Paris Love Match - By Nigel Blackwell Page 0,59

the car certainly would have brought plenty of attention in the street.

The door opened with a jolt and a clang. A large chunk of dashboard dropped to the ground. He stuffed it back into the car and sat on the dislodged driver’s seat. His flashlight caught two bullet holes in the dashboard.

He placed his hands on the steering wheel and twisted to stare out of the rear window. Auguste had been running from the fight at Gare de l’Est, probably driving like a madman while being shot. He’d been heading to Montparnasse station. He’d probably planned to take the direct route, then been forced into weaving though streets to throw off his attackers. He’d lived in Paris, so he’d have known the route better than Brunwald’s men.

Piers looked out of the driver’s side window and down the street. So, why turn into a dead end? He stepped out of the car. The gunmen would have been on his tail, yet he purposely trapped himself. If Auguste knew the roads in the area, surely he could have shook them off in other streets without turning into a dead end?

Piers walked the last thirty feet down the street. A tall, white, wooden barrier blocked his way. It was secured to the walls of the buildings on either side, leaving no way to pass. He shone his flashlight over the temporary wall. A large sign apologized for the disruption in several languages. A single name was written underneath. He didn’t have to sweep the light across the length of the name to know what it said. It was expected and unexpected. In large, neat, Courier script, the words “Waterloo Large Construction” blazed into the night.

He pulled up a map of the area on his phone. The road zigzagged to another that led across the Seine and onto Montparnasse. Beyond the white barrier lay the building project his company had been contracted to construct.

Piers stuffed his phone back into his pocket. No wonder Auguste had spat at him when he saw the Waterloo emblem on his shirt. Auguste had turned down this street believing he could shake off his pursuers, but Waterloo had blocked off the street the day before. They’d put up the white barriers, moved in the cranes, and sent Piers to fix the software. There was no way Auguste could have known Waterloo would foil his escape.

Piers looked back at the car. It was pointing toward the white barrier. Auguste had dumped the car when he saw the barrier and continued on foot. But where? Back past the pharmacy? That would have meant passing the gunmen chasing him. He swung the flashlight over the walls lining the sides of the street. There were no alleyways to access other streets. Piers bit his lip. What would he do if people were shooting at him? The answer was simple: run. And he only had one choice.

Piers swung his light over the tall white barricade. The warning sign was attached with large wooden blocks that might give purchase. He pulled himself up, wary of a steep drop on the other side.

Balanced on the top of the wall he saw that the site was deserted. Serious construction hadn’t started yet. The cranes stood silent in opposite corners, a Portakabin between them. The surface layer of the area had already been removed, leaving mud everywhere.

Directly below him, the ground sloped down to a large pit that took up half the site: excavation for the foundation of the building Waterloo was to construct. The rain had turned the pit into a lake filed with thick brown water. He focused the beam from the flashlight directly below him and saw the smooth surface of the muddy slope was pockmarked in a line that descended into the water. Auguste’s path, perhaps? He examined the far side of the lake and saw similar marks leading down into the water. Or, more likely, one set of marks led in, and the other led out, because if Auguste had jumped this wall while running from his attackers, he’d have fallen straight into the lake.

Piers inched his way along the top of the wall, away from the pit, lowered himself down, and jumped the last five feet. His shoes were sucked into the thick mud. He levered them out and fought his way to the other side of the lake.

Along the side of the lake he found a broad net, secured at the top of the slope with large stakes and running down