"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 officialcrossings, 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.
