Slaton slid inside. “Good morning. Thanks for being on time.”

“We were correct to have not waited any longer. There is a heavy marine layer slipping down from the north—in another hour it will cover everything.” She seemed to gauge him for a moment, then remarked, “I see you are alone.”

“Yes. Things didn’t go as I’d planned.”

Magnussen paused, perhaps waiting for more. Slaton suspected she was enjoying this contract more than most, her usual crowd likely being hunters who would stuff rifles and tents and slabs of bloody venison into her airplane. Tangled romance was undoubtedly more entertaining.

She finally said, “Does this mean you won’t be doing any sightseeing?”

His eyes flicked to the fuel gauges. As promised, he saw nearly full tanks. “Actually, I was still planning on it. Let’s start with an aerial tour of Stockholm.”

“You won’t see anything. North and west, the cloud cover is nearly a solid undercast.”

“I’d like to try anyway. That was our agreement, and I’ve already paid half, haven’t I?”

She gave him a shrug that said It’s your money, and pushed the throttle forward. The Cessna began to accelerate, and was soon stepping onto the light waves and rising into the air. Slaton saw the altimeter register a thousand feet, then two. His eyes scanned to the north, and he did see a heavy cloud layer sweeping in low over the blackening Baltic. Christine had already weighed anchor and was under way, moving north to a different island. He’d given her most of his cash and specific instructions on how to get more. Slaton knew he was asking a lot from his wife, but he hoped it would be the last time.

“It’s a quick trip, twenty miles,” Magnussen said. She pointed ahead. “As you can see, the clouds are nearly covering the city.”

In fact Slaton did not see, because at that moment his eyes were riveted elsewhere. Just over his right shoulder, through a slim break in the undercast, he saw a tiny boat bobbing northward. He could even make out the name on the stern, prominent block letters in fresh blue paint. Slaton watched as long as he could, but soon the image fragmented, broken by thickening wisps of gray vapor.

Then all at once, she was lost to the mist.

Chapter 23

TWENTY-THREE

Magnussen was busy talking to air traffic controllers as the little seaplane ventured into what had to be unfamiliar territory—the busy air corridor over Stockholm. The view was exactly as she’d promised, the leaden topside of a cloudbank with only a few breaks, the highest buildings and a few radio antennae stabbing through like so many urban periscopes. Slaton didn’t mind the featureless cityscape. He had not come to sightsee.

He pulled the three prepaid cell phones from his backpack, pocketing two and waking the third.

“Do you mind?” he asked.