Templar's Quest

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 glass pyramid or the Louvre. Nobody gave a rat’s ass 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 pass 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.

Fuck.

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

Double fuck.

Not about to let the bastard 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.

Mass 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 bastard.

‘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 dipshit pulling a red wheeled suitcase.

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

To that end, Finn charged through the plaza, grabbing purses, backpacks, camera bags, shopping totes – whatever he could snatch – 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 ass.

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 dipshit 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 bumper, 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 passenger seat. To make certain the biker cooperated, he shoved the truncheon into the driver’s ribs.

‘Make like the wind, asshole!’