Paris Love Match - By Nigel Blackwell Page 0,67

man on the opposite bank held his hands up, then laid them on the embankment wall.

“Good,” Piers said. “Now let her go.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you have a man on either side of this bridge. Let her go and they can walk over here and take the diamonds, easy as that.”

Piers waited thirty seconds and was about to speak again, when the rear door of the Mercedes opened. Sidney got out along with a man holding her by the arm.

“Tell her to take the car. The key’s under a rock by the door.” Piers said.

Piers heard Brunwald’s curt orders drift over the water. The man marched Sidney to the car and let her go. She picked up the key and unlocked the door.

Piers hit the second button on his phone’s screen. The words “Delivering (1) Payload … Stand By” flashed. He forced himself not to look over to the giant cranes, but in his peripheral vision he caught something large and yellow, moving fast.

Sidney started the car with a lot of grinding noises from the starter motor. The man on Petit Quai pointed a gun into the car.

Piers swallowed. “Don’t do anything stupid or I drop them.”

“You wouldn’t make it off that bridge alive,” Brunwald said.

“And you wouldn’t have the diamonds.” Piers shook the bag at arms length over the water.

There was a long silence, then the man lowered his gun. Sidney revved the car. The engine screamed and screamed. Piers eyes fixated on the Citroën. Why wasn’t it moving? Shit. It’d been fine when he drove it. The engine revs dropped. “Just get out and walk,” he whispered. “Just go, go.” He wiped his forehead. The engine revs started again, this time the car shot forward, up the slope, and screeched to a halt at the embankment road. The man on the quay ran after her, pulling out his gun. Piers willed her on as he saw more yellow filling the sky. To his horror, the car raced backward. The man barely moved before the Citroën hit him. He tumbled over the trunk, rolled off, and down the slope. Then with a squealing of tires and a blaring of horns, Sidney lurched out into the traffic on the embankment road.

Yes! Piers bounced on his toes. Yes, yes! She’d made it. She was free from Brunwald and his goons. They might try to go after her, but he was prepared for that. He wanted to punch the air, but instead he pushed the third button on his phone, and the words “Delivering (1) Payload … Stand By” flashed in red.

He heard scrabbling noises from the top of the bridge.

Pain erupted in his leg. He collapsed to his knees, grunting. A storm of stone chips exploded around him.

He dropped his phone to grab his leg. There was blood on his pants and his thigh burned like hell. He bit down on his cheek. From the corner of his eye, he saw a yellow blur moving fast. Above him he saw boots dangling over the bridge.

He had to go. His leg howled in protest, but he shuffled to the water’s edge.

There was yelling from Petit Quai. He glimpsed the crane holding the giant yellow dumpster twenty feet above Brunwald’s Mercedes. The crane executed the last of his instructions, and released its payload. There was a yellow blur and the dumpster smashed into the engine compartment of Brunwald’s Mercedes. The car twisted around under the weight. One of the front wheels sheared off and bounced into the Seine.

In front of him, a very black suit followed the boots, and Kuznik dropped onto the ledge in front of Piers. The man’s massive shoulders filled the narrow walkway. Piers shoved the bag of diamonds into his coat, and rolled into the Seine as Kuznik leapt forward, his arms outstretched.

Piers felt the ice-cold water grip him like a metal band around his lungs. The burning pain in his leg was blotted out by the paralyzing cold. He snatched for the mouthpiece to his oxygen tank. His knees scraped against the stone bridge. He kicked with his legs, but couldn’t move them. Pain seared through his wound and he felt himself being lifted out of the water. He grabbed at the slippery rocks under the waterline, but in a moment he was crashing onto the narrow ledge.

Kuznik swung his boot into Piers’ stomach. He felt as if a spear had been driven right through him. He doubled up, choking and gasping for breath. Bright lights