sturdy off-roader, or what was commonly called an SUV. It was dented and scuffed but had the meanest set of bull bars King had ever seen. King popped the boot, but nothing happened. He checked the key fob, but it didn’t seem to work either. He used the key but could feel the lock was frozen solid. He abandoned the idea, tried the driver’s door but it was stuck also. He could feel a little play and the lock eventually gave. He pulled the door, but the rubber seal was stuck and peeled away slowly. The car was frozen. When the door finally opened, King could see cans of de-icer on the passenger seat, along with a map and a mobile phone. He picked up a can of de-icer and sprayed it on the locks and over the windscreen. He walked tentatively around the car, the ice solid and slippery underfoot, and sprayed some into the lock on the boot. The boot lid loosened, and King opened it up to find a roll of blankets, snow shovel and a can of fuel. He closed the boot lid and went back to the driver’s side and got in. He started the engine; the diesel pre-heat light and ignition pause taking a few seconds before the engine rattled into life. King put a little throttle on and cranked up the heaters. The car had been standing for a while and the air rushing into the cabin seemed about as cold as the outside air. The engine would benefit from running for a while, so he used the time to adjust his clothing and look around the vehicle. There was no note. Nothing. He had been told that the keys would be waiting for him and that was as far as it went. He removed his gloves and opened the glovebox. He could see the pistol inside, along with a spare magazine. He checked his mirrors, making sure nobody was near, and took out the weapon. It was a classic Walther PPK in .32 auto/7.65mm. He could see from the indicator pin above the hammer that it was not chambered. He reflected why more pistols hadn’t adopted the feature. He worked the slide, chambering a round, de-cocked the hammer using the safety drop and tucked the weapon into his right pocket. He slipped the spare magazine into his left pocket and picked up the map beside him. There was a clear acetate sheet of A4 tucked into the map. Three points had been marked with a cross using a dry-wipe marker and a route had been drawn over the roads he should take. King saw the pen on the seat next to the can of de-icer. He checked the acetate and could see the road he needed had been highlighted. The destination and two further points lined up underneath perfectly. He had used the practice many times over the years and had been taught the importance of not marking a map from his early days with MI6. If captured by a hostile force or government, the acetate could easily be wiped, and the map held no secrets or tell-tale marks.
King studied the map but could not shift the nagging thought in the back of his mind. Something about the map and the acetate. Familiar, like Déjà vu. Something in his past he could not unlock. He shook his head and placed the map on the seat. He could see another route that was fifty-kilometres longer and decided he would accept many things from a stranger, but a route for him to travel through the wilderness was not one of them.
6
The drive north took a bit of getting used to. King had not driven on snow or ice in many years but was now getting into the swing of it. He just needed to remember to do everything slowly and steadily and anticipate far more than on a tarmac road. He met a few vehicles but allowed up to ten times the distance he normally would and within an hour, he was making swift progress and had managed to close the gap and read the road with more confidence. He had taken a different route, deciding he would call the shots. He always had done.
Another two hours and he entered civilisation at the town of Inakiai. A pretty town with houses constructed of timber or prefab and painted in a variety of primary colours. Bold reds and blues and yellows. Accented with white. King figured white properties got lost for eight months of the year. Most of the houses had a metre of snow on their roofs and all were equipped with a fixed ladder on the gable to clear the snow or maintain it when the snow thawed. Some houses must have been empty for the winter because they were completely covered, but for stainless-steel chimneys poking through.
The roads were clear here. Scraped back to tarmac with the merest sheen of icy sludge mixed with salt and grit. The edges of the road were piled high with dirty snow, now compacted to ice. King drove onwards and stopped when he came to a Spar convenience store. He helped himself to a tea from the machine. It was flavoured with lemon and there was no option for milk. He drank it down as he stood inside the doorway. He held it up in a gesture to the counter staff, showing them that he wasn’t going to forget to pay, then finished it and dropped it in the bin beside the machine. He picked up some crisps and chocolate and paid for them, along with the tea. He asked where the police station was but didn’t really understand the clerk’s broken English/part Swedish answer. He figured it was Swedish because he made out a couple of words but had nothing in the bank for Finnish. He nodded thanks and walked back outside, the cold clawing at
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