James Patterson - Postcard killers

"Ja nogges tjoor over Kuusamo, ha jar som rattjest…"

"Three hundred kilometers," Dessie said.

"Christ," Jacob said. "That's nothing. Manhattan to the end of Long Island."

According to Dessie's grandfather, it was hard to get into Russia, and it always had been.

In his day, the no-man's-land along the border had been mined with explosives, but they were al gone now. Nowadays it was the most remote boundary of the European Union. It was tricky but not impossible.

The biggest problem wasn't getting out of the EU, but into Russia. You had to leave the car and then walk across, maybe just north of Tammela. There was a main road on the other side of the border that would take you to Petrozavodsk, and from there to St. Petersburg.

Dessie and Jacob sat in silence until the old man had finished.

Then he stood up, put the coffee cups on the draining board, and wandered off toward the television again.

"Stang ata dorn for moija da ja ga," he said.

"We have to shut the door to stop the midges from getting in when we leave," Dessie said. "I think he likes you."

They filled the car with diesel from the farm's il egal agricultural tank.

Then Jacob took the wheel.

"Where am I going?"

"Straight on until you see 'Suomi Finland' on the signs," Dessie said, putting the seat back down and stretching out.

He aimed north and emerged onto the main road again.

If the Rudolphs managed to reach Russia, he'd never see them again, that much he was sure of. Anyone with a lot of money could buy protection there, and anyone without it could disappear among the country's homeless mil ions.

He stiffened his grip on the wheel and pressed the accelerator. His head stil felt groggy from his long nap. The car was smal and sluggish, with a weirdly noisy engine. He'd never driven a diesel before.

The landscape glided past and it real y was astonishingly beautiful.

Craggy cliffs fal ing to the sea. Blue peaks rising to the north. The road wound its way along the coast, getting ever narrower and more twisted and scenic.

He was on his way toward the end of the world. The Rudolphs were on their way there, too.

Dessie's cel phone started to ring on the dashboard.

He glanced at the woman beside him. She was fast asleep, mouth open in a narrow line.

Jacob grabbed the phone and said, "Yeah?"

"We've found the left-luggage locker," Gabriel a said. "It was in the basement of the Central Station. You were right. Both of you were."

He clenched his fist in triumph.

"It contained everything you suspected: light shoes, brown wig, coat, trousers, sunglasses, Polaroid camera, a couple of packs of film, pens, stamps, postcards, eyedrops, and a real y sharp stiletto knife, as wel as some other stuff."

She fel silent.

"What?" Jacob said. "What else was there?"

His raised voice woke Dessie, and she sat herself up beside him.

"We found the passports and wal ets of al the murder victims – apart from Copenhagen and Athens and Salzburg."

He braked and stopped the car by a twenty-four-hour cafe. He was searching for words but couldn't find any.

"Your daughter's were there," Gabriel a said quietly. "I've got them on 174 the desk in front of me. Her fiance's as wel. You'l get them when you're back."

"Okay," he muttered.

"You wanted to know if any cars had been stolen in northern Sweden late yesterday, didn't you? A farmer north of Gysinge has just reported the theft of a Volvo two forty-five. A nineteen eighty-seven model, red. License number CHC four-one-one.

"A two forty-five – that's a sedan?"

"A wagon. I'm sending a text message with al the details."

He put the car in gear and looked round. They were in a smal vil age. A tractor trailer pul ed out of the parking lot just ahead of him.

"How far have you gotten?" Gabriel a asked.

Jacob pul ed out onto the road behind a gigantic lumber truck bil owing smoke.

"Halfway. Thanks for the cal," he said.

"I wish there were more I could have done," Gabriel a said quietly.

Dessie looked at him.

"Cal your cousin," Jacob said. "We have the make of the potential getaway car."

She took the phone.

The sun was just rising to the north.

The forest grew thicker after Ornskoldsvik, and signs of habitation thinned out. Between the towns of Umea and Skel eftea, a distance of almost 150 kilometers, Jacob hardly saw a single house. The end of the world was getting closer and closer, wasn't it?

In the town of Byske, the jet lag struck him like a sudden fog. The last traces of his ability to judge distances abandoned him and he woke Dessie to take over at the wheel.

Even with the sun in his eyes, he fel into a restless sleep.

Kimmy was there with him.

She looked like she had when she set off for Rome. She had on her new winter coat and her yel ow wool y hat. So beautiful and talented.

Jacob could see she was upset, crying. She was standing in a glass box, banging her fists against the transparent wal s and cal ing for him, cal ing for her dad. He tried to answer, but she couldn't hear him.

Kimmy! he shouted in the dream. I'm here! I'm coming!

"Jacob?"

He woke with a start.

"What?" he said.

"You were shouting. Having a bad dream."

He sat up and rubbed his eyes hard with his fists.

The car had stopped. They were on the outskirts of a town.

On the left was a large warehouse, and on the right, a long row of office buildings. It was ful daylight, a dul sort of light, filtered through a thin cloud cover. The landscape was flat and bare, not like anything he'd ever seen before.

"Where are we?"

"The bridge over to the Finnish side is only a kilometer from here.

Robert's a bit closer, on the other side of the rotary. Nothing came through during the night. No red Volvo. No young couple."

He blinked and looked around.

"This is Haparanda?"

"Kyl a."

He looked at her, confused.

"Finnish for yes, babe. Let's go. Robert's waiting for us."

She started the car and drove toward a large rotary with what was practical y a smal forest at its center.

"He's got men watching al the bridges across the river, and a couple at the main harbors for smal boats. No one's seen anything. Robert's men are vigilant."

"Thank god for organized crime," Jacob said.

"Robert's rough, but he's a good guy."

A huge building with an immense parking lot spread out to the left of the car.

"What the hel is that?" he asked.

"That's the most northerly IKEA in the world. And there's Robert!"

They stopped beside a customized Toyota Land Cruiser, the latest model.

Leaning against the gleaming paintwork was a giant of a man with a blond ponytail and biceps like logs.

Dessie hurried out of the car and threw herself into his arms. The giant received her with a big grin on his face.

A pang of jealousy hit Jacob in the solar plexus. Slowly he got out of the car and approached the enormous man holding on to Dessie.

Robert's arms were covered in clumsy tattoos. He was missing two front teeth.

He would have been perfect, just as he was, as the leader of one of Los Angeles' infamous motorcycle gangs.

"So you're the American?" he said in a thick Swedish accent, holding out his paw.

Jacob's hand disappeared in the iron grip of the fist.

"Yep," he replied. "That's me."

Cousin Robert pul ed him closer and lowered his voice.

"Don't think you can hide just because you're from the States. If you treat Dessie badly, I'l find you."

"That's good to know," Jacob said.

The giant let go of Jacob's hand.

"We've been keeping an eye on the junction in Morjarv al night," Robert said. "They passed it half an hour ago in a red Volvo with false plates. They took the E-ten down toward Haparanda."