The air in the ultra-exclusive dining room of L’Étoile Royale froze instantly. The heavy, mahogany-paneled walls seemed to shrink, trapping the laughter of Sheikh Rashid Al-Maktoum’s entourage in a vacuum of sudden, suffocating tension.

The vehicle lunged forward with explosive velocity, speeding parallel to the accelerating jet. The rain lashed against the windshield like thrown gravel as the aircraft’s front wheels began to lift off the wet tarmac.

Elena steered the SUV right beneath the roaring jet’s belly. She locked the vehicle’s cruise control, unlatched the sunroof, and climbed out into the freezing, jet-wash-blasted wind!

As the jet lifted off the ground, Elena leaped upward, reaching out with desperate strength. Her gloved fingers caught the steel edge of the jet’s rear landing gear hatch!

She swung wildly in mid-air, hundreds of feet above the ground, the freezing wind tearing at her clothes. With brute force and pure adrenaline, she pulled herself up into the wheel well just as the mechanical doors began to close, sealing her inside the dark, roaring belly of the aircraft.

Inside the pressurized fuselage above her, Julian Vance-Cross sat in a luxurious leather armchair, sipping a forty-year-old scotch, watching the countdown timer on his holographic wrist display:

00 Hours, 42 Minutes, 12 Seconds.

“Sir,” his lead mercenary reported, stepping into the private cabin. “The airport security feeds showed an SUV crashing through the gate. But the vehicle rolled over on the runway. No sign of survivors.”

Julian smiled warmly, swirling his drink. “Pity. She really was brilliant. A true masterpiece of my training. But in this world, sentimentality is a fatal flaw. Is the Geneva link ready?”

“Ready on your command, Lord Julian. Once the timer reaches zero, forty billion dollars will transfer directly to your primary Swiss account, and the global markets will burn.”

“Excellent,” Julian murmured.

CLANG.

A heavy metallic thump echoed from the bottom of the plane.

The mercenary frowned, pulling his automatic weapon. “Turbulence?”

Before he could take another step, the cabin’s floor hatch blew open with a violent burst of pressurized air!

A flashbang grenade flew upward, exploding in a blinding light and deafening bang!

Through the smoke, Elena materialized like a phantom. She disarmed the first mercenary before he could pull his trigger, using his own weapon to strike his temple and send him crashing to the floor.

Two more armed guards lunged forward, but Elena was a storm of lethal precision. She dodged a knife strike, kicked one guard through the glass partition of the private bar, and used a tactical throw to hurl the second guard into the cockpit door!

Within fifteen seconds, the cabin was silent again, save for the hum of the jet engines and the steady ticking of the countdown clock.

Julian slowly set his scotch glass down on the mahogany table. He didn't look afraid. He looked almost… proud.

“Remarkable,” Julian said quietly. “Climbing into a landing gear bay at two hundred miles per hour. I must admit, even I didn’t think you’d survive that.”