Friday, 1.vii – Sunday, 10.vii Two weeks before the trial of Lisbeth Salander began, Malm finished the layout of the 352-page book tersely1 entitled The Section. The cover was blue with yellow type. Malm had positioned seven postage-stamp-sized black-and-white images of Swedish Prime Ministers along the bottom. Over the top of them hovered2 a photograph of Zalachenko. He had used Zalachenko’s passport photograph as an illustration, increasing the contrast so that only the darkest areas stood out like a shadow across the whole cover. It was not a particularly sophisticated design, but it was effective. Blomkvist, Cortez and Eriksson were named as the authors. It was 5.00 in the morning and he had been working all night. He felt slightly sick and had badly wanted to go home and sleep. Eriksson had sat up with him doing final corrections page by page as Malm O.K.’d them and printed them out. By now she was asleep on the sofa. Malm put the entire text plus illustrations into a folder3. He started up the Toast program and burned two C.D.s. One he put in the safe. The other was collected by a sleepy Blomkvist just before 7.00. “Go and get some rest,” Blomkvist said. “I’m on my way.” They left Eriksson asleep and turned on the door alarm. Cortez would be in at 8.00 to take over. Blomkvist walked to Lundagatan, where he again borrowed Salander’s abandoned Honda without permission. He drove to Hallvigs Reklam, the printers near the railway tracks in Morgong?va, west of Uppsala. This was a job he would not entrust4 to the post. He drove slowly, refusing to acknowledge the stress he felt, and then waited until the printers had checked that they could read the C.D. He made sure that the book would indeed be ready to distribute on the first day of the trial. The problem was not the printing but the binding5, which could take time. But Jan K?bin6, Hallvigs’ manager, promised to deliver at least five hundred copies of the first printing of ten thousand by that day. The book would be a trade paperback7. Finally, Blomkvist made sure that everyone understood the need for the greatest secrecy8, although this reminder9 was probably unnecessary. Two years earlier Hallvigs had printed Blomkvist’s book about Hans-Erik Wennerstr?m under very similar circumstances. They knew that books from this peculiar10 publisher Millennium11 always promised something extra. Blomkvist drove back to Stockholm in no particular hurry. He parked outside Bellmansgatan 1 and went to his apartment to pack a change of clothes and a wash bag. He drove on to Stavsn?s wharf12 in V?rmd?, where he parked the Honda and took the ferry out to Sandhamn. It was the first time since Christmas that he had been to the cabin. He unfastened the window shutters13 to let in the air and drank a Raml?sa. As always when a job was finished and at the printer, and nothing could be changed, he felt empty. He spent an hour sweeping14 and dusting, scouring15 the shower tray, switching on the fridge, checking the water pipes and changing the bedclothes up in the sleeping loft16. He went to the grocery and bought everything he would need for the weekend. Then he started up the coffeemaker and sat outside on the veranda17, smoking a cigarette and not thinking about anything in particular. Just before 5.00 he went down to the steamboat wharf and met Figuerola. “I thought you said you couldn’t take time off,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “That’s what I thought too. But I told Edklinth I’ve been working every waking minute for the past few weeks and I’m starting to burn out. I said I needed two days off to recharge my batteries.” “In Sandhamn?” “I didn’t tell him where I was going,” she said with a smile. Figuerola ferreted around in Blomkvist’s 25-square-metre cabin. She subjected the kitchen area, the bathroom and the loft to a critical inspection18 before she nodded in approval. She washed and changed into a thin summer dress while Blomkvist cooked lamb chops in red wine sauce and set the table on the veranda. They ate in silence as they watched the parade of sailing boats on their way to or from the marina. They shared the rest of the bottle of wine. “It’s a wonderful cabin. Is this where you bring all your girlfriends?” Figuerola said. “Just the important ones.” “Has Erika Berger been here?” “Many times.” “And Salander?” “She stayed here for a few weeks when I was writing the book about Wennerstr?m. And we spent Christmas here two years ago.” “So both Berger and Salander are important in your life?” “Erika is my best friend. We’ve been friends for twenty-five years. Lisbeth is a whole different story. She’s certainly unique, and she the most antisocial person I’ve ever known. You could say that she made a big impression on me when we first met. I like her. She’s a friend.” “You don’t feel sorry for her?” “No. She has herself to blame for a lot of the crap that’s happened to her. But I do feel enormous sympathy and solidarity19 with her.” “But you aren’t in love either with her or with Berger?” He shrugged20. Figuerola watched an Amigo 23 coming in late with its navigation lights glowing as it chugged past a motorboat on the way to the marina. “If love is liking21 someone an awful lot, then I suppose I’m in love with several people,” Blomkvist said. “And now with me?” Blomkvist nodded. Figuerola frowned and looked at him. “Does it bother you?” “That you’ve brought other women here? No. But it does bother me that I don’t really know what’s happening between us. And I don’t think I can have a relationship with a man who screws around whenever he feels like it …” “I’m not going to apologize for the way I’ve led my life.” “And I guess that in some way I’m falling for you because you are who you are. It’s easy to sleep with you because there’s no bullshit and you make me feel safe. But this all started because I gave in to a crazy impulse. It doesn’t happen very often, and I hadn’t planned it. And now we’ve got to the stage where I’ve become just another one of the girls you invite out here.” They sat in silence for a moment. “You didn’t have to come.” “Yes, I did. Oh, Mikael …” “I know.” “I’m unhappy. I don’t want to fall in love with you. It’ll hurt far too much when it’s over.” “Listen, I’ve had this cabin for twenty-five years, since my father died and my mother moved back to Norrland. We shared out the property so that my sister got our apartment and I got the cabin. Apart from some casual acquaintances in the early years, there are five women who have been here before you: Erika, Lisbeth and my ex-wife, who I was together with in the ’80s, a woman I was in a serious relationship with in the late ’90s, and someone I met two years ago, whom I still see occasionally. It’s sort of special circumstances …” “I bet it is.” “I keep this cabin so that I can get away from the city and have some quiet time. I’m mostly here on my own. I read books, I write, and I relax and sit on the wharf and look at the boats. It’s not a secret love nest.” He stood up to get the bottle of wine he had put in the shade. “I won’t make any promises. My marriage broke up because Erika and I couldn’t keep away from each other,” he said, and then he added in English, “Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.” He filled their glasses. “But you’re the most interesting person I’ve met in a long time. It’s as if our relationship took off at full speed from a standing22 start. I think I fell for you the moment you picked me up outside my apartment. The few times I’ve slept at my place since then, I’ve woken up in the middle of the night needing you. I don’t know if I want a steady relationship, but I’m terrified of losing you.” He looked at her. “So what do you think we should do?” “Let’s think about things,” Figuerola said. “I’m badly attracted to you too.” “This is starting to get serious,” Blomkvist said. She suddenly felt a great sadness. They did not say much for a long time. When it got dark they cleared the table, went inside and closed the door. On the Friday before the week of the trial, Blomkvist stopped at the Pressbyr?n news-stand at Slussen and read the billboards23 for the morning papers. Svenska Morgon-Posten’s C.E.O. and chairman of the board Magnus Borgsj? had capitulated and tendered his resignation. Blomkvist bought the papers and walked to Java on Hornsgatan to have a late breakfast. Borgsj? cited family reasons as the explanation for his unexpected resignation. He would not comment on claims that Berger had also resigned after he ordered her to cover up a story about his involvement in the wholesale24 enterprise Vitavara Inc. But in a sidebar it was reported that the chair of Svenskt N?ringsliv, the confederation of Swedish enterprise, had decided25 to set up an ethics26 committee to investigate the dealings of Swedish companies with businesses in South East Asia known to exploit child labour. Blomkvist burst out laughing, and then he folded the morning papers and flipped27 open his Ericsson to call the woman who presented She on T.V.4, who was in the middle of a lunchtime sandwich. “Hello, darling,” Blomkvist said. “I’m assuming you’d still like dinner sometime.” “Hi, Mikael,” she laughed. “Sorry, but you couldn’t be further from my type.” “Still, how about coming out with me this evening to discuss a job?” “What have you got going?” “Erika Berger made a deal with you two years ago about the Wennerstr?m affair. I want to make a similar deal that will work just as well.” “I’m all ears.” “I can’t tell you about it until we’ve agreed on the terms. I’ve got a story in the works. We’re going to publish a book and a themed issue of the magazine, and it’s going to be huge. I’m offering you an exclusive look at all the material, provided you don’t leak anything before we publish. This time the publication is extra complicated because it has to happen on a specific day.” “How big is the story?” “Bigger than Wennerstr?m,” Blomkvist said. “Are you interested?” “Are you serious? Where shall we meet?” “How about Samir’s Cauldron? Erika’s going to sit in on the meeting.” “What’s going with on her? Is she back at Millennium now that she’s been thrown out of S.M.P.?” “She didn’t get thrown out. She resigned because of differences of opinion with Magnus Borgsj?.” “He seems to be a real creep.” “You’re not wrong there,” Blomkvist said. * Clinton was listening to Verdi through his earphones. Music was pretty much the only thing left in life that could take him away from dialysis machines and the growing pain in the small of his back. He did not hum to the music. He closed his eyes and followed the notes with his right hand, which hovered and seemed to have a life of its own alongside his disintegrating28 body. That is how it goes. We are born. We live. We grow old. We die. He had played his part. All that remained was the disintegration29. He felt strangely satisfied with life. He was playing for his friend Evert Gullberg. It was Saturday, July 9. Only four days until the trial, and the Section could set about putting this whole wretched story behind them. He had had the message that morning. Gullberg had been tougher than almost anyone he had known. When you fire a 9 mm full-metal-jacketed bullet into your own temple you expect to die. Yet it was three months before Gullberg’s body gave up at last. That was probably due as much to chance as to the stubbornness with which the doctors had waged the battle for Gullberg’s life. And it was the cancer, not the bullet, that had finally determined30 his end. Gullberg’s death had been painful, and that saddened Clinton. Although incapable31 of communicating with the outside world, he had at times been in a semi-conscious state, smiling when the hospital staff stroked his cheek or grunting32 when he seemed to be in pain. Sometimes he had tried to form words and even sentences, but nobody was able to understand anything he said. He had no family, and none of his friends came to his sickbed. His last contact with life was an Eritrean night nurse by the name of Sara Kitama, who kept watch at his bedside and held his hand as he died. Clinton realized that he would soon be following his former comrade-in-arms. No doubt about that. The likelihood of his surviving a transplant operation decreased each day. His liver and intestinal33 functions appeared to have declined at each examination. He hoped to live past Christmas. Yet he was contented34. He felt an almost spiritual, giddy satisfaction that his final days had involved such a sudden and surprising return to service. It was a boon35 he could not have anticipated. The last notes of Verdi faded away just somebody opened the door to the small room in which he was resting at the Section’s headquarters on Artillerigatan. Clinton opened his eyes. It was Wadensj??. He had come to the conclusion that Wadensj?? was a dead weight. He was entirely36 unsuitable as director of the most important vanguard of Swedish national defence. He could not conceive how he and von Rottinger could ever have made such a fundamental miscalculation as to imagine that Wadensj?? was the appropriate successor. Wadensj?? was a warrior37 who needed a fair wind. In a crisis he was feeble and incapable of making a decision. A timid encumbrance38 lacking steel in his backbone39 who would most likely have remained in paralysis40, incapable of action, and let the Section go under. It was this simple. Some had it. Others would always falter41 when it came to the crunch42. “You wanted a word?” “Sit down,” Clinton said. Wadensj?? sat. “I’m at a stage in my life when I can no longer waste time. I’ll get straight to the point. When all this is over, I want you to resign from the management of the Section.” “You do?” Clinton tempered his tone. “You’re a good man, Wadensj??. But unfortunately you’re completely unsuited to shouldering the responsibility after Gullberg. You should not have been given that responsibility. Von Rottinger and I were at fault when we failed to deal properly with the succession after I got sick.” “You’ve never liked me.” “You’re wrong about that. You were an excellent administrator43 when von Rottinger and I were in charge of the Section. We would have been helpless without you, and I have great admiration44 for your patriotism45. It’s your inability to make decisions that lets you down.” Wadensj?? smiled bitterly. “After this, I don’t know if I even want to stay in the Section.” “Now that Gullberg and von Rottinger are gone, I’ve had to make the crucial decisions myself,” Clinton said. “And you’ve obstructed46 every decision I’ve made during the past few months.” “And I maintain that the decisions you’ve made are absurd. It’s going to end in disaster.” “That’s possible. But your indecision would have guaranteed our collapse47. Now at least we have a chance, and it seems to be working. Millennium don’t know which way to turn. They may suspect that we’re somewhere out here, but they lack documentation and they have no way of finding it – or us. And we know at least as much as they do.” Wadensj?? looked out of the window and across the rooftops. “The only thing we still have to do is to get rid of Zalachenko’s daughter,” Clinton said. “If anyone starts burrowing48 about in her past and listening to what she has to say, there’s no knowing what might happen. But the trial starts in a few days and then it’ll be over. This time we have to bury her so deep that she’ll never come back to haunt us.” Wadensj?? shook his head. “I don’t understand your attitude,” Clinton said. “I can see that. You’re sixty-eight years old. You’re dying. Your decisions are not rational, and yet you seem to have bewitched Nystr?m and Sandberg. They obey you as if you were God the Father.” “I am God the Father in everything that has to do with the Section. We’re working according to a plan. Our decision to act has given the Section a chance. And it is with the utmost conviction that I say that the Section will never find itself in such an exposed position again. When all this is over, we’re going to put in hand a complete overhaul49 of our activities.” “I see.” “Nystr?m will be the new director. He’s really too old, but he’s the only choice we have, and he’s promised to stay on for six years at least. Sandberg is too young and – as a direct result of your management policies – too inexperienced. He should have been fully50 trained by now.” “Clinton, don’t you see what you’ve done? You’ve murdered a man. Bj?rck worked for the Section for thirty-five years, and you ordered his death. Do you not understand—” “You know quite well that it was necessary. He betrayed us, and he would never have withstood the pressure when the police closed in.” Wadensj?? stood up. “I’m not finished.” “Then we’ll have to take it up later. I have a job to do while you lie here fantasizing that you’re the Almighty51.” “If you’re so morally indignant, why don’t you go to Bublanski and confess your crimes?” “Believe me, I’ve considered it. But whatever you may think, I’m doing everything in my power to protect the Section.” He opened the door and met Nystr?m and Sandberg on their way in. “Hello, Fredrik,” Nystr?m said. “We have to talk.” “Wadensj?? was just leaving.” Nystr?m waited until the door had closed. “Fredrik, I’m seriously worried.” “What’s going on?” “Sandberg and I have been thinking. Things are happening that we don’t understand. This morning Salander’s lawyer lodged52 her autobiographical statement with the prosecutor53.” “What?” Inspector55 Faste scrutinized56 Advokat Giannini as Ekstr?m poured coffee from a thermos57 jug58. The document Ekstr?m had been handed when he arrived at work that morning had taken both of them by surprise. He and Faste had read the forty pages of Salander’s story and discussed the extraordinary document at length. Finally he felt compelled to ask Giannini to come in for an informal chat. They were sitting at the small conference table in Ekstr?m’s office. “Thank you for agreeing to come in,” Ekstr?m said. “I have read this … hmm, account that arrived this morning, and there are a few matters I’d like to clarify.” “I’ll do what I can to help” Giannini said. “I don’t know exactly where to start. Let me say from the outset that both Inspector Faste and I are profoundly astonished.” “Indeed?” “I’m trying to understand what your objective is.” “How do you mean?” “This autobiography59, or whatever you want to call it … What’s the point of it?” “The point is perfectly60 clear. My client wants to set down her version of what has happened to her.” Ekstr?m gave a good-natured laugh. He stroked his goatee, an oft-repeated gesture that was beginning to irritate Giannini. “Yes, but your client has had several months to explain herself. She hasn’t said a word in all her interviews with Faste.” “As far as I know there is no law that forces my client to talk simply when it suits Inspector Faste.” “No, but I mean … Salander’s trial will begin in four days’ time, and at the eleventh hour she comes up with this. To tell the truth, I feel a responsibility here which is beyond my duties as prosecutor.” “You do?” “I do not in the very least wish to sound offensive. That is not my intention. But we have a procedure for trials in this country. You, Fru Giannini, are a lawyer specialising in women’s rights, and you have never before represented a client in a criminal case. I did not charge Lisbeth Salander because she is a woman, but on a charge of grievous bodily harm. Even you, I believe, must have realized that she suffers from a serious mental illness and needs the protection and assistance of the state.” “You’re afraid that I won’t be able to provide Lisbeth Salander with an adequate defence,” Giannini said in a friendly tone. “I do not wish to be judgemental,” Ekstr?m said, “and I don’t question your competence61. I’m simply making the point that you lack experience.” “I do understand, and I completely agree with you. I am woefully inexperienced when it comes to criminal cases.” “And yet you have all along refused the help that has been offered by lawyers with considerably62 more experience—” “At the express wish of my client. Lisbeth Salander wants me to be her lawyer, and accordingly I will be representing her in court.” She gave him a polite smile. “Very well, but I do wonder whether in all seriousness you intend to offer the content of this statement to the court.” “Of course. It’s her story.” Ekstr?m and Faste glanced at one another. Faste raised his eyebrows63. He could not see what Ekstr?m was fussing about. If Giannini did not understand that she was on her way to sinking her client, then that certainly was not the prosecutor’s fault. All they needed to do was to say thank you, accept the document, and put the issue aside. As far as he was concerned, Salander was off her rocker. He had employed all his skills to persuade her to tell them, at the very least, where she lived. But in interview after interview that damn girl had just sat there, silent as a stone, staring at the wall behind him. She had refused the cigarettes he offered, and had never so much as accepted a coffee or a cold drink. Nor had she registered the least reaction when he pleaded with her, or when he raised his voice in moments of extreme annoyance64. Faste had never conducted a more frustrating65 set of interviews. “Fru Giannini,” Ekstr?m said at last, “I believe that your client ought to be spared this trial. She is not well. I have a psychiatric report from a highly qualified66 doctor to fall back on. She should be given the psychiatric care that for so many years she has badly needed.” “I take it that you will be presenting this recommendation to the district court.” “That’s exactly what I’ll be doing. It’s not my business to tell you how to conduct her defence. But if this is the line you seriously intend to take, then the situation is, quite frankly67, absurd. This statement contains wild and unsubstantiated accusations68 against a number of people … in particular against her guardian69, Advokat Bjurman, and Dr Peter Teleborian. I hope you do not in all seriousness believe that the court will accept an account that casts suspicion on Dr Teleborian without offering a single shred70 of evidence. This document is going to be the final nail in your client’s coffin71, if you’ll pardon the metaphor72.” “I hear what you’re saying.” “In the course of the trial you may claim that she is not ill and request a supplementary73 psychiatric assessment74, and then the matter can be submitted to the medical board. But to be honest her statement leaves me in very little doubt that every other forensic75 psychiatrist76 will come to the same conclusion as Dr Teleborian. Its very existence confirms all documentary evidence that she is a paranoid schizophrenic.” Giannini smiled politely. “There is an alternative view,” she said. “What’s that?” “That her account is in every detail true and that the court will elect to believe it.” Ekstr?m looked bewildered by the notion. Then he smiled and stroked his goatee. Clinton was sitting at the little side table by the window in his office. He listened attentively77 to Nystr?m and Sandberg. His face was furrowed78, but his peppercorn eyes were focused and alert. “We’ve been monitoring the telephone and email traffic of Millennium’s key employees since April,” Clinton said. “We’ve confirmed that Blomkvist and Eriksson and this Cortez fellow are pretty downcast on the whole. We’ve read the outline version of the next issue. It seems that even Blomkvist has reversed his position and is now of the view that Salander is mentally unstable79 after all. There is a socially linked defence for her – he’s claiming that society let her down, and that as a result it’s somehow not her fault that she tried to murder her father. But that’s hardly an argument. There isn’t one word about the break-in at his apartment or the fact that his sister was attacked in G?teborg, and there’s no mention of the missing reports. He knows he can’t prove anything.” “That is precisely80 the problem,” Sandberg said. “Blomkvist must know that someone has their eye on him. But he seems to be completely ignoring his suspicions. Forgive me, but that isn’t Millennium’s style. Besides, Erika Berger is back in editorial and yet this whole issue is so bland81 and devoid82 of substance that it seems like a joke.” “What are you saying? That it’s a decoy?” Sandberg nodded. “The summer issue should have come out in the last week of June. According to one of Malin Eriksson’s emails, it’s being printed by a company in S?dert?lje, but when I rang them this morning, they told me they hadn’t even got the C.R.C. All they’d had was a request for a quote about a month ago.” “Where have they printed before?” Clinton said. “At a place called Hallvigs in Morgong?va. I called to ask how far they had got with the printing – I said I was calling from Millennium. The manager wouldn’t tell me a thing. I thought I’d drive up there this evening and take a look.” “Makes sense. Georg?” “I’ve reviewed all the telephone traffic from the past week,” Nystr?m said. “It’s bizarre, but the Millennium staff never discuss anything to do with the trial or Zalachenko.” “Nothing at all?” “No. They mention it only when they’re talking with someone outside Millennium. Listen to this, for instance. Blomkvist gets a call from a reporter at Aftonbladet asking whether he has any comment to make on the upcoming trial.” He put a tape recorder on the table. “Sorry, but I have no comment.” “You’ve been involved with the story from the start. You were the one who found Salander down in Gosseberga. And you haven’t published a single word since. When do you intend to publish?” “When the time is right. Provided I have anything to say.” “Do you?” “Well, you can buy a copy of Millennium and see for yourself.” He turned off the recorder. “We didn’t think about this before, but I went back and listened to bits at random83. It’s been like this the entire time. He hardly discusses the Zalachenko business except in the most general terms. He doesn’t even discuss it with his sister, and she’s Salander’s lawyer.” “Maybe he really doesn’t have anything to say.” “He consistently refuses to speculate about anything. He seems to live at the offices round the clock; he’s hardly ever at his apartment. If he’s working night and day, then he ought to have come up with something more substantial than whatever’s going to be in the next issue of Millennium.” “And we still haven’t been able to tap the phones at their offices?” “No,” Sandberg said. “There’s been somebody there twenty-four hours a day – and that’s significant – ever since we went into Blomkvist’s apartment the first time. The office lights are always on, and if it’s not Blomkvist it’s Cortez or Eriksson, or that faggot … er, Christer Malm.” Clinton stroked his chin and thought for a moment. “Conclusions?” Nystr?m said: “If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were putting on an act for us.” Clinton felt a cold shiver run down the back of his neck. “Why hasn’t this occurred to us before?” “We’ve been listening to what they’ve been saying, not to what they haven’t been saying. We’ve been gratified when we’ve heard their confusion or noticed it in an email. Blomkvist knows damn well that someone stole copies of the 1991 Salander report from him and his sister. But what the hell is he doing about it?” “And they didn’t report her mugging to the police?” Nystr?m shook his head. “Giannini was present at the interviews with Salander. She’s polite, but she never says anything of any weight. And Salander herself never says anything at all.” “But that will work in our favour. The more she keeps her mouth shut, the better. What does Ekstr?m say?” “I saw him a couple of hours ago. He’d just been given Salander’s statement.” He pointed84 to the pages in Clinton’s lap. “Ekstr?m is confused. It’s fortunate that Salander is no good at expressing herself in writing. To an outsider this would look like a totally insane conspiracy85 theory with added pornographic elements. But she still shoots very close to the mark. She describes exactly how she came to be locked up at St Stefan’s, and she claims that Zalachenko worked for S?po and so on. She says she thinks everything is connected with a little club inside S?po, pointing to the existence of something corresponding to the Section. All in all it’s fairly accurate. But as I said, it’s not plausible86. Ekstr?m is in a dither because this also seems to be the line of defence Giannini is going to use at the trial.” “Shit,” Clinton said. He bowed his head and thought intently for several minutes. Finally he looked up. “Jonas, drive up to Morgong?va this evening and find out if anything is going on. If they’re printing Millennium, I want a copy.” “I’ll take Falun with me.” “Good. Georg, I want you to see Ekstr?m this afternoon and take his pulse. Everything has gone smoothly87 until now, but I can’t ignore what you two are telling me.” Clinton sat in silence for a moment more. “The best thing would be if there wasn’t any trial …” he said at last. He raised his eyes and looked at Nystr?m. Nystr?m nodded. Sandberg nodded. “Nystr?m, can you investigate our options?” Sandberg and the locksmith known as Falun parked a short distance from the railway tracks and walked through Morgong?va. It was 8.30 in the evening. It was too light and too early to do anything, but they wanted to reconnoitre and get a look at the place. “If the building is alarmed, I’m not doing it,” Falun said. “It would be better to have a look through the window. If there’s anything lying around, you can just chuck a rock through, jump in, grab what you need and run like hell.” “That’ll work,” Sandberg said. “If you only need one copy of the magazine, we can check the dustbins round the back. There must be overruns and test printings and things like that.” Hallvigs Reklam printing factory was in a low, brick building. They approached from the south on the other side of the street. Sandberg was about to cross when Falun took hold of his elbow. “Keep going straight,” he said. “What?” “Keep going straight, as if we’re out for an evening stroll.” They passed Hallvigs and made a tour of the neighbourhood. “What was all that about?” Sandberg said. “You’ve got to keep your eyes peeled. The place isn’t just alarmed. There was a car parked alongside the building.” “You mean somebody’s there?” “It was a car from Milton Security. The factory is under surveillance, for Christ’s sake.” “Milton Security?” Clinton felt the shock hit him in the gut88. “If it hadn’t been for Falun, I would have walked right into their arms,” Sandberg said. “There’s something fishy89 going on,” Nystr?m said. “There is no rationale for a small out-of-town printer to hire Milton Security for 24-hour surveillance.” Clinton’s lips were pressed tight. It was after 11.00 and he needed to rest. “And that means Millennium really is up to something,” Sandberg said. “I can see that,” Clinton said. “O.K. Let’s analyse the situation. What’s the worst-case scenario90? What could they know?” He gave Nystr?m an urgent look. “It has to be the Salander report,” he said. “They beefed up their security after we lifted the copies. They must have guessed that they’re under surveillance. The worst case is that they still have a copy of the report.” “But Blomkvist was at his wits’ end when it went missing.” “I know. But we may have been duped. We can’t shut our eyes to that possibility.” “We’ll work on that assumption,” Clinton said. “Sandberg?” “We do know what Salander’s defence will be. She’s going to tell the truth as she sees it. I’ve read this autobiography of hers. In fact it plays right into our hands. It’s full of such outrageous91 accusations of rape92 and violation93 of her civil rights that it will come across as the ravings of a paranoid personality.” Nystr?m said: “Besides, she can’t prove a single one of her claims. Ekstr?m will use the account against her. He’ll annihilate94 her credibility.” “O.K. Teleborian’s new report is excellent. There is, of course, the possibility that Giannini will call in her own expert who’ll say that Salander isn’t crazy, and the whole thing will end up before the medical board. But again – unless Salander changes tactics, she’s going to refuse to talk to them too, and then they’ll conclude that Teleborian is right. She’s her own worst enemy.” “The best thing would still be if there was no trial,” Clinton said. Nystr?m shook his head. “That’s virtually impossible. She’s in Kronoberg prison and she has no contact with other prisoners. She gets an hour’s exercise each day in the little area on the roof, but we can’t get to her up there. And we have no contacts among the prison staff.” “There may still be time.” “If we’d wanted to dispose of her, we should have done it when she was at Sahlgrenska. The likelihood that a hit man would do time is almost 100 per cent. And where would we find a gun who’d agree to that? And at such short notice it would be impossible to arrange a suicide or an accident.” “I was afraid of that. And unexpected deaths have a tendency to invite questions. O.K., we’ll have to see how the trial goes. In reality, nothing has changed. We’ve always anticipated that they would make some sort of counter-move, and it seems to be this so-called autobiography.” “The problem is Millennium,” Sandberg said. “Millennium and Milton Security,” Clinton said pensively95. “Salander has worked for Armansky, and Blomkvist once had a thing with her. Should we assume that they’ve joined forces?” “It doesn’t seem unreasonable96 that Milton Security is watching the factory where Millennium is being printed. And it can’t be a coincidence.” “When are they going to publish? Sandberg, you said that they’re almost two weeks behind schedule. If we assume that Milton is keeping an eye on the printer’s to make sure that nobody gets hold of a copy, that means either that they’re publishing something that they don’t want to leak, or that the magazine has already been printed.” “To coincide with the opening of the trial,” Sandberg said. “That’s the only reasonable explanation.” Clinton nodded. “O.K. What’s going to be in the magazine?” They thought for a while, until Nystr?m broke the silence. “In the worst case they have a copy of the 1991 report, as we said.” Clinton and Sandberg had reached the same conclusion. “But what can they do with it?” Sandberg said. “The report implicates97 Bj?rck and Teleborian. Bj?rck is dead. They can press hard with Teleborian, but he’ll claim that he was doing a routine forensic psychiatric examination. It’ll be their word against his.” “And what can we do if they publish the report?” Nystr?m said. “I think we’re holding the trump98 card,” Clinton said. “If there’s a ruckus over the report, the focus will be on S?po, not the Section. And when reporters start asking questions, S?po will just pull it out of the archive …” “And it won’t be the same report,” Sandberg said. “Shenke has put the modified version in the archive, that is, the version Ekstr?m was given to read. It was assigned a case number. So we could swiftly present a lot of disinformation to the media … We have the original, which Bjurman got hold of, and Millennium only has a copy. We could even spread information to suggest that it was Blomkvist himself who falsified the original.” “Good. What else could Millennium know?” “They can’t know anything about the Section. That wouldn’t be possible. They’ll have to focus on S?po, and that would mean Blomkvist being cast as a conspiracy theorist.” “By now he’s rather well known,” Clinton said slowly. “Since the resolution of the Wennerstr?m affair he’s been taken pretty seriously.” “Could we somehow reduce his credibility?” Sandberg said. Nystr?m and Clinton exchanged glances. Clinton looked at Nystr?m. “Do you think you could put your hands on … let’s say, fifty grams of cocaine99?” “Maybe from the Yugos.” “Give it a try. And get a move-on. The trial starts in three days.” “I don’t get it,” Sandberg said. “It’s a trick as old as the profession. But still extremely effective.” “Morgong?va?” Edklinth said with a frown. He was sitting in his dressing100 gown on the sofa at home, reading through Salander’s autobiography for the third time, when Figuerola called. Since it was after midnight, he assumed that something was up. “Morgong?va,” Figuerola repeated. “Sandberg and Lars Faulsson were there at 8.30 this evening. They were tailed by Inspector Andersson from Bublanski’s gang, and we had a radio transmitter planted in Sandberg’s car. They parked near the old railway station, walked around for a while, and then returned to the car and drove back to Stockholm.” “I see. Did they meet anyone, or—” “No. That was the strange thing. They just got out of the car and walked around a little, then drove straight back to Stockholm, so Andersson told me.” “I see. And why are you calling me at 12.30 at night to tell me this?” “It took a little while to work it out. They walked past Hallvigs printers. I talked to Blomkvist about it. That’s where Millennium’s being printed.” “Oh shit,” Edklinth said. He saw the implications immediately. “Since Falun was along, I have to suppose that they were intending to pay the printer’s a late-night visit, but they abandoned the expedition,” Figuerola said. “Why?” “Because Blomkvist asked Armansky to keep an eye on the factory until the magazine was distributed. They probably saw the car from Milton Security. I thought you’d want to know straightaway.” “You’re right. It means that they’ve begun to smell a rat.” “Alarm bells must have gone off in their heads when they saw the car. Sandberg dropped Faulsson off in town and then went back to Artillerigatan. We know that Clinton is there. Nystr?m arrived at about the same time. The question is, what are they going to do?” “The trial starts on Wednesday … Can you reach Blomkvist and urge him to double up on security at Millennium? Just in case.” “They already have good security. And they blew smoke rings round their tapped telephones – like old pros54. Blomkvist is so paranoid already that he’s using diversionary tactics we could learn from.” “I’m happy to hear it, but call him anyway.” Figuerola closed her mobile and put it on the bedside table. She looked up and studied Blomkvist as he lay naked with his head against the foot of the bed. “I’m to call you and tell you to beef up security at Millennium,” she said. “Thanks for the suggestion,” he said wryly101. “I’m serious. If they start to smell a rat, there’s a danger that they’ll go and do something without thinking. They might break in.” “Henry’s sleeping there tonight. And we have a burglar alarm that goes straight to Milton Security, three minutes away.” He lay in silence with his eyes shut. “Paranoid,” he muttered.
收听单词发音 |
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tersely
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| adv. 简捷地, 简要地 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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folder
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| n.纸夹，文件夹 | |
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entrust
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| v.信赖，信托，交托 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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paperback
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| n.平装本，简装本 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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10
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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12
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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13
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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14
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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18
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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solidarity
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| n.团结；休戚相关 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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21
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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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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billboards
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| n.广告牌( billboard的名词复数 ) | |
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wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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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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ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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27
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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28
disintegrating
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| v.（使）破裂[分裂，粉碎]，（使）崩溃( disintegrate的现在分词 ) | |
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29
disintegration
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| n.分散，解体 | |
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30
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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31
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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32
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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intestinal
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| adj.肠的；肠壁；肠道细菌 | |
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34
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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35
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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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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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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38
encumbrance
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| n.妨碍物，累赘 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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40
paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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41
falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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42
crunch
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| n.关键时刻；艰难局面；v.发出碎裂声 | |
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43
administrator
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| n.经营管理者，行政官员 | |
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44
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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45
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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46
obstructed
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| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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47
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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48
burrowing
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的现在分词 )；翻寻 | |
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49
overhaul
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| v./n.大修，仔细检查 | |
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50
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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51
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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52
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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53
prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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54
pros
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| abbr.prosecuting 起诉；prosecutor 起诉人；professionals 自由职业者；proscenium （舞台）前部n.赞成的意见( pro的名词复数 )；赞成的理由；抵偿物；交换物 | |
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55
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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56
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
thermos
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| n.保湿瓶，热水瓶 | |
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58
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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59
autobiography
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| n.自传 | |
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60
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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61
competence
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| n.能力，胜任，称职 | |
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62
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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63
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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64
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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65
frustrating
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| adj.产生挫折的，使人沮丧的，令人泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的现在分词 )；挫败；使受挫折；令人沮丧 | |
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66
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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67
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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68
accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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69
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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70
shred
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| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
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71
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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72
metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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73
supplementary
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| adj.补充的，附加的 | |
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74
assessment
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| n.评价；评估；对财产的估价，被估定的金额 | |
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75
forensic
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| adj.法庭的，雄辩的 | |
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76
psychiatrist
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| n.精神病专家；精神病医师 | |
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77
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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78
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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80
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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81
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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82
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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83
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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84
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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85
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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86
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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87
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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88
gut
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| n.[pl.]胆量；内脏；adj.本能的；vt.取出内脏 | |
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89
fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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90
scenario
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| n.剧本，脚本；概要 | |
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91
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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92
rape
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| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
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93
violation
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| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
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94
annihilate
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| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
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95
pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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96
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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97
implicates
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| n.牵涉，涉及（某人）( implicate的名词复数 )；表明（或意指）…是起因 | |
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98
trump
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| n.王牌，法宝；v.打出王牌，吹喇叭 | |
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99
cocaine
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| n.可卡因，古柯碱（用作局部麻醉剂） | |
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100
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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101
wryly
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| adv. 挖苦地，嘲弄地 | |
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