Page 40

LOKAN

T he cargo plane's landing gear hit the runway with a bone-jarring thump that woke Carol from her exhausted sleep. She jerked upright against Lokan's shoulder, blinking in confusion at the dim cargo hold around them.

"Where are we?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

"Finland," Lokan said, peering out the small porthole window at the grey dawn light illuminating the airport. Pine forests stretched beyond the runway, dark green against patches of lingering snow. "The pilot mentioned Rovaniemi."

Carol yawned. "Well, anywhere is better than Russia."

"It's also not the first time the clan has run an operation here," Grant said. "Finland is where the Kra-ell we saved from Igor's compound boarded our ship."

Camden started collecting their things. "No offense to the Russian people, but I'm very happy to be out of there. I thought that Putin was a strong leader, but it seems like that country is ruled by its criminal element."

Grant chuckled. "Aren't they all?"

Carol nodded, her curls bouncing enticingly even when tangled from sleep. "Most politicians are crooks who are in it for the money. It's a legal mafia."

"At least they are not trying to kill us," Dougal said.

"Yet," Lokan countered.

"Welcome to Finland, folks. Local time is 6:47 AM," the pilot's voice crackled over the intercom. "The temperature is a balmy two degrees Celsius. There's a van waiting for you on the tarmac—blue Ford Transit, the driver's name is Mikko. He's expecting you. Good luck to you all."

"Any chance this Mikko is going to try to collect a bounty on us?" Carol finger-combed her tangled hair with little success.

"I can vouch for him personally." The pilot walked into the cabin. "We are all old friends." She smiled. "You're safe here."

Once the cargo ramp had lowered with a hydraulic whine, letting in a blast of crisp Arctic air that made them all shiver despite their immortal constitutions, they rushed to put on their jackets.

"There's our ride," Dougal said, nodding toward a blue van parked some fifty meters away.

A tall, lean man stood beside it, wearing a green corduroy jacket and a gray scarf.

His hands were in his pockets, and he was watching them with the relaxed alertness of someone with extensive military training.

Lokan could spot former Special Ops guys from a mile away, and this guy was entirely obvious.

They gathered all of their possessions, mainly weapons, plus what they had stored in their packs, and walked down the ramp. Lokan kept Carol close, his arm around her waist.

"Hello, Mikko," Grant said as they approached the guy.

He nodded, ice-blue eyes taking in their bedraggled state. "And you must be Turner's lost sheep. Rough journey?"

"You could say that," Lokan confirmed.

Mikko cracked a smile. "Come on, let's get you somewhere warm. We can swap war stories on the way. I'm sure you are eager for showers, coffee, and something to eat."

They piled into the van, Grant sitting next to Mikko, Lokan and Carol taking the middle row, and the two other Guardians in the back.

"The safe house is about forty minutes north," Mikko said as he pulled away from the airport. "Full amenities, hot water, proper beds, stocked kitchen. Turner said to take good care of you, so I got you the best."

"Thank you," Carol murmured. "A hot shower sounds like heaven."

"Any word on the situation with Turner's network?" Lokan asked.

Mikko shook his head. "It's under investigation.

Turner is not the only one utilizing this wider network of operatives, and it is crucial that this Foxhound is found and eliminated; otherwise, the entire organization will collapse.

Turner is now relying only on his close associates whom he knows personally. Like me."

"You served with him?" Grant asked.

"Delta Force, back in the day. Did a tour in Afghanistan together before he became a desk jockey.

" Mikko navigated the empty roads with the familiarity of someone who lived in the area.

"I'm semi-retired, but when he called saying he needed a safe house and extraction for priority packages, no questions asked, I didn't hesitate. "

"We appreciate it," Lokan said sincerely. "We've been running for days."

"So I gather. You all look like you've been dragged through several circles of hell."

"Only three or four," Carol said. "We skipped the really bad ones."

Mikko chuckled. "Turner's arranging a private jet for tomorrow morning. Again, because the larger network is compromised at the moment and he has to rely on personal contacts, it wasn't so easy to find someone immediately, and flying commercial is not advisable given your situation."

"It's all good," Lokan said. "We need to rest and resupply before the Atlantic crossing."

"Resupply." Carol perked up. "Does that include clothing that doesn't smell like motorcycle exhaust, fear, and sweat?"

"There's a shopping center about forty-five minutes from the house," Mikko said.

Carol made a small sound of longing that made Lokan smile. His mate had left her entire designer wardrobe in Beijing, and while she'd been remarkably stoic about it, he knew how much she missed her nice things.

"Perhaps we should stop there before going to the safe house."

Carol turned to look at him. "I'm exhausted. I just want that hot shower and a bed. Shopping can wait."

He chuckled. "Those are words I never thought I would hear from you. What if I promise to make it quick?" he coaxed. "Just the essentials. Some proper clothing and luggage. Maybe some of that face cream you like that you had to leave behind."

"You don't even know what face cream I like," she protested, but he could see her resolve weakening.

"The one in the silver jar with French writing. Smells like roses and costs more than most people's mortgage."

Her eyes widened. "How do you know that?"

"Don't you know that I notice everything about you?"

From the back seat, Camden made a gagging sound. "Get a room, you two."

"That's literally where we're going," Carol shot back, but she was smiling now. "Fine. Shower first and then a quick shopping stop, and I mean quick."

"Thirty minutes, maximum," Lokan promised. "In and out."

"Famous last words," Grant muttered.

The drive continued through increasingly remote territory, the main roads giving way to smaller ones, then barely paved tracks through dense forest. Snow still clung to the gentle slopes despite the approaching summer, and Lokan was mesmerized by the stark beauty of the landscape.

"Pretty different from Beijing." Carol followed his gaze.

"Just a bit." He thought of their ultra-modern apartment, the constant noise and motion of the city, and the press of millions of people. Here, they might have been the only ones in the world.

"Which do you like better?" she asked.

He considered the question. "Honestly? Neither. Beijing was a useful cover, but it was never home. This is beautiful, but too isolated. I think..." He paused, searching for the right words. "I don't really care where I am as long as I am with you."

"Smooth talker," she accused, but there was a slight smile on her lips, and her eyes were soft.

The safe house appeared through the trees like something from a fairy tale—a traditional Finnish log cabin, but larger and more modern than the term suggested. Solar panels gleamed on the roof, and Lokan could see the subtle signs of security measures.

"Home sweet temporary home," Mikko announced, pulling up to the front door. "Fully stocked, alarm system's already disabled for your arrival. Code's 1847."

They climbed out, muscles stiff from too many hours in various uncomfortable positions. The air was even colder here, crisp and clean in a way that made Beijing's smog seem like a bad dream.

"This is perfect," Carol breathed, taking in the peaceful surroundings.

"Wait until nightfall," Mikko said, handing Grant a set of keys. "You can enjoy the Northern Lights out here. Quite a show if you're lucky."

"We could use some luck," Dougal said, hefting their gear from the van.

"Don't jinx it," Camden warned.

Mikko helped them unload, then leaned against the van.

"The shopping center is located about fifteen kilometers down the road, then east at the crossroads.

Can't miss it—the only commercial building for fifty kilometers.

There is a car in the garage for your use, and the tank is full.

I'll be back tomorrow morning at eight to take you to the airstrip. "

"Thank you," Lokan said, shaking the man's hand. "We owe you."

"You owe Turner," Mikko corrected. "I'm just paying back old debts. Stay safe, stay inside, and try to avoid attracting attention if you do go shopping. I don't anticipate any Soviet spies out here, but you never know."

With that cheerful advice, he climbed back in the van and drove off, leaving them standing in front of their temporary sanctuary.

"First things first," Grant said. "We sweep the house and check security and supplies."

"First things first," Carol countered, "I shower. You can do whatever you want after I no longer smell like a yak."

"You don't smell like a yak," Lokan protested.

"You can't smell me because that's what you smell like, too. We've gone nose-blind to our own stench."

Grant sighed. "Fine. Camden, you take first watch. Dougal and I will do the sweep. Try not to use up all the hot water."

"No promises," Carol called over her shoulder as she headed inside.

The cabin's interior was as well-appointed as Mikko had promised—the main room combined living and dining areas, with a modern kitchen along one wall. A fireplace dominated another wall, stacked wood beside it. Hallways led off to bedrooms and bathrooms.

"Oh, thank God," Carol called from the bathroom. "There's actual soap. And towels. Clean towels, Lokan. Do you realize how wonderful that is?"

He was amused by her rapture over basic amenities. "You shower first. I'll check the supplies and see what we need to get."