Page 51 of Mountain Trial

They don’t look like waiters.

They look like soldiers.

Luc felt a shiver run through him.

His first thought was for Kat.

I need to warn her, and get her out of here.

“Kat,” he whispered urgently.

Kat looked up at him. Her beautiful eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

“What’s wrong, Luc? Are you okay?” Then she looked behind him―he knew, from the way her spine stiffened, the instant she saw the waiters.

Chapter 21

Kat

If she’d still been looking at the stage, like everyone else, she would have missed the signal the tall, dark-haired waiter gave, which spurred the other five men into action.

Oh no.

In response to the signal, one of the waiters reached under the tablecloth of a side-table. Metal glinted under the festive yellow lights.

In a matter of seconds each man had a weapon in his hands. Although she hadn’t seen one since her training years earlier, Kat had no trouble recognizing the AK-47 assault rifles most of them were holding.

Each one of those rifles holds thirty rounds.

Between them, they have enough fire power to kill everyone in this room three times.

The woman on stage was still speaking, but Kat couldn’t hear her words anymore through the drumming of her own heart. She thought back to the small handgun in her bag, felt a moment of indecision as she wondered if she might be able to―

“Don’t even think about it, Kat,” Luc cautioned. His hand gripped hers tightly.

Two armed men now covered each door. One of them kept his weapon trained on the audience, many of whom still hadn’t realized anything was wrong. Meanwhile, the second man was tying some kind of chain around the door.

With the agility of a panther, the man who’d given the signal, and who Kat now assumed was the leader, jumped onto one of the tables, the AK-47 raised high over his head.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man said. “I’m sorry to interrupt this touching speech. Now, if everybody stays very still now, hands up where we can see them, nobody needs to get―”

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught Kat’s attention. Kat turned her head to look at the stage, where Mrs. Larsen’s bodyguards had climbed onto the stage to reach their principal.

Thunder erupted from the assault rifle.

The first man’s chest exploded in crimson. The man fell, dead before he hit the ground. The other bodyguard made it two steps closer to his principal before he was hit as well, this time on the leg. Another shot, following soon after the first, went high on his chest. Soon, his moans were the only sound in the room.

“The next person who moves, dies,” the man continued, speaking in a loud, clear voice. Although his English was flawless, he spoke with the slow cadence of a non-native speaker. He then proceeded to repeat himself in French―this time it was clear, from the robotic way he spoke, that he didn’t speak the language. He’d committed the sounds to memory.

But it wasn’t so much his words, as the dead look in his eyes, that worried Kat.

“Everyone stay calm,” the man continued. “Tiger, Hammerhead, are the doors locked?”

The men standing by the doors answered in chorus. “The doors are locked and the device is in place, Bull.”

“Terrorists!” somebody whispered.

The man standing on the table shook his head, looking almost offended. “Not terrorists. Merely mercenaries. This is important for you to know―we are here to send a message. If everyone follows our instructions, we will then leave, and nobody needs to get hurt. Dogfish, bring Mrs. Larsen down to the first row. She’ll be more comfortable there, sitting next to the mayor.”