Tuesday, 17.v Figuerola woke at 6.10 on Tuesday morning, took a long run along Norr M?larstrand, showered, and clocked in at police headquarters at 8.10. She prepared a memorandum1 on the conclusions she had arrived at the day before. At 9.00 Edklinth arrived. She gave him twenty minutes to deal with his post, then knocked on his door. She waited while he read her four pages. At last he looked up. “The chief of Secretariat,” he said. “He must have approved loaning out M?rtensson. So he must know that M?rtensson is not at Counter-Espionage, even though according to Personal Protection that’s where he is.” Edklinth took off his glasses and polished them thoroughly2 with paper napkin. He had met Chief of Secretariat Albert Shenke at meetings and internal conferences on countless3 occasions, but he could not claim to know the man well. Shenke was rather short, with thin reddish-blond hair, and by now rather stout4. He was about fifty-five and had worked at S.I.S. for at least twenty-five years, possibly longer. He had been chief of Secretariat for a decade, and was assistant chief before that. Edklinth thought him taciturn, and a man who could act ruthlessly when necessary. He had no idea what he did in his free time, but he had a memory of having once seen him in the garage of the police building in casual clothes, with a golf bag slung5 over his shoulder. He had also run into him once at the Opera. “There was one thing that struck me,” Figuerola said “What’s that?” “Evert Gullberg. He did his military service in the ’40s and became an accountant or some such, and then in the ’50s he vanished into thin air.” “And?” “When we were discussing this yesterday, we were talking about him as if he were some sort of a hired killer6.” “It sounds far-fetched, I know, but—” “It struck me that there is so little background on him that it seems almost like a smokescreen. Both IB and S.I.S. established cover companies outside the building in the ’50s and ’60s.” “I was wondering when you’d think of that,” Edklinth said. “I’d like permission to go through the personnel files from the ’50s,” Figuerola said. “No,” Edklinth said, shaking his head. “We can’t go into the archives without authorization7 from the chief of Secretariat, and we don’t want to attract attention until we have more to go on.” “So what next?” “M?rtensson,” Edklinth said. “Find out what he’s working on.” Salander was studying the vent8 window in her room when she heard the key turn in the door. In came Jonasson. It was past 10.00 on Tuesday night. He had interrupted her planning how to break out of Sahlgrenska hospital. She had measured the window and discovered that her head would fit through it and that she would not have much problem squeezing the rest of her body through. It was three storeys to the ground, but a combination of torn sheets and a ten-foot extension cord from a floor lamp would dispose of that problem. She had plotted her escape step by step. The problem was what she would wear. She had knickers, a hospital nightshirt and a pair of plastic flip-flops that she had managed to borrow. She had 200 kronor in cash from Annika Giannini to pay for sweets from the hospital snack shop. That should be enough for a cheap pair of jeans and a T-shirt at the Salvation9 Army store, if she could find one in G?teborg. She would have to spend what was left of the money on a call to Plague. Then everything would work out. She planned on landing in Gibraltar a few days after she escaped, and from there she would create a new identity somewhere in the world. Jonasson sat in the visitor’s chair. She sat on the edge of her bed. “Hello, Lisbeth. I’m sorry I’ve not come to see you the past few days, but I’ve been up to my eyes in A. & E. and I’ve also been made a mentor10 for a couple of interns11.” She had not expected Jonasson to make special visits to see her. He picked up her chart and studied her temperature graph and the record of medications. Her temperature was steady, between 37 and 37.2 degrees, and for the past week she had not taken any headache tablets. “Dr Endrin is your doctor. Do you get along with her?” “She’s alright,” Salander said without enthusiasm. “Is it O.K. if I do an examination?” She nodded. He took a pen torch out of his pocket and bent12 over to shine it into her eyes, to see how her pupils contracted and expanded. He asked her to open her mouth and examined her throat. Then he placed his hands gently around her neck and turned her head back and forth13 and to the sides a few times. “You don’t have any pain in your neck?” he said. She shook her head. “How’s the headache?” “I feel it now and then, but it passes.” “The healing process is still going on. The headache will eventually go away altogether.” Her hair was still so short that he hardly needed to push aside the tufts to feel the scar above her ear. It was healing, but there was still a small scab. “You’ve been scratching the wound. You shouldn’t do that.” She nodded. He took her left elbow and raised the arm. “Can you lift it by yourself?” She lifted her arm. “Do you have any pain or discomfort14 in the shoulder?” She shook her head. “Does it feel tight?” “A little.” “I think you have to do a bit more physio on your shoulder muscles.” “It’s hard when you’re locked up like this.” He smiled at her. “That won’t last. Are you doing the exercises the therapist recommended?” She nodded. He pressed his stethoscope against his wrist for a moment to warm it. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and untied15 the strings16 of her nightshirt, listened to her heart and took her pulse. He asked her to lean forward and placed the stethoscope on her back to listen to her lungs. “Cough.” She coughed. “O.K., you can do up your nightshirt and get into bed. From a medical standpoint, you’re just about recovered.” She expected him to get up and say he would come back in a few days, but he stayed, sitting on the bed. He seemed to be thinking about something. Salander waited patiently. “Do you know why I became a doctor?” he said. She shook her head. “I come from a working-class family. I always thought I wanted to be a doctor. I’d actually thought about becoming a psychiatrist18 when I was a teenager. I was terribly intellectual.” Salander looked at him with sudden alertness as soon as he mentioned the word “psychiatrist”. “But I wasn’t sure that I could handle the studies. So when I finished school I studied to be a welder19 and I even worked as one for several years. I thought it was a good idea to have something to fall back on if the medical studies didn’t work out. And being a welder wasn’t so different from being a doctor. It’s all about patching up things. And now I’m working here at Sahlgrenska and patching up people like you.” She wondered if he were pulling her leg. “Lisbeth … I’m wondering …” He then said nothing for such a long time that Salander almost asked what it was he wanted. But she waited for him to speak. “Would you be angry with me if I asked you a personal question? I want to ask you as a private individual, not as a doctor. I won’t make any record of your answer and I won’t discuss it with anyone else. And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” “What is it?” “Since you were shut up at St Stefan’s when you were twelve, you’ve refused to respond when any psychiatrist has tried to talk to you. Why is that?” Salander’s eyes darkened, but they were utterly20 expressionless as she looked at Jonasson. She sat in silence for two minutes. “Why?” she said at last. “To be honest, I’m not really sure. I think I’m trying to understand something.” Her lips curled a little. “I don’t talk to crazy-doctors because they never listen to what I have to say.” Jonasson laughed. “O.K. Tell me … what do you think of Peter Teleborian?” Jonasson threw out the name so unexpectedly that Salander almost jumped. Her eyes narrowed. “What the hell is this, ‘Twenty Questions’? What are you after?” Her voice sounded like sandpaper. Jonasson leaned forward, almost too close. “Because a … what did you call it … a crazy-doctor by the name of Peter Teleborian, who’s somewhat renowned21 in my profession, has been to see me twice in the past few days, trying to convince me to let him examine you.” Salander felt an icy chill run down her spine22. “The district court is going to appoint him to do a forensic23 psychiatric assessment24 of you.” “And?” “I don’t like the man. I’ve told him he can’t see you. Last time he turned up on the ward17 unannounced and tried to persuade a nurse to let him in.” Salander pressed her lips tight. “His behaviour was a bit odd and a little too eager. So I want to know what you think of him.” This time it was Jonasson’s turn to wait patiently for Salander’s reply. “Teleborian is a beast,” she said at last. “Is it something personal between the two of you?” “You could say that.” “I’ve also had a conversation with an official who wants me to let Teleborian see you.” “And?” “I asked what sort of medical expertise25 he thought he had to assess your condition and then I told him to go to hell. More diplomatically than that, of course. And one last question. Why are you talking to me?” “You asked me a question, didn’t you?” “Yes, but I’m a doctor and I’ve studied psychiatry26. So why are you talking to me? Should I take it to mean that you have a certain amount of trust in me?” She did not reply. “Then I’ll choose to interpret it that way. I want you to know this: you are my patient. That means that I work for you and not for anyone else.” She gave him a suspicious look. He looked back at her for a moment. Then he spoke27 in a lighter28 tone of voice. “From a medical standpoint, as I said, you’re more or less healthy. You don’t need any more weeks of rehab. But unfortunately you’re a bit too healthy.” “Why ‘unfortunately’?” He gave her a cheerful smile. “You’re getting better too fast.” “What do you mean?” “It means that I have no legitimate29 reason to keep you isolated30 here. And the prosecutor31 will soon be having you transferred to a prison in Stockholm to await trial in six weeks. I’m guessing that such a request will arrive next week. And that means that Teleborian will be given the chance to observe you.” She sat utterly still. Jonasson seemed distracted and bent over to arrange her pillow. He spoke as if thinking out loud. “You don’t have much of a headache or any fever, so Dr Endrin is probably going to discharge you.” He stood up suddenly. “Thanks for talking to me. I’ll come back and see you before you’re transferred.” He was already at the door when she spoke. “Dr Jonasson?” He turned towards her. “Thank you.” He nodded curtly32 once before he went out and locked the door. Salander stared for a long time at the locked door. And then she lay back and stared up at the ceiling. That was when she felt that there was something hard beneath her head. She lifted the pillow and saw to her surprise a small cloth bag that had definitely not been there before. She opened it and stared in amazement33 at a Palm Tungsten T3 hand-held computer and battery charger. Then she looked more closely at the computer and saw the little scratch on the top left corner. Her heart skipped a beat. It’s my Palm. But how… In amazement she glanced over at the locked door. Jonasson was a catalogue of surprises. In great excitement she turned on the computer at once and discovered that it was password-protected. She stared in frustration34 at the blinking screen. It seemed to be challenging her. How the hell did they think I would… Then she looked in the cloth bag and found at the bottom a scrap35 of folded paper. She unfolded it and read a line written in an elegant script: You’re the hacker36, work it out! / Kalle B. Salander laughed aloud for the first time in weeks. Touché. She thought for a few seconds. Then she picked up the stylus and wrote the number combination 9277, which corresponded to the letters W-A-S-P on the keyboard. It was a code that Kalle Bloody38 Blomkvist had been forced to work out when he got into her apartment on Fiskargatan uninvited and tripped the burglar alarm. It did not work. She tried 52553, which corresponded to the letters K-A-L-L-E. That did not work either. Since Blomkvist presumably intended that she should use the computer, he must have chosen a simple password. He had used the signature Kalle, which normally he hated. She free-associated. She thought for a moment. It must be some insult. Then she typed in 74774, which corresponded to the word P-I-P-P-I – Pippi Bloody Longstocking. The computer started up. There was a smiley face on the screen with a cartoon speech balloon: She found the document [Hi Sally] at the top of the list. She clicked on it and read: First of all, this is only between you and me. Your lawyer, my sister Annika, has no idea that you have access to this computer. It has to stay that way. I don’t know how much you understand of what is happening outside your locked room, but strangely enough (despite your personality), you have a number of loyal idiots working on your behalf. I have already established an elite39 body called The Knights40 of the Idiotic41 Table. We will be holding an annual dinner at which we’ll have fun talking crap about you. (No, you’re not invited.) So, to the point. Annika is doing her best to prepare for your trial. One problem of course is that she’s working for you and is bound and fettered42 by one of those damned confidentiality43 oaths. So she can’t tell me what the two of you discuss, which in this case is a bit of a handicap. Luckily she does accept information. We have to talk, you and I. Don’t use my email. I may be paranoid, but I have reason to suspect that I’m not the only one reading it. If you want to deliver something, go to Yahoo group [Idiotic_Table]. I.D. Pippi and the password is p9i2p7p7i. / Mikael Salander read his letter twice, staring in bewilderment at the Palm. After a period of computer celibacy44, she was suffering from massive cyber-abstinence. And she wondered which big toe Blomkvist had been thinking with when he smuggled45 her a computer but forgot that she needed a mobile to connect to the Net. She was still thinking when she heard footsteps in the corridor. She turned the computer off at once and shoved it under her pillow. As she heard the key in the door she realized that the cloth bag and charger were still in view on the bedside table. She reached out and slid the bag under the covers and pressed the coil of cord into her crotch. She lay passively looking up at the ceiling when the night nurse came in, said a polite hello, and asked how she was doing and whether she needed anything. Salander told her that she was doing fine and that she wanted a pack of cigarettes. This request was turned down in a firm but friendly tone. She was given a pack of nicotine47 gum. As the nurse was closing the door Salander glimpsed the guard on his chair out in the corridor. She waited until she heard the nurse’s steps receding48 before she once again picked up her Palm. She turned it on and searched for connectivity. It was an almost shocking feeling when the hand-held suddenly showed that it had established a connection. Contact with the Net. Inconceivable. She jumped out of bed so fast that she felt a pain in her injured hip49. She looked around the room. How? She walked all the way round, examining every nook and cranny. No, there was no mobile in the room. And yet she had connectivity. Then a crooked50 grin spread across her face. The connection was radio-controlled and locked into a mobile via Bluetooth, which had a range of ten to twelve metres. Her eyes lit upon an air vent just below the ceiling. Kalle Bloody Blomkvist had somehow planted a mobile just outside her room. That could be the only explanation. But why not smuggle46 in the mobile too? Ah, of course. The batteries. Her Palm had to be recharged only once every three days. A mobile that was connected, if she surfed it hard, would burn out its batteries in much less time. Blomkvist – or more likely somebody he had hired and who was out there – would have to change the batteries at regular intervals51. But he had sent in the charger for her Palm. He isn’t so stupid after all. Salander began by deciding where to keep the hand-held. She had to find a hiding place. There were plug sockets52 by the door and in the panel behind the bed, which provided electricity for her bedside lamp and digital clock. There was a recess54 where a radio had been removed. She smiled. Both the battery charger and the Palm could fit in there. She could use the socket53 inside the bedside table to charge up the Palm during the day. * Salander was happy. Her heart was pounding hard when she started up the hand-held for the first time in two months and ventured on to the Internet. Surfing on a Palm hand-held with a tiny screen and a stylus was not the same thing as surfing on a PowerBook with a 17” screen. But she was connected. From her bed at Sahlgrenska she could now reach the entire world. She started by going on to a website that advertised rather uninteresting pictures by an unknown and not especially skilled amateur photographer called Gil Bates in Jobsville, Pennsylvania. Salander had once checked it out and confirmed that the town of Jobsville did not exist. Nevertheless, Bates had taken more than 200 photographs of the community and created a gallery of small thumbnails. She scrolled55 down to image 167 and clicked to enlarge it. It showed the church in Jobsville. She put her cursor on the spire56 of the church tower and clicked. She instantly got a pop-up dialog box that asked for her I.D. and password. She took out her stylus and wrote the word Remarkable57 on the screen as her I.D. and A(89)Cx#magnolia as the password. She got a dialog box with the text [ERROR – you have the wrong password] and a button that said [OK – Try again]. Lisbeth knew that if she clicked on [OK – Try again] and tried a different password, she would get the same dialog box again – for years and years, for as long as she kept trying. Instead she clicked on the [O] in [ERROR]. The screen went blank. Then an animated58 door opened and a Lara Croft-like figure stepped out. A speech bubble materialized with the text [WHO GOES THERE?]. She clicked on the bubble and wrote Wasp59. She got the instant reply [PROVE IT – OR ELSE …] as the animated Lara Croft unlocked the safety catch on her gun. Salander knew it was no empty threat. If she wrote the wrong password three times in a row the site would shut down and the name Wasp would be struck from the membership list. Carefully she wrote the password MonkeyBusiness. The screen changed again and now had a blue background with the text: [Welcome to Hacker Republic, citizen Wasp. It has been 56 days since your last visit. There are 11 citizens online. Do you want to (a) Browse60 the Forum61 (b) Send a Message (c) Search the Archive (d) Talk (e) Get Laid?] She clicked on [(d) Talk] and then went to the menu selection [Who’s online?] and got a list with the names Andy, Bambi, Dakota, Jabba, BuckRogers, Mandrake, Pred, Slip, SisterJen, SixOfOne, and Trinity. Wasp wrote. SixOfOne wrote. Trinity wrote. Dakota wrote. Salander was not sure, but she suspected that Dakota was a woman. The other citizens online, including the one who called himself SisterJen, were guys. Hacker Republic had a total (the last time she was connected) of sixty-two citizens, of whom four were female. Wasp wrote. Dakota wrote. Trinity wrote. He got abuse from five directions at once. Of the sixty-two citizens, Wasp had met two face to face. Plague, who for some strange reason was not online, was one. Trinity was the other. He was English and lived in London. Two years earlier she had met him for a few hours when he helped her and Blomkvist in the hunt for Harriet Vanger by doing an illegal tapping of a landline in St Albans. Salander fumbled62 with the clumsy stylus and wished she had a keyboard. Mandrake wrote. She punched letters. Pred wrote. Slip wrote. Three chatters63 at once. Salander summed up her situation in five lines, which were greeted by a worried muttering. Trinity wrote. Bambi wrote. SisterJen wrote, and that was followed by a spate64 of disparaging65 remarks about Wasp’s mental abilities. Salander smiled. The conversation resumed with a contribution from Dakota. SixOfOne wrote. Wasp wrote. Mandrake wrote. The citizens of Hacker Republic did not generally spread computer viruses. On the contrary – they were hackers66 and consequently implacable adversaries67 of those idiots who created viruses whose sole purpose was to sabotage68 the Net and crash computers. The citizens were information junkies and wanted a functioning Internet that they could hack37. But their proposal to shut down the Swedish government was not an idle threat. Hacker Republic comprised a very exclusive club of the best of the best, an elite force that any defence organization in the world would have paid enormous sums to use for cyber-military purposes, if the citizens could be persuaded to feel any kind of loyalty69 to any state. Which was not very likely. But they were every one of them computer wizards, and they were well versed70 in the art of contriving71 viruses. Nor did they need much convincing to carry out particular campaigns if the situation warranted. Some years earlier a citizen of Hacker Republic, who in their private life was a software developer in California, had been cheated out of a patent by a hot dot.com company that had the nerve to take the citizen to court. This caused the activists72 in Hacker Republic to devote a startling amount of energy for six months to hacking73 and destroying every computer owned by that company. All the company’s secrets and emails – along with some fake documents that might lead people to think that its C.E.O. was involved in tax fraud – were gleefully posted on the Net, along with information about the C.E.O.’s now not-so-secret mistress and pictures from a party in Hollywood in which he could be seen snorting cocaine74. The company went under in six months, and several years later some members of the “people’s militia” in Hacker Republic, who did not easily forget an enemy, were still haunting the former C.E.O. If fifty of the world’s foremost hackers decided75 to launch a coordinated76 attack against an entire country, the country might survive, but not without having serious problems. The costs would certainly run into the billions if Salander gave it the thumbs-up. She thought for a moment. Dakota wrote. Mandrake wrote. Bambi wrote. Trinity wrote. Salander leaned back against the pillow and followed the conversation with a smile. She wondered why she, who had such difficulty talking about herself with people of flesh and blood, could blithely77 reveal her most intimate secrets to a bunch of completely unknown freaks on the Internet. The fact was that if Salander could claim to have any sort of family or group affiliation78, then it was with these lunatics. None of them actually had a hope of helping79 her with the problems she had with the Swedish state. But she knew that, if the need arose, they would devote both time and cunning to performing effective demonstrations80 of their powers. Through this network she could also find herself hideouts abroad. It had been Plague’s contacts on the Net who had provided her with a Norwegian passport in the name of Irene Nesser. Salander had no idea who the citizens of Hacker Republic were, and she had only a vague notion of what they did when they were not on the Net – the citizens were uniformly vague about their identities. SixOfOne had once claimed that he was a black, male American of Catholic origin living in Toronto. He could just as easily be white, female and Lutheran, and living in Sk?vde. The one she knew best was Plague – he had introduced her to the family, and nobody became a member of this exclusive club without very strong recommendations. And for anyone to become a member they had also to be known personally to one other citizen. On the Net, Plague was an intelligent and socially gifted citizen. In real life he was a severely81 overweight and socially challenged thirty-year-old living on disability benefit in Sundbyberg. He bathed too seldom and his apartment smelled like a monkey house. Salander visited him only once in a blue moon. She was content to confine her dealings with him to the Net. As the chat continued, Wasp downloaded mail that had been sent to her private mailbox at Hacker Republic. One was from another member, Poison, and contained an improved version of her program Asphyxia 1.3, which was available in the Republic’s archive for its citizens. Asphyxia was a program that could control other people’s computers via the Internet. Poison said that he had used it successfully, and that his updated version included the latest versions of Unix, Apple and Windows. She emailed him a brief reply and thanked him for the upgrade. During the next hour, as evening approached in the United States, another half-dozen citizens had come online and welcomed back Wasp before joining the debate. When Salander logged off, the others were discussing to what extent the Swedish Prime Minister’s computer could be made to send civil but crazy emails to other heads of state. A working group had been formed to explore the matter. Salander logged off by writing a brief message: Everyone sent her hugs and kisses and admonished82 her to keep the hole in her head warm. Only when Salander had logged out of Hacker Republic did she go into Yahoo and log on to the private newsgroup [Idiotic_Table]. She discovered that the group had two members – herself and Blomkvist. The mailbox had one message, sent on May 15. It was entitled [Read this first]. Hi Sally. The situation is as follows: The police haven’t found your apartment and don’t have access to the D.V.D. of Bjurman’s rape83. The disk is very strong evidence. I don’t want to turn it over to Annika without your approval. I have the keys to your apartment and a passport in name of Nesser. But the police do have the rucksack you had in Gosseberga. I don’t know if it contains anything compromising. Salander thought for a moment. Don’t think so. A half-empty thermos84 of coffee, some apples, a change of clothes. No problem. You’re going to be charged with G.B.H. against or the attempted murder of Zalachenko, and G.B.H against Carl-Magnus Lundin at Stallarholmen – i.e., because you shot him in the foot and broke his jaw85 when you kicked him. But a source in the police whom I trust tells me that the evidence in each case is woolly. The following is important: (1) Before Zalachenko was shot he denied everything and claimed that it could only have been Niedermann who shot and buried you. He laid a charge against you for attempting to murder him. The prosecutor is going to go on about this being the second time you have tried to kill him. (2) Neither Lundin or Sonny Nieminen has said a word about what happened at Stallarholmen. Lundin has been arrested for kidnapping Miriam. Nieminen has been released. Salander had already discussed all of this with Giannini. That was nothing new. She had told Giannini everything that had happened in Gosseberga, but she had refrained from telling her anything about Bjurman. What I think you haven’t understood are the rules of the game. It’s like this. S?po got saddled with Zalachenko in the middle of the Cold War. For fifteen years he was protected, no matter what havoc86 he wrought87. Careers were built on Zalachenko. On any number of occasions they cleaned up behind his rampages. This is all criminal activity: Swedish authorities helping to cover up crime against individual citizens. If this gets out, there’ll be a scandal that will affect both the conservative and social democratic parties. Above all, people in high places within S?po will be exposed as accomplices88 in criminal and immoral89 activities. Even though by now the statute90 of limitations has run out on the specific instances of crime, there’ll still be a scandal. It involves big beasts who are either retired91 now or close to retirement92. They will do everything they can to reduce the damage to themselves and their group, and that means you’ll once again be a pawn93 in their game. But this time it’s not a matter of them sacrificing a pawn – it’ll be a matter of them actively94 needing to limit the damage to themselves personally. So you’ll have to be locked up again. This is how it will work. They know that they can’t keep the lid on the Zalachenko secret for long. I’ve got the story, and they know that sooner or later I’m going to publish it. It doesn’t matter so much, of course, now that he’s dead. What matters to them is their own survival. The following points are therefore high on their agenda: (1) They have to convince the district court (the public, in effect) that the decision to lock you up in St Stefan’s in 1991 was a legitimate one, that you really were mentally ill. (2) They have to separate the “Salander affair” from the “Zalachenko affair”. They’ll try to create a situation where they can say that “certainly Zalachenko was a fiend, but that had nothing to do with the decision to lock up his daughter. She was locked up because she was deranged95 – any claims to the contrary are the sick fantasies of bitter journalists. No, we did not assist Zalachenko in any crime – that’s the delusion96 of a mentally ill teenage girl.” (3) The problem is that if you’re acquitted97, it would mean that the district court finds you not only not guilty, but also not a nutcase. And that would have to mean that locking you up in 1991 was illegal. So they have, at all costs, to condemn98 you again to the locked psychiatric ward. If the court determines that you are mentally ill, the media’s interest in continuing to dig around in the “Salander affair” will die away. That is how the media work. Are you with me? All of this she had already worked out for herself. The problem was that she did not know what she should do. Lisbeth – seriously – this battle is going to be decided in the mass media and not in the courtroom. Unfortunately the trial is going to be held behind closed doors “to protect your privacy”. The day that Zalachenko was shot there was a robbery at my apartment. There were no signs on my door of a break-in, and nothing was touched or moved – except for one thing. The folder99 from Bjurman’s summer cabin with Bj?rck’s report was taken. At the same time my sister was mugged and her copy of the report was also stolen. That folder is your most important evidence. I have let it be known that our Zalachenko documents are gone, disappeared. In fact I had a third copy that I was going to give to Armansky. I made several copies of that one and have tucked them away in safe places. Our opponents – who include several high-powered figures and certain psychiatrists100 – are of course also preparing for the trial together with Prosecutor Ekstr?m. I have a source who provides me with some info. on what’s going on, but I suspect that you might have a better chance of finding out the relevant information. This is urgent. The prosecutor is going to try to get you locked up in the psychiatric ward. Assisting him he has your old friend Peter Teleborian. Annika won’t be able to go out and do a media campaign in the same way that the prosecution101 can (and does), leaking information as they see fit. Her hands are tied. But I’m not lumbered102 with that sort of restriction103. I write whatever I want – and I also have an entire magazine at my disposal. Two important details are still needed: (1) First of all, I want to have something that shows that Prosecutor Ekstr?m is today working with Teleborian in some inappropriate manner, and that the objective once more is to confine you to a nuthouse. I want to be able to go on any talk show on T.V. and present documentation that annihilates104 the prosecution’s game. (2) To wage a media war I must be able to appear in public to discuss things that you may consider your private business. Hiding behind the arras in this situation is a wildly overrated tactic105 in view of all that has been written about you since Easter. I have to be able to construct a completely new media image of you, even if that, in your opinion, means invading your privacy – preferably with your approval. Do you understand what I mean? She opened the archive in [Idiotic_Table]. It contained twenty-six documents.
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memorandum
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thoroughly
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countless
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slung
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killer
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authorization
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vent
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9
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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mentor
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| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
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interns
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| n.住院实习医生( intern的名词复数 )v.拘留，关押( intern的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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13
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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15
untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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16
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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18
psychiatrist
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| n.精神病专家；精神病医师 | |
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19
welder
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| n电焊工 | |
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20
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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21
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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22
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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23
forensic
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| adj.法庭的，雄辩的 | |
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24
assessment
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| n.评价；评估；对财产的估价，被估定的金额 | |
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25
expertise
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| n.专门知识(或技能等)，专长 | |
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26
psychiatry
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| n.精神病学，精神病疗法 | |
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27
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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28
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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29
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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30
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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31
prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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32
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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33
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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34
frustration
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| n.挫折，失败，失效，落空 | |
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35
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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36
hacker
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| n.能盗用或偷改电脑中信息的人，电脑黑客 | |
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37
hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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38
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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39
elite
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| n.精英阶层；实力集团；adj.杰出的，卓越的 | |
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40
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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41
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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42
fettered
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| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
confidentiality
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| n.秘而不宣，保密 | |
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44
celibacy
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| n.独身(主义) | |
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45
smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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46
smuggle
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| vt.私运；vi.走私 | |
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47
nicotine
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| n.(化)尼古丁，烟碱 | |
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48
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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49
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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50
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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52
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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53
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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54
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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scrolled
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| adj.具有涡卷装饰的v.（电脑屏幕上）从上到下移动（资料等），卷页( scroll的过去式和过去分词 )；（似卷轴般）卷起；（像展开卷轴般地）将文字显示于屏幕 | |
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56
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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57
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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58
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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59
wasp
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| n.黄蜂，蚂蜂 | |
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60
browse
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| vi.随意翻阅，浏览；(牛、羊等)吃草 | |
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61
forum
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| n.论坛，讨论会 | |
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62
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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63
chatters
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的第三人称单数 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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64
spate
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| n.泛滥，洪水，突然的一阵 | |
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65
disparaging
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| adj.轻蔑的，毁谤的v.轻视( disparage的现在分词 )；贬低；批评；非难 | |
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66
hackers
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| n.计算机迷( hacker的名词复数 )；私自存取或篡改电脑资料者，电脑“黑客” | |
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67
adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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68
sabotage
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| n.怠工，破坏活动，破坏；v.从事破坏活动，妨害，破坏 | |
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69
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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70
versed
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| adj. 精通，熟练 | |
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71
contriving
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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72
activists
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| n.（政治活动的）积极分子，活动家( activist的名词复数 ) | |
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73
hacking
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| n.非法访问计算机系统和数据库的活动 | |
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74
cocaine
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| n.可卡因，古柯碱（用作局部麻醉剂） | |
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75
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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76
coordinated
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| adj.协调的 | |
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77
blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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78
affiliation
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| n.联系，联合 | |
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79
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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80
demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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81
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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82
admonished
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| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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83
rape
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| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
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84
thermos
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| n.保湿瓶，热水瓶 | |
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85
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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86
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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87
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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88
accomplices
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| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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89
immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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90
statute
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| n.成文法，法令，法规；章程，规则，条例 | |
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91
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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92
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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93
pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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94
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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95
deranged
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| adj.疯狂的 | |
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96
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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97
acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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98
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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99
folder
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| n.纸夹，文件夹 | |
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100
psychiatrists
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| n.精神病专家，精神病医生( psychiatrist的名词复数 ) | |
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101
prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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102
lumbered
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| 砍伐（lumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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103
restriction
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| n.限制，约束 | |
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104
annihilates
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| n.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的名词复数 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的第三人称单数 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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105
tactic
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| n.战略，策略；adj.战术的，有策略的 | |
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