Monday, 11.vii It was 6.00 on Monday morning when Linder from Milton Security called Blomkvist on his T10. “Don’t you people ever rest?” Blomkvist said, drunk with sleep. He glanced at Figuerola. She was up already and had changed into jogging shorts, but had not yet put on her T-shirt. “Sure. But the night duty officer woke me. The silent alarm we installed at your apartment went off at 3.00.” “Did it?” “I drove down to see what was going on. This is a bit tricky1. Could you come to Milton this morning? As soon as possible, that is.” “This is serious,” Armansky said. It was just after 8.00 when Armansky, Blomkvist and Linder were gathered in front of a T. V. monitor in a conference room at Milton Security. Armansky had also called in Johan Fr?klund, a retired2 criminal inspector3 in the Solna police, now chief of Milton’s operations unit, and the former inspector Sonny Bohman, who had been involved in the Salander affair from the start. They were pondering the surveillance video that Linder had just shown them. “What we see here is S?po officer Jonas Sandberg opening the door to Mikael’s apartment at 3.17. He has his own keys. You will recall that Faulsson the locksmith made copies of the spare set when he and G?ran M?rtensson broke in several weeks ago.” Armansky nodded sternly. “Sandberg is in the apartment for approximately eight minutes. During that time he does the following things. First, he takes a small plastic bag from the kitchen, which he fills. Then he unscrews the back plate of a loudspeaker which you have in the living room, Mikael. That’s where he places the bag. The fact that he takes a bag from your kitchen is significant.” “It’s a Konsum bag,” Blomkvist said. “I save them to put cheese and stuff in.” “I do the same. What matters, of course, is that the bag has your fingerprints4 on it. Then he takes a copy of S.M.P. from the recycling bin5 in the hall. He tears off a page to wrap up an object which he puts on the top shelf of your wardrobe. Same thing there: the paper has your fingerprints on it.” “I get you,” Blomkvist said. “I drive to your apartment at around 5.00,” Linder said. “I find the following items: in your loudspeaker there are now approximately 180 grams of cocaine6. I’ve taken a sample which I have here.” She put a small evidence bag on the conference table. “What’s in the wardrobe?” Blomkvist said. “About 120,000 kronor in cash.” Armansky motioned to Linder to turn off the T. V. He turned to Fr?klund. “So Mikael Blomkvist is involved in cocaine dealing7,” Fr?klund said good-naturedly. “Apparently8 they’ve started to get a little worried about what Blomkvist is working on.” “This is a counter-move,” Blomkvist said. “A counter-move to what?” “They ran into Milton’s security patrol in Morgong?va last night.” He told them what he had heard from Figuerola about Sandberg’s expedition to the printing factory. “That busy little rascal,” Bohman said. “But why now?” “They must be nervous about what Millennium9 might publish when the trial starts,” Fr?klund said. “If Blomkvist is arrested for dealing cocaine, his credibility will drop dramatically.” Linder nodded. Blomkvist looked sceptical. “How are we going to handle this?” Armansky said. “We should do nothing,” Fr?klund said. “We hold all the cards. We have crystal-clear evidence of Sandberg planting the stuff in your apartment. Let them spring the trap. We can prove your innocence10 in a second, and besides, this will be further proof of the Section’s criminal activities. I would so love to be prosecutor11 when those guys are brought to trial.” “I don’t know,” Blomkvist said slowly. “The trial starts the day after tomorrow. The magazine is on the stands on Friday, day three of the trial. If they plan to frame me for dealing cocaine, I’ll never have the time to explain how it happened before the magazine comes out. I risk sitting in prison and missing the beginning of the trial.” “So, all the more reason for you to stay out of sight this week,” Armansky said. “Well … I have to work with T.V.4 and I’ve got a number of other things to do. It would be enormously inconvenient—” “Why right now?” Linder said suddenly. “How do you mean?” Armansky said. “They’ve had three months to smear12 Blomkvist. Why do it right now? Whatever happens they’re not going to be able to prevent publication.” They all sat in silence for a moment. “It might be because they don’t have a clue what you’re going to publish, Mikael,” Armansky said. “They have to suppose that you have something in the offing … but they might think all you have is Bj?rck’s report. They have no reason to know that you’re planning on rolling up the whole Section. If it’s only about Bj?rck’s report, then it’s certainly enough to blacken your reputation. Any revelations you might come up with would be drowned out when you’re arrested and charged. Big scandal. The famous Mikael Blomkvist arrested on a drugs charge. Six to eight years in prison.” “Could I have two copies of the video?” Blomkvist said. “What are you going to do with them?” “Lodge one copy with Edklinth. And in three hours I’m going to be at T.V.4. I think it would be prudent13 to have this ready to run on T. V. if or when all hell breaks loose.” Figuerola turned off the D.V.D. player and put the remote on the table. They were meeting in the temporary office on Fridhemsplan. “Cocaine,” Edklinth said. “They’re playing a very dirty game here.” Figuerola looked thoughtful. She glanced at Blomkvist. “I thought it best to keep all of you up to date,” he said with a shrug14. “I don’t like this,” Figuerola said. “It implies a recklessness. Someone hasn’t really thought this through. They must realize that you wouldn’t go quietly and let yourself be thrown into Kumla bunker under arrest on a drugs charge.” “I agree,” Blomkvist said. “Even if you were convicted, there’s still a strong likelihood that people would believe what you have to say. And your colleagues at Millennium wouldn’t keep quiet either.” “Furthermore, this is costing them a great deal,” Edklinth said. “They have a budget that allows them to distribute 120,000 kronor here and there without blinking, plus whatever the cocaine costs them.” “I know, but the plan is actually not bad,” Blomkvist said. “They’re counting on Salander landing back in the asylum15 while I disappear in a cloud of suspicion. They’re also assuming that any attention would be focused on S?po – not on the Section.” “But how are they going to convince the drug squad16 to search your apartment? I mean, an anonymous17 tip will hardly be enough for someone to kick in the door of a star journalist. And if this is going to work, suspicion would have to be cast on you within forty-eight hours.” “Well, we don’t really know anything about their schedule,” Blomkvist said. He felt exhausted18 and longed for all this to be over. He got up. “Where are you off to?” Figuerola said. “I’d like to know where you’re going to be for the next few days.” “I have a meeting with T.V.4 at lunchtime. And at 6.00 I’m going to catch up with Erika Berger over a lamb stew19 at Samir’s. We’re going to fine-tune the press release. The rest of the afternoon and evening I’ll be at Millennium, I imagine.” Figuerola’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of Berger. “I need you to stay in touch during the day. I’d prefer it if you stayed in close contact until the trial starts.” “Maybe I could move in with you for a few days,” Blomkvist said with a playful smile. Figuerola’s face darkened. She cast a hasty glance at Edklinth. “Monica’s right,” Edklinth said. “I think it would be best if you stay more or less out of sight for the time being.” “You take care of your end,” Blomkvist said, “and I’ll take care of mine.” The presenter20 of She on T.V.4 could hardly conceal21 her excitement over the video material that Blomkvist had delivered. Blomkvist was amused at her undisguised glee. For a week they had worked like dogs to put together coherent material about the Section that they could use on T. V. Her producer and the news editor at T.V.4 were in no doubt as to what a scoop22 the story would be. It was being produced in the utmost secrecy23, with only a very few people involved. They had agreed to Blomkvist’s insistence24 that the story be the lead on the evening of the third day of the trial. They had decided25 to do an hour-long news special. Blomkvist had given her a quantity of still photographs to work with, but on television nothing compares to the moving image. She was simply delighted when he showed her the video – in razor-sharp definition – of an identifiable police officer planting cocaine in his apartment. “This is great T.V.,” she said. “Camera shot: Here is S?po planting cocaine in the reporter’s apartment.” “Not S?po … the Section,” Blomkvist corrected her. “Don’t make the mistake of muddling26 the two.” “Sandberg works for S?po, for God’s sake,” she said. “Sure, but in practice he should be regarded as an infiltrator27. Keep the boundary line very clear.” “Understood. It’s the Section that’s the story here. Not S?po. Mikael, can you explain to me how it is that you keep getting mixed up in these sensational28 stories? And you’re right. This is going to be bigger than the Wennerstr?m affair.” “Sheer talent, I guess. Ironically enough this story also begins with a Wennerstr?m. The spy scandal of the ’60s, that is.” Berger called at 4.00. She was in a meeting with the newspaper publishers’ association sharing her views on the planned cutbacks at S.M.P., which had given rise to a major conflict in the industry after she had resigned. She would not be able to make it to their dinner before 6.30. Sandberg helped Clinton move from the wheelchair to the daybed in the room that was his command centre in the Section’s headquarters on Artillerigatan. Clinton had just returned from a whole morning spent in dialysis. He felt ancient, infinitely29 weary. He had hardly slept the past few days and wished that all this would soon come to an end. He had managed to make himself comfortable, sitting up in the bed, when Nystr?m appeared. Clinton concentrated his energy. “Is it ready?” “I’ve just come from a meeting with the Nikolich brothers,” Nystr?m said. “It’s going to cost 50,000.” “We can afford it,” Clinton said. Christ, if only I were young again. He turned his head and studied Nystr?m and Sandberg in turn. “No qualms30 of conscience?” he said. They shook their heads. “When?” Clinton said. “Within twenty-four hours,” Nystr?m said. “It’s difficult to pin down where Blomkvist is staying, but if the worst comes to the worst they’ll do it outside Millennium’s offices.” “We have a possible opportunity tonight, two hours from now,” said Sandberg. “Oh, really?” “Erika Berger called him a while ago. They’re going to have dinner at Samir’s Cauldron. It’s a restaurant near Bellmansgatan.” “Berger …” Clinton said hesitantly. “I hope for God’s sake that she doesn’t—” Nystr?m said. “That wouldn’t be the end of the world,” Sandberg said. Clinton and Nystr?m both stared at him. “We’re agreed that Blomkvist is our greatest threat, and that he’s going to publish something damaging in the next issue of Millennium. We can’t prevent publication, so we have to destroy his credibility. If he’s killed in what appears to be a typical underworld hit and the police then find drugs and cash in his apartment, the investigators32 will draw certain conclusions. They won’t initially33 be looking for conspiracies34 involving the Security Police.” “Go on,” Clinton said. “Erika Berger is actually Blomkvist’s lover,” Sandberg said with some force. “She’s unfaithful to her husband. If she too were to be a victim, that would lead to further speculation35.” Clinton and Nystr?m exchanged glances. Sandberg had a natural talent when it came to creating smokescreens. He learned fast. But Clinton and Nystr?m felt a surge of anxiety. Sandberg was too cavalier about life-and-death decisions. That was not good. Extreme measures were not to be employed just because an opportunity had presented itself. Murder was no easy solution; it should be resorted to only when there was no alternative. Clinton shook his head. Collateral36 damage, he thought. He suddenly felt disgust for the whole operation. After a lifetime in service to the nation, here we sit like primitive37 mercenaries. Zalachenko was necessary. Bj?rck was … regrettable, but Gullberg was right: Bj?rck would have caved in. Blomkvist is … possibly necessary. But Erika Berger could only be an innocent bystander. He looked steadily38 at Sandberg. He hoped that the young man would not develop into a psychopath. “How much do the Nikolich brothers know?” “Nothing. About us, that is. I’m the only one they’ve met. I used another identity and they can’t trace me. They think the killing39 has to do with trafficking.” “What happens to them after the hit?” “They leave Sweden at once,” Nystr?m said. “Just like after Bj?rck. If the murder investigation40 yields no results, they can very cautiously return after a few weeks.” “And the method?” “Sicilian style. They walk up to Blomkvist, empty a magazine into him, and walk away.” “Weapon?” “They have an automatic. I don’t know what type.” “I do hope they won’t spray the whole restaurant—” “No danger of that. They’re cold-blooded, they know what they have to do. But if Berger is sitting at the same table—” Collateral damage. “Look here,” Clinton said. “It’s important that Wadensj?? doesn’t get wind of this. Especially not if Berger becomes a victim. He’s stressed to breaking point as it is. I’m afraid we’re going to have to put him out to pasture when this is over.” Nystr?m nodded. “Which means that when we get word that Blomkvist has been shot, we’re going to have to put on a good show. We’ll call a crisis meeting and act thunderstruck by the development. We can speculate who might be behind the murder, but we’ll say nothing about the drugs until the police find the evidence.” Blomkvist took leave of the presenter of She just before 5.00. They had spent the afternoon filling in the gaps in the material. Then Blomkvist had gone to make-up and subjected himself to a long interview on film. One question had been put to him which he struggled to answer in a coherent way, and they had to film that section several times. How is it possible that civil servants in the Swedish government will go so far as to commit murder? Blomkvist had brooded over the question long before She’s presenter had asked it. The Section must have considered Zalachenko an unacceptable threat, but it was still not a satisfactory answer. The reply he eventually gave was not satisfactory either: “The only reasonable explanation I can give is that over the years the Section developed into a cult31 in the true sense of the word. They became like Knutby, or the pastor41 Jim Jones or something like that. They write their own laws, within which concepts like right and wrong have ceased to be relevant. And through these laws they imagine themselves isolated42 from normal society.” “It sounds like some sort of mental illness, don’t you think?” “That wouldn’t be an inaccurate43 description.” Blomkvist took the tunnelbana to Slussen. It was too early to go to Samir’s Cauldron. He stood on S?dermalmstorg for a while. He was worried still, yet all of a sudden life felt right again. It was not until Berger came back to Millennium that he realized how terribly he had missed her. Besides, her retaking of the helm had not led to any internal strife44; Eriksson had reverted45 happily to the position of assistant editor, indeed was almost ecstatic – as she put it – that life would now return to normal. Berger’s coming back had also meant that everyone discovered how incredibly understaffed they had been during the past three months. Berger had had to resume her duties at Millennium at a run, and she and Eriksson managed to tackle together some of the organizational issues that had been piling up. Blomkvist decided to buy the evening papers and have coffee at Java on Hornsgatan to kill time before he was to meet Berger. * Prosecutor Ragnhild Gustavsson of the National Prosecutors’ Office set her reading glasses on the conference table and studied the group. She had a lined but apple-cheeked face and short, greying hair. She had been a prosecutor for twenty-five years and had worked at the N.P.O. since the early ’90s. She was fifty-eight Only three weeks had passed since she had been without warning summoned to the N.P.O. to meet Superintendent47 Edklinth, Director of Constitutional Protection. That day she had been busily finishing up one or two routine matters so she could begin her six-week leave at her cabin on the island of Husar? with a clear conscience. Instead she had been assigned to lead the investigation of a group of civil servants who went by the name of “the Section”. Her holiday plans had quickly to be shelved. She had been advised that this would be her priority for the foreseeable future, and she had been given a more or less free hand to shape her operational team and take the necessary decisions. “This may prove one of the most sensational criminal investigations48 this country has witnessed,” the Prosecutor General had told her. She was beginning to think he was right. She had listened with increasing amazement49 to Edklinth’s summary of the situation and the investigation he had undertaken at the instruction of the Prime Minister. The investigation was not yet complete, but he believed that his team had come far enough to be able to present the case to a prosecutor. First of all Gustavsson had reviewed all the material that Edklinth had delivered. When the sheer scope of the criminal activity began to emerge, she realized that every decision she made would some day be pored over by historians and their readers. Since then she had spent every waking minute trying to get to grips with the numerous crimes. The case was unique in Swedish law, and since it involved charting criminal activity that had gone on for at least thirty years, she recognized the need for a very particular kind of operational team. She was reminded of the Italian government’s anti-Mafia investigators who had been forced in the ’70s and ’80s to work almost underground in order to survive. She knew why Edklinth himself had been bound to work in secret. He did not know whom he could trust. Her first action was to call in three colleagues from the N.P.O. She selected people she had known for many years. Then she hired a renowned50 historian who had worked on the Crime Prevention Council to help with an analysis of the growth of Security Police responsibilities and powers over the decades. She formally appointed Inspector Figuerola head of the investigation. At this point the investigation of the Section had taken on a constitutionally valid52 form. It could now be viewed like any other police investigation, even though its operation would be conducted in absolute secrecy. Over the past two weeks Prosecutor Gustavsson had summoned a large number of individuals to official but extremely discreet53 interviews. As well as with Edklinth and Figuerola, interviews had been conducted with Criminal Inspectors54 Bublanski, Modig, Andersson and Holmberg. She had called in Mikael Blomkvist, Malin Eriksson, Henry Cortez, Christer Malm, Advokat Giannini, Dragan Armansky and Susanne Linder, and she had herself gone to visit Lisbeth Salander’s former guardian55, Holger Palmgren. Apart from the members of Millennium’s staff who on principle did not answer questions that might reveal the identity of their sources, all had readily provided detailed56 answers, and in some cases supporting documentation as well. Prosecutor Gustavsson had not been at all pleased to have been presented with a timetable that had been determined57 by Millennium. It meant that she would have to order the arrest of a number of individuals on a specific date. She knew that ideally she would have had several months of preparation before the investigation reached its present stage, but she had no choice. Blomkvist had been adamant58. Millennium was not subject to any governmental ordinances59 or regulations, and he intended to publish the story on day three of Salander’s trial. Gustavsson was thus compelled to adjust her own schedule to strike at the same time, so that those individuals who were under suspicion would not be given a chance to disappear along with the evidence. Blomkvist received a surprising degree of support from Edklinth and Figuerola, and the prosecutor came to see that Blomkvist’s plan had certain clear advantages. As prosecutor she would get just the kind of fully60 focused media back-up she needed to push forward the prosecution61. In addition, the whole process would move ahead so quickly that this complex investigation would not have time to leak into the corridors of the bureaucracy and thus risk being unearthed62 by the Section. “Blomkvist’s first priority is to achieve justice for Salander. Nailing the Section is merely a by-product,” Figuerola said. The trial of Lisbeth Salander was to commence on Wednesday, in two days’ time. The meeting on Monday involved doing a review of the latest material available to them and dividing up the work assignments. Thirteen people participated in the meeting. From N.P.O., Ragnhild Gustavsson had brought her two closest colleagues. From Constitutional Protection, Inspector Monica Figuerola had come with Bladh and Berglund. Edklinth, as Director of Constitutional Protection, was sitting in as an observer. But Gustavsson had decided that a matter of this importance could not credibly46 be restricted to S.I.S. She had therefore called in Inspector Bublanski and his team, consisting of Modig, Holmberg and Andersson from the regular police force. They had, after all, been working on the Salander case since Easter and were familiar with all the details. Gustavsson had also called in Prosecutor Jervas and Inspector Erlander from the G?teborg police. The investigation of the Section had a direct connection to the investigation of the murder of Alexander Zalachenko. When Figuerola mentioned that former Prime Minister Thorbj?rn F?lldin might have to take the stand as a witness, Holmberg and Modig were scarcely able to conceal their discomfort63. For five hours they examined one individual after another who had been identified as an activist64 in the Section. After that they established the various crimes that could be linked to the apartment on Artillerigatan. A further nine people had been identified as being connected to the Section, although they never visited Artillerigatan. They worked primarily at S.I.S. on Kungsholmen, but had met with some of the Section’s activists65. “It is still impossible to say how widespread the conspiracy66 is. We do not know under what circumstances these people meet with Wadensj?? or with anyone else. They could be informers, or they may have been given the impression that they’re working for internal affairs or something similar. So there is some uncertainty67 about the degree of their involvement, and that can be resolved only after we’ve had a chance to interview them. Furthermore, these are merely those individuals we have observed during the weeks the surveillance has been in effect; there could be more that we do not yet know about.” “But the chief of Secretariat and the chief of Budget—” “We have to assume that they’re working for the Section.” It was 6.00 on Monday when Gustavsson gave everyone an hour’s break for dinner, after which they would reconvene. It was just as everyone had stood up and begun to move about that Jesper Thoms, Figuerola’s colleague from C.P.’s operations unit, drew her aside to report on what had developed during the last few hours of surveillance. “Clinton has been in dialysis for most of the day and got back to Artillerigatan at 3.00. The only one who did anything of interest was Nystr?m, although we aren’t quite sure what it was he did.” “Tell me,” said Figuerola. “At 1.30 he drove to Central Station and met up with two men. They walked across to the Sheraton and had coffee in the bar. The meeting lasted for about twenty minutes, after which Nystr?m returned to Artillerigatan.” “O.K. So who were they?” “They’re new faces. Two men in their mid-thirties who seem to be of eastern European origin. Unfortunately our observer lost them when they went into the tunnelbana.” “I see,” Figuerola said wearily. “Here are the pictures,” Thoms said. He handed her a series of surveillance photographs. She glanced at the enlargements of two faces she had never set eyes on before. “Thanks,” she said, laying out the photographs on the conference table. She picked up her handbag to go and find something to eat. Andersson, who was standing68 nearby, bent69 to look more closely at the pictures. “Oh shit,” he said. “Are the Nikolich brothers involved in this?” Figuerola stopped in her tracks. “Who did you say?” “These two are seriously rotten apples,” Andersson said. “Tomi and Miro Nikolich.” “Have you had dealings with them?” “Sure. Two brothers from Huddinge. Serbs. We had them under observation several times when they were in their twenties and I was in the gangs unit. Miro is the dangerous one. He’s been wanted for about a year for G.B.H. I thought they’d both gone back to Serbia to become politicians or something.” “Politicians?” “Right. They went down to Yugoslavia in the early ’90s and helped carry out ethnic70 cleansing71. They worked for a Mafia leader, Arkan, who was running some sort of private fascist72 militia73. They got a reputation for being shooters.” “Shooters?” “Hit men. They’ve been flitting back and forth74 between Belgrade and Stockholm. Their uncle has a restaurant in Norrmalm, and they’ve apparently worked there once in a while. We’ve had reports that they were mixed up in at least two of the killings75 in what was known as the ‘cigarette war’, but we never got close to charging them with anything.” Figuerola gazed mutely at the photographs. Then suddenly she turned pale as a ghost. She stared at Edklinth. “Blomkvist,” she cried with panic in her voice. “They’re not just planning to involve him in a scandal, they’re planning to murder him. Then the police will find the cocaine during the investigation and draw their own conclusions.” Edklinth stared back at her. “He’s supposed to be meeting Erika Berger at Samir’s Cauldron,” Figuerola said. She grabbed Andersson by the shoulder. “Are you armed?” “Yes …” “Come with me.” Figuerola rushed out of the conference room. Her office was three doors down. She ran in and took her service weapon from the desk drawer. Against all regulations she left the door to her office unlocked and wide open as she raced off towards the lifts. Andersson hesitated for a second. “Go,” Bublanski told him. “Sonja, you go with them too.” Blomkvist got to Samir’s Cauldron at 6.20. Berger had just arrived and found a table near the bar, not far from the entrance. He kissed her on the cheek. They both ordered lamb stew and strong beers from the waiter. “How was the She woman?” Berger said. “Cool, as usual.” Berger laughed. “If you don’t watch out you’re going to become obsessed76 by her. Imagine, a woman who can resist the famous Blomkvist charm.” “There are in fact several women who haven’t fallen for me over the years,” Blomkvist said. “How has your day been?” “Wasted. But I accepted an invitation to be on a panel to debate the whole S.M.P. business at the Publicists’ Club. That will be my final contribution.” “Great.” “It’s just such a relief to be back at Millennium.” “You have no idea how good it is that you’re back. I’m still elated.” “It’s fun to be at work again.” “Mmm.” “I’m happy.” “And I have to go to the gents’,” Blomkvist said, getting up. He almost collided with a man who had just walked in. Blomkvist noticed that he looked vaguely77 eastern European and was staring at him. Then he saw the sub-machine gun. As they passed Riddarholmen, Edklinth called to tell them that neither Blomkvist nor Berger were answering their mobiles. They had presumably turned them off for dinner. Figuerola swore and passed S?dermalmstorg at a speed of close to eighty kilometres an hour. She kept her horn pressed down and made a sharp turn on to Hornsgatan. Andersson had to brace78 himself against the door. He had taken out his gun and checked the magazine. Modig did the same in the back seat. “We have to call for back-up,” Andersson said. “You don’t play games with the Nikolich boys.” Figuerola ground her teeth. “This is what we’ll do,” she said. “Sonja and I will go straight into the restaurant and hope they’re sitting inside. Curt79, you know what these guys look like, so you stay outside and keep watch.” “Right.” “If all goes well, we’ll take Blomkvist and Berger straight out to the car and drive them down to Kungsholmen. If we suspect anything’s wrong, we stay inside the restaurant and call for back-up.” “O.K.,” Modig said. Figuerola was nearly at the restaurant when the police radio crackled beneath the dashboard. All units. Shots fired on Tavastgatan on S?dermalm. Samir’s Cauldron restaurant. Figuerola felt a sudden lurch80 in her chest. Berger saw Blomkvist bump into a man as he was heading past the entrance towards the gents’. She frowned without really knowing why. She saw the other man stare at Blomkvist with a surprised expression. She wondered if it was somebody he knew. Then she saw the man take a step back and drop a bag to the floor. At first she did not know what she was seeing. She sat paralysed as he raised some kind of gun and aimed it at Blomkvist Blomkvist reacted without stopping to think. He flung out his left hand, grabbed the barrel of the gun, and twisted it up towards the ceiling. For a microsecond the muzzle81 passed in front of his face. The burst of fire from the sub-machine gun was deafening82 in the small room. Mortar83 and glass from the overhead lights rained down on Blomkvist as Miro Nikolich squeezed off eleven shots. For a moment Blomkvist looked directly into the eyes of his attacker. Then Nikolich took a step back and yanked the gun towards him. Blomkvist was unprepared and lost his grip on the barrel. He knew at once that he was in mortal danger. Instinctively84 he threw himself at the attacker instead of crouching85 down or trying to take cover. Later he realized that if he had ducked or backed away, he would have been shot on the spot. He got a new grip on the barrel of the sub-machine gun and used his entire weight to drive the man against the wall. He heard another six or seven shots go off and tore desperately86 at the gun to direct the muzzle at the floor. Berger instinctively took cover when the second series of shots was fired. She stumbled and fell, hitting her head on a chair. As she lay on the floor she looked up and saw that three holes had appeared in the wall just behind where she had been sitting. In shock she turned her head and saw Blomkvist struggling with the man by the door. He had fallen to his knees and was gripping the gun with both hands, trying to wrench87 it loose. She saw the attacker struggling to get free. He kept smashing his fist over and over into Blomkvist’s face and temple. Figuerola braked hard opposite Samir’s Cauldron, flung open the car door and ran across the road towards the restaurant. She had her Sig Sauer in her hand with the safety off when she noticed the car parked right outside the restaurant. She saw one of the Nikolich brothers behind the wheel and pointed51 her weapon at his face behind the driver’s door “Police. Hands up,” she screamed. Tomi Nikolich held up his hands. “Get out of the car and lie face down on the pavement,” she roared, fury in her voice. She turned and glanced at Andersson and Modig beside her. “The restaurant,” she said. Modig was thinking of her children. It was against all police protocol88 to gallop89 into a building with her weapon drawn90 without first having back-up in place and without knowing the exact situation. Then she heard the sound of more shots from inside. Blomkvist had his middle finger between the trigger and the trigger guard as Miro Nikolich tried to keep shooting. He heard glass shattering behind him. He felt a searing pain as the attacker squeezed the trigger again and again, crushing his finger. As long as his finger was in place the gun could not be fired. But as Nikolich’s fist pummelled again and again on the side of his head, it suddenly occurred to him that he was too old for this sort of thing. Have to end it, he thought. That was his first rational thought since he had become aware of the man with the sub-machine gun. He clenched91 his teeth and shoved his finger further into the space behind the trigger. Then he braced92 himself, rammed93 his shoulder into the attacker’s body and forced himself back on to his feet. He let go of the gun with his right hand and raised elbow up to protect his face from the pummelling. Nikolich switched to hitting him in the armpit and ribs94. For a second they stood eye to eye again. The next moment Blomkvist felt the attacker being pulled away from him. He felt one last devastating95 pain in his finger and became aware of Andersson’s huge form. The police officer literally96 picked up Nikolich with a firm grip on his neck and slammed his head into the wall by the door. Nikolich collapsed97 to the ground. “Get down! This is the police. Stay very still,” he heard Modig yell. He turned his head and saw her standing with her legs apart and her gun held in both hands as she surveyed the chaos98. At last she raised her gun to point it at the ceiling and looked at Blomkvist. “Are you hurt?” she said. In a daze99 Blomkvist looked back at her. He was bleeding from his eyebrows100 and nose. “I think I broke a finger,” he said, sitting down on the floor. Figuerola received back-up from the S?dermalm armed response team less than a minute after she forced Tomi Nikolich on to the pavement at gunpoint. She showed her I.D. and left the officers to take charge of the prisoner. Then she ran inside. She stopped in the entrance to take stock of the situation. Blomkvist and Berger were sitting side by side. His face was bloodied101 and he seemed to be in shock. She sighed in relief. He was alive. Then she frowned as Berger put her arm around his shoulders. At least her face was bruised102. Modig was squatting103 down next to them, examining Blomkvist’s hand. Andersson was handcuffing Nikolich, who looked as though he had been hit by a truck. She saw a Swedish Army model M/45 submachine gun on the floor. Figuerola looked up and saw shocked restaurant staff and terrorstricken patrons, along with shattered china, overturned chairs and tables, and debris104 from the rounds that had been fired. She smelled cordite. But she was not aware of anyone dead or wounded in the restaurant. Officers from the armed response team began to squeeze into the room with their weapons drawn. She reached out and touched Andersson’s shoulder. He stood up. “You said that Miro Nikolich was on our wanted list?” “Correct. G.B.H. About a year ago. A street fight down in Hallunda.” “O.K. Here’s what we’ll do,” Figuerola said. “I’ll take off as fast as I can with Blomkvist and Berger. You stay here. The story is that you and Modig came here to have dinner and you recognized Nikolich from your time in the gangs unit. When you tried to arrest him he pulled a weapon and started shooting. So you sorted him out.” Andersson looked completely astonished. “That’s not going to hold up. There are witnesses.” “The witnesses will say that somebody was fighting and shots were fired. It only has to hold up until tomorrow’s evening papers. The story is that the Nikolich brothers were apprehended105 by sheer chance because you recognized them.” Andersson surveyed the shambles106 all around him. Figuerola pushed her way through the knot of police officers out on the street and put Blomkvist and Berger in the back seat of her car. She turned to the armed response team leader and spoke107 in a low voice with him for half a minute. She gestured towards the car in which Blomkvist and Berger were now sitting. The leader looked puzzled but at last he nodded. She drove to Zinkensdamm, parked, and turned around to her passengers. “How badly are you hurt?” “I took a few punches. I’ve still got all my teeth, but my middle finger’s hurt.” “I’ll take you to A. & E. at St G?ran’s.” “What happened?” Berger said. “And who are you?” “I’m sorry,” Blomkvist said. “Erika, this is Inspector Monica Figuerola. She works for S?po. Monica, this is Erika Berger.” “I worked that out all by myself,” Figuerola said in a neutral tone. She did not spare Berger a glance. “Monica and I met during the investigation. She’s my contact at S.I.S.” “I understand,” Berger said, and she began to shake as suddenly the shock set in. Figuerola stared hard at Berger. “What went wrong?” Blomkvist said. “We misinterpreted the reason for the cocaine,” Figuerola said. “We thought they were setting a trap for you, to create a scandal. Now we know they wanted to kill you. They were going to let the police find the cocaine when they went through your apartment.” “What cocaine?” Berger said. Blomkvist closed his eyes for a moment. “Take me to St G?ran’s,” he said. “Arrested?” Clinton barked. He felt a butterfly-light pressure around his heart. “We think it’s alright,” Nystr?m said. “It seems to have been sheer bad luck.” “Bad luck?” “Miro Nikolich was wanted on some old assault story. A policeman from the gangs unit happened to recognize him when he went into Samir’s Cauldron and wanted to arrest him. Nikolich panicked and tried to shoot his way out.” “And Blomkvist?” “He wasn’t involved. We don’t even know if he was in the restaurant at the time.” “This cannot be fucking true,” Clinton said. “What do the Nikolich brothers know?” “About us? Nothing. They think Bj?rck and Blomkvist were both hits that had to do with trafficking.” “But they know that Blomkvist was the target?” “Sure, but they’re hardly going to start blabbing about being hired to do a hit. They’ll keep their mouths shut all the way to district court. They’ll do time for possession of illegal weapons and, as like as not, for resisting arrest.” “Those damned fuck-ups,” Clinton said. “Well, they seriously screwed up. We’ve had to let Blomkvist give us the slip for the moment, but no harm was actually done.” It was 11.00 by the time Linder and two hefty bodyguards108 from Milton Security’s personal protection unit collected Blomkvist and Berger from Kungsholmen. “You really do get around,” Linder said. “Sorry,” Berger said gloomily. Berger had been in a state of shock as they drove to St G?ran’s. It had dawned on her all of a sudden that both she and Blomkvist had very nearly been killed. Blomkvist had spent an hour in A. & E. having his head X-rayed and his face bandaged. His left middle finger was put in a splint. The end joint110 of his finger was badly bruised and he would lose the fingernail. Ironically the main injury was caused when Andersson came to his rescue and pulled Nikolich off him. Blomkvist’s middle finger had been caught in the trigger guard of the M/45 and had snapped straight across. It hurt a lot but was hardly life-threatening. For Blomkvist the shock did not set in until two hours later, when he had arrived at Constitutional Protection at S.I.S. and reported to Inspector Bublanski and Prosecutor Gustavsson. He began to shiver and felt so tired that he almost fell asleep between questions. At that point a certain amount of palavering ensued. “We don’t know what they’re planning and we have no idea whether Mikael was the only intended victim,” Figuerola said. “Or whether Erika here was supposed to die too. We don’t know if they will try again or if anyone else at Millennium is being targeted. And why not kill Salander? After all, she’s the truly serious threat to the Section.” “I’ve already rung my colleagues at Millennium while Mikael was being patched up,” Berger said. “Everyone’s going to lie extremely low until the magazine comes out. The office will be left unstaffed.” Edklinth’s immediate111 reaction had been to order bodyguard109 protection for Blomkvist and Berger. But on reflection he and Figuerola decided that it would not be the smartest move to contact S.I.S.’s Personal Protection unit. Berger solved the problem by declining police protection. She called Armansky to explain what had happened, which was why, later that night, Linder was called in for duty. Blomkvist and Berger were lodged112 on the top floor of a safe house just beyond Drottningholm on the road to Eker?. It was a large ’30s villa113 overlooking Lake M?laren. It had an impressive garden, outbuildings and extensive grounds. The estate was owned by Milton Security, but Martina Sj?gren lived there. She was the widow of their colleague of many years, Hans Sj?gren, who had died in an accident on assignment fifteen years earlier. After the funeral, Armansky had talked with Fru Sj?gren and then hired her as housekeeper114 and general caretaker of the property. She lived rent-free in a wing of the ground floor and kept the top floor ready for those occasions, a few times each year, when Milton Security at short notice needed to hide away individuals who for real or imagined reasons feared for their safety. Figuerola went with them. She sank on to a chair in the kitchen and allowed Fru Sj?gren to serve her coffee, while Berger and Blomkvist installed themselves upstairs and Linder checked the alarm and electronic surveillance equipment around the property. “There are toothbrushes and so on in the chest of drawers outside the bathroom,” Sj?gren called up the stairs. Linder and Milton’s bodyguards installed themselves in rooms on the ground floor. “I’ve been on the go ever since I was woken at 4.00,” Linder said. “You can put together a watch rota, but let me sleep till at least 5.00.” “You can sleep all night. We’ll take care of this,” one of the bodyguards said. “Thanks,” Linder said, and she went straight to bed. Figuerola listened absent-mindedly as the bodyguards switched on the motion detector115 in the courtyard and drew straws to see who would take the first watch. The one who lost made himself a sandwich and went into the T. V. room next to the kitchen. Figuerola studied the flowery coffee cups. She too had been on the go since early morning and was feeling fairly exhausted. She was just thinking about driving home when Berger came downstairs and poured herself a cup of coffee. She sat down opposite Figuerola. “Mikael went out like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow.” “Reaction to the adrenaline,” Figuerola said. “What happens now?” “You’ll have to lie low for a few days. Within a week this will all be over, whichever way it ends. How are you feeling?” “So-so. A bit shaky still. It’s not every day something like this happens. I just called my husband to explain why I wouldn’t be coming home.” “Hmm.” “I’m married to—” “I know who you’re married to.” Silence. Figuerola rubbed her eyes and yawned. “I have to go home and get some sleep,” she said. “Oh, for God’s sake, stop talking rubbish and go and lie down with Mikael,” Berger said. Figuerola looked at her. “Is it that obvious?” she said. Berger nodded. “Did Mikael say anything—” “Not a word. He’s generally rather discreet when it comes to his lady friends. But sometimes he’s an open book. And you’re clearly hostile every time you even look at me. The pair of you obviously have something to hide.” “It’s my boss,” Figuerola said. “Where does he come into it?” “He’d fly off the handle if he knew that Mikael and I were—” “I can quite see that.” Silence. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I’m not your rival,” Berger said. “You’re not?” “Mikael and I sleep together now and then. But I’m not married to him.” “I heard that you two had a special relationship. He told me about you when we were out at Sandhamn.” “So you’ve been to Sandhamn? Then it is serious.” “Don’t make fun of me.” “Monica, I hope that you and Mikael … I’ll try to stay out of your way.” “And if you can’t?” Berger shrugged116. “His ex-wife flipped117 out big time when Mikael was unfaithful with me. She threw him out. It was my fault. As long as Mikael is single and available, I would have no compunction. But I promised myself that if he was ever serious about someone, then I’d keep my distance.” “I don’t know if I dare count on him.” “Mikael is special. Are you in love with him?” “I think so.” “Alright, then. Just don’t tell him too soon. Now go to bed.” Figuerola thought about it for a moment. Then she went upstairs, undressed and crawled into bed next to Blomkvist. He mumbled118 something and put his arm around her waist. Berger sat alone in the kitchen for a long time. She felt deeply unhappy.
收听单词发音 |
1
tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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fingerprints
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| n.指纹( fingerprint的名词复数 )v.指纹( fingerprint的第三人称单数 ) | |
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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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cocaine
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| n.可卡因，古柯碱（用作局部麻醉剂） | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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smear
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| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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presenter
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| n.（电视、广播的）主持人，赠与者 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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scoop
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| n.铲子，舀取，独家新闻；v.汲取，舀取，抢先登出 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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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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muddling
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| v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的现在分词 )；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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infiltrator
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| n.渗透者，渗入者 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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cult
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| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
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investigators
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| n.调查者，审查者( investigator的名词复数 ) | |
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initially
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| adv.最初，开始 | |
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conspiracies
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| n.阴谋，密谋( conspiracy的名词复数 ) | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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collateral
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| adj.平行的；旁系的；n.担保品 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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inaccurate
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| adj.错误的，不正确的，不准确的 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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credibly
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| ad.可信地；可靠地 | |
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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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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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49
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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51
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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52
valid
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| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
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53
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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54
inspectors
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| n.检查员( inspector的名词复数 )；（英国公共汽车或火车上的）查票员；（警察）巡官；检阅官 | |
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55
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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56
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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57
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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58
adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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59
ordinances
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| n.条例，法令( ordinance的名词复数 ) | |
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60
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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61
prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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62
unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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64
activist
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| n.活动分子，积极分子 | |
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activists
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| n.（政治活动的）积极分子，活动家( activist的名词复数 ) | |
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66
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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67
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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68
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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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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70
ethnic
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| adj.人种的，种族的，异教徒的 | |
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71
cleansing
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| n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
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72
fascist
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| adj.法西斯主义的；法西斯党的；n.法西斯主义者，法西斯分子 | |
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73
militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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74
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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killings
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| 谋杀( killing的名词复数 )； 突然发大财，暴发 | |
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76
obsessed
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| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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77
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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78
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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79
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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80
lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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81
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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82
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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83
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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84
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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85
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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86
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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87
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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88
protocol
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| n.议定书，草约，会谈记录，外交礼节 | |
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89
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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90
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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91
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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93
rammed
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| v.夯实（土等）( ram的过去式和过去分词 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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94
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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95
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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96
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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97
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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98
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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99
daze
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| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
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100
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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101
bloodied
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| v.血污的( bloody的过去式和过去分词 )；流血的；屠杀的；残忍的 | |
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102
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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103
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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104
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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105
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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106
shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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107
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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108
bodyguards
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| n.保镖，卫士，警卫员( bodyguard的名词复数 ) | |
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109
bodyguard
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| n.护卫，保镖 | |
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110
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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111
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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112
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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113
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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114
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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115
detector
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| n.发觉者，探测器 | |
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116
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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117
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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118
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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