The next half hour blurred in a chaos of speed, desperation, and barely controlled vehicles. They left the forest behind, tearing across open steppes that offered no cover but allowed for greater speed. Twice, they spotted helicopters in the distance, but whether military or criminal, the aircraft didn't pursue.
With five minutes to spare, the airfield came into view. Crumbling concrete buildings, a tower that tilted at an alarming angle, and a runway that looked like a collection of potholes held together by wishful thinking.
And descending toward it, engines roaring, was the most beautiful sight Lokan had seen in days—a cargo aircraft, sturdy and battered but airworthy.
They skidded to a stop near the runway as the plane touched down, bouncing alarmingly on the deteriorated surface but maintaining control. The cargo ramp was already lowering before the aircraft fully stopped.
"Move!" Grant shouted.
They abandoned the vehicles and ran, Carol's hand in Lokan's as they sprinted up the ramp. The pilot was an older woman with grey-streaked hair, wearing a jumpsuit that bore no insignia. "Welcome aboard," she called back in accented English. "Next stop, somewhere that isn't Russia."
As the engines roared to full power and the abandoned airfield fell away beneath them, Lokan finally allowed himself to relax. They'd made it. Bloodied, exhausted, hunted by half the criminal underworld, but alive.
Carol collapsed against him, her head finding that familiar spot on his shoulder. "Next time we need to escape somewhere," she said, "let's pick a nice tropical island. With beaches. And drinks with umbrellas."
He laughed. "That description matches my father's island. You've already done that and ended up in his harem."
"Right." She scrunched her nose. "A different tropical island, then, somewhere in the Bahamas."
"Deal," he said, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Though knowing our luck, the island would probably turn out to be run by pirates."
"At this point," she murmured, "I'd take pirates over Russian mafia any day."
As the aircraft climbed toward cruising altitude, leaving Russia and its dangers behind, Lokan closed his eyes and let exhaustion claim him. They'd won this round, but Gorchenco needed to be dealt with.
That was tomorrow's problem, though. Today, they were still alive, and they were going home.
