhood had infiltrated Turner's network?

That wasn't likely.

"Here's what's going to happen," Lokan said, using his compulsion and hoping it would work. "You're going to report to that other client that we never showed up, that you waited at the rendezvous, but we must have taken a different route. You're going to forget everything about this encounter."

His head ached from how strongly he had pushed with his compulsion. These men had strong wills, and their suspiciousness made their minds almost impenetrable.

"Yes... We waited," the sergeant said slowly, his eyes glazing. "But no one came. Different route, probably."

"Exactly," Lokan confirmed. "Now, you're going to return to your vehicles and drive back to your base."

When the Russians turned and began walking back the way they'd come, Lokan still wasn't ready to celebrate. There was a good chance that the compulsion wouldn't last, and they would turn around.

When they didn't, he let out a relieved breath. "I didn't think it would work."

Carol clapped him on his back. "You are a three-quarter god, my love. Of course, it worked."

"Impressive," Grant said. "But what about our extraction?"

"We have to continue on foot," Lokan said. "Someone's compromised Turner's network, at least partially, and we don't know who it is."

"You think that it's the Brotherhood?" Camden asked.

Lokan shook his head. "They don't operate like that. Besides, their infiltrating Turner's operation is unlikely."

"Could it be Gorchenco?" Carol suggested.

"The last we’ve heard of him, he was in a vegetative state after a stroke, but the guy could have made a deal with the devil and recovered, or it was all a ruse to throw off his enemies while he regrouped.

He knows you, and if he figured out your connections to the submarine fiasco, he wants you dead.

He also has extensive connections in Russia. "

Lokan winced. If that was true and Gorchenco had recovered, it was bad news.

The Russian mafia boss had a good reason to suspect Lokan of sabotaging his deal to sell a Russian nuclear submarine to the Chinese.

Gorchenco also knew Turner, and he worked with Navuh, supplying the Brotherhood with weapons.

The guy was smart, and he could've figured it out, especially if he had access to an information leak from Turner's network or the Brotherhood.

Perhaps he was the reason Navuh suddenly suspected Lokan.

Could that be the missing piece of the puzzle?

"That actually makes perfect sense. We should have taken Gorchenco out when we had the chance. We won't be safe in Russia." He pulled out his phone and typed a long text to Turner, explaining what happened.