He walked back to the pit and knelt down by the safety netting to scan the surface of the lake. In the faint nighttime glow of moon and streetlights, he saw sheets of rain dimpling the surface with lines that bucked and twisted at the wind’s whim. He marveled that even in the cloying mud and winter cold, nature could reveal its beauty everywhere.
Everywhere, save one small square in the middle of the lake.
Chapter 25
Piers watched the small square drift in the murky water. It was only visible by its effect on the rain splashing on the water. Whatever it was, it was thoroughly sodden and the weight of adsorbed water was keeping it just below the surface.
He untied a plastic rope from one side of the safety netting and scoured the building site for something to float. He found a large plastic carrier bag advertising the Printemps chain of shops, hooked the rope through the handles, inflated the bag, and knotted it.
With a few minutes perseverance he floated the bag to the square and dragged the object back to the lake’s edge. He pulled a filthy briefcase from the water and cradled it in his hands as a dirty slurry drained out. The sides flexed and the last thing he needed was for it to break open and to have to retrieve the contents from the muddy ground.
He looked around the site. The Portakabin was locked and the only other structures were the two giant cranes in the far corner. They had huge concrete bases that served as foundations to stabilize the giant machines. He looked up and saw the operator’s cabin at the top of the crane and kicked himself for being so stupid.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, entered the web address for the Waterloo site, and chose the “Engineering login” button. A password later and he saw a list of the cranes Waterloo had operational all around the world. The cranes unique ID was stenciled in large letters on the tower. Moments later he had control of the fifty-ton monster. All it took was one button press to bring the operator’s cabin down to ground level.
The cabin wasn’t large, but it was dry. Piers rested the case on a small fold-down table. The locks were secure, but he pried the weakened sides apart easily. Mud oozed out and he tilted the case to pour it away from him. A thick plastic bag took up all the space inside. He lifted it up. It was heavy and seam-welded at each end. Wiping it with his hand, he could see the inside was dry.
And the inside was filled with diamonds.
Chapter 26
Piers had never seen loose diamonds. He hefted the bag. It was ten pounds at least. The plastic was thick, and there was no way it was going to break open easily. He looked over the building site. The plastic bag he had used to retrieve the case flapped in the breeze. He scanned the top of the temporary wall. What if Brunwald’s men were watching?
He pulled his phone out and selected a couple of buttons on the crane’s web page. After a moment, a buzzer sounded, then the cabin started to rise back to the top of the tower. The ground fell away, bringing the pit and its lake into clearer view. He could see the fine rain misting around the far streetlights. The angles of the lights and the buildings confused his senses. He grabbed the seat cushion and closed his eyes to fight off a wave of nausea.
The cabin jolted to a stop. He opened one eye, looking out as far away as he could until his balance felt good. In the distance he could see the Eiffel Tower, the white dome of the Sacré-Cœur, and endless strings of headlights weaving their way through the city. Beside him, the Seine gave distorted reflections of the lights on the opposite bank.
He turned over the bag of diamonds. Somewhere out there, Brunwald the Butcher was holding Sidney and waiting for his call. Piers wished he could throw the diamonds and hit the man. The crane was a hundred and fifty feet tall and dropping something on him from this height was just what Brunwald deserved.
Piers looked at the phone number the dictator had given him. No doubt it was a drug dealer special, bought at some petrol station and activated anonymously. He wanted to demand Sidney’s freedom, he wanted her back as soon as possible, he wanted rid himself of the fear and doubt. He pulled out his phone and his finger hovered over the buttons. He wanted all these things, but Brunwald would want to see evidence of the diamonds before he released Sidney.
Piers lowered the phone. Brunwald had killed the mob’s men without a second thought. Once he had the diamonds, Sidney would be unnecessary—a liability, even, and one that he would be quick to dispense with. Yet he wouldn’t hand Sidney over without the diamonds.
Piers’ phone beeped, the crane’s web application closing down after a predetermined timeout. He watched an animation of the crane morphing into a puppy and bounding off the side of the screen. It was a stupid image for a machine capable of lifting tens of tons, and he’d told the designer, but the animation still remained.
He looked out to the east where the crane’s twin stood, dark and silent. A short distance beyond it the yellow of another large dumpster glowed in the night. He tapped a few buttons on his phone’s browser, logged into the twin, and cycled the cabin lights. He had control of both cranes. No surprise, really, as he had come to Paris to update their software.
He looked down at the water’s edge. The embankment road was two lanes wide in each direction. A small road dipped steeply off to what looked like a rarely used docking area for small craft. He strained around the back of his seat and saw the road came to an abrupt end. A dead end, like the one that had trapped Auguste.
He dialed Little and Large’s number. It rang, then clicked over to an automated message saying the person he had called was busy. It didn’t give an option to leave a message. He hung up and dialed again. On the fourth try, Little answered. “Get lost, we’re busy.”
“How well do you know your boss?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“It’s my question to you. How well do you know him?”
Little snorted. “Well enough. We’re, er, connected, you know.”
“Connected? As in family?”
“Er … “
“What do you do for him?”
“Look, it’s very nice talking to you, but I’ve got more important things to do.”
“They’ve got Sidney.”
“Who’s got Sidney? The boss?”
“Your boss is in a dumpster in a back alley.”
There was a long pause. “What?”
“You heard me. Him and his henchmen.”
Another long pause. “What?”
“Him and his henchmen were killed by Brunwald the Butcher, and thrown in a dumpster.”
“What?”
“Then Brunwald took Sidney. And if you say what again, I’m going to hit you.”
Piers could make out the muffled sounds of a short argument then Large came on the phone. “Brunwald the Butcher, as in the dictator?”
“The very one.”
“In Paris?”
“He was selling the painting to Morel. He killed Morel and wants the money Morel was going to pay for it.”
“Let me guess, he’s holding Sidney until you find it?”
“I need help.”
“You need the police. Army even. Rumor is, Brunwald uses his special forces to do his dirty work.”
“My face is connected with a string of dead bodies.”
Large paused. “We’re not hit men, if that’s what you think.”
Little started talking excitedly in the background. Large covered the mouthpiece, and when he came back, Little was silent.
“We do cars,” Large said. “That’s all we do. We don’t even work for Morel. My friend is a distant relative. He just hired us to follow you for a while.”
Piers hummed.
“What’s he going to do with Sidney?” said Large.
“I don’t know. He didn’t show any hesitation when he shot Morel and his two men.”
“He shot both of them?”
“You know them?”
“Just by reputation. They weren’t the sort of people you’d want to cross.”
“Brunwald had several m
en.”
“We can’t take them on. Like I said, we just do cars.”
Piers bit his lips. “I need a car.”
“You going to get out of the city?”
“No! I need to get Sidney back.”
“What sort of car?”
“Something used. Medium size. Something that doesn’t stand out.”
“Old blue Citroën. I know where we can get one with a big engine.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“Not sure. Can you get a boat?”
“Where?”
“The Seine.”
Large exhaled. “Could do. Boat’s not a good idea. Too easy to get caught. Nowhere to hide on the water. Not like with a car.”
“Okay.”
“Be about an hour for the car.”
Piers hung up and looked down at the Seine. Large was right, it wouldn’t be easy to escape from a madman with a gun at boat speeds. He breathed out deep and corrected himself. It was madmen, not madman.
His phone bleeped as the web interface timed out on the second crane. The stupid dog ran off the side of the screen, nothing like Rover’s exuberant obedience.
He turned the phone over in his hand and despised the animation’s creator one more time, but the cranes were an amazing power to be controlled from something so small.
He pulled up a map of the area. The embankment road was there, the bridges were there, the Seine was there; even the small road was there. A dilapidated building stood where the building site and cranes now stood.
He shone the flashlight out into the night, straight along the massive frame of the jib, then down to the end of the thick cables. He recognized the dual-pronged device on the end as the attachment that connected to the dumpsters. He grinned. The cranes had been used to move the giant dumpsters into position. With the right instructions, they could move them again.
He redialed Little and Large’s number.
Little answered. “What?”
“I’m going to need something else.”
“What do think we are? Amazon.com? Ow—”
Large came on the phone. “Got a plan now?”
“Yes, but I need something else. Scuba gear. A mask, oxygen, and flippers.”
“One lot or two?”
“Just one.”
“When do you need it?”
Piers thought for a moment. “Before dawn.”
“No problem. Where do you want to meet?”
“Near Notre Dame.”
“There’s a twenty-four hour café on Rue de Gascony. Terry’s All Time. Go inside. Meet you there at 4am.”
“Thanks.”
“Watch your back.”
Piers hung up, lowered the cabin to the ground, and clambered over the temporary wall and back out of the building site.
The dead end street was as dark as ever. He ignored his sense of foreboding and pulled up the map on his phone. His GPS position appeared in the corner and he counted off the northings and eastings as he walked back and forth past the center of the dumpster. Satisfied, he worked his way around the block to where the second dumpster lay and went through the same routine.
Across the river, Notre Dame was lit up. He found the small road and noted the GPS position of the sloped entranceway. A dirty sign read Petit Quai. The road was really just a poor man’s dock, a good ten feet lower than the main road. A rusty chain ran along most of the edge with two gaps, obviously intended for embarkation. The road was concrete, covered with equal parts oil, gravel, and moss. Its neglect contrasted jarringly with the care taken over its famous neighbor, but as Piers stood in the darkness he knew it was perfect.
He walked downstream to Pont au Double. The bridge’s central stone support had a ledge a couple of feet above the water. The Seine burst into a small wake as it flowed around the support. Even in the lurid glow of the street lamps the water looked thick and dirty. A foam of green scum piled up against the stone of the bridge.
He timed his walk from Pont au Double downstream to Pont Saint-Michel at four minutes. The second bridge had similar stone pillars. Rusty metal hoops led down to the water. The river churned as it wound unhappily around the stone obstruction. He dropped a leaf and watched it roll below the murky surface in moments. The current was strong. He bit his lip and hoped his weight would help. Either way, he would know by the time he reached here whether his plan had worked. All he had to do was be patient.
He walked off the bridge and headed back to Bernard’s to kill six hours.
Chapter 27
The duct tape cut into Sidney’s wrists and the gag across her mouth forced her to breathe through her nose. She stretched her back and twisted her hips, almost the only thing she could move. Her legs were numb from lying in the same position for hours. She kept flexing her hands to ward off pins and needles.
Kuznik walked into the bedroom and smiled a broad, greasy sneer. His eyes darted from side to side, and Sidney wondered if he was on drugs, or if the thrill of seeing her bound on the floor did it for him.
He closed the door, the latch clicking softly behind him. She had no idea of the time, but there was no light around the heavy drapes. God, don’t let her time be up. Or Piers’ time, or whatever it was.
He smiled with one side of his face. “Comfortable down there?”
She glowered at him.
He walked around the room. “You know he hasn’t called?”
Sidney grunted. Piers would call. He was clever. He’d find the money. And if he didn’t, he’d bring the police.
Kuznik stared at her and shrugged. “Maybe he won’t call. Maybe he’ll just leave you here.”
Sidney clenched her teeth. He’d call. He had to call. He wouldn’t leave her, would he? Could he? She sighed silently because she knew she had given him good reason to.
Kuznik sat on the bed, placing his boots inches from her face. “When we left him, I don’t think he even managed to pick up the phone number. Think it blew away.” He grinned. “That would make it difficult to call.”
She screwed her face up and glowered at him. “He’ll call,” she grunted through her sealed lips.
Kuznik put his hand to his ear. “What’s that you say? I can’t quite hear you? You have such an accent for a French person.” He laughed.
Sidney lowered her head toward her chest.
He flexed his boots then reached down to touch her hair. “He is a coward. He didn’t even try to get you free when we first arrived on the scene.” He gazed up at the ceiling in mock contemplation. “And you know, if he didn’t get you free then, why would he come back now?”
Sidney jerked her body in defiance.
Kuznik rolled off the bed and knelt beside her. He ran his hand up her thigh. “Mind you.” She jolted back the few inches that her bonds would allow, though not enough to stop him running his hand further up her thigh. “We could have some fun if he never came back.”
The dictator’s voice sounded at the door. “Leave her.”
Kuznik looked up. His eyebrows inched together then his face took on a calm, neutral smile.
Sidney squeezed her knees up to her chest and let loose with all the might her bound legs could muster. Her stockinged feet thumped into Kuznik’s side. He grunted, twisting to absorb the force, and swung his arm around, smacking her legs away.
Kuznik stood up, massaging his side with one hand and drawing his knife with the other. “Bitch!”
“We still need her,” Brunwald hissed.
Kuznik glanced at the dictator, slid his knife back into its sheath, and looked down at her. “You’re never going to see that creep again. And I am going to have some fun with you.”
He spat at her and walked out. The dictator followed, closing the door after him, like a parent escorting a child to bed.
Sidney’s heart slowed its race. She twisted her head to wipe the sweat off her brow with the carpet. Kicking him had been a stupid thing to do. She’d probably hurt herself more than him, and if Brun
wald hadn’t turned up she might be dead. Not that she had much to thank Brunwald for. She’d fallen for his smooth lines, just like she fallen for so many other men’s smooth lines.
She sighed. Her chest felt heavy. She eased her head down onto the floor.
Smooth lines. Is that what Piers had been using with her? Was that what he was using when he was telling her it would be all right? Saying whatever he thought she wanted to hear? She knew he wouldn’t have talked to her without being caught in that taxi. He could barely talk to his mum.
She bit her cheek. His mum. He’d talked to her outside the library and in the boutique. He’d said things to appease her, things to deflect arguments, but really, he’d being lying.
And if he could lie to his mum …
Chapter 28
Piers left Bernard’s at three-thirty in the morning. The place was jumping. During the course of his hours at the bar, he’d been propositioned by both sexes and in three different languages. As the night had worn on he started to take it as a sport.
Terry’s All Time was to the west, but he knew Brunwald would track his phone, so he headed east before calling the dictator. The phone was answered on the first ring. Kuznik’s voice rasped slowly from the speaker. “What?”
“I want to talk to Brunwald.”
“Whatever you’ve got to say to him, you can say to me.”
“I’m not going to talk to the monkey when I want to talk to the organ grinder.”
“Don’t piss with me. My knife is one door away from your bitch.”
Piers swallowed. “Put him on, or I hang up.”
“You better have good news or I’m going to open that door and mix things up with your bitch.”
“Put him on.”
There was a silence long enough to make Piers check his phone to see the call was still connected. Finally Brunwald spoke. He was as smooth and polished as ever. “I hear you have something for me.”
“As long as you have something for me.”
Paris Love Match Page 17