Thursday, 19.v – Sunday, 22.v Salander spent most of Wednesday night and early Thursday morning reading Blomkvist’s articles and the chapters of the Millennium1 book that were more or less finished. Since Prosecutor2 Ekstr?m had tentatively referred to a trial in July, Blomkvist had set June 20 as his deadline for going to press. That meant that Blomkvist had about a month to finish writing and patching up all the holes in his text. She could not imagine how he could finish in time, but that was his problem, not hers. Her problem was how to respond to his questions. She took her Palm and logged on to the Yahoo group [Idiotic_Table] to check whether he had put up anything new in the past twenty-four hours. He had not. She opened the document that he had called [Central questions]. She knew the text by heart already, but she read through it again anyway. He outlined the strategy that Giannini had already explained to her. When her lawyer spoke3 to her she had listened with only half an ear, almost as though it had nothing to do with her. But Blomkvist, knowing things about her that Giannini did not, could present a more forceful strategy. She skipped down to the fourth paragraph. The only person who can decide your future is you. It doesn’t matter how hard Annika works for you, or how much Armansky and Palmgren and I, and others, try to support you. I’m not going to try to convince you one way or the other. You’ve got to decide for yourself. You could turn the trial to your advantage or let them convict you. But if you want to win, you’re going to have to fight. She disconnected and looked up at the ceiling. Blomkvist was asking her for permission to tell the truth in his book. He was not going to mention the fact of Bjurman raping4 her, and he had already written that section. He had filled in the gaps by saying that Bjurman had made a deal with Zalachenko which collapsed5 when Bjurman lost control. Therefore Niedermann was obliged to kill him. Blomkvist did not speculate about Bjurman’s motives6. Kalle Bloody7 Blomkvist was complicating8 life for her. At 2.00 in the morning she opened the word processing program on her Palm. She clicked on New Document, took out the stylus and began to tap on the letters on the digital keypad. My name is Lisbeth Salander. I was born on 30 April 1978. My mother was Agneta Sofia Salander. She was seventeen when I was born. My father was a psychopath, a killer9 and wife beater whose name was Alexander Zalachenko. He previously10 worked in western Europe for the Soviet11 military intelligence service G.R.U. It was a slow process, writing with the stylus on the keypad. She thought through each sentence before she tapped it in. She did not make a single revision to the text she had written. She worked until 4.00 and then she turned off her computer and put it to recharge in the recess12 at the back of her bedside table. By that time she had produced a document corresponding to two single-spaced A4 pages. Twice since midnight the duty nurse had put her head around the door, but Salander could hear her a long way off and even before she turned the key the computer was hidden and the patient asleep. Berger woke at 7.00. She felt far from rested, but she had slept uninterrupted for eight hours. She glanced at Blomkvist, still sleeping soundly beside her. She turned on her mobile to check for messages. Greger Beckman, her husband, had called eleven times. Shit. I forgot to call. She dialled the number and explained where she was and why she had not come home. He was angry. “Erika, don’t do that again. It has nothing to do with Mikael, but I’ve been worried sick all night. I was terrified that something had happened. You know you have to call and tell me if you’re not coming home. You mustn’t ever forget something like that.” Beckman was completely O.K. with the fact that Blomkvist was his wife’s lover. Their affair was carried on with his assent13. But every time she had decided14 to sleep at Blomkvist’s, she had called her husband to tell him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just collapsed in exhaustion15 last night.” He grunted16. “Try not to be furious with me, Greger. I can’t handle it right now. You can give me hell tonight.” He grunted some more and promised to scold her when she got home. “O.K. How’s Mikael doing?” “He’s dead to the world.” She burst out laughing. “Believe it or not, we were fast asleep moments after we got here. That’s never happened.” “This is serious, Erika. I think you ought to see a doctor.” When she hung up she called the office and left a message for Fredriksson. Something had come up and she would be in a little later than usual. She asked him to cancel a meeting she had arranged with the culture editor. She found her shoulder bag, ferreted out a toothbrush and went to the bathroom. Then she got back into the bed and woke Blomkvist. “Hurry up – go and wash and brush your teeth.” “What … huh?” He sat up and looked around in bewilderment. She had to remind him that he was at the Slussen Hilton. He nodded. “So. To the bathroom with you.” “Why the hurry?” “Because as soon as you come back I need you to make love to me.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got a meeting at 11.00 that I can’t postpone17. I have to look presentable, and it’ll take me at least half an hour to put on my face. And I’ll have to buy a new shift dress or something on the way to work. That gives us only two hours to make up for a whole lot of lost time.” Blomkvist headed for the bathroom. * Holmberg parked his father’s Ford18 in the drive of former Prime Minister Thorbj?rn F?lldin’s house in ?s just outside Ramvik in H?rn?sand county. He got out of the car and looked around. At the age of seventy-nine, F?lldin could hardly still be an active farmer, and Holmberg wondered who did the sowing and harvesting. He knew he was being watched from the kitchen window. That was the custom in the village. He himself had grown up in H?lledal outside Ramvik, very close to Sand?bron, which was one of the most beautiful places in the world. At any rate Holmberg thought so. He knocked at the front door. The former leader of the Centre Party looked old, but he seemed alert still, and vigorous. “Hello, Thorbj?rn. My name is Jerker Holmberg. We’ve met before but it’s been a few years. My father is Gustav Holmberg, a delegate for the Centre in the ’70s and ’80s.” “Yes, I recognize you, Jerker. Hello. You’re a policeman down in Stockholm now, aren’t you? It must be ten or fifteen years since I last saw you.” “I think it’s probably longer than that. May I come in?” Holmberg sat at the kitchen table while F?lldin poured them some coffee. “I hope all’s well with your father. But that’s not why you came, is it?” “No. Dad’s doing fine. He’s out repairing the roof of the cabin.” “How old is he now?” “He turned seventy-one two months ago.” “Is that so?” F?lldin said, joining Holmberg at the kitchen table. “So what’s this visit all about then?” Holmberg looked out of the window and saw a magpie19 land next to his car and peck at the ground. Then he turned to F?lldin. “I am sorry for coming to see you without warning, but I have a big problem. It’s possible that when this conversation is over, I’ll be fired from my job. I’m here on a work issue, but my boss, Criminal Inspector20 Jan Bublanski of the Violent Crimes Division in Stockholm, doesn’t know I’m here.” “That sounds serious.” “Just to say that I’d be on very thin ice if my superiors found out about this visit.” “I understand.” “On the other hand I’m afraid that if I don’t do something, there’s a risk that a woman’s rights will be shockingly violated, and to make matters worse, it’ll be the second time it’s happened.” “You’d better tell me the whole story.” “It’s about a man named Alexander Zalachenko. He was an agent for the Soviets’ G.R.U. and defected to Sweden on Election Day in 1976. He was given asylum21 and began to work for S?po. I have reason to believe that you know his story.” F?lldin regarded Holmberg attentively22. “It’s a long story,” Holmberg said, and he began to tell F?lldin about the preliminary investigation23 in which he had been involved for the past few months. Erika Berger finally rolled over on to her stomach and rested her head on her fists. She broke out in a big smile. “Mikael, have you ever wondered if the two of us aren’t completely nuts?” “What do you mean?” “It’s true for me, at least. I’m smitten24 by an insatiable desire for you. I feel like a crazy teenager.” “Oh yes?” “And then I want to go home and go to bed with my husband.” Blomkvist laughed. “I know a good therapist.” She poked25 him in the stomach. “Mikael, it’s starting to feel like this thing with S.M.P. was a seriously big mistake.” “Nonsense. It’s a huge opportunity for you. If anyone can inject life into that dying body, it’s you.” “Maybe so. But that’s just the problem. S.M.P. feels like a dying body. And then you dropped that bombshell about Borgsj?.” “You’ve got to let things settle down.” “I know. But the thing with Borgsj? is going to be a real problem. I don’t have the faintest idea how to handle it.” “Nor do I. But we’ll think of something.” She lay quiet for a moment. “I miss you.” “I miss you too.” “How much would it take for you to come to S.M.P. and be the news editor?” “I wouldn’t do it for anything. Isn’t what’s-his-name, Holm, the news editor?” “Yes. But he’s an idiot.” “You got him in one.” “Do you know him?” “I certainly do. I worked for him for three months as a temp in the mid-’80s. He’s a prick26 who plays people off against each other. Besides …” “Besides what?” “It’s nothing.” “Tell me.” “Some girl, Ulla something, who was also a temp, claimed that he sexually harassed27 her. I don’t know how much was true, but the union did nothing about it and her contract wasn’t extended.” Berger looked at the clock and sighed. She got up from the bed and made for the shower. Blomkvist did not move when she came out, dried herself, and dressed. “I think I’ll doze28 for a while,” he said. She kissed his cheek and waved as she left. Figuerola parked seven cars behind M?rtensson’s Volvo on Luntmakargatan, close to the corner of Olof Palmes Gata. She watched as M?rtensson walked to the machine to pay his parking fee. He then walked on to Sveav?gen. Figuerola decided not to pay for a ticket. She would lose him if she went to the machine and back, so she followed him. He turned left on to Kungsgatan, and went into Kungstornet. She waited three minutes before she followed him into the café. He was on the ground floor talking to a blond man who looked to be in very good shape. A policeman she thought. She recognized him as the other man Malm had photographed outside the Copacabana on May Day. She bought herself a coffee and sat at the opposite end of the café and opened her Dagens Nyheter. M?rtensson and his companion were talking in low voices. She took out her mobile and pretended to make a call, although neither of the men were paying her any attention. She took a photograph with the mobile that she knew would be only 72 dpi – low quality, but it could be used as evidence that the meeting had taken place. After about fifteen minutes the blond man stood up and left the café. Figuerola cursed. Why had she not stayed outside? She would have recognized him when he came out. She wanted to leap up and follow him. But M?rtensson was still there, calmly nursing his coffee. She did not want to draw attention to herself by leaving so soon after his unidentified companion. And then M?rtensson went to the toilet. As soon as he closed the door Figuerola was on her feet and back out on Kungsgatan. She looked up and down the block, but the blond man was gone. She took a chance and hurried to the corner of Sveav?gen. She could not see him anywhere, so she went down to the tunnelbana concourse, but it was hopeless. She turned back towards Kungstornet, feeling stressed. M?rtensson had left too. Berger swore when she got back to where she had parked her B.M.W. the night before. The car was still there, but during the night some bastard30 had punctured31 all four tyres. Infernal bastard piss rats, she fumed32. She called the vehicle recovery service, told them that she did not have time to wait, and put the key in the exhaust pipe. Then she went down to Hornsgaten and hailed a taxi. Lisbeth Salander logged on to Hacker33 Republice and saw that Plague was online. She pinged him. his email. You’ll have to send the material to a hotmail address.> Plague went quiet for a few seconds. She explained what she needed to have done. On Friday morning Jonasson was faced with an obviously irritated Inspector Faste on the other side of his desk. “I don’t understand this,” Faste said. “I thought Salander had recovered. I came to G?teborg for two reasons: to interview her and to get her ready to be transferred to a cell in Stockholm, where she belongs.” “I’m sorry for your wasted journey,” Jonasson said. “I’d be glad to discharge her because we certainly don’t have any beds to spare here. But—” “Could she be faking?” Jonasson smiled politely. “I really don’t think so. You see, Lisbeth Salander was shot in the head. I removed a bullet from her brain, and it was 50/50 whether she would survive. She did survive and her prognosis has been exceedingly satisfactory … so much so that my colleagues and I were getting ready to discharge her. Then yesterday she had a setback34. She complained of severe headaches and developed a fever that has been fluctuating up and down. Last night she had a temperature of 38 and vomited35 on two occasions. During the night the fever subsided36; she was almost back down to normal and I thought the episode had passed. But when I examined her this morning her temperature had gone up to almost 39. That is serious.” “So what’s wrong with her?” “I don’t know, but the fact that her temperature is fluctuating indicates that it’s not flu or any other viral infection. Exactly what’s causing it I can’t say, but it could be something as simple as an allergy37 to her medication or to something else she’s come into contact with.” He clicked on an image on his computer and turned the screen towards Faste. “I had a cranial X-ray done. There’s a darker area here, as you can see right next to her gunshot wound. I can’t determine what it is. It could be scar tissue as a product of the healing process, but it could also be a minor38 haemorrhage. And until we’ve found out what’s wrong, I can’t release her, no matter how urgent it may be from a police point of view.” Faste knew better than to argue with a doctor, since they were the closest things to God’s representatives here on earth. Policemen possibly excepted. “What is going to happen now?” “I’ve ordered complete bedrest and put her physiotherapy on hold – she needs therapeutic39 exercise because of the wounds in her shoulder and hip40.” “Understood. I’ll have to call Prosecutor Ekstr?m in Stockholm. This will come as a bit of a surprise. What can I tell him?” “Two days ago I was ready to approve a discharge, possibly for the end of this week. As the situation is now, it will take longer. You’ll have to prepare him for the fact that probably I won’t be in a position to make a decision in the coming week, and that it might be two weeks before you can move her to Stockholm. It depends on her rate of recovery.” “The trial has been set for July.” “Barring the unforeseen, she should be on her feet well before then.” Bublanski cast a sceptical glance at the muscular woman on other side of the table. They were drinking coffee in the pavement area of a café on Norr M?larstrand. It was Friday, May 20, and the warmth of summer was in the air. Inspector Monica Figuerola, her I.D. said, S.I.S. She had caught up with him just as he was leaving for home; she had suggested a conversation over a cup of coffee, just that. At first he had been almost hostile, but she had very straightforwardly41 conceded that she had no authority to interview him and that naturally he was perfectly42 free to tell her nothing at all if he did not want to. He asked her what her business was, and she told him that she had been assigned by her boss to form an unofficial picture of what was true and what not true in the so-called Zalachenko case, also in some quarters known as the Salander case. She vouchsafed43 that it was not absolutely certain whether she had the right to question him. It was entirely44 up to him to decide whether he would talk to her or not. “What would you like to know?” Bublanski said at last. “Tell me what you know about Salander, Mikael Blomkvist, Gunnar Bj?rck, and Zalachenko. How do the pieces fit together?” They talked for more than two hours. Edklinth thought long and hard about how to proceed. After five days of investigations45, Figuerola had given him a number of indisputable indications that something was rotten within S.I.S. He recognized the need to move very carefully until he had enough information. He found himself, furthermore, on the horns of a constitutional dilemma46: he did not have the authority to conduct secret investigations, and most assuredly not against his colleagues. Accordingly he had to contrive47 some cause that would legitimize what he was doing. If the worst came to the worst, he could always fall back on the fact that it was a policeman’s duty to investigate a crime – but the breach48 was now so sensitive from a constitutional standpoint that he would surely be fired if he took a single wrong step. So he spent the whole of Friday brooding alone in his office. Finally he concluded that Armansky was right, no matter how improbable it might seem. There really was a conspiracy49 inside S.I.S., and a number of individuals were acting50 outside of, or parallel to, regular operations. Because this had been going on for many years – at least since 1976, when Zalachenko arrived in Sweden – it had to be organized and sanctioned from the top. Exactly how high up the conspiracy went he had no idea. He wrote three names on a pad: G?ran M?rtensson, Personal Protection. Criminal Inspector. Gunnar Bj?rck, assistant chief of Immigration Division. Deceased (Suicide?). Albert Shenke, chief of Secretariat, S.I.S. Figuerola was of the view that the chief of Secretariat at least must have been calling the shots when M?rtensson in Personal Protection was supposedly moved to Counter-Espionage, although he had not in fact been working there. He was too busy monitoring the movements of the journalist Mikael Blomkvist, and that did not have anything at all to do with the operations of Counter-Espionage. Some other names from outside S.I.S. had to be added to the list: Peter Teleborian, psychiatrist51 Lars Faulsson, locksmith Teleborian had been hired by S.I.S. as a psychiatric consultant52 on specific cases in the late ’80s and early ’90s – on three occasions, to be exact, and Edklinth had examined the reports in the archive. The first had been extraordinary – Counter-Espionage had identified a Russian informer inside the Swedish telecom industry, and the spy’s background indicated that he might be inclined to suicide in the event that his actions were exposed. Teleborian had done a strikingly good analysis, which helped them turn the informer so that he could become a double agent. His other two reports had involved less significant evaluations53: one was of an employee inside S.I.S. who had an alcohol problem, and the second was an analysis of the bizarre sexual behaviour of an African diplomat54. Neither Teleborian nor Faulsson – especially not Faulsson – had any position inside S.I.S. And yet through their assignments they were connected to … to what? The conspiracy was intimately linked to the late Alexander Zalachenko, the defected G.R.U. agent who had apparently55 turned up in Sweden on Election Day in 1976. A man no-one had ever heard of before. How was that possible? Edklinth tried to imagine what reasonably would have happened if he had been sitting at the chief’s desk at S.I.S. in 1976 when Zalachenko defected. What would he have done? Absolute secrecy56. It would have been essential. The defection could only be known to a small group without risking that the information might leak back to the Russians and … How small a group? An operations department? An unknown operations department? If the affair had been appropriately handled, Zalachenko’s case should have ended up in Counter-Espionage. Ideally he should have come under the auspices57 of the military intelligence service, but they had neither the resources nor the expertise58 to run this sort of operational activity. So, S.I.S. it was. But Counter-Espionage had not ever had him. Bj?rck was the key; he had been one of the people who handled Zalachenko. And yet Bj?rck had never had anything to do with Counter-Espionage. Bj?rck was a mystery. Officially he had held a post in the Immigration Division since the ’70s, but in reality he had scarcely been seen in the department before the ’90s, when suddenly he became assistant director. And yet Bj?rck was the primary source of Blomkvist’s information. How had Blomkvist been able to persuade Bj?rck to reveal such explosive material? And to a journalist at that. Prostitutes. Bj?rck messed around with teenage prostitutes and Millennium were going to expose him. Blomkvist must have blackmailed59 Bj?rck. Then Salander came into the picture. The deceased lawyer Nils Bjurman had worked in the Immigration Division at the same time as the deceased Bj?rck. They were the ones who had taken care of Zalachenko. But what did they do with him? Somebody must have made the decision. With a defector of such provenance60 the order must have come from the highest level. From the government. It must have been backed by the government. Anything else would be unthinkable. Surely? Edklinth felt cold shivers of apprehension61. This was all conceivable in practice. A defector of Zalachenko’s status would have to be handled with the utmost secrecy. He would have decided as much himself. That was what F?lldin’s administration must have decided too. It made sense. But what happened in 1991 did not make sense. Bj?rck had hired Teleborian effectively to lock Salander up in a psychiatric hospital for children on the – false – pretext62 that she was mentally deranged63. That was a crime. That was such a monstrous64 crime that Edklinth felt yet more apprehensive65. Somebody must have made that decision. It simply could not have been the government. Ingvar Carlsson had been Prime Minister at the time, and then Carl Bildt.* But no politician would dare to be involved in such a decision, which contradicted all law and justice and which would result in a disastrous66 scandal if it were ever discovered. If the government was involved, then Sweden was not one iota67 better than any dictatorship in the entire world. It was impossible. And what about the events of April 12? Zalachenko was conveniently murdered at Sahlgrenska hospital by a mentally ill fanatic68 at the same time as a burglary was committed at Blomkvist’s apartment and Advokat Giannini was mugged. In both latter instances, copies of Bj?rck’s strange report dating from 1991 were stolen. Armansky had contributed this information, but it was completely off the record. No police report was ever filed. And at the same time, Bj?rck hangs himself – a person with whom Edklinth wished he could have had a serious talk. Edklinth did not believe in coincidence on such a grand scale. Inspector Bublanski did not believe in such coincidence either. And Blomkvist did not believe it. Edklinth took up his felt pen once more: Evert Gullberg, seventy-eight years old. Tax specialist. ??? Who the hell was Evert Gullberg? He considered calling up the chief of S.I.S., but he restrained himself for the simple reason that he did not know how far up in the organization the conspiracy reached. He did not know whom he could trust. For a moment he considered turning to the regular police. Jan Bublanski was the leader of the investigation concerning Ronald Niedermann, and obviously he would be interested in any related information. But from a purely69 political standpoint, it was out of the question. He felt a great weight on his shoulders. There was only one option left that was constitutionally correct, and which might provide some protection if he ended up in political hot water. He would have to turn to the chief to secure political support for what he was working on. It was just before 4.00 on Friday afternoon. He picked up the telephone and called the Minister of Justice, whom he had known for many years and had dealings with at numerous departmental meetings. He got him on the line within five minutes. “Hello, Torsten. It’s been a long time. What’s the problem?” “To tell you the truth … I think I’m calling to check how much credibility I have with you.” “Credibility? That’s a peculiar70 question. As far as I’m concerned you have absolute credibility. What makes you ask such a dramatic question?” “It’s prompted by a dramatic and extraordinary request. I need to have a meeting with you and the Prime Minister, and it’s urgent.” “Whoa!” “If you’ll forgive me, I’d rather explain when we can talk in private. Something has come across my desk that is so remarkable71 that I believe both you and the Prime Minister need to be informed.” “Does it have anything to do with terrorists and threat assessments—” “No. It’s more serious than that. I’m putting my reputation and career on the line by calling you with this request.” “I see. That’s why you asked about your credibility. How soon do you need the meeting with the P.M.?” “This evening if possible.” “Now you’ve got me worried.” “Unhappily, there’s good reason for you to be worried.” “How long will the meeting take?” “It’ll probably take an hour.” “Let me call you back.” The Minister of Justice called back ten minutes later and said that the Prime Minister would meet with Edklinth at his residence at 9.30 that evening. Edklinth’s palms were sweating when he put down the telephone. By tomorrow morning my career could be over. He called Figuerola. “Hello, Monica. At 9.00 tonight you have to report for duty. You’d better dress nicely.” “I always dress nicely,” Figuerola said. The Prime Minister gave the Director of Constitutional Protection a long, wary72 look. Edklinth had a sense that cogs were whirring at high speed behind the P.M.’s glasses. The P.M. shifted his gaze to Figuerola, who had not said a word during the presentation. He saw an unusually tall and muscular woman looking back at him with a polite, expectant expression. Then he turned to the Minister of Justice, who had paled in the course of the presentation. After a while the P.M. took a deep breath, removed his glasses, and stared for a moment into the distance. “I think we need a little more coffee,” he said. “Yes, please,” Figuerola said. Edklinth nodded and the Minister of Justice poured coffee from a thermos73 jug74. “I’ll sum up so that I am absolutely certain that I understood you correctly,” the Prime Minister said. “You suspect that there’s a conspiracy within the Security Police that is acting outside its constitutional mandate75, and that over the years this conspiracy has committed what could be categorized as serious criminal acts.” “Yes.” “And you’re coming to me because you don’t trust the leadership of the Security Police?” “No, not exactly,” Edklinth said. “I decided to turn directly to you because this sort of activity is unconstitutional. But I don’t know the objective of the conspiracy, or whether I have possibly misinterpreted something. The activity may for all I know be legitimate76 and sanctioned by the government. Then I risk proceeding77 on faulty or misunderstood information, thereby78 compromising some secret operation.” The Prime Minister looked at the Minister of Justice. Both understood that Edklinth was covering his back. “I’ve never heard of anything like this. Do you know anything about it?” “Absolutely not,” the Minister of Justice said. “There’s nothing in any report that I’ve seen from the Security Police that could have a bearing on this matter.” “Blomkvist thinks there’s a faction79 within S?po. He refers to it as the Zalachenko club,” Edklinth said. “I’d never even heard that Sweden had taken in and protected a Russian defector of such importance,” the P.M. said. “He defected during the F?lldin administration, you say?” “I don’t believe F?lldin would have covered up something like this,” the Minister of Justice said. “A defection like this would have been given the highest priority, and would have been passed over to the next administration.” Edklinth cleared his throat. “F?lldin’s conservative government was succeeded by Olof Palme’s. It’s no secret that some of my predecessors80 at S.I.S. had a certain opinion of Palme—” “You’re suggesting that somebody forgot to inform the social democratic government?” Edklinth nodded. “Let’s remember that F?lldin was in power for two separate mandates81. Each time the coalition82 government collapsed. First he handed over to Ola Ullsten, who had a minority government in 1979. The government collapsed again when the moderates jumped ship, and F?lldin governed together with the People’s Party. I’m guessing that the government secretariat was in turmoil83 during those transition periods. It’s also possible that knowledge of Zalachenko was confined to so small a circle that Prime Minister F?lldin had no real oversight84, so he never had anything to hand over to Palme.” “In that case, who’s responsible?” the P.M. said. All except Figuerola shook their heads. “I assume that this is bound to leak to the media,” the P.M. said. “Blomkvist and Millennium are going to publish it. In other words, we’re caught between the proverbial rock and hard place.” Edklinth was careful to use the word “we”. The P.M. nodded. He realized the gravity of the situation. “Then I’ll have to start by thanking you for coming to me with this matter as soon as you did. I don’t usually agree to this sort of unscheduled meeting, but the minister here said that you were a prudent85 person, and that something serious must have happened if you wanted to see me outside all normal channels.” Edklinth exhaled86 a little. Whatever happened, the wrath87 of the Prime Minister was not going to come down on him. “Now we just have to decide how we’re going to handle it. Do you have any suggestions?” “Perhaps,” Edklinth said tentatively. He was silent for so long that Figuerola cleared her throat. “May I say something?” “Please do,” the P.M. said. “If it’s true that the government doesn’t know about this operation, then it’s illegal. The person responsible in such a case is the criminal civil servant – or civil servants – who overstepped his authority. If we can verify all the claims Blomkvist is making, it means that a group of officers within S.I.S. have been devoting themselves to criminal activity for a long time. The problem would then unfold in two parts.” “How do you mean?” “First we have to ask the question: how could this have been possible? Who is responsible? How did such a conspiracy develop within the framework of an established police organization? I myself work for S.I.S., and I’m proud of it. How can this have gone on for so long? How could this activity have been both concealed88 and financed?” “Go on,” the P.M. said. “Whole books will probably be written about this first part. It’s clear that there must have been financing, at least several million kronor annually89 I’d say. I looked over the budget of the Security Police and found nothing resembling an allocation for the Zalachenko club. But, as you know, there are a number of hidden funds controlled by the chief of Secretariat and chief of Budget that I have no access to.” The Prime Minister nodded grimly. Why did S?po always have to be such a nightmare to administer? “The second part is: who is involved? And very specifically, which individuals should be arrested? From my standpoint, all these questions depend on the decision you make in the next few minutes,” she said to the P.M. Edklinth was holding his breath. If he could have kicked Figuerola in the shin he would have done so. She had cut through all the rhetoric90 and intimated that the Prime Minister himself was responsible. He had considered coming to the same conclusion, but not before a long and diplomatic circumlocution91. “What decision do you think I should make?” “I believe we have common interests. I’ve worked at Constitutional Protection for three years. I consider this office of central importance to Swedish democracy. The Security Police has worked satisfactorily within the framework of the constitution in recent years. Naturally I don’t want the scandal to affect S.I.S. For us it’s important to bear in mind that this is a case of criminal activity perpetrated by a small number of individuals.” “Activity of this kind is most definitely not sanctioned by the government,” the Minister of Justice said. Figuerola nodded and thought for a few seconds. “It is, in my view, essential that the scandal should not implicate92 the government – which is what would happen if the government tried to cover up the story.” “The government does not cover up criminal activity,” the Minister of Justice said. “No, but let’s assume, hypothetically, that the government might want to do so. There would be a scandal of enormous proportions.” “Go on,” the P.M. said. “The situation is complicated by the fact that we in Constitutional Protection are being forced to conduct an operation which is itself against regulations in order to investigate this matter. So we want everything to be legitimate and in keeping with the constitution.” “As do we all,” the P.M. said. “In that case I suggest that you – in your capacity as Prime Minister – instruct Constitutional Protection to investigate this mess with the utmost urgency,” Figuerola said. “Give us a written order and the authority we need.” “I’m not sure that what you propose is legal,” the Minister of Justice said. “It is legal. The government has the power to adopt a wide range of measures in the event that breaches93 of the constitution are threatened. If a group from the military or police starts pursuing an independent foreign policy, a de facto coup95 has taken place in Sweden.” “Foreign policy?” the Minister of Justice said. The P.M. nodded all of a sudden. “Zalachenko was a defector from a foreign power,” Figuerola said. “The information he contributed was supplied, according to Blomkvist, to foreign intelligence services. If the government was not informed, a coup has taken place.” “I follow your reasoning,” the P.M. said. “Now let me say my piece.” He got up and walked once around the table before stopping in front of Edklinth. “You have a very talented colleague. She has hit the nail on the head.” Edklinth swallowed and nodded. The P.M. turned to the Minister of Justice. “Get on to the Undersecretary of State and the head of the legal department. By tomorrow morning I want a document drawn96 up granting the Constitutional Protection Unit extraordinary authority to act in this matter. Their assignment is to determine the truth behind the assertions we have discussed, to gather documentation about its extent, and to identify the individuals responsible or in any way involved. The document must not state that you are conducting a preliminary investigation – I may be wrong, but I think only the Prosecutor General could appoint a preliminary investigation leader in this situation. But I can give you the authority to conduct a one-man investigation. What you are doing is therefore an official public report. Do you understand?” “Yes. But I should point out that I myself am a former prosecutor.” “We’ll have to ask the head of the legal department to take a look at this and determine exactly what is formally correct. In any case, you alone are responsible for your investigation. You will choose the assistants you require. If you find evidence of criminal activity, you must turn this information over to the P.G., who will decide on the charges.” “I’ll have to look up exactly what applies, but I think you’ll have to inform the speaker of parliament and the constitutional committee … This is going to leak out fast,” the Minister of Justice said. “In other words, we have to work faster,” the P.M. said. Figuerola raised a hand. “What is it?” the P.M. said. “There are two problems remaining. First, will Millennium’s publication clash with our investigation, and second, Lisbeth Salander’s trial will be starting in a couple of weeks.” “Can we find out when Millennium’s going to publish?” “We could ask,” Edklinth said. “The last thing we want to do is to interfere97 with the press.” “With regard to this girl Salander …” the Minister of Justice began, and then he paused for a moment. “It would be terrible if she really has been subjected to the injustices98 that Millennium claims. Could it really be possible?” “I’m afraid it is,” Edklinth said. “In that case we have to see to it that she is given redress99 for these wrongs, and above all that she is not subjected to new injustices,” the P.M. said. “And how would that work?” asked the Minister of Justice. “The government cannot interfere in an ongoing100 prosecution101 case. That would be against the law.” “Could we talk to the prosecutor?” “No,” Edklinth said. “As Prime Minister you may not influence the judicial102 process in any way.” “In other words, Salander will have to take her chances in court,” the Minister of Justice said. “Only if she loses the trial and appeals to the government can the government step in and pardon her or require the P.G. to investigate whether there are grounds for a new trial. But this applies only if she’s sentenced to prison. If she’s sentenced to a secure psychiatric facility, the government cannot do a thing. Then it’s a medical matter, and the Prime Minister has no jurisdiction103 to determine whether or not she is sane104.” At 10.00 on Friday night, Salander heard the key turn in the door. She instantly switched off her Palm and slipped it under the mattress105. When she looked up she saw Jonasson closing the door. “Good evening, Fr?ken29 Salander,” he said. “And how are you doing this evening?” “I have a splitting headache and I feel feverish106.” “That doesn’t sound so good.” Salander looked to be not particularly bothered by either the fever or the headache. Jonasson spent ten minutes examining her. He noticed that over the course of the evening her fever had again risen dramatically. “It’s a shame that you should be having this setback when you’ve been recovering so well over the past few weeks. Unfortunately I won’t now be able to discharge you for at least two more weeks.” “Two weeks should be sufficient.” * The distance by land from London to Stockholm is roughly 1900 kilometres, or 1180 miles. In theory that would be about twenty hours’ driving. In fact it had taken almost twenty hours to reach the northern border of Germany with Denmark. The sky was filled with leaden thunderclouds, and when the man known as Trinity found himself on Sunday in the middle of the ?resundsbron, there was a downpour. He slowed and turned on his windscreen wipers. Trinity thought it was sheer hell driving in Europe, since everyone on the Continent insisted on driving on the wrong side of the road. He had packed his van on Friday morning and taken the ferry from Dover to Calais, then crossed Belgium by way of Liege. He crossed the German border at Aachen and then took the Autobahn north towards Hamburg and on to Denmark. His companion, Bob the Dog, was asleep in the back. They had taken it in turns to drive, and apart from a couple of hour-long stops along the way, they had maintained a steady ninety kilometres an hour. The van was eighteen years old and was not able to go much faster anyway. There were easier ways of getting from London to Stockholm, but it was not likely that he would be able to take thirty kilos of electronic gear on a normal flight. They had crossed six national borders but they had not been stopped once, either by customs or by passport control. Trinity was an ardent107 fan of the E.U., whose regulations simplified his visits to the Continent. Trinity was born in Bradford, but he had lived in north London since childhood. He had had a miserable108 formal education, and then attended a vocational school and earned a certificate as a trained telecommunications technician. For three years after his nineteenth birthday he had worked as an engineer for British Telecom. Once he had understood how the telephone network functioned and realized how hopelessly antiquated109 it was, he switched to being a private security consultant, installing alarm systems and managing burglary protection. For special clients he would also offer his video surveillance and telephone tapping services. Now thirty-two years old, he had a theoretical knowledge of electronics and computer science that allowed him to knock spots off any professor in the field. He had lived with computers since he was ten, and he hacked110 his first computer when he was thirteen. It had whetted111 his appetite, and when he was sixteen he had advanced to the extent that he could compete with the best in the world. There was a period in which he spent every waking minute in front of his computer screen, writing his own programs and planting insidious112 tendrils on the Internet. He infiltrated113 the B.B.C., the Ministry114 of Defence and Scotland Yard. He even managed – for a short time – to take command of a nuclear submarine on patrol in the North Sea. It was as well that Trinity belonged to the inquisitive115 rather than the malicious116 type of computer marauder. His fascination117 was extinguished the moment he had cracked a computer, gained access, and appropriated its secrets. He was one of the founders118 of Hacker Republic. And Wasp119 was one of its citizens. It was 7.30 on Sunday evening as he and Bob the Dog were approaching Stockholm. When they passed Ikea at Kungens Kurva in Sk?rholmen, Trinity flipped120 open his mobile and dialled a number he had memorized. “Plague,” Trinity said. “Where are you guys?” “You said to call when we passed Ikea.” Plague gave him directions to the youth hostel121 on L?ngholmen where he had booked a room for his colleagues from England. Since Plague hardly ever left his apartment, they agreed to meet at his place at 10.00 the next morning. Plague decided to make an exceptional effort and washed the dishes, generally cleaned up, and opened the windows in anticipation122 of his guests’ arrival. PART III DISK CRASH 27.v – 6.VI The historian Diodorus from Sicily, 100 B.C. (who is regarded as an unreliable source by other historians), describes the Amazons of Libya, which at that time was a name used for all of north Africa west of Egypt. This Amazon reign94 was a gynaecocracy, that is, only women were allowed to hold high office, including in the military. According to legend, the realm was ruled by a Queen Myrina, who with thirty thousand female soldiers and three thousand female cavalry123 swept through Egypt and Syria and all the way to the Aegean, defeating a number of male armies along the way. After Queen Myrina finally fell in battle, her army scattered124. But the army did leave its imprint125 on the region. The women of Anatolia took to the sword to crush an invasion from the Caucasus, after the male soldiers were all slaughtered126 in a far-reaching genocide. These women trained in the use of all types of weapons, including bow and arrow, spear, battle-axe, and lance. They copied their bronze breastplates and armour127 from the Greeks. They rejected marriage as subjugation128. So that they might have children they were granted a leave of absence, during which they copulated with randomly129 selected males from nearby towns. Only a woman who had killed a man in battle was allowed to give up her virginity.
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millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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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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raping
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| v.以暴力夺取，强夺( rape的现在分词 )；强奸 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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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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complicating
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| 使复杂化( complicate的现在分词 ) | |
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killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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Soviet
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| adj.苏联的，苏维埃的；n.苏维埃 | |
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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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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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magpie
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| n.喜欢收藏物品的人，喜鹊，饶舌者 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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punctured
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| v.在（某物）上穿孔( puncture的过去式和过去分词 )；刺穿（某物）；削弱（某人的傲气、信心等）；泄某人的气 | |
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fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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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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setback
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| n.退步，挫折，挫败 | |
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vomited
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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allergy
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| n.(因食物、药物等而引起的)过敏症 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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therapeutic
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| adj.治疗的，起治疗作用的；对身心健康有益的 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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straightforwardly
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| adv.正直地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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43
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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48
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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51
psychiatrist
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| n.精神病专家；精神病医师 | |
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consultant
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| n.顾问；会诊医师，专科医生 | |
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53
evaluations
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| 估价( evaluation的名词复数 )； 赋值； 估计价值； [医学]诊断 | |
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54
diplomat
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| n.外交官，外交家；能交际的人，圆滑的人 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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56
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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expertise
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| n.专门知识(或技能等)，专长 | |
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blackmailed
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| 胁迫，尤指以透露他人不体面行为相威胁以勒索钱财( blackmail的过去式 ) | |
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60
provenance
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| n.出处；起源 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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63
deranged
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| adj.疯狂的 | |
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64
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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iota
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| n.些微，一点儿 | |
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fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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72
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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73
thermos
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| n.保湿瓶，热水瓶 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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75
mandate
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| n.托管地；命令，指示 | |
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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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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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predecessors
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| n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 )；前辈；（被取代的）原有事物；前身 | |
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81
mandates
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| 托管（mandate的第三人称单数形式） | |
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82
coalition
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| n.结合体，同盟，结合，联合 | |
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83
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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oversight
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| n.勘漏，失察，疏忽 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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87
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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88
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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89
annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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90
rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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91
circumlocution
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| n. 绕圈子的话，迂回累赘的陈述 | |
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92
implicate
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| vt.使牵连其中，涉嫌 | |
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93
breaches
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| 破坏( breach的名词复数 )； 破裂； 缺口； 违背 | |
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94
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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95
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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96
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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98
injustices
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| 不公平( injustice的名词复数 )； 非正义； 待…不公正； 冤枉 | |
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99
redress
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| n.赔偿，救济，矫正；v.纠正，匡正，革除 | |
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100
ongoing
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| adj.进行中的，前进的 | |
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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
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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103
jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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104
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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105
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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106
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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107
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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108
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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109
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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110
hacked
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| 生气 | |
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111
whetted
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| v.（在石头上）磨（刀、斧等）( whet的过去式和过去分词 )；引起，刺激（食欲、欲望、兴趣等） | |
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112
insidious
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| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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113
infiltrated
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| adj.[医]浸润的v.（使）渗透，（指思想）渗入人的心中( infiltrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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115
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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116
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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117
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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118
founders
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| n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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119
wasp
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| n.黄蜂，蚂蜂 | |
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120
flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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121
hostel
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| n.（学生）宿舍，招待所 | |
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122
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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123
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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124
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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125
imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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126
slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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128
subjugation
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| n.镇压，平息，征服 | |
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129
randomly
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| adv.随便地，未加计划地 | |
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