Paris Love Match - By Nigel Blackwell Page 0,61
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