To the Top of the Mountain

20

‘SHIT, I HAD it!’

Bullet’s face scrunched up as though he’d had a mouthful of acid. He adjusted the headphones, twisting and tuning a device in front of him. The LEDs on it remained black.

He had found the signal three times now.

And lost it.

The first time, they had stormed out of the cellar and into the metallic-green van. Bullet first, spinning like a ballerina with the antenna in the air, eyes on the device in his hand and headphones around his neck. Then Rogge, carrying Danne Blood Pudding. Then the golden one himself, still sceptical.

‘Still got it!’ Bullet yelled, jumping into the passenger seat. Rogge pushed Danne in through the back doors and ran round to the driver’s seat. They sped off.

‘Try the E4 southbound,’ Bullet continued. ‘That’s where it should be.’

Then it was gone. The signal tone disappeared from the headphones, and the LEDs went dark.

‘Fuck,’ said Bullet. ‘Keep going on the E4 anyway. We’ve got to find it again. We’ve got the best chance there.’

They kept just at the upper edge of the speed limit. 118 kilometres per hour, max. To be stopped for speeding would be a death blow. Since it was Midsummer weekend, it wasn’t impossible that the pigs had put a few extra traffic checks on. Though, on the other hand, it wasn’t exactly likely.

The first dilemma arose in Södertälje. There was no signal, and they were approaching the turn-off for the European highway. The E20 westbound or the E4 south? Bullet gestured with his hands.

‘Gothenburg or Malmö?’ he asked. ‘Right or straight ahead?’

The alternatives coursed through the golden one’s mind while the damn junction rushed ever closer. If the thieves had got hold of the money, the E4 would’ve been the obvious choice. They would have been on their way to Europe. But now they probably had to test the key, so there was no reason to choose Malmö over Gothenburg. Gothenburg was bigger, after all. But then, maybe they’d realised that it was a foreign key and, in that case, wouldn’t heading south, towards Copenhagen, be more likely? What was closest if they kept going straight? Nyköping, Norrköping, Linköping? And to the right? Strängnäs, Mariefred, Eskilstuna, Örebro. Christ, no, not Kumla. That settled it.

‘E4,’ he said, and Rogge had just enough time to turn left and continue southwards.

The second signal came soon after Norrköping. They had just passed the second turn-off onto the European highway and opted against the E22 towards Västervik and Kalmar. A brief signal they couldn’t determine the direction of. Still, they were on the right tracks. Bullet shouted and screamed in frustration.

‘Fucking hell, can’t we step on the gas a bit?’ asked Rogge.

‘No,’ said the golden one.

Nothing happened on Vätternvägen. They passed Gränna and Visingsö. They were close to giving up. Not a squeak. Had they lost the signal for good now? Did Bullet’s bloody handiwork even work? They knew that Jönköping would be the test. A meeting point of roads going in all directions. The 33 towards Nässjö, Vimmerby, Västervik. The 30 towards Växjö, Kalmar and the whole of Blekinge county. The E4, continuing on to Värnamo, Ljungby and Skåne county. The 40 towards Borås and Gothenburg. Was it Gothenburg after all?

‘Nothing?’ asked the golden one.

Bullet shook his head. They were in Huskvarna. The last descent down towards Jönköping.

‘We’ll have to fill up soon, Nicke,’ said Rogge. ‘The warning light’s on.’

‘Bullet, you bastard, can’t you speed that thing up somefuckinghow?’ Danne moaned from behind. ‘Turn it right up?’

‘You don’t know a thing, you bloody idiot,’ Bullet snapped.

‘Shut up,’ the golden one said calmly.

Everyone shut up.

Not Gothenburg. He had decided against that. He stuck to his guns. Not Västervik. Also dropped. Växjö? That way, they would have a whole load of places to choose from: Karlshamn, Ronneby, Karlskrona, maybe Kristianstad. Though that would have been the E22 anyway.

‘Stay on this one,’ he said.

They stayed on the E4. In Skillingaryd, the fuel was dangerously low.

‘Stop here,’ he said before they pulled up into the petrol station staff’s line of sight.

‘We’ve gotta fill up,’ said Rogge.

‘We need money,’ he said, pulling on the gold-coloured hat, taking his pistol off safety and jumping out of the van.

‘Are you going alone?’ said Bullet through the window. ‘Is that a good idea?’

‘It’s not good, it’s the best. Wait here.’

They waited. After five minutes, he came back, a plastic bag in his hand.

‘You can fill up now,’ he said, pulling off the hat. ‘I don’t think you’ll need to pay.’

They filled up. Back out on the E4, Bullet suddenly shouted: ‘I’ve found it again. Christ, it’s here. They must’ve stopped. I’ve got the direction. They’re going south on the E4. Not far ahead.’

‘Step on it?’ said Rogge.

‘Stick to the limit,’ said Niklas Lindberg calmly, shoving the gold hat into the glovebox.

Bullet’s face scrunched up again. He shouted: ‘Fuck, I had it!’