The Postcard Killers - James Patterson [89]
“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 all the details.”
He put the car in gear and looked round. They were in a small village. A tractor trailer pulled out of the parking lot just ahead of him.
“How far have you gotten?” Gabriella asked.
Jacob pulled out onto the road behind a gigantic lumber truck billowing smoke.
“Halfway. Thanks for the call,” he said.
“I wish there were more I could have done,” Gabriella said quietly.
Dessie looked at him.
“Call 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.
Chapter 131
THE FOREST GREW THICKER after Örnsköldsvik, and signs of habitation thinned out. Between the towns of Umeå and Skellefteå, 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 fell 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 yellow woolly 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 walls and calling for him, calling 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 full daylight, a dull 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?”
“Kyllä.”
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 practically a small forest at its center.
“He’s got men watching all the bridges across the river, and a couple at the main harbors for small 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 hell 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 pulled him closer and lowered his voice.
“Don’t think you can hide just