39.

Planning to do rather than die, Finn ran across the open plaza in a zigzag pattern, a moving target being more difficult to hit.

When he reached the first goalpost, the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel, he put on the brakes. Standing in the shadow of an ornately carved archway, he scanned the terrain behind him. No Cue Ball.

'Where is he?' Finn muttered under his breath, worried that the gunman may have decided to go after the soft targets, Aisquith and Kate, instead.

Catching a fast-moving blur out of the corner of his eye, he swung his head to the left. Relieved, he saw the bald gunman, approximately sixty-five yards away, scurrying towards the monument.

Hurriedly plotting his course, Finn craned his head in the other direction, sighting an enclosure about fifty yards beyond the archway, completely surrounded by an eight-foot-high hedge. Perfect. All of the touristos were focused on one of three things: the Arc de Triomphe, the gla.s.s pyramid or the Louvre. n.o.body gave a rat's a.s.s about a bunch of shrubs on the far side of the plaza.

He purposefully stepped away from the niche, putting himself in Baldy's direct line of sight.

Bear baited, Finn took off running.

No sooner did he pa.s.s through the narrow opening in the hedges than he realized that he'd entered an eight-foot-high maze. Going with the flow, he cut to the left and ran to the end of the aisle. Flanked on both sides by towering shrubs, he was completely hidden from view.

At the end of the aisle, Finn hung to the right. He then dodged into the first cutaway that led to the interior of the maze. Coming to an abrupt halt, he flattened his spine against the manicured shrub. A quick peek verified that the goon, silenced gun now gripped in his right hand, was warily venturing down the aisle.

Reaching into his trouser pocket, Finn removed a coin and aiming for a spot ten yards away he tossed it up and over the hedge. Even with all the noise emanating from the plaza, he could hear the slight rustle as the coin landed. Well worth the two euros if it fooled the gunman into thinking that he was somewhere other than his current position.

Trap set, he waited until ... he glimpsed the gun's silencer.

Springing out of the shadows, Finn pounded the other man's right wrist with spine-jangling force. Stunned by the blow, the big bruiser dropped the gun.

A bullet discharged.

Grunting, the goon automatically stooped to pick up his downed weapon. Finn beat him to the prize, kicking the pistol into the hedges. He then threw his weight into a powerhouse right jab, his balled fist connecting with the other man's face. A thunder punch that induced a sickening crunch! of broken bone and busted cartilage. The bald head instantly whipped to the left, spewing blood spray-painting the nearby bushes crimson red.

A painful blow, it would have felled most men. But the big Neanderthal simply shrugged it off.

That was when Finn noticed the scar tissue around the other man's eyes, the beefy fists and cauliflower ears: the telltale marks of a trained boxer.

f.u.c.k.

Sneering, the other man whipped a foot-long truncheon out of his belt loop.

Double f.u.c.k.

Not about to let the b.a.s.t.a.r.d knock him out, Finn lurched towards his adversary, using his raised forearm to block the other man's swing in mid-air.

Which was why he didn't see the uppercut aimed at his left jaw.

Thrown off his stride by the intense burst of pain, Finn staggered backward. The bald dude, no doubt figuring his fists were the better weapon, hurled the truncheon aside and came at him fast and furious. Power jab. Straight right. Left hook to solar plexus.

Grateful for the six-pack abs, the best armour a man could have in a no-holds-barred contest, Finn retaliated with a quick left to the jaw and a right shovel to a less than rock solid gut.

Wham, bang, thank you, ma'am!

Dazed, the other man swung wild.

Seizing the advantage, Finn slammed the heel of his hand against his adversary's chin. The money shot.

Like a giant Weeble, the other man swayed to one side ... just before the part of his brain that controlled autonomic function temporarily shut down. Causing the bruiser to collapse in a shuddering heap.

Ma.s.s times acceleration equals K.O. Simple physics.

Finn ran over and retrieved the discarded truncheon. Unzipping his Go Bag, he shoved it inside. The gun, having been kicked into the hedges, was a lost cause. He spared a quick glance at his unconscious adversary. If it had been a combat situation, he would've neutralized the target. But given that he was already wanted for two murders, he wasn't about to up the ante. It was enough that he'd disarmed the big b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

'Count your blessings, Baldy.'

No time to gloat, Finn retraced his steps. He guesstimated that he had no more than fifteen seconds before the goon revived.

Reaching the entrance to the maze, he could see that the guichet was sixty metres away. Between Point A and Point B, there were scores of gawking sightseers, some bozo on rollerblades and one dips.h.i.+t pulling a red wheeled suitcase.

The perfect props to create a diversion that would confuse the h.e.l.l out of his attacker.

To that end, Finn charged through the plaza, grabbing purses, backpacks, camera bags, shopping totes whatever he could s.n.a.t.c.h flinging each, in turn, into the air. A mad man run amuck, whipping docile bystanders into a frenzied horde.

Sparing a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw that Cue Ball had revived. Face smeared with blood, the big brute stood at the entrance to the maze, staring at the melee.

Time to haul a.s.s.

Arms pumping, Finn sprinted towards the roadway, leaping over the front-end of a baby stroller, in too big of a hurry to sidestep it.

Needing an escape vehicle, he scanned the southbound lane of traffic that had stopped at the red light. His gaze settled on a canary-yellow Yamaha motorcycle.

Just then, the light turned green.

Worried that he was going to miss his ride, Finn ran over to the dips.h.i.+t with the wheeled luggage. Bending at the waist, he grabbed hold of the bright red suitcase and hurled it towards the southbound lane, the red suitcase bouncing off a sedan's front b.u.mper, creating a clamour that caused the moving traffic to come to a sudden halt.

Finn ran up to the yellow motorcycle that had slowed to a stop near the kerb. Not bothering to ask for a lift, he clambered on to the pa.s.senger seat. To make certain the biker cooperated, he shoved the truncheon into the driver's ribs.

'Make like the wind, a.s.shole!'

40.

Standing in the midst of the chaos, Dolf watched impotently as Finnegan McGuire escaped on the back of a motorcycle.

Unable to think straight, he staggered to a nearby bench and collapsed. Head clutched in his hands, he felt as though he'd just wandered into an asylum. So much was going on people shouting and rus.h.i.+ng about the only thing that he could process was the fact that the motherf.u.c.ker McGuire had stolen his grandfather's truncheon. That and he'd bested Dolf in a fist fight.

I should have won that bout.

Just then a black Scottish terrier darted over to the bench. Curious, the dog sniffed at him. A few seconds later, it growled ferociously.

'Get lost!' Dolf hissed, ready to hurl the s.h.a.ggy beast across the plaza if it came any closer.

The owner, a leash dangling from her hand, breathlessly rushed up to him. 'I'm awfully sorry, but in all the madness, Sadie flew the coop and I My G.o.d! There's blood all over your face! Do you want me to call an ambulance?'

'I want you to take your furry piece of s.h.i.+t out of my sight! I hate dogs!' Dolf glared at the annoying American woman with the sing-songy accent. 'In my country, we grill little dogs on a spit.'

Bending at the waist, the woman hurriedly scooped the squirming animal into her arms. 'Aren't you a miserable excuse for a human being!'

Tell me something that I don't know, b.i.t.c.h.

Lacking the enthusiasm to hurl a parting insult, Dolf unzipped his jacket and, raising the hem of his cotton T-s.h.i.+rt, wiped the blood from his face. Like most former boxers, his nose had been broken so many times, he'd lost count.

Bewildered, events having transpired too rapidly, he wondered how he was going to explain the debacle to Herr Doktor.

Per usual, his life was a big f.u.c.king catastrophe, this just one in a long series of disasters. Every time he thought he'd done the right thing, he'd later discover he'd f.u.c.ked everything up. Just once, he wished things would go his way. But they never did. Always things went left instead of right. Like what happened with that f.u.c.king Turkish fruit vendor.

Three months after his sister Annah had been raped, she'd slashed her wrists in the bathtub. In her suicide note, she claimed that Stefan, Dolf's best friend in the Blut Bruder, had entered her bedroom one afternoon while she was getting dressed and s.e.xually a.s.saulted her. Dolf felt as though a sledge-hammer had been swung at his head. Why couldn't Stefan have raped someone else's sister? Why his? And why did Annah have to ruin his life with her tell-all suicide note? He'd already killed the Turk.

Having been the one to find his sister floating in a tub of b.l.o.o.d.y water, he tore up the piece of lined notepaper and threw the shreds into the incinerator.

Betrayed by Stefan, he left the Blut Bruder gang. That's when he started to hang out at the boxing gym. Since he was on the dole, he offered to wipe down the ring, get equipment, hold the punching bag, whatever odd ch.o.r.e needed to be done. In exchange, he could work out at the gym free of charge. Eventually, Dolf was asked to be a sparring partner for some of the up-and-coming boxers. Excited, he saw this as his big chance to catch the eye of a boxing promoter. But it never happened. He'd lost his touch. Without his 'vitamins', he was just an average boxer with a strong punch, lacking the speed and agility of a prize fighter.

A big f.u.c.king catastrophe.

Reaching into his pocket, Dolf removed the GPS transmitter. According to the data on the small screen, the tracked target had yet to move from the hedgerow.

How could that be? With his own eyes, he'd seen McGuire leave the plaza.

Either McGuire had discovered the tracking device on the computer and left it by the hedgerow or his two companions now had the laptop.

Although he'd been ordered to kill McGuire and commandeer the medallion that he carried in his canvas bag, what if he killed the red-haired man and abducted the woman? Herr Uhlemann could ransom her for the medallion.

Dolf stared at the transmitter. It was a good plan. Better to kill someone than no one. And when he returned to the foundation's office suite with the b.i.t.c.h in tow, everyone would see that he was a valuable a.s.set. Then, finally, he would get his due. Prove to all of the naysayers that he was more than a mere chauffeur.

He just needed to find his Mark 23 pistol, the motherf.u.c.ker McGuire having kicked it into the bushes.

Fully prepared to crawl on all fours and dig through the dirt with his bare hands, Dolf lurched to his feet and ran back into the maze.

41.

'Do you think Finn's all right?' Kate worriedly asked, pandemonium raging on the other side of the Cour Napoleon.

'Ours is not to reason why,' Caedmon replied. s.n.a.t.c.hing hold of her elbow, he pulled her upright. 'Your commando has created the necessary diversion so that we can escape undetected. I suggest that we do so immediately.'

'I'm ready when you are.'

Stomach b.u.t.terflies in a tumult, Kate ran faster than she would have thought possible, Caedmon pulling her through a cutaway in the hedgerow. She didn't resist. She trusted him implicitly. They then sprinted along the line of shrubs, dodging a group of squatting backpackers sharing a joint.

A few moments later, they emerged from the hedgerow, the arched guichets no more than two hundred and fifty feet away. Closer at hand, approximately twenty metres from their position, a swarm of people hurriedly rushed towards them, led by two men attired in blue uniforms. The Paris police!

'Do you think those gendarmes are looking for Finn?'

'No need to worry. They're simply directing the crowd to the northern end of the courtyard,' Caedmon said, slowing to a more sedate speed.

Within seconds, the two of them were suddenly engulfed by a crowd of jostling tourists, all excitedly chattering and gesturing about what they'd just witnessed on the far side of the plaza. Overhead, fast-moving clouds malevolently cast a dark shadow, a summer storm about to break.

As if on cue, soft raindrops pelted the ground.

Worried that Finn might not have successfully escaped, Kate peered behind her. As she did, she caught sight of a red-faced, bald-headed man, fifty yards away, stridently moving in their direction. Hit with a burst of raw terror, she opened her mouth to sound an alert but her larynx produced a sound more akin to a high-pitched wheeze. Unable to speak, she yanked on Caedmon's tweed jacket.

'What's the mat b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!'

Caedmon's expletive confirmed her worst fear the gunman and the great hulk of a man charging towards them were one and the same.

'Hurry!' Caedmon's hoa.r.s.e command was punctuated with a loud clap of thunder. 'We need to reach the portal!'

A split-second later, the skies opened up, soft raindrops instantly transformed into stinging pellets that fell at a furious rate.

Another ear-splitting boom of thunder reverberated in the Cour Napoleon.

The ominous sound triggered a mad dash towards the guichet, at least two hundred people rus.h.i.+ng, en ma.s.se, in that direction. A long tunnel cut into the ma.s.sive north wing of the Louvre, the narrow pedestrian guichet was the only shelter to be had in the near vicinity.

Kate spared a furtive glance over her shoulder, relieved to see that their a.s.sailant was completely enveloped by a large group of j.a.panese tourists, a human dragnet having been thrown around him.

'Arigato,' she whispered, grateful for the reprieve. Even if it was accompanied by a driving rain. And even if it was only temporary.

Cinching his left arm around Kate's shoulders, Caedmon pulled her close to him as he navigated through the horde.

Up ahead, a bottleneck had formed at the entrance to the guichet as a veritable mob descended on the single six-foot-wide opening. While there were a total of six guichets on the northern wing of the Louvre, the four large wickets in the middle were strictly for vehicular traffic. Conversely, the two narrow portals flanking either side of the thoroughfare were designated for pedestrians. At a glance, Kate could see that there was a similar log jam across the street in front of the second pedestrian portal.

With each boom of thunder, the soaking wet crowd to the rear of them became more insistent. Pus.h.i.+ng that much harder. A living, breathing battering ram. Stuck in the middle of the pack, she feared they might not make it through the guichet.

But even if they did reach it, then what? Their a.s.sailant was a mere fifty metres behind them. He had a gun with a silencer. No doubt he intended to follow them through the portal. Then pull the trigger with no one the wiser.

'I th-think we should s-summon the g-gendarmes,' she stammered, grasping the front of Caedmon's jacket to get his attention.