Red Wolf_ A Novel Part 53

Sat.u.r.day 18 December The sound reached her in the middle of a bizarre s.e.xual dream. She was lying on a bed of gla.s.s on a s.p.a.ceship, Thomas was on top of her. Three presenters from the radio programme Studio Six were standing alongside them, watching expressionlessly. She was desperate for a pee.

'You can't go to the toilet now, we're on our way into s.p.a.ce,' Thomas said, and, looking through the big panoramic window, she saw he was right.

The second ring tore the cosmos to shreds, leaving her sweaty and thirsty in the darkness. The ceiling loomed above her in the gloom.

'Answer the b.l.o.o.d.y thing before it wakes the whole house,' Thomas grumbled from the mess of pillows.

She twisted her head to see the time: 03.22. The excitement of the dream vanished in a single breath. Her arm, heavy as lead, reached for the phone on the floor. It was Jansson, the night-editor.

'The Victoria Stadium's gone up. Burning like f.u.c.k. Our reporter's out there for the night edition, but we need you for the next edition. How soon can you get there?'

She took several breaths, letting the information sink in, feeling adrenalin rolling like a wave through her body and up into her brain. The Olympic Stadium, she thought. Fire, chaos. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. South of the city centre. Should she take the southern bypa.s.s or the Skanstull bridge?

'How are things looking in town, are the roads okay?'

Her voice sounded rougher than she would have liked.

'The southern bypa.s.s is blocked. The exit by the stadium has collapsed, but that's all we know. The Sodermalm tunnel is shut off, so you'll have to go above ground.'

'Who's doing pictures?'

'Henriksson's on his way, and the freelancers are already there.'

Jansson hung up without waiting for a reply. Annika listened to the dead crackle on the line for a few seconds before letting the phone fall to the floor.

'So what is it this time?'

She sighed silently before replying.

'Some sort of explosion at the Olympic Stadium. I've got to go. It'll probably take all day.'

She paused before adding: 'And all evening.'

He muttered something inaudible.

Carefully she extricated herself from Ellen's slightly damp pyjamas. She breathed in her daughter's scent, her skin sweet, her mouth sour, her thumb firmly lodged between her lips, then she kissed the child's soft hair. The girl stretched happily, then rolled up into a ball, three years old and utterly content, even in her sleep. She dialled for a taxi with a heavy hand, climbing out of the numbing warmth of the bed and sitting on the floor.

'A car to Hantverkargatan 32 please. Bengtzon. It's urgent. To the Olympic Stadium. Yes, I know it's on fire.'

Seven days.

Three killings.

And one woman who knows too much . . .

Crime reporter Annika Bengtzon is woken by a phonecall in the early hours of a wintry morning. An explosion has ripped apart the Olympic Stadium. And a victim has been blown to pieces.

As Annika relentlessly delves into the details of the bombing and the background of the victim, there is a second explosion. These chilling crimes could be her biggest news story yet.

When her police source reveals they are hot on the heels of the bomber, Annika is guaranteed an exclusive with her name on it. But it soon becomes clear that she has uncovered too much, as she finds herself the target of a deranged serial killer . . .

THE BOMBER.

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Kanon's daughter, Kimmy, and her fiance were murdered while on vacation in Rome. Since then, young couples in Paris, Copenhagen, Frankfurt, and Stockholm have been found dead. Little connects the murders, other than a postcard to the local newspaper that precedes each new victim.

Now Kanon teams up with the Swedish reporter, Dessie Larsson, who received the postcard in Stockholm and they think they know where the next victims will be. With relentless logic and unstoppable action, Postcard Killers Postcard Killers may be James Patterson's most vivid and compelling thriller yet. may be James Patterson's most vivid and compelling thriller yet.

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Century * London