Paris Love Match - By Nigel Blackwell Page 0,66

all it takes. All we have to do is decide when to get rid of them.”

Brunwald smiled and nodded. “You’re a good man. This time tomorrow you and I will be rich Argentineans. Just make sure things go by the book.”

Chapter 30

At four-thirty, Piers parked the blue Citroën on Petit Quai. He reversed it into the narrow space, ready for a quick getaway, and took a large duffel from the trunk. He rapped on the windows and heard a rat-a-tat reply. Satisfied, he locked the car, placed the keys under a rock beside the driver’s side door, and walked along the embankment road to Pont au Double.

He looked over the bridge. The narrow ledge looked even smaller as he contemplated jumping onto it with the heavy bag. He waited until a man with a dog left the bridge, then rolled over the wall. He gripped hard as he lowered his feet to the ledge, but it was still a six-foot drop. He shuffled the bag tighter onto his shoulder, held his breath, and let go.

His heart made one single, colossal beat, and his hands scraped the centuries-old stone before his feet smacked on the ledge. He grabbed at the support, and shoved his face against the stone, forcing his center of gravity inward to stop him from toppling into the water. The bag rocked on his back until he stretched his shoulders and dampened its motion.

He shuffled underneath the arch of the bridge where the ledge widened. Holding onto an iron pipe that stuck out from the wall, he lowered the duffel to the ground and slipped off his coat. With frequent curses, he managed to get the oxygen tank onto his back. He tucked the mouthpiece over his shoulder and into his shirt, out of sight but within easy reach. His coat barely covered the tank, but as he pulled it around he convinced himself that it would look like a badly-fitting jacket. He shuffled out of his shoes with ease, but lost one of the flippers in the water as he tried to put them on. Satisfied he was ready, he huddled down on the ledge and waited.

As dawn broke, the chatter of pedestrians joined the rumble of cars and lorries. He checked his phone and used the GPS coordinates to create a list of commands for the cranes. At eight o’clock, he saw Kuznik on the left bank, studying the bridge with binoculars. Piers buried his face between his knees. He knew his coat looked like crap and he probably did, too. With luck, the man would assume he was a tramp sleeping off a night’s drinking. He didn’t dare check for several minutes, and when he did glance back in the man’s direction, he’d gone.

At five minutes to nine, a man walked down onto Petit Quai. He checked over the blue Citroën and tried the doors before making a phone call. Thirty seconds later, Brunwald’s black Mercedes swept onto Petit Quai.

Piers heart raced. A wave of heat swept over him. His shirt stuck to his skin. He wiped his hands on his coat. It was show time. All he had to do was follow his plan. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest. If this went wrong, Sidney would pay with her life. The air seemed to leave his body and leave his legs weak.

He took a deep breath and checked his phone one last time. A button labeled “Collect Payloads” glowed. He pressed it. The button flashed “Collecting (2) Payloads … Stand By,” and from the corner of his eye he glimpsed movement high above.

His heart thumped and he took deep breaths, oxygenating his body and trying to calm his nerves. If he could get Sidney away from Brunwald and his men, then things would be all right. But it was a big if.

He took one last deep breath and stood up. A man on the opposite bank turned toward him. A moment later the man on Petit Quai turned in his direction, too. Piers swallowed. Obviously, they had radios.

Piers dialed Brunwald. He answered on the first ring. “Don’t do anything stupid, my friend. I still have your girl.”

“Don’t you do anything stupid either.” Piers took the bag of diamonds from his inside pocket and held it at arm’s length, out over the Seine. “Tell your goons to back off. You shoot me and the diamonds disappear forever.”

Piers saw the man on Petit Quai cover his mouth and talk into a microphone. The