Page 35

Chapter Twenty One

L ottie would be having serious words with the Circle’s briefing team when she got back to London— if she ever got back to London.

“Oh, sure, here’s ten thousand pounds,” Lottie griped.

“Spend it on luxury fashion,” she minced.

“Party dresses and socialite heels,” she mocked, then she swore soundly.

“None of this shit is any good when I’m knee-fucking-deep in snow!

” she wailed, loudly and furiously. “And you just took the last decent vehicle,” she hollered, hoping she was deafening everyone who was listening.

“How can I save the Qasira when I’m stuck at the top of a fucking mountain thigh-deep in snow? !”

Russian gas-mogul billionaire and surprisingly nice all-round good guy Antonin Petrov had met the Qasira’s team of companies and the global media at an exclusive ski resort at the very top of the Atlas Mountains.

The mountains were the backbone of the Maghreb, separating the North African coast from the Sahara, and their peaks were covered in snow, their slopes clothed in cedar forest. The signing ceremony was to have been stupidly luxurious and glitteringly triumphant, the snow a beautiful symbol of everything they were determined to save.

Zynara looked amazing in a white turtleneck and a snow white suit. Petrov honoured his culture with a fur hat he insisted wasn’t actual mink, and even Bili and Ace were there in suits that Lottie deeply suspected were Armani.

Looking sexy at the princess’s side meant Lottie was in something stylishly backless with four-inch heels, though after the shootout in the alley after the casino the other night, there was no way she was wandering around unarmed anymore.

She had a sweet little Walther PPK in a holster on her inner thigh and she thanked the fashion gods for Italian microfibre crepe. It hid the line.

She and Zynara had flown up the mountain in her dedicated flier and touched down on a helipad on the building’s roof.

Cue Lottie swearing at the intense cold, Zynara raising an eyebrow at her for her poor fashion choices and the two of them tripping through the snow like children eager to get inside where it was warm.

Lottie had also been mentally cataloguing a number of other things they could do to stay warm once the deal had been signed. The look in Zynara’s eyes suggested a similarly wicked list was being drawn up in her mind too.

They didn’t get anywhere close.

They’d been milling around enjoying cocktails and posh nibbles, and admiring the extraordinary view over Ain Zargiers when Lottie kissed Zynara’s cheek and wandered to the bar to fetch them both more champagne.

In that moment, ten men in terrorist gear burst into the room, flash bombs dropping the crowd in an instant.

Lottie had a split second to see two women in Zynara’s detail shot to the ground and Petrov backhanded with a pistol.

Zynara kicked some oaf in the groin but he still managed to cuff both her hands. Lottie tried to fire, but the room was chaos, Zynara was thrashing—and another flash bomb went off right at her feet. It threw Lottie back against the bar, blinding her, driving her ears into her skull.

By the time she could raise her head and blink through the chaos, Zynara, Petrov and the men were gone.

So were Bili, Ace and Sami.

“No! Noooo!” Lottie howled. It wasn’t training, it wasn’t spy craft, it wasn’t cunning or guile. It was sheer panic and fear. Where the hell was Zynara? Because Lottie was going to fucking disembowel anyone who hurt her.

And where were Bili and Ace? Sami’s security forces had better be fucking moving—

Lottie activated a comms button in her ear she hadn’t ever expected she’d need to use. “Where are you?!” she yelled. Once Lottie had made it clear to both Sami and Ace that she wasn’t going to leave Zynara’s side, they’d all been wired into the same comms system. The channel was going crazy now.

— Three black SUVs headed down the mountain!— That was Sami. — I’m getting airborne now—

There was the noise of a helicopter. The old-fashioned kind.

— I’m in pursuit— Ace confirmed. — The Qasira is in the second vehicle—repeat: the second vehicle. Petrov is in the third—

Bili chimed in. —They’ve just left the main road and are headed into the forest. I need maps. Sami! Where the hell does this road go?!—

They all sounded like they were well into the chase. How much time had Lottie lost? That flash bang had rattled her brains. How the hell was she going to catch up with them now?

She pushed through the staggering guests and out to the snow. The cold hit her like a wall, but there were no vehicles left —the majority of the guests had arrived by cable car. She cursed out her idiotic wardrobe choices and plunged through the snow toward the helipad. She had to get moving.

There was some kind of palace official hovering by Zynara’s flier with his phone in his hand. Lottie stormed up to him.

“Is your phone the controller? Will it fly for me?” she demanded. He blinked at her tone. “Does it have a fucking key? Tell me! Make it go!” She yanked open the door and climbed in. She grew up hot-wiring cars, but she had no idea how to jump start a computerised miracle machine like this.

The man dithered. “It requires authorisation from a connected device—” he started.

“So connect me! Now, for fuck’s sake. The Qasira needs me!”

“My phone is the back-up—”

Lottie pulled the gun from her thigh and pointed it at his head. “Sorry, mate, but I’m going to need that.”

She plucked the phone from his fingers and slammed the flier door closed.

All the gold stars to Zynara’s brilliant engineering because the vehicle responded immediately.

It took Lottie a few precious seconds to thumb through the settings and disable autonomous mode and the safety settings but she sent thanks to any god that was listening for the promise of a glorious future where technology actually worked the way you expected it to and didn’t ask if you were sure.

The flier lifted into the sky.

“Hell yesssss,” breathed Lottie. It was just like a video game. The flier wobbled and she braced herself against the seat, then she set about discovering just how fast the flying machine could go.

It was quiet at the top of the world.

Lottie took the flier high, up where the falcons soared around the peaks.

She stared desperately down. The flier didn’t roar like a helicopter did.

She didn’t need headphones to muffle the noise so she could concentrate.

There was a hum instead, and its pitch matched the urgency thrumming through Lottie’s whole body. It focused her mind.

The flier was also more aerodynamic than a traditional helicopter or a standard drone. She had vertical height and forward thrust. She could cover the whole damn mountain range.

There!

A flash of movement in her periphery—a convoy of cars—a solid blur of black flickering between the snow-covered trees.

They were halfway to the snowline now, heading down the mountain at a stupid speed.

And there— there! —was one of the followers.

Ace or Bili. They were on a different forest trail.

Lottie traced it with her eyes. It would cross the road the kidnappers were on, but not fast enough. Not in time to cut them off.

Lottie would have to be faster.

She flung the flier at the mountain.

She caught up with them as the convoy barrelled down a narrow trail, the three black SUVs cutting grooves in the snow like a single beast. They had no regard for the trees or anyone stupid enough to get in the way.

The flier just fit between the branches. She leveled off above the middle vehicle and wondered what the fuck she was going to do next. She could see Zynara’s face, pale through the windows of the car.

“Sorry, babe,” she muttered. She knew Zynara was proud of the flier, but Lottie had a handgun and a total absence of operable windows. She shot straight through the plexiglass.

Thank goodness it wasn’t bullet proof. Her shot hit the lead vehicle and all hell broke loose.

Muzzle flashes spat back up at her from the passenger windows of all three SUVs, bullets peppering the underbelly of the flier with sharp thuds. One of the rotors shrieked and the cockpit dipped hard to the left.

Lottie didn’t even need to adjust the controller. The whole flier automatically stabilised, the other seven motors compensating perfectly.

“Oh, you beautiful, beautiful thing,” Lottie murmured. She lined up another shot through the plexiglass. The handgun had a pathetic range, so she dropped the flier even closer. Shots vibrated under her feet, but she steadied her breathing and exhaled.

Her next shot blew apart the lead vehicle’s rear tire.

It veered sharply and hit a log, then flipped end over end into the trees. The sound was carnage—metal shearing, glass exploding, the whine of the engine. Lottie peeled away across the treetops, sending a snowstorm in every direction.

—Is that you, Lottie? You mad bitch!—

The chase flashed past a gap in the trees and Ace’s silver SUV screamed onto the trail behind the convoy. Seconds later, Bili’s battered Range Rover fishtailed into view. They both laid on fire as they closed on the remaining cars in the convoy.

Above the trees, Lottie could see what was coming.

—There’s a village ahead— she yelled. —It’s only small, but it’s going to be tight—

It was insanely picturesque—a cluster of red stoned, flat roofed buildings built half into the hillside, terraces at their feet that in the summer might grow vegetables.

Brightly coloured flags in the rich blues and oranges of Ain Zargieri tradition were stark against the snow and strung between the buildings.

A wooden barn sat perilously close to the only road that snaked through the middle of town.

The front car in the chase clipped it as they ploughed past. Chickens exploded into the air. Shingles rained down. Lottie winced.