“You think any of these folks keep their daily drivers in their garages?” Liesel asked.
“Hard to tell, but if they do, I’m hoping they left the keys in the ignition,” he said.
“Old habits die hard in places like this,” Liesel said. “So, we might have a shot.”
Caspian gazed toward a slightly more isolated farmhouse near the end of the dirt road. A garage sat detached from the house. It was a small concrete structure, and dark green mold had long ago taken hold on the roof tiles. The garage’s main door was closed, and so was its side door, but there were no visible locks. More importantly, Caspian saw no evidence of security cameras. A dirt driveway ran from the road tothe garage. Parked outside in the grass, and just off the driveway, was a blue tractor. Its two rear tires were half deflated.
“Should we start with this one?” Caspian asked, pointing to the farmhouse.
“Lead the way,” Liesel replied.
Caspian approached the garage first, his pistol in the low-ready position, while Liesel hung back to provide cover. He tested the handle to the side door. It was unlocked. He eased it open, wincing as the hinges groaned.
He stepped inside. The air was heavy with the smell of motor oil and warm metal. The odors brought Caspian back decades, and for a moment, he wasn’t breaking into an old, run-down garage in Turkey, looking to steal a car ... no, he was twelve years old again and stepping into his father’s garage after a Sunday afternoon spent playing in the woods with his friends. In front of him, his dad was under the hood of the ’65 Stingray he loved so much, humming to the Stones with his sleeves rolled up and grease on his hands.
Caspian blinked and pushed the thought away.
The garage was cluttered but not abandoned. Tools were scattered across a workbench on the back wall, and a red jerry can was in one of the corners next to a stack of firewood. An old Fiat Regata sat lopsided near the center of the space, its front wheels removed and its undercarriage resting on small jack stands. One of the Fiat’s side mirrors hung loose by a wire.
He was about to exit the garage when he saw something bulky resting beneath a black, dusty tarp. Caspian pulled the tarp back.
A motorcycle.
He allowed himself a small grin, but it disappeared after he checked the ignition. No keys.
“It’s an old Honda dual sport,” Liesel said as she entered the garage. “Great bike. And this one looks in decent shape.”
“At least it’s not missing a tire,” he replied, looking at the Fiat. “Can’t say the same about this one.”
“You found the keys?” Liesel asked.
“No such luck.”
“Okay ... I can hot-wire it,” Liesel said, examining the motorcycle.
“Yeah? You sure?” he asked.
Liesel flashed him an annoyed look. Caspian raised his hands in surrender. “I ... never mind. Sorry.”
“We can’t start it here. It will be too loud,” she said. “Help me push it out of the garage.”
After verifying that no one was waiting for them on the other side of the door, Caspian joined Liesel, and together they wheeled the motorbike outside, rolling it as silently as possible down the dirt road. The more distance they put between them and the house, the better.
They were sixty feet down the road when, cutting through the relative silence, Caspian heard a furious bark echoing.
Caspian spun around, only to see a shepherd mix tearing across the field, its eyes locked on them, snarling as it sprinted in their direction.
“Dog,” Caspian hissed, pulling his gun. “Start the bike!”
Next to him, Liesel pulled the Honda’s seat up, exposing the ignition wires. Caspian didn’t dare look at her; his eyes were fixed on the charging dog. The animal was lean, fast, and its muscles rippled as it ran. Caspian raised his gun, willing Liesel to work faster.
Damn it.
Killing a dog hadn’t been part of his plan.
Liesel cursed as her fingers searched for the ignition wires in the tight space. The bike was older than she thought, and the wiring felt ancient and stiff. She could hear the low, furious growl of the approaching dog, and she felt the pressure tighten around her chest.
Focus. Start the bike. The rest is Caspian’s job.
