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JAMES PATTERSON PDF

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James Patterson is one of the most popular writers of all time, with more than three hundred million copies of his books sold worldwide. He holds the record for . Get Instant Access to Cross The Line (Alex Cross Novels) By James Patterson # ad3 EBOOK. EPUB KINDLE PDF. Read Download Online. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data. Patterson, James. The postcard killers / James Patterson and Liza Marklund. — 1st ed.


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Not a bad business concept.

Thats what I thought. So when he asked to come speak to the kids, I saw it as an opportunity. And he checked out completely. I mean, his company has a legitimate website. Here, come into my office, Ill show you.

We went to the front doors of the school. She opened them and we went inside, turning on lights. The odors in the hallway were so familiar and so intertwined with memories of my children that I stopped breathing through my nose. In her office, Dawson got on her desktop computer, typed, and then frowned before typing again. The principal started rummaging in her desk, said, But Ive got his business card here somehere it is! Dont touch it! I yelled, coming around the desk quickly as she shrank back.

Its just that well want to fingerprint it. In a thin voice, she said, He wore thin white gloves. Of course he did, I said, wanting to punch a wall.

But just the same. Do you have a plastic sandwich bag? Will an envelope do? She got me an envelope and I used a pair of tweezers to pluck the business card from the drawer and place it on her desk. Ive got a photocopy of his drivers license too, she said. Weve already got one of those, but thanks, I replied, studying the card and then taking a picture of it with my smartphone.

It gave a phone number in the area code and an address on Wilshire Boulevard. It also had a web addresswww. I was about to drop the card into the envelope and take it with me downtown for processing when something about the URL and the e-mail pinged deep in my recent memory.

Try www. The screen blinked, and up came the home page of TMI Enterprises, a multimedia and social-networking company. This is it, she said. This is his website. Click on Corporate Officers. She did and the screen jumped to another page that featured pictures and short bios of the people running the company. At the top of the heap was someone Id seen when Id visited the website two weeks before: a blond surfer-type guy in his late twenties wearing thick black glasses and a black hoodie.

Thats not the picture of Mulch I saw on the other version of the website, Dawson said. I saw the guy who came here, red hair, red beard, everything. Will the real Thierry Mulch please stand up? I said, and I felt the throbbing in my head start up all over again. Men in hard hats and respirator masks were using sledgehammers to bust down drywall. The air was full of gypsum dust as I went to the plastic sheeting that sealed off the destructing from the already destructed. I started to cough and that only made the pain in my head worse.

A part of me wanted to shut down then, to curl up in a fetal position right there in the dust and let it settle on me as I mourned my wife. But a greater part of me needed to keep pushing on. If I was to have any hope of saving the rest of my MY family, I had to keep moving, keep asking questions, keep fighting as long and as hard as possible.

I tore open the flap and stepped inside a large space already stripped down to the cement floors. In the middle, under a bank of fluorescent shop lights, stood eight desks. At them or around them, good men and women were working. Mahoney spotted me and jumped up.

Jesus, Alex, I just heard. And Im so goddamn I dont know what to say except I promise you, were moving heaven and earth to find this bastard. I swallowed hard, patted him on the shoulder. Mahoney and I had worked together in Behavioral Sciences at Quantico. Wed toiled on too many cases involving the criminally insane to bullshit each other with psychological nuances and false premises.

If we dont catch him, hell carve them all up in the same twisted way. Thats not happening, said Captain Roelof Antonius Quintus, my boss, who was coming toward me with other members of the task force. At the very least, hes kidnapped a DC cops family. For that, he will pay. The rest of the detectives and FBI agents behind him nodded grimly. Thank you, Captain, I said, nodding to the others.

Thank you all for everything youre doing. I got out the envelope Id taken from Dawsons office. I went to Sojourner Truth and found the principal back from vacation, I told them. I have a business card Mulch gave her when he went there to speak to the kids. Everything was the same except the picture of Mulch.

It took sophisticated computer work.

the postcard killers james patterson pdf

The kind Preston Elliot could do in his sleep. Quintus, Sampson, and Mahoney exchanged glances. Why dont you sit down, Alex, the captain said.

Whats going on? Quintus took a deep breath and pointed to a chair. Reluctantly, I sat in it, and I felt my eyes begin to burn even before Ned Mahoney spoke. Three days ago, the Fairfax County sheriff was called to a commercial pig farm in Berryville, Virginia, Mahoney began. Skinitching, heart going like a hammer. Was everyone asleep? Under hypnosis? Was everybody frigging stoned? I grabbed the pen again and scribbled three letters on thepad, hard enough to tear the paper.

Then I threw the pad of paper across the room. It was time for more caffeine. I listened to an uptown train blasting by mywindow, then a downtown one. Then I crossed the room,picked up the pad again, and went back to work. This was the theory I wasworking on.

Basically, it was my belief that all throughout the world,animal behavior was changing. Not for the better, either. Noteven a little. On every continent, species after species wassuddenly displaying hyperaggressive behavior toward oneparticular animal. The enemy was us.

You and me. Man, man. The facts were undeniable. In fact, the world-wide rate of wild animal attacks in the last four years wasdouble the average of the previous fifty. For emphasis, I re-peat: double. In Australia, injuriesfrom cats and dogs had swelled by 20 percent.

In Beijing, itwas 34 percent. In Britain, nearly four thousand people hadneeded hospital treatment for dog bites in the previous year. Or, to put it in other terms, some-thing was driving animals to go haywire, and the time to dosomething about it was running out quicker than the plasticwand supply at a Harry Potter convention.

I know how it sounds—wing-nut city. Different speciesof nonhuman animals working in some sort of collusionagainst humans. Insane, impossible. I used tothink it was a big, strange coincidence, too. Just lots and lotsof totally unrelated, isolated incidents. I stopped laughing when I started looking at the evidencemore closely. Nature, actually, was at war with man.

The devil is what old sailors used to call theseam between two hard-to-reach planks on a ship. In orderto caulk it, one had to be suspended from a plank held overthe water. If you fell into the ocean, it was certain death. Either waywas dangerous.

Either way, you were screwed. I felt like I was out there caulkingthe devil, hanging above the deep blue sea. If I was wrong, I was crazy. If I was right, the world wasdoomed. I only got about halfway throughbefore I was laughed off the stage. The L. The reporthad said that the cats had been born in captivity. Why woulda pair of zoo lions one day just decide to start killing peopleand rampage through a city?

Because there are two hundredchannels and nothing is on? Until now. I speed-dialed my press agent to try to get on Fox. Asusual, I got kicked immediately into voice mail.

Even shethought I was nuts, and I paid her. Not a good sign. After I recorded my latest plea to her, I decided to do theonly thing I could think of.

Help me, Lemmy. I sat up when Attila yanked my earbuds out. My roommate held out his hand for alow five. I gave it to him.

James Patterson

Every timeI think things are going to calm down, the activity doubles. Boy Who Cried Wolf, I feel yourpain, you know? Then he made a few panting hoots and scrambled into mylap and gave me a sloppy kiss and hairy-armed hug. Attila, by the way, is a chimpanzee.

Attila: five years, fourfeet, and a hundred pounds of chimpanzee.

For breakfast I gave him a mango, a stack of Fig Newtons which he went ape over , and half a leftover turkey club. Even apes need happy pills in our crazy world. Or maybejust the ones who live in New York City. Actually, those last two were more my toys thanhis. He could kick my assat bowling. I stood in the doorway and watched him play a littlewhile. She had braids and a gingham dress, very Little House onthe Prairie. Attila rocked the big blond-haired doll back andforth and kissed her.

Then he brought her over to me andheld her up so I could kiss her, too. Attila panted, content,and took the doll back over to the beanbag chair in the cor-ner and began to pretend to feed her. The people who say their dogs are like children to themnever lived with a chimp, believe you me. I shook my headand smiled at my little buddy. It was nice to see him quiet,calm, having fun. I was cleaning up late on my second day when Iopened a door, and there he was.

The cutest damn three-year-old ape you ever saw, lying there with his pink facepressed against the cold bars of his tiny cage. He was staring at me miserably, his eyes red-rimmed, hisnose running to beat the band. Most biomedical researchwith chimps works like this: they infect the chimp withsome disease before giving it the new cure they wanted 28 Zooto test out.

Or they look for side effects and so on. Flippingthrough the paperwork attached to the cage, I saw that someintrepid human had been doing some type of weird olfactoryresearch on him.

Testing perfumes or something. A vet friend of mine diagnosed himwith post-traumatic stress disorder and wrote out a scrip forthe Zoloft, which worked like a charm. Or insane. Or an idiot. I never planned on being the twenty-first-century Manwith the Yellow Hat. It just kind of happened. My originalthought was to drop Attila off at an animal sanctuary in ru-ral Louisiana that takes in retired research monkeys.

Andthat is still my eventual plan. But for the time being, Attilalives with me. Pit attack! The tips ofhis long, knotty fingers graze the ground. Strong, lean arms,built for climbing trees.

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Like most chimps, Attila likes toplay. He likes wrestling, laughing, being tickled. And, like humans, he is sharply status-conscious and ca-pable of deception. He is more like people than any other living creature. When Attila spies the man down the hallway, he makes ahigh, curt cry, indicating his agitation, his anxiety. Gettingno response, Attila crashes back into the tire swing and hur-tles himself back and forth, the chain creaking loudly underthe strain.

Everything is so strange. The moving, boxlike shapes be-low. The small thunder overhead sometimes. Sometimes, 31 James Pattersoneverything suddenly has the smell. The Smell. The smell is get-ting stronger. Always stronger. Even outside. More and moreeach day. Bored, angry, afraid, Attila turns away from the windowand searches around his play area until he finds the mirror.

He holds it up in front of his face and looks at himself. Likeall chimps, he recognizes himself. His tuft of wirywhite chin hair is almost gone.

Tiring of the mirror, he puts it aside and runs back and forth,shaking the fence, shrieking down at the strange walls andmoving things. After a while, he begins to amuse himself bytossing around the stuff on the terrace. The plastic chair. TheThomas the Tank Engine big wheel.

Then his gaze falls on astuffed bunny. He picks it up and brings it over to the corner. He cuddles it, delicately petting its soft fur with his fin-gers, when a breeze wafts in over the terrace, and the BadSmell hits his nose like a punch. Attila rips the bunny in half with his hands. He makes a low howlingsound as he tears it to fluff and tatters.

Then he stuffs thepieces of bunny through the holes in the fence, hooting asthey flutter like snow, like ash, down to the rear alley of thebuilding. This makes Attila feel better. After a minute, Attila flops himself back into the tire swingagain, and wheels himself in circles with his long arms. I was still waiting to hear back from people and putting inmy second call to my press agent when I got a text.

HAC !

On my way, I text-lied back. Five painfully long minutes later, an elderlywoman arrived, faded floral-print dress dangling from herlittle bones, arms full of needlepoint and Spanish crossword- 33 James Pattersonpuzzle books.

Abreu is here to watch you,buddy, so be good, okay? I promise. Un-til I opened my arms. He almost knocked me over as heleaped into them. He let loose with a series of whoopinghowls.

It was his signature pant-hoot, which chimps use toidentify themselves. Attila was visibly pleased as I copied his pant-hoot back athim, whoop for whoop. Farewells over, I threw my Cannondale road bike onto myshoulder, carried it down the five flights of stairs, and startedto ride north up traffic-clogged Broadway. Head down, I putit into overdrive, sailing past gypsy cabs, C-Towns, flowershops. My thighs began to throb around the s as Broad-way started its long ascent into Washington Heights.

Cutting off a garbage truck at th Street, I made a leftonto Fort Washington Avenue and followed it as it loopedaround to the north. A few minutes later I took a rightonto narrow st Street and squealed to a sweaty stopin front of a once-grand prewar building. Shaw met me in thesixth-floor hallway just outside the elevator, her sneakeredfoot below her blue-green scrubs tapping agitatedly againstthe faded tile floor.

This really was one HAC emergency, itseemed. Natalie was statuesque in scrubs. Nowher hands were on my belt. She was also a brilliant Columbia medstudent on track to becoming a neurologist. It was a nicecombination, though sometimes I wondered if she wantedme more for my body than my mind. Dangling from my finger was a pair of the slightest, rudestthong panties Thailand had ever produced, candy-apple redand transparent as cellophane. Natalie planted her hands on her hips. If you did, then turn the hell around.

She grabbed the panties from myhand. They stretched, snapped like a rubber band off my finger. I could just see her shimmying the panties upher legs in the bedroom mirror. I want to undo the belt with my teeth. I brushed back some broken glass from a picture frame thathad fallen off the wall.

It was a photo of her dad, a Connecti-cut equities trader. Girl had some blue blood in her. I turnedit over and scooted it under the bed. She licked my earlobe. In 37 James Pattersonthe corner of my eye, the winking red light of my iPhone letme know I had a message. That was geology. You know, seis-mology, tectonics. My message was a text from Abraham Bindix, mylion man. Oz, unbelievable.

I called him immediately. Lion behavior is wrong,absolutely wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. We came upon a village —an entire village—emp-tied out. From one end to the other was lion spoor andblood. Which was odd,coming from this burly Afrikaner who looked like a retiredstrongman from the circus.

But when I saw on the news about thelion attack at the L. You haveto come here to Botswana, man. And bring cameras.

You andthe rest of the world have to see this to believe it. Where can you meet me? At the airport in Maun,is it? This is incredible, terrible, incredible. I wasscribbling notes on the receipt for the panties. Are you nuts? Silly ques-tion. Can you watch him for me? Nat was beginning to get actually pissed at me now, notjust play-pissed. You know how creeped out I get.

Besides, I have class. You justhave to check in on him once a day and give him his meds. You could polish up your bedside manner. If I get some tape of abnormal lion be-havior in Africa and couple it with the L. Humanity is in jeopardy. She was gorgeous. And she liked beer and Chris Farleymovies.

She played Modern Warfare 2 with me— and wasgood at it. We watched basketball together. She was a Celticsfan, but that was one of her only flaws. Is it a deal?

Not with you. Not with LeonardoDiCaprio. No one. I just have a chimp whoneeds to eat. Have you seen my boxers anywhere? What if Botswana was a bust? Some-times I wish I could put my mouth in a cage. But by the time I unlocked my bike, I decided that I ac-tually needed my own ultimatum. This was it. It really wastime for me to put up or shut up concerning HAC. Back at the apartment, after I relieved and paid Mrs.

Attila whimpered when he saw me putting ittogether, knowing what it meant when I had to bust thething out. After I got the cage put together, I let Attila in from the ter-race and set him up in his beanbag chair for a special treat. As he sat contentedly watching, I ran downstairs to get mybags from the storage bin. Get down this instant! Whatthe hell are you doing? I actually thought he would swing the laptop at me.

Then the moment passed.Was everyone asleep? I saw how strongly she reacted, and it shook me out of the fugue state where Id been wandering. Captain Quintus asked. Men in hard hats and respirator masks were using sledgehammers to bust down drywall. He holds it up in front of his face and looks at himself.

Yes, I said, almost recognizing her, feeling irritated and not quite knowing why. Gettingno response, Attila crashes back into the tire swing and hur-tles himself back and forth, the chain creaking loudly underthe strain. He may be getting ready to kill Ali. Their clients are leading companies, located around the world, in a variety of industries including plastics, defense, medical device, electronics and mechanical equipment.

Basically, it was my belief that all throughout the world,animal behavior was changing.