7
LOKAN
The modest family home in the Mongolian countryside was a far cry from the luxury living Lokan had grown accustomed to during his time in Beijing. The single-story structure, with its weathered wood siding and tin roof, sat surrounded by endless grassland that stretched to the horizon. But it was safe, and that was all that mattered.
"Thank you again for having us," Lokan said in his limited Mongolian.
Their host was a man named Batbayar, who was part of Turner's extensive worldwide network of contacts. He nodded. "Let me take you to your room."
His wife and five children, ranging from perhaps six to sixteen, peered with curiosity at the guests.
After they settled in their room, Carol pulled the box of hair dye from her bag. "I suppose it's time to say goodbye to my beautiful golden locks."
Lokan pulled her into his arms. "You are beautiful to me no matter what color your hair is."
"You have to say that because you are my mate." She kissed him. "I wonder if Oyunaa knows what to do with this. Despite my extensive espionage experience, I've never attempted to disguise my appearance and therefore never colored my hair before."
"Can I help?" He looked at the box. "I'm sure instructions are included."
Carol smiled. "This home has one bathroom to serve everyone. I don't think they would be okay with us hogging it for the time needed to apply the color, and they would be too shy to interrupt. With Oyunaa there with me, they will be less timid."
"You are so wise." He leaned to kiss her forehead.
After Lokan explained what Carol needed, the women ducked into the bathroom, and he was left alone with Batbayar and the children. He attempted a conversation with his broken Mongolian, and the children giggled at his pronunciation.
"You... businessman?" Batbayar asked.
"Yes," Lokan said. "Traveling north. I have business in Russia."
Batbayar nodded, seeming satisfied with the vague explanation. In this part of the world, people knew not to ask too many questions of travelers who paid in cash and came recommended by trusted contacts.
An hour later, Carol emerged transformed. Her distinctive blonde hair had now turned a rich brown, making her blue eyes seem even more striking. She touched it self-consciously, turning to show him the back.
"Well, Ricky?" she said, using the fake name they'd agreed upon. "What do you think?"
Lokan grinned. They'd been amusing themselves during the journey by quoting old episodes ofI Love Lucy.
"You got some splainin' to do, Lucy," he replied in an exaggerated accent, earning a laugh from Carol.
Their hosts looked confused by the exchange but smiled politely. The language barrier was both a blessing and a curse—it prevented real communication but also meant fewer questions.
Dinner was a simple affair of mutton stew and milk tea, shared around a low table with the entire family. The children gradually warmed up to them, two of the boys even attempting to teach Lokan a card game using enthusiastic gestures.
"Tomorrow, train?" Batbayar asked as they cleaned up.
"Yes," Lokan confirmed. "North train. Early morning."
The man nodded. "I drive you. Station far."
Later that night, lying on a thin mattress in the guest room, Lokan held Carol close. "I'm sorry about your hair, but you really look beautiful as a brunette, which is not good because you are still too noticeable."
She lifted her face to him. "So, what are you saying? I did it for nothing? I should have just wrapped a scarf around my head."
"You can do that in addition to the color."
She sighed. "At least we're together. Lucy and Ricky, international spies."
"They would have been the worst spies ever." Lokan chuckled. "Lucy would have blown their cover in the first five minutes."
