Friday, 27.v – Tuesday, 31.v Blomkvist left the Millennium1 offices at 10.30 on Friday night. He took the stairs down to the ground floor, but instead of going out on to the street he turned left and went through the basement, across the inner courtyard, and through the building behind theirs on to H?kens2 Gata. He ran into a group of youths on their way from Mosebacke, but saw no-one who seemed to be paying him any attention. Anyone watching the building would think that he was spending the night at Millennium, as he often did. He had established that pattern as early as April. Actually it was Malm who had the night shift. He spent fifteen minutes walking down the alleys3 and boulevards around Mosebacke before he headed for Fiskargatan 9. He opened the entrance door using the code and took the stairs to the top-floor apartment, where he used Salander’s keys to get in. He turned off the alarm. He always felt a bit bemused when he went into the apartment: twenty-one rooms, of which only three were furnished. He began by making coffee and sandwiches before he went into Salander’s office and booted up her PowerBook. From the moment in mid-April when Bj?rck’s report was stolen and Blomkvist realized that he was under surveillance, he had established his own headquarters at Salander’s apartment. He had transferred the most crucial documentation to her desk. He spent several nights a week at the apartment, slept in her bed, and worked on her computer. She had wiped her hard drive clean before she left for Gosseberga and the confrontation4 with Zalachenko. Blomkvist supposed that she had not planned to come back. He had used her system disks to restore her computer to a functioning state. Since April he had not even plugged in the broadband cable to his own machine. He logged on to her broadband connection, started up the I.C.Q. chat program, and pinged up the address she had created for him through the Yahoo group [Idiotic_Table]. Ping. Blomkvist smiled. Blomkvist logged in to I.C.Q. and went into the newly created Yahoo group [The_Knights]. All he found was a link from Plague to an anonymous5 U.R.L. which consisted solely6 of numbers. He copied the address into Explorer, hit the return key, and came to a website somewhere on the Internet that contained the sixteen gigabytes of Ekstr?m’s hard drive. Plague had obviously made it simple for himself by copying over Ekstr?m’s entire hard drive, and Blomkvist spent more than an hour sorting through its contents. He ignored the system files, software and endless files containing preliminary investigations8 that seemed to stretch back several years. He downloaded four folders9. Three of them were called [PrelimInv/Salander], [Slush/Salander], and [PrelimInv/Niedermann]. The fourth was a copy of Ekstr?m’s email folder10 made at 2.00 p.m. the previous day. “Thanks, Plague,” Blomkvist said to himself. He spent three hours reading through Ekstr?m’s preliminary investigation7 and strategy for the trial. Not surprisingly, much of it dealt with Salander’s mental state. Ekstr?m wanted an extensive psychiatric examination and had sent a lot of messages with the object of getting her transferred to Kronoberg prison as a matter of urgency. Blomkvist could tell that Ekstr?m’s search for Niedermann was making no headway. Bublanski was the leader of that investigation. He had succeeding in gathering11 some forensic12 evidence linking Niedermann to the murders of Svensson and Johansson, as well as to the murder of Bjurman. Blomkvist’s own three long interviews in April had set them on the trail of this evidence. If Niedermann were ever apprehended13, Blomkvist would have to be a witness for the prosecution14. At long last D.N.A. from sweat droplets15 and two hairs from Bjurman’s apartment were matched to items from Niedermann’s room in Gosseberga. The same D.N.A. was found in abundant quantities on the remains16 of Svavelsj? M.C.’s G?ransson. On the other hand, Ekstr?m had remarkably17 little on the record about Zalachenko. Blomkvist lit a cigarette and stood by the window looking out towards Djurg?rden. Ekstr?m was leading two separate preliminary investigations. Criminal Inspector18 Faste was the investigative leader in all matters dealing19 with Salander. Bublanski was working only on Niedermann. When the name Zalachenko turned up in the preliminary investigation, the logical thing for Ekstr?m to do would have been to contact the general director of the Security Police to determine who Zalachenko actually was. Blomkvist could find no such enquiry in Ekstr?m’s email, journal or notes. But among the notes Blomkvist found several cryptic20 sentences. The Salander investigation is fake. Bj?rck’s original doesn’t match Blomkvist’s version. Classify TOP SECRET. Then a series of notes claiming that Salander was paranoid and a schizophrenic. Correct to lock up Salander 1991. He found what linked the investigations in the Salander slush, that is, the supplementary21 information that the prosecutor22 considered irrelevant23 to the preliminary investigation, and which would therefore not be presented at the trial or make up part of the chain of evidence against her. This included almost everything that had to do with Zalachenko’s background. The investigation was totally inadequate24. Blomkvist wondered to what extent this was a coincidence and to what extent it was contrived25. Where was the boundary? And was Ekstr?m aware that there was a boundary? Could it be that someone was deliberately26 supplying Ekstr?m with believable but misleading information? Finally Blomkvist logged into hotmail and spent ten minutes checking the half-dozen anonymous email accounts he had created. Each day he had checked the address he had given to Criminal Inspector Modig. He had no great hope that she would contact him, so he was mildly surprised when he opened the inbox and found an email from [email protected]>. The message consisted of a single line: Café Madeleine, upper level, 11.00 a.m. Saturday. Plague pinged Salander at midnight and interrupted her in the middle of a sentence she was writing about her time with Holger Palmgren as her guardian27. She cast an irritated glance at the display. She sat up in bed and looked eagerly at the screen of her Palm. Plague gave her the U.R.L. of the server where he kept Teleborian’s hard drive. > Salander disconnected from Plague and accessed the server he had directed her to. She spent nearly three hours scrutinizing28 folder after folder on Teleborian’s computer. She found correspondence between Teleborian and a person with a hotmail address who sent encrypted mail. Since she had access to Teleborian’s P.G.P. key, she easily decoded29 the correspondence. His name was Jonas, no last name. Jonas and Teleborian had an unhealthy interest in seeing that Salander did not thrive. Yes … we can prove that there is a conspiracy30. But what really interested Salander were the forty-seven folders containing close to nine thousand photographs of explicit31 child pornography. She clicked on image after image of children aged32 about fifteen or younger. A number of pictures were of infants. The majority were of girls. Many of them were sadistic33. She found links to at least a dozen people abroad who traded child porn with each other. Salander bit her lip, but her face was otherwise expressionless. She remembered the nights when, as a twelve-year-old, she had been strapped34 down in a stimulus-free room at St Stefan’s. Teleborian had come into the room again and again to look at her in the glow of the nightlight. She knew. He had never touched her, but she had always known. She should have dealt with Teleborian years ago. But she had repressed the memory of him. She had chosen to ignore his existence. After a while she pinged Blomkvist on I.C.Q. Blomkvist spent the night at Salander’s apartment on Fiskargatan. He did not shut down the computer until 6.30 a.m. and fell asleep with photographs of gross child pornography whirling through his mind. He woke at 10.15 and rolled out of Salander’s bed, showered, and called a taxi to pick him up outside S?dra theatre. He got out at Birger Jarlsgatan at 10.55 and walked to Café Madeleine. Modig was waiting for him with a cup of black coffee in front of her. “Hi,” Blomkvist said. “I’m taking a big risk here,” she said without greeting. “Nobody will hear of our meeting from me.” She seemed stressed. “One of my colleagues recently went to see former Prime Minister F?lldin. He went there off his own bat, and his job is on the line now too.” “I understand.” “I need a guarantee of anonymity35 for both of us.” “I don’t even know which colleague you’re talking about.” “I’ll tell you later. I want you to promise to give him protection as a source.” “You have my word.” She looked at her watch. “Are you in a hurry?” “Yes. I have to meet my husband and kids at the Sturegalleria in ten minutes. He thinks I’m still at work.” “And Bublanski knows nothing about this?” “No.” “Right. You and your colleague are sources and you have complete source protection. Both of you. As long as you live.” “My colleague is Jerker Holmberg. You met him down in G?teborg. His father is a Centre Party member, and Jerker has known Prime Minister F?lldin since he was a child. He seems to be pleasant enough. So Jerker went to see him and asked about Zalachenko.” Blomkvist’s heart began to pound. “Jerker asked what he knew about the defection, but F?lldin didn’t reply. When Holmberg told him that we suspect that Salander was locked up by the people who were protecting Zalachenko, well, that really upset him.” “Did he say how much he knew?” “F?lldin told him that the chief of S?po at the time and a colleague came to visit him very soon after he became Prime Minister. They told a fantastic story about a Russian defector who had come to Sweden, told him that it was the most sensitive military secret Sweden possessed36 … that there was nothing in Swedish military intelligence that was anywhere near as important. F?lldin said that he hadn’t known how he should handle it, that there was no-one with much experience in government, the Social Democrats37 having been in power for more than forty years. He was advised that he alone had to make the decisions, and that if he discussed it with his government colleagues then S?po would wash their hands of it. He remembered the whole thing as having been very unpleasant.” “What did he do?” “He realized that he had no choice but to do what the gentlemen from S?po were proposing. He issued a directive putting S?po in sole charge of the defector. He undertook never to discuss the matter with anyone. F?lldin was never told Zalachenko’s name.” “Extraordinary.” “After that he heard almost nothing more during his two terms in office. But he had done something extremely shrewd. He had insisted that an Undersecretary of State be let in on the secret, in case there was a need for a go-between for the government secretariat and those who were protecting Zalachenko.” “Did he remember who it was?” “It was Bertil K. Janeryd, now Swedish ambassador in the Hague. When it was explained to F?lldin how serious this preliminary investigation was, he sat down and wrote to Janeryd.” Modig pushed an envelope across the table. Dear Bertil, The secret we both protected during my administration is now the subject of some very serious questions. The person referred to in the matter is now deceased and can no longer come to harm. On the other hand, other people can. It is of the utmost importance that answers are provided to certain questions that must be answered. The person who bears this letter is working unofficially and has my trust. I urge you to listen to his story and answer his questions. Use your famous good judgement. T.F. “This letter is referring to Holmberg?” “No. Jerker asked F?lldin not to put a name. He said that he couldn’t know who would be going to the Hague.” “You mean …” “Jerker and I have discussed it. We’re already out on ice so thin that we’ll need paddles rather than ice picks. We have no authority to travel to Holland to interview the ambassador. But you could do it.” Blomkvist folded the letter and was putting it into his jacket pocket when Modig grabbed his hand. Her grip was hard. “Information for information,” she said. “We want to hear everything Janeryd tells you.” Blomkvist nodded. Modig stood up. “Hang on. You said that F?lldin was visited by two people from S?po. One was the chief of S?po. Who was the other?” “F?lldin met him only on that one occasion and couldn’t remember his name. No notes were taken at the meeting. He remembered him as thin with a narrow moustache. But he did recall that the man was introduced as the boss of the Section for Special Analysis, or something like that. F?lldin later looked at an organizational chart of S?po and couldn’t find that department.” The Zalachenko club, Blomkvist thought. Modig seemed to be weighing her words. “At risk of ending up shot,” she said at last, “there is one record that neither F?lldin nor his visitors thought of.” “What was that?” “F?lldin’s visitors’ logbook at Rosenbad. Jerker requisitioned it. It’s a public document.” “And?” Modig hesitated once again. “The book states only that the Prime Minister met with the chief of S?po along with a colleague to discuss general questions.” “Was there a name?” “Yes. E. Gullberg.” Blomkvist could feel the blood rush to his head. “Evert Gullberg,” he said. Blomkvist called from Café Madeleine on his anonymous mobile to book a flight to Amsterdam. The plane would take off from Arlanda at 2.50. He walked to Dressman on Kungsgatan and bought a shirt and a change of underwear, and then he went to a pharmacy38 to buy a toothbrush and other toiletries. He checked carefully to see that he was not being followed and hurried to catch the Arlanda Express. The plane landed at Schiphol airport at 4.50, and by 6.30 he was checking into a small hotel about fifteen minutes’ walk from the Hague’s Centraal Station. He spent two hours trying to locate the Swedish ambassador and made contact by telephone at around 9.00. He used all his powers of persuasion39 and explained that he was there on a matter of great urgency. The ambassador finally relented and agreed to meet him at 10.00 on Sunday morning. Then Blomkvist went out and had a light dinner at a restaurant near his hotel. He was asleep by 11.00. Ambassador Janeryd was in no mood for small talk when he offered Blomkvist coffee at his residence on Lange Voorhout. “Well … what is it that’s so urgent?” “Alexander Zalachenko. The Russian defector who came to Sweden in 1976,” Blomkvist said, handing him the letter from F?lldin. Janeryd looked surprised. He read the letter and laid it on the table beside him. Blomkvist explained the background and why F?lldin had written to him. “I … I can’t discuss this matter,” Janeryd said at last. “I think you can.” “No, I could only speak of it with the constitutional committee.” “There’s a great probability that you will have to do just that. But this letter tells you to use your own good judgement.” “F?lldin is an honest man.” “I don’t doubt that. And I’m not looking to damage either you or F?lldin. Nor do I ask you to tell me a single military secret that Zalachenko may have revealed.” “I don’t know any secrets. I didn’t even know that his name was Zalachenko. I only knew him by his cover name. He was known as Ruben. But it’s absurd that you should think I would discuss it with a journalist.” “Let me give you one very good reason why you should,” Blomkvist said and sat up straight in his chair. “This whole story is going to be published very soon. And when that happens, the media will either tear you to pieces or describe you as an honest civil servant who made the best of an impossible situation. You were the one F?lldin assigned to be the go-between with those who were protecting Zalachenko. I already know that.” Janeryd was silent for almost a minute. “Listen, I never had any information, not the remotest idea of the background you’ve described. I was rather young … I didn’t know how I should deal with these people. I met them about twice a year during the time I worked for the government. I was told that Ruben … your Zalachenko, was alive and healthy, that he was co-operating, and that the information he provided was invaluable40. I was never privy41 to the details. I had no ‘need to know’.” Blomkvist waited. “The defector had operated in other countries and knew nothing about Sweden, so he was never a major factor for security policy. I informed the Prime Minister on a couple of occasions, but there was never very much to report.” “I see.” “They always said that he was being handled in the customary way and that the information he provided was being processed through the appropriate channels. What could I say? If I asked what it meant, they smiled and said that it was outside my security clearance42 level. I felt like an idiot.” “You never considered the fact that there might be something wrong with the arrangement?” “No. There was nothing wrong with the arrangement. I took it for granted that S?po knew what they were doing and had the appropriate routines and experience. But I can’t talk about this.” Janeryd had by this time been talking about it for several minutes. “O.K…. but all this is beside the point. Only one thing is important right now.” “What?” “The names of the individuals you had your meetings with.” Janeryd gave Blomkvist a puzzled look. “The people who were looking after Zalachenko went far beyond their jurisdiction43. They’ve committed serious criminal acts and they’ll be the object of a preliminary investigation. That’s why F?lldin sent me to see you. He doesn’t know who they are. You were the one who met them.” Janeryd blinked and pressed his lips together. “One was Evert Gullberg … he was the top man.” Janeryd nodded. “How many times did you meet him?” “He was at every meeting except one. There were about ten meetings during the time F?lldin was Prime Minister.” “Where did you meet?” “In the lobby of some hotel. Usually the Sheraton. Once at the Amaranth on Kungsholmen and sometimes at the Continental44 pub.” “And who else was at the meetings?” “It was a long time ago … I don’t remember.” “Try.” “There was a … Clinton. Like the American president.” “First name?” “Fredrik. I saw him four or five times.” “Others?” “Hans von Rottinger. I knew him through my mother.” “Your mother?” “Yes, my mother knew the von Rottinger family. Hans von Rottinger was always a pleasant chap. Before he turned up out of the blue at a meeting with Gullberg, I had no idea that he worked for S?po.” “He didn’t,” Blomkvist said. Janeryd turned pale. “He worked for something called the Section for Special Analysis,” Blomkvist said. “What were you told about that group?” “Nothing. I mean, just that they were the ones who took care of the defector.” “Right. But isn’t it strange that they don’t appear anywhere in S?po’s organizational chart?” “That’s ridiculous.” “It is, isn’t it? So how did they set up the meetings? Did they call you, or did you call them?” “Neither. The time and place for each meeting was set at the preceding one.” “What happened if you needed to get in contact with them? For instance, to change the time of a meeting or something like that?” “I had a number to call.” “What was the number?” “I couldn’t possibly remember.” “Who answered if you called the number?” “I don’t know. I never used it.” “Next question. Who did you hand everything over to?” “How do you mean?” “When F?lldin’s term came to an end. Who took your place?” “I don’t know.” “Did you write a report?” “No. Everything was classified. I couldn’t even take notes.” “And you never briefed your successor?” “No.” “So what happened?” “Well … F?lldin left office, and Ola Ullsten came in. I was told that we would have to wait until after the next election. Then F?lldin was re-elected and our meetings were resumed. Then came the election in 1985. The Social Democrats won, and I assume that Palme appointed somebody to take over from me. I transferred to the foreign ministry45 and became a diplomat46. I was posted to Egypt, and then to India.” Blomkvist went on asking questions for another few minutes, but he was sure that he already had everything Janeryd could tell him. Three names. Fredrik Clinton. Hans von Rottinger. And Evert Gullberg – the man who had shot Zalachenko. The Zalachenko club. He thanked Janeryd for the meeting and walked the short distance along Lange Voorhout to Hotel des Indes, from where he took a taxi to Centraal. It was not until he was in the taxi that he reached into his jacket pocket and stopped the tape recorder. Berger looked up and scanned the half-empty newsroom beyond the glass cage. Holm was off that day. She saw no-one who showed any interest in her, either openly or covertly47. Nor did she have reason to think that anyone on the editorial staff wished her ill. The email had arrived a minute before. The sender was [email protected]>. Why Aftonbladet? The address was another fake. Today’s message contained no text. There was only a jpeg that she opened in Photoshop. The image was pornographic: a naked woman with exceptionally large breasts, a dog collar around her neck. She was on all fours and being mounted from the rear. The woman’s face had been replaced with Berger’s. It was not a skilled collage48, but probably that was not the point. The picture was from her old byline49 at Millennium and could be downloaded off the Net. At the bottom of the picture was one word, written with the spray function in Photoshop. Whore. This was the ninth anonymous message she had received containing the word “whore,” sent apparently50 by someone at a well-known media outlet51 in Sweden. She had a cyber-stalker on her hands. The telephone tapping was a more difficult task than the computer monitoring. Trinity had no trouble locating the cable to Prosecutor Ekstr?m’s home telephone. The problem was that Ekstr?m seldom or never used it for work-related calls. Trinity did not even consider trying to bug52 Ekstr?m’s work telephone at police H.Q. on Kungsholmen. That would have required extensive access to the Swedish cable network, which he did not have. But Trinity and Bob the Dog devoted53 the best part of a week to identifying and separating out Ekstr?m’s mobile from the background noise of about 200,000 other mobile telephones within a kilometre of police headquarters. They used a technique called Random54 Frequency Tracking System. The technique was not uncommon55. It had been developed by the U.S. National Security Agency, and was built into an unknown number of satellites that performed pinpoint56 monitoring of capitals around the world as well as flashpoints of special interest. The N.S.A. had enormous resources and used a vast network in order to capture a large number of mobile conversations in a certain region simultaneously57. Each individual call was separated and processed digitally by computers programmed to react to certain words, such as terrorist or Kalashnikov. If such a word occurred, the computer automatically sent an alarm, which meant that some operator would go in manually and listen to the conversation to decide whether it was of interest or not. It was a more complex problem to identify a specific mobile telephone. Each mobile has its own unique signature – a fingerprint58 – in the form of the telephone number. With exceptionally sensitive equipment the N.S.A. could focus on a specific area to separate out and monitor mobile calls. The technique was simple but not 100 per cent effective. Outgoing calls were particularly hard to identify. Incoming calls were simpler because they were preceded by the fingerprint that would enable the telephone in question to receive the signal. The difference between Trinity and the N.S.A. attempting to eavesdrop59 could be measured in economic terms. The N.S.A. had an annual budget of several billion U.S. dollars, close to twelve thousand fulltime agents, and access to cutting-edge technology in I.T. and telecommunications. Trinity had a van with thirty kilos of electronic equipment, much of which was home-made stuff that Bob the Dog had set up. Through its global satellite monitoring the N.S.A. could home in highly sensitive antennae61 on a specific building anywhere in the world. Trinity had an antenna60 constructed by Bob the Dog which had an effective range of about five hundred metres. The relatively62 limited technology to which Trinity had access meant that he had to park his van on Bergsgatan or one of the nearby streets and laboriously63 calibrate64 the equipment until he had identified the fingerprint that represented Ekstr?m’s mobile number. Since he did not know Swedish, he had to relay the conversations via another mobile back home to Plague, who did the actual eavesdropping65. For five days Plague, who was looking more and more hollow-eyed, listened in vain to a vast number of calls to and from police headquarters and the surrounding buildings. He had heard fragments of ongoing66 investigations, uncovered planned lovers’ trysts67, and taped hours and hours of conversations of no interest whatsoever68. Late on the evening of the fifth day, Trinity sent a signal which a digital display instantly identified as Ekstr?m’s mobile number. Plague locked the parabolic antenna on to the exact frequency. The technology of R.F.T.S. worked primarily on incoming calls to Ekstr?m. Trinity’s parabolic antenna captured the search for Ekstr?m’s mobile number as it was sent through the ether. Because Trinity could record the calls from Ekstr?m, he also got voiceprints that Plague could process. Plague ran Ekstr?m’s digitized voice through a program called V.P.R.S., Voiceprint Recognition System. He specified69 a dozen commonly occurring words, such as “O.K.” or “Salander”. When he had five separate examples of a word, he charted it with respect to the time it took to speak the word, what tone of voice and frequency range it had, whether the end of the word went up or down, and a dozen other markers. The result was a graph. In this way Plague could also monitor outgoing calls from Ekstr?m. His parabolic antenna would be permanently70 listening out for a call containing Ekstr?m’s characteristic graph curve for one of a dozen commonly occurring words. The technology was not perfect, but roughly half of all the calls that Ekstr?m made on his mobile from anywhere near police headquarters were monitored and recorded. The system had an obvious weakness. As soon as Ekstr?m left police headquarters, it was no longer possible to monitor his mobile, unless Trinity knew where he was and could park his van in the immediate71 vicinity. With the authorization72 from the highest level, Edklinth had been able to set up a legitimate73 operations department. He picked four colleagues, purposely selecting younger talent who had experience on the regular police force and were only recently recruited to S.I.S. Two had a background in the Fraud Division, one had been with the financial police, and one was from the Violent Crimes Division. They were summoned to Edklinth’s office and told of their assignment as well as the need for absolute secrecy74. He made plain that the investigation was being carried out at the express order of the Prime Minister. Inspector Figuerola was named as their chief, and she directed the investigation with a force that matched her physical appearance. But the investigation proceeded slowly. This was largely due to the fact that no-one was quite sure who or what should be investigated. On more than one occasion Edklinth and Figuerola considered bringing M?rtensson in for questioning. But they decided75 to wait. Arresting him would reveal the existence of the investigation. Finally, on Tuesday, eleven days after the meeting with the Prime Minister, Figuerola came to Edklinth’s office. “I think we’ve got something.” “Sit down.” “Evert Gullberg. One of our investigators76 had a talk with Marcus Erlander, who’s leading the investigation into Zalachenko’s murder. According to Erlander, S.I.S. contacted the G?teborg police just two hours after the murder and gave them information about Gullberg’s threatening letters.” “That was fast.” “A little too fast. S.I.S. faxed nine letters that Gullberg had supposedly written. There’s just one problem.” “What’s that?” “Two of the letters were sent to the justice department – to the Minister of Justice and to the Deputy Minister.” “I know that.” “Yes, but the letter to the Deputy Minister wasn’t logged in at the department until the following day. It arrived with a later delivery.” Edklinth stared at Figuerola. He felt very much afraid that his suspicions were going to turn out to be justified77. Figuerola went implacably on. “So we have S.I.S. sending a fax of a threatening letter that hadn’t yet reached its addressee.” “Good Lord,” Edklinth said. “It was someone in Personal Protection who faxed them through.” “Who?” “I don’t think he’s involved in the case. The letters landed on his desk in the morning, and shortly after the murder he was told to get in touch with the G?teborg police.” “Who gave him the instruction?” “The chief of Secretariat’s assistant.” “Good God, Monica. Do you know what this means? It means that S.I.S. was involved in Zalachenko’s murder.” “Not necessarily. But it definitely does mean that some individuals within S.I.S. had knowledge of the murder before it was committed. The only question is: who?” “The chief of Secretariat …” “Yes. But I’m beginning to suspect that this Zalachenko club is out of house.” “How do you mean?” “M?rtensson. He was moved from Personal Protection and is working on his own. We’ve had him under surveillance round the clock for the past week. He hasn’t had contact with anyone within S.I.S. as far as we can tell. He gets calls on a mobile that we cannot monitor. We don’t know what number it is, but it’s not his normal mobile number. He did meet with the fair-haired man, but we haven’t been able to identify him.” Edklinth frowned. At the same instant Anders Berglund knocked on the door. He was one of the new team, the officer who had worked with the financial police. “I think I’ve found Evert Gullberg,” Berglund said. “Come in,” Edklinth said. Berglund put a dog-eared, black-and-white photograph on the desk. Edklinth and Figuerola looked at the picture, which showed a man that both of them immediately recognized. He was being led through a doorway78 by two broad-shouldered plain-clothes police officers. The legendary79 double agent Colonel Stig Wennerstr?m.* “This print comes from ?hlens & ?kerlunds Publishers and was used in Se magazine in the spring of 1964. The photograph was taken in the course of the trial. Behind Wennerstr?m you can see three people. On the right, Detective Superintendent80 Otto Danielsson, the policeman who arrested him.” “Yes …” “Look at the man on the left behind Danielsson.” They saw a tall man with a narrow moustache who was wearing a hat. He reminded Edklinth vaguely81 of the writer Dashiell Hammett. “Compare his face with this passport photograph of Gullberg, taken when he was sixty-six.” Edklinth frowned. “I wouldn’t be able to swear it’s the same person—” “But it is,” Berglund said. “Turn the print over.” On the reverse was a stamp saying that the picture belonged to ?hlens & ?kerlunds Publishers and that the photographer’s name was Julius Estholm. The text was written in pencil. Stig Wennerstr?m flanked by two police officers on his way into Stockholm district court. In the background O. Danielsson, E. Gullberg and H.W. Francke. “Evert Gullberg,” Figuerola said. “He was S.I.S.” “No,” Berglund said. “Technically speaking, he wasn’t. At least not when this picture was taken.” “Oh?” “S.I.S. wasn’t established until four months later. In this photograph he was still with the Secret State Police.” “Who’s H.W. Francke?” Figuerola said. “Hans Wilhelm Francke,” Edklinth said. “Died in the early ’90s, but was assistant chief of the Secret State Police in the late ’50s and early ’60s. He was a bit of a legend, just like Otto Danielsson. I actually met him a couple of times.” “Is that so?” Figuerola said. “He left S.I.S. in the late ’60s. Francke and P.G. Vinge never saw eye to eye, and he was more or less forced to resign at the age of fifty or fifty-five. Then he opened his own shop.” “His own shop?” “He became a consultant82 in security for industry. He had an office on Stureplan, but he also gave lectures from time to time at S.I.S. training sessions. That’s where I met him.” “What did Vinge and Francke quarrel about?” “They were just very different. Francke was a bit of a cowboy who saw K.G.B. agents everywhere, and Vinge was a bureaucrat83 of the old school. Vinge was fired shortly thereafter. A bit ironic84, that, because he thought Palme was working for the K.G.B.” Figuerola looked at the photograph of Gullberg and Francke standing85 side by side. “I think it’s time we had another talk with Justice,” Edklinth told her. “Millennium came out today,” Figuerola said. Edklinth shot her a glance. “Not a word about the Zalachenko affair,” she said. “So we’ve got a month before the next issue. Good to know. But we have to deal with Blomkvist. In the midst of all this mess he’s like a hand grenade with the pin pulled.”
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millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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kens
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| vt.知道（ken的第三人称单数形式） | |
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alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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confrontation
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| n.对抗，对峙，冲突 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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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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folders
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| n.文件夹( folder的名词复数 )；纸夹；（某些计算机系统中的）文件夹；页面叠 | |
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folder
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| n.纸夹，文件夹 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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forensic
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| adj.法庭的，雄辩的 | |
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apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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droplets
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| n.小滴( droplet的名词复数 ) | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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cryptic
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| adj.秘密的，神秘的，含义模糊的 | |
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supplementary
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| adj.补充的，附加的 | |
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prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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decoded
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| v.译（码），解（码）( decode的过去式和过去分词 )；分析及译解电子信号 | |
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conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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sadistic
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| adj.虐待狂的 | |
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strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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anonymity
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| n.the condition of being anonymous | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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democrats
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士( democrat的名词复数 ) | |
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pharmacy
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| n.药房，药剂学，制药业，配药业，一批备用药品 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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clearance
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| n.净空；许可(证)；清算；清除，清理 | |
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jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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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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covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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collage
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| n.拼贴画；v.拼贴；把……创作成拼贴画 | |
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byline
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| n.署名；v.署名 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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51
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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bug
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| n.虫子；故障；窃听器；vt.纠缠；装窃听器 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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pinpoint
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| vt.准确地确定；用针标出…的精确位置 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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58
fingerprint
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| n.指纹；vt.取...的指纹 | |
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59
eavesdrop
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| v.偷听，倾听 | |
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60
antenna
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| n.触角，触须；天线 | |
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61
antennae
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| n.天线；触角 | |
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relatively
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| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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calibrate
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| 校准；使合标准；测量（枪的）口径 | |
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65
eavesdropping
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| n. 偷听 | |
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66
ongoing
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| adj.进行中的，前进的 | |
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67
trysts
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| n.约会，幽会( tryst的名词复数 )；幽会地点 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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69
specified
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| adj.特定的 | |
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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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71
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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72
authorization
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| n.授权，委任状 | |
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73
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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74
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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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
investigators
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| n.调查者，审查者( investigator的名词复数 ) | |
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77
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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78
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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81
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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82
consultant
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| n.顾问；会诊医师，专科医生 | |
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83
bureaucrat
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| n. 官僚作风的人，官僚，官僚政治论者 | |
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84
ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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85
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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