Saturday, 16.vii – Friday, 7.x Salander found her Palm Tungsten T3 on the hall table. Next to it were her car keys and the shoulder bag she had lost when Lundin attacked her outside the door to her apartment building on Lundagatan. She also found both opened and unopened post that had been collected from her P.O. Box on Hornsgatan. Mikael Blomkvist. She took a slow tour through the furnished part of her apartment. She found traces of him everywhere. He had slept in her bed and worked at her desk. He had used her printer, and in the wastepaper basket she found drafts of the manuscript of The Section along with discarded notes. He had bought a litre of milk, bread, cheese, caviar and a jumbo pack of Billy’s Pan Pizza and put them in the fridge. On the kitchen table she found a small white envelope with her name on it. It was a note from him. The message was brief. His mobile number. That was all. She knew that the ball was in her court. He was not going to get in touch with her. He had finished the story, given back the keys to her apartment, and he would not call her. If she wanted something then she could call him. Bloody1 pig-headed bastard2. She put on a pot of coffee, made four open sandwiches, and went to sit in her window seat to look out towards Djurg?rden. She lit a cigarette and brooded. It was all over, and yet now her life felt more claustrophobic than ever. Miriam Wu had gone to France. It was my fault that you almost died. She had shuddered4 at the thought of having to see Mimmi, but had decided5 that that would be her first stop when she was released. But she had gone to France. All of a sudden she was in debt to people. Palmgren. Armansky. She ought to contact them to say thank you. Paolo Roberto. And Plague and Trinity. Even those damned police officers, Bublanski and Modig, who had so obviously been in her corner. She did not like feeling beholden to anyone. She felt like a chess piece in a game she could not control. Kalle Bloody Blomkvist. And maybe even Erika Bloody Berger with the dimples and the expensive clothes and all that self-assurance. But it was over, Giannini had said as they left police headquarters. Right. The trial was over. It was over for Giannini. And it was over for Blomkvist. He had published his book and would end up on T. V. and probably win some bloody prize too. But it was not over for Lisbeth Salander. This was only the first day of the rest of her life. At 4.00 in the morning she stopped thinking. She discarded her punk outfit7 on the floor of her bedroom and went to the bathroom and took a shower. She cleaned off all the make-up she had worn in court, put on loose, dark linen8 trousers, a white top and a thin jacket. She packed an overnight bag with a change of underwear and a couple of tops and put on some simple walking shoes. She picked up her Palm and called a taxi to collect her from Mosebacke Torg. She drove out to Arlanda Airport and arrived just before 6.00. She studied the departure board and booked a ticket to the first place that took her fancy. She used her own passport in her own name. She was surprised that nobody at the ticket desk or at the check-in counter seemed to recognize her or react to her name. She had a seat on the morning flight to Málaga and landed in the blazing midday heat. She stood inside the terminal building for a moment, feeling uncertain. At last she went and looked at a map and thought about what she might do now that she was in Spain. A minute later she decided. She did not waste time trying to figure out bus routes or other means of transportation. She bought a pair of sunglasses at an airport shop, went out to the taxi stand and climbed into the back seat of the first taxi. “Gibraltar. I’m paying with a credit card.” The trip took three hours via the new motorway9 along the coast. The taxi dropped her off at British passport control and she walked across the border and over to the Rock Hotel on Europa Road, partway up the slope of the 425-metre monolith. She asked if they had a room and was told there was a double room available. She booked it for two weeks and handed over her credit card. She showered and sat on the balcony wrapped up in a bath towel, looking out over the Straits of Gibraltar. She could see freighters and a few yachts. She could just make out Morocco in the haze10 on the other side of the straits. It was peaceful. After a while she went in and lay down and slept. The next morning Salander woke at 5.00. She got up, showered and had a coffee in the hotel bar on the ground floor. At 7.00 she left the hotel and set out to buy mangos and apples. She took a taxi to the Peak and walked over to the apes. She was so early that few tourists had yet appeared, and she was practically alone with the animals. She liked Gibraltar. It was her third visit to the strange rock that housed an absurdly densely11 populated English town on the Mediterranean12. Gibraltar was a place that was not like anywhere else. The town had been isolated13 for decades, a colony that obstinately14 refused to be incorporated into Spain. The Spaniards protested the occupation, of course. (But Salander thought that the Spaniards should keep their mouths shut on that score so long as they occupied the enclave of Ceuta on Moroccan territory across the straits.) It was a place that was comically shielded from the rest of the world, consisting of a bizarre rock, about three quarters of a square mile of town and an airport that began and ended in the sea. The colony was so small that every square inch of it was used, and any expansion had to be over the sea. Even to get into the town, visitors had to walk across the landing strip at the airport. Gibraltar gave the concept of “compact living” a whole new meaning. Salander watched a big male ape climb up on to a wall next to the path. He glowered15 at her. He was a Barbary ape. She knew better than to try to stroke any of the animals. “Hello, friend,” she said. “I’m back.” The first time she visited Gibraltar she had not even heard about these apes. She had gone up to the top just to look at the view, and she was surprised when she followed some tourists and found herself in the midst of a group of apes climbing and scrambling16 on both sides of the pathway. It was a peculiar17 feeling to be walking along a path and suddenly have two dozen apes around you. She looked at them with great wariness18. They were not dangerous or aggressive, but they were certainly capable of giving you a bad bite if they got agitated19 or felt threatened. She found one of the guards and showed him her bag of fruit and asked if she could give it to the apes. He said that it was O.K. She took out a mango and put it on the wall a little way away from the male ape. “Breakfast,” she said, leaning against the wall and taking a bite of an apple. The male ape stared at her, bared his teeth, and contentedly20 picked up the mango. In the middle of the afternoon five days later, Salander fell off her stool in Harry21’s Bar on a side street off Main Street, two blocks from her hotel. She had been drunk almost continuously since she left the apes on the rock, and most of her drinking had been done with Harry O’Connell, who owned the bar and spoke22 with a phoney Irish accent, having never in his life set foot in Ireland. He had been watching her anxiously. When she had ordered her first drink several days earlier, he had asked to see her I.D. Her name was Lisbeth, he knew, and he called her Liz. She would come in after lunch and sit on a high stool at the far end of the bar with her back leant against the wall. Then she would drink an impressive number of beers or shots of whisky. When she drank beer she did not care about what brand or type it was; she accepted whatever he served her. When she ordered whisky she always chose Tullamore Dew, except on one occasion when she studied the bottles behind the bar and asked for Lagavulin. When the glass was brought to her, she sniffed23 at it, stared at it for a moment, and then took a tiny sip24. She set down her glass and stared at it for a minute with an expression that seemed to indicate that she considered its contents to be a mortal enemy. Finally she pushed the glass aside and asked Harry to give her something that could not be used to tar3 a boat. He poured her another Tullamore Dew and she went back to her drinking. Over the past four days she had consumed almost a whole bottle. He had not kept track of the beers. Harry was surprised that a young woman with her slender build could hold so much, but he took the view that if she wanted alcohol she was going to get it, whether in his bar or somewhere else. She drank slowly, did not talk to any of the other customers, and did not make any trouble. Her only activity apart from the consumption of alcohol seemed to be to play with a hand-held computer which she connected to a mobile now and then. He had several times tried to start a conversation but was met with a sullen25 silence. She seemed to avoid company. Sometimes, when there were too many people in the bar, she had moved outside to a table on the pavement, and at other times she had gone two doors down to an Italian restaurant and had dinner. Then she would come back to Harry’s and order another Tullamore Dew. She usually left the bar at around 10.00 and made her way unsteadily off, always to the north. Today she had drunk more and at a faster rate than on the other days, and Harry had kept a watchful26 eye on her. When she had put away seven glasses of Tullamore Dew in a little over two hours, he decided not to give her any more. It was then that he heard the crash as she fell off the bar stool. He put down the glass he was drying and went around the counter to pick her up. She seemed offended. “I think you’ve had enough, Liz,” he said. She looked at him, bleary-eyed. “I believe you’re right,” she said in a surprisingly lucid27 voice. She held on to the bar with one hand as she dug some notes out of her top pocket and then wobbled off towards the door. He took her gently by the shoulder. “Hold on a minute. Why don’t you go to the toilet and throw up the last of that whisky and then sit at the bar for a while? I don’t want to let you go in this condition.” She did not object when he led her to the toilet. She stuck her fingers down her throat. When she came back out to the bar he had poured her a large glass of club soda28. She drank the whole glass and burped. He poured her another. “You’re going to feel like death in the morning,” Harry said. She nodded. “It’s none of my business, but if I were you I’d sober up for a couple of days.” She nodded. Then she went back to the toilet and threw up again. She stayed at Harry’s Bar for another hour until she looked sober enough to be turned loose. She left the bar on unsteady legs, walked down to the airport and followed the shoreline around the marina. She walked until after 8.00, when the ground at last stopped swaying under her feet. Then she went back to the hotel. She took the lift to her room, brushed her teeth and washed her face, changed her clothes, and went back down to the hotel bar to order a cup of black coffee and a bottle of mineral water. She sat there, silent and unnoticed next to a pillar, studying the people in the bar. She saw a couple in their thirties engaged in quiet conversation. The woman was wearing a light-coloured summer dress, and the man was holding her hand under the table. Two tables away sat a black family, the man with the beginnings of grey at his temples, the woman wearing a lovely, colourful dress in yellow, black and red. They had two young children with them. She studied a group of businessmen in white shirts and ties, their jackets hung over the backs of their chairs. They were drinking beer. She saw a group of elderly people, without a doubt American tourists. The men wore baseball caps, polo shirts and loose-fitting trousers. She watched a man in a light-coloured linen jacket, grey shirt and dark tie come in from the street and pick up his room key at the front desk before he headed over to the bar and ordered a beer. He sat down three metres away from her. She gave him an expectant look as he took out his mobile and began to speak in German. “Hello, is that you? … Is everything alright? … It’s going fine, we’re having our next meeting tomorrow afternoon … No, I think it’ll work out … I’ll be staying here five or six days at least, and then I go to Madrid … No, I won’t be home before the end of next week … Me too. I love you … Sure … I’ll call you later in the week … Kiss kiss.” He was a little over one metre eighty-five tall, about fifty years old maybe fifty-five, blond hair that was turning grey and was a bit on the long side, a weak chin, and too much weight around the middle. But still reasonably well preserved. He was reading the Financial Times. When he finished his beer and headed for the lift, Salander got up and followed him. He pushed the button for the sixth floor. Salander stood next to him and leaned her head against the side of the lift. “I’m drunk,” she said. He smiled down at her. “Oh, really?” “It’s been one of those weeks. Let me guess. You’re a businessman of some sort, from Hanover or somewhere in northern Germany. You’re married. You love your wife. And you have to stay here in Gibraltar for another few days. I gathered that much from your telephone call in the bar.” The man looked at her, astonished. “I’m from Sweden myself. I’m feeling an irresistible30 urge to have sex with somebody. I don’t care if you’re married and I don’t want your phone number.” He looked startled. “I’m in room 711, the floor above yours. I’m going to go up to my room, take a bath and get into bed. If you want to keep me company, knock on the door within half an hour. Otherwise I’ll be asleep.” “Is this some kind of joke?” he said as the lift stopped. “No. It’s just that I can’t be bothered to go out to some pick-up bar. Either you knock on my door or you don’t.” Twenty-five minutes later there was a knock on the door of Salander’s room. She had a bath towel around her when she opened the door. “Come in,” she said. He stepped inside and looked around the room suspiciously. “I’m alone here,” she said. “How old are you, actually?” She reached for her passport on top of a chest of drawers and handed it to him. “You look younger.” “I know,” she said, taking off the bath towel and throwing it on to a chair. She went over to the bed and pulled off the bedspread. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was staring at her tattoos31. “This isn’t a trap. I’m a woman, I’m single, and I’ll be here for a few days. I haven’t had sex for months.” “Why did you choose me?” “Because you were the only man in the bar who looked as if you were here alone.” “I’m married—” “And I don’t want to know who she is or even who you are. And I don’t want to discuss sociology. I want to fuck. Take off your clothes or go back down to your room.” “Just like that?” “Yes. Why not? You’re a grown man – you know what you’re supposed to do.” He thought about it for all of thirty seconds. He looked as if he was going to leave. She sat on the edge of the bed and waited. He bit his lip. Then he took off his trousers and shirt and stood hesitantly in his boxer32 shorts. “Take it all off,” Salander said. “I don’t intend to fuck somebody in his underwear. And you have to use a condom. I know where I’ve been, but I don’t know where you’ve been.” He took off his shorts and went over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. Salander closed her eyes when he bent33 down to kiss her. He tasted good. She let him tip her back on to the bed. He was heavy on top of her. Jeremy Stuart MacMillan, solicitor34, felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck as soon as he tried to unlock the door to his office at Buchanan House on Queensway Quay35 above the marina. It was already unlocked. He opened it and smelled tobacco smoke and heard a chair creak. It was just before 7.00, and his first thought was that he had surprised a burglar. Then he smelled the coffee from the machine in the kitchenette. After a couple of seconds he stepped hesitantly over the threshold and walked down the corridor to look into his spacious36 and elegantly furnished office. Salander was sitting in his desk chair with her back to him and her feet on the windowsill. His P.C. was turned on. Obviously she had not had any problem cracking his password. Nor had she had any problem opening his safe. She had a folder37 with his most private correspondence and bookkeeping on her lap. “Good morning, Miss Salander,” he said at last. “Ah, there you are,” she said. “There’s freshly brewed38 coffee and croissants in the kitchen.” “Thanks,” he said, sighing in resignation. He had, after all, bought the office with her money and at her request, but he had not expected her to turn up without warning. What is more, she had found and apparently39 read a gay porn magazine that he had kept hidden in a desk drawer. So embarrassing. Or maybe not. When it came to Salander, he felt that she was the most judgemental person he had ever met. But she never once raised an eyebrow40 at people’s weaknesses. She knew that he was officially heterosexual, but his dark secret was that he was attracted to men; since his divorce fifteen years ago he had been making his most private fantasies a reality. It’s funny, but I feel safe with her. Since she was in Gibraltar anyway, Salander had decided to visit MacMillan, the man who handled her finances. She had not been in touch with him since just after New Year, and she wanted to know if he had been busy ruining her ever since. But there had not been any great hurry, and it was not for him that she had gone straight to Gibraltar after her release. She did it because she felt a burning desire to get away from everything, and in that respect Gibraltar was an excellent choice. She had spent almost a week getting drunk, and then a few days having sex with the German businessman, who eventually introduced himself as Dieter. She doubted it was his real name but had not bothered to check. He spent the days sitting in meetings and the evenings having dinner with her before they went back to his or her room. He was not at all bad in bed, Salander thought, although he was a bit out of practice and sometimes needlessly rough. Dieter seemed genuinely astonished that on sheer impulse she had picked up an overweight German businessman who was not even looking for it. He was indeed married, and he was not in the habit of being unfaithful or seeking female company on his business trips. But when the opportunity was presented on a platter in the form of a thin, tattooed41 young woman, he could not resist the temptation. Or so he said. Salander did not care much what he said. She had not been looking for anything more than recreational sex, but she was gratified that he actually made an effort to satisfy her. It was not until the fourth night, their last together, that he had a panic attack and started going on about what his wife would say. Salander thought he should keep his mouth shut and not tell his wife a thing. But she did not tell him what she thought. He was a grown man and could have said no to her invitation. It was not her problem if he was now attacked by feelings of guilt42, or if he confessed anything to his wife. She had lain with her back to him and listened for fifteen minutes, until finally she rolled her eyes in exasperation43, turned over and straddled him. “Do you think you could take a break from the worryguts stuff and get me off again?” she said. Jeremy MacMillan was a very different story. He held zero erotic attraction for her. He was a crook44. Amusingly enough, he looked a lot like Dieter. He was forty-eight, a bit overweight, with greying, dark-blond curly hair that he combed straight back from a high forehead. He wore thin gold-rimmed glasses. He had once been a Cambridge-educated business lawyer and stockbroker45 in London. He had had a promising46 future and was a partner in a law firm that was engaged by big corporations and wealthy yuppies interested in real estate and tax planning. He had spent the go-go ’80s hanging out with nouveau riche celebrities47. He had drunk hard and snorted coke with people that he really did not want to wake up with the next morning. He had never been charged with anything, but he did lose his wife and two kids along with his job when he mismanaged several transactions and tottered48 drunk into a mediation49 hearing. Without thinking too much about it, he sobered up and fled London with his tail between his legs. Why he picked Gibraltar he did not know, but in 1991 he went into partnership50 with a local solicitor and opened a modest back-street law office which officially dealt with much less glamorous51 matters: estate planning, wills and such like. Unofficially, MacMillan & Marks also helped to set up P.O. Box companies and acted as gatekeepers for a number of shady figures in Europe. The firm was barely making ends meet when Salander selected Jeremy MacMillan to administer the $2.4 billion she had stolen from the collapsing52 empire of the Swedish financier Hans-Erik Wennerstr?m. MacMillan was a crook, no doubt about it, but she regarded him as her crook, and he had surprised himself by being impeccably honest in his dealings with her. She had first hired him for a simple task. For a modest fee he had set up a string of P.O. Box companies for her to use; she put a million dollars into each of them. She had contacted him by telephone and had been nothing more than a voice from afar. He never tried to discover where the money came from. He had done what she asked and took 5 per cent commission. A little while later she had transferred a large sum of money that he was to use to set up a corporation, Wasp53 Enterprises, which then acquired a substantial apartment in Stockholm. His dealings with Salander were becoming quite lucrative54, even if it was still only quite modest pickings. Two months later she had paid a visit to Gibraltar. She had called him and suggested dinner in her room at the Rock Hotel, which was, if not the biggest hotel in Gibraltar, then certainly the most famous. He was not sure what he had expected, but he could not believe that his client was this doll-like girl who looked as if she were in her early teens. He thought he was the butt29 of some outlandish practical joke. He soon changed his mind. The strange young woman talked with him impersonally55, without ever smiling or showing any warmth. Or coolness, for that matter. He had sat paralysed as, over the course of a few minutes, she obliterated56 the professional facade57 of sophisticated respectability that he was always so careful to maintain. “What is it that you want?” he had asked. “I’ve stolen a sum of money,” she replied with great seriousness. “I need a crook who can administer it.” He had stared at her, wondering whether she was deranged58, but politely he played along. She might be a possible mark for a con6 game that could bring in a small income. Then he had sat as if struck by lightning when she explained who she had stolen the money from, how she did it, and what the amount was. The Wennerstr?m affair was the hottest topic of conversation in the world of international finance. “I see.” The possibilities flew through his head. “You’re a skilled business lawyer and stockbroker. If you were an idiot you would never have got the jobs you did in the ’80s. However, you behaved like an idiot and managed to get yourself fired.” He winced59. “In the future I will be your only client.” She had looked at him with the most ingenuous60 expression he had ever seen. “I have two conditions. The first is that you never ever commit a crime or get mixed up in anything that could create problems for us and focus the authorities’ attention on my companies and accounts. The second is that you never lie to me. Never ever. Not a single time. And not for any reason. If you lie to me, our business relationship will terminate instantly, and if you make me cross enough I will ruin you.” She poured him a glass of wine. “There’s no reason to lie to me. I already know everything worth knowing about your life. I know how much you make in a good month and a bad month. I know how much you spend. I know that you never really have enough money. I know that you owe ￡120,000 in both long-term and short-term debts, and that you always have to take risks and skim some money to make the loan payments. You wear expensive clothes and try to keep up appearances, but in reality you’ve gone to the dogs and haven’t bought a new sports jacket in several months. But you did take an old jacket in to have the lining61 mended two weeks ago. You used to collect rare books but have been gradually selling them off. Last month you sold an early edition of Oliver Twist for ￡760.” She stopped talking and fixed62 him with her gaze. He swallowed hard. “Last week you actually made a killing63. A quite clever fraud perpetrated against that widow you represent. You ripped her off ￡6,000, which she’ll probably never miss.” “How the hell do you know that?” “I know that you were married, that you have two children in England who don’t want to see you, and that you’ve taken the big leap since your divorce and now have primarily homosexual relationships. You’re probably ashamed of that and avoid the gay clubs, and you avoid being seen in town with any of your male friends. You regularly cross the border into Spain to meet men.” MacMillan was shaken to the core. And he was suddenly terrified. He had no idea how she had come by all this information, but she knew enough to destroy him. “And I’m only going to say this one time. I don’t give a shit who you have sex with. It’s none of my business. I want to know who you are, but I will never use what I know. I won’t threaten you or blackmail64 you.” MacMillan was no fool. He was perfectly65 aware, of course, that her knowledge of all that information about him constituted a threat. She was in control. For a moment he had considered picking her up and throwing her over the edge of the terrace, but he restrained himself. He had never in his life been so scared. “What do you want?” he managed to say. “I want to have a partnership with you. You will bring to a close all the other business you’re working on and will work exclusively for me. You will make more money from my company than you could ever dream of making any other way.” She explained what she required him to do, and how she wanted the arrangements to be made. “I want to be invisible,” she said. “And I want you to take care of my affairs. Everything has to be legitimate66. Whatever money I make on my own will not have any connection to our business together.” “I understand.” “You have one week to phase out your other clients and put a stop to all your little schemes.” He also realized that he had been given an offer that would never come round again. He thought about it for sixty seconds and then accepted. He had only one question. “How do you know that I won’t swindle you?” “Don’t even think about it. You’d regret it for the rest of your miserable67 life.” He had no reason to cook the books. Salander had made him an offer that had the potential of such a silver lining that it would have been idiotic68 to risk it for bits of change on the side. As long as he was relatively69 discreet70 and did not get involved in any financial chicanery71, his future would be assured. Accordingly he had no thought of swindling Ms Salander. So he went straight, or as straight as a burned-out lawyer could go who was administering an astronomical72 sum of stolen money. Salander was simply not interested in the management of her finances. MacMillan’s job was to invest her money and see to it that there were funds to cover the credit cards she used. She told him how she wanted her finances to be handled. His job was to make sure it was done. A large part of the money had been invested in gilt-edged funds that would provide her with economic independence for the rest of her life, even if she chose to live it recklessly and dissolutely. It was from these funds that her credit card bills were paid. The rest of the money he could play with and invest as he saw fit, provided that he did not invest in anything that might cause problems with the police in any way. She forbade him to engage in stupid petty crimes and cheap con games which – if he was unlucky – might prompt investigations73 which in turn could put her under scrutiny75. All that remained was to agree on how much he would make on the transactions. “I’ll pay you ￡500,000 as a retainer. With that you can pay off all your debts and have a good deal left over. After that you’ll earn money for yourself. You will start a company with the two of us as partners. You get 20 per cent of all the profits generated. I want you to be rich enough that you won’t be tempted76 to try it on, but not so rich that you won’t make an effort.” He had started his new job on February 1 the year before. By the end of March he had paid off all his debts and stabilized77 his personal finances. Salander had insisted that he make cleaning up his own affairs a priority so that he would be solvent78. In May he dissolved the partnership with his alcoholic79 colleague George Marks. He felt a twinge of conscience towards his former partner, but getting Marks mixed up in Salander’s business was out of the question. He discussed the matter with Salander when she returned to Gibraltar on another unheralded visit in early July and discovered that MacMillan was working out of his apartment instead of from the office he had previously80 occupied. “My partner’s an alcoholic and wouldn’t be able to handle this. And he would be an enormous risk factor. At the same time, fifteen years ago he saved my life when he took me into his business.” She pondered this a while as she studied MacMillan’s face. “I see. You’re a crook who’s loyal. That could be a commendable81 quality. I suggest you set up a small account that he can play around with. See to it that he makes a couple of thousand a month so he gets by.” “Is that O.K. with you?” She nodded and looked around his bachelor pad. He lived in a studio apartment with a kitchen nook on one of the alleys82 near the hospital. The only pleasant thing about the place was the view. On the other hand, it was a view that was hard to avoid in Gibraltar. “You need an office and a nicer place to live,” she said. “I haven’t had time,” he said. Then she went out and found an office for him, choosing a 130-square-metre place with a little balcony facing the sea in Buchanan House on Queensway Quay, which was definitely upmarket in Gibraltar. She hired an interior decorator to renovate83 and furnish it. MacMillan recalled that while he had been busy shuffling84 papers, Salander had personally supervised the installation of an alarm system, computer equipment, and the safe that she had already rummaged85 through by the time he entered the office that morning. “Am I in trouble?” he said. She put down the folder with the correspondence she had been perusing86. “No, Jeremy. You’re not in trouble.” “That’s good,” he said as he poured himself some coffee. “You have a way of popping up when I least expect it.” “I’ve been busy lately. I just wanted to get an update on what’s been happening.” “I believe you were suspected of killing three people, you got shot in the head, and you were charged with a whole assortment87 of crimes. I was pretty worried for a while. I thought you were still in prison. Did you break out?” “No. I was acquitted88 of all the charges and released. How much have you heard?” He hesitated a moment. “Well, when I heard that you were in trouble, I hired a translation agency to comb the Swedish press and give me regular updates. I’m au fait with the details.” “If you’re basing your knowledge on what you read in the papers, then you’re not au fait at all. But I dare say you discovered a number of secrets about me.” He nodded. “What’s going to happen now?” he said. She gave him a surprised look. “Nothing. We keep on exactly as before. Our relationship has nothing to do with my problems in Sweden. Tell me what’s been happening since I’ve been away. Have you been doing alright?” “I’m not drinking, if that’s what you mean.” “No. Your private life doesn’t concern me so long as it doesn’t encroach on our business. I mean, am I richer or poorer than I was a year ago?” He pulled out the visitor’s chair and sat down. Somehow it did not matter to him that she was sitting in his chair. “You turned over $2.4 billion to me. We put $200 million into personal funds for you. You gave me the rest to play with.” “And?” “Your personal funds haven’t grown by much more than the amount of interest. I could increase the profit if—” “I’m not interested in increasing the profit.” “O.K. You’ve spent a negligible amount. The principal expenses have been the apartment I bought for you and the fund you started for that lawyer Palmgren. Otherwise you’ve just had normal expenses. The interest rate has been favourable89. You’re running about even.” “Good.” “The rest I invested. Last year we didn’t make very much. I was a little rusty90 and spent the time learning the market again. We’ve had expenses. We didn’t really start generating income until this year. Since the start of the year we’ve taken about 7 million. Dollars, that is.” “Of which 20 per cent goes to you.” “Of which 20 per cent goes to me.” “Are you satisfied with that?” “I’ve made more than a million dollars in six months. Yes, I’m satisfied.” “You know … you shouldn’t get too greedy. You can cut back on your hours when you’re satisfied. Just make sure you spend a few hours on my affairs every so often.” “Ten million dollars,” he said. “Excuse me?” “When I get ten million together I’ll pack it in. It was good that you turned up in my life. We have a lot to discuss.” “Fire away.” He threw up his hands. “This is so much money that it scares the shit out of me. I don’t know how to handle it. I don’t know the purpose of the company besides making more money. What’s all the money going to be used for?” “I don’t know.” “Me neither. But money can become an end in itself. It’s crazy. That’s why I’ve decided to call it quits when I’ve earned ten million for myself. I don’t want the responsibility any longer.” “Fair enough.” “But before I call it a day I want you to decide how this fortune is to be administered in the future. There has to be a purpose and guidelines and some kind of organization that can take over.” “Mmm.” “It’s impossible to conduct business this way. I’ve divided up the sum into long-term fixed investments – real estate, securities and so forth91. There’s a complete list on the computer.” “I’ve read it.” “The other half I’ve put into speculation92, but it’s so much money to keep track of that I can’t keep up. So I set up an investment company on Jersey93. At present you have six employees in London. Two talented young brokers94 and some clerical staff.” “Yellow Ballroom95 Ltd? I was wondering what that could be.” “Our company. Here in Gibraltar I’ve hired a secretary and a promising young lawyer. They’ll be here in half an hour, by the way.” “I know. Molly Flint, forty-one, and Brian Delaney, twenty-six.” “Do you want to meet them?” “No. Is Brian your lover?” “What? No.” He looked shocked. “I don’t mix—” “Good.” “By the way, I’m not interested in young guys … inexperienced ones, I mean.” “No … you’re more attracted to men with a tough attitude than to some snot-nosed kid. But it’s still none of my business. But Jeremy …” “Yes?” “Be careful.” Salander had not planned to stay in Gibraltar for more than two weeks, just long enough, she thought, to get her bearings. But she suddenly discovered that she had no idea what she was going to do or where she should go. She stayed for three months. She checked her email once a day and replied promptly96 to messages from Giannini on the few occasions her lawyer got in touch. She did not tell her where she was. She did not answer any other email. She still went to Harry’s Bar, but now she came in only for a beer or two in the evenings. She spent large parts of her days at the Rock Hotel, either on her balcony or in bed. She got together with a thirty-year-old Royal Navy officer, but it was a one-night stand and all in all an uninteresting experience. She was bored. Early in October she had dinner with MacMillan. They had met up only a few times during her stay. It was dark and they drank a fruity white wine and discussed what they should use her billions for. And then he surprised her by asking what was upsetting her. She studied his face for a long time and pondered the matter. Then she had, just as surprisingly, told him about her relationship with Miriam Wu, and how Mimmi had been beaten and almost killed. And she, Lisbeth, was to blame. Apart from one greeting sent by way of Giannini, Salander had not heard a word from Mimmi. And now she was in France. MacMillan listened in silence. “Are you in love with her?” he said at last. Salander shook her head. “No. I don’t think I’m the type who falls in love. She was a friend. And we had good sex.” “Nobody can avoid falling in love,” he said. “They might want to deny it, but friendship is probably the most common form of love.” She looked at him in astonishment97. “Will you get cross if I say something personal?” “No.” “Go to Paris, for God’s sake,” he said. She landed at Charles de Gaulle airport at 2.30 in the afternoon, took the airport bus to the Arc de Triomphe and spent two hours wandering around the nearby neighbourhoods trying to find a hotel room. She walked south towards the Seine and finally found a room at a small hotel, the Victor Hugo on rue98 Copernic. She took a shower and called Miriam Wu. They met that evening at a bar near Notre Dame99. Mimmi was dressed in a white shirt and jacket. She looked fabulous100. Salander instantly felt shy. They kissed each other on the cheek. “I’m sorry I haven’t called, and that I didn’t come to the trial,” Mimmi said. “That’s O.K. The trial was behind closed doors anyway.” “I was in hospital for three weeks, and then it was chaos101 when I got home to Lundagatan. I couldn’t sleep. I had nightmares about that bastard Niedermann. I called my mother and told her I wanted to come here, to Paris.” Salander said she understood. “Forgive me,” Mimmi said. “Don’t be such an idiot. I’m the one who’s come here to ask you to forgive me.” “For what?” “I wasn’t thinking. It never occurred to me that I was putting you in such danger by turning over my old apartment to you. It was my fault that you were almost murdered. You’d have every right to hate me.” Mimmi looked shocked. “Lisbeth, I never even gave it a thought. It was Ronald Niedermann who tried to murder me, not you.” They sat in silence for a while. “Alright,” Salander said finally. “Right,” Mimmi said. “I didn’t follow you here because I’m in love with you,” Salander said. Mimmi nodded. “We had great sex, but I’m not in love with you.” “Lisbeth, I think …” “What I wanted to say was that I hope you … damn.” “What?” “I don’t have many friends …” Mimmi nodded. “I’m going to be in Paris for a while. My studies at home were a mess so I signed up at the university here instead. I’ll probably stay at least one academic year. After that I don’t know. But I’m going to come back to Stockholm. I’m still paying the service charges on Lundagatan and I mean to keep the apartment. If that’s O.K. with you.” “It’s your apartment. Do what you want with it.” “Lisbeth, you’re a very special person,” Mimmi said. “I’d still like to be your friend.” They talked for two hours. Salander did not have any reason to hide her past from Miriam Wu. The Zalachenko business was familiar to everyone who had access to a Swedish newspaper, and Mimmi had followed the story with great interest. She gave Salander a detailed102 account of what had happened in Nykvarn the night Paolo Roberto saved her life. Then they went back to Mimmi’s student lodgings103 near the university. EPILOGUE INVENTORY104 OF ESTATE Friday, 2.xii – Sunday, 18.xii Giannini met Salander in the bar of the S?dra theatre at 9.00. Salander was drinking beer and was already coming to the end of her second glass. “Sorry I’m late,” Giannini said, glancing at her watch. “I had to deal with another client.” “That’s O.K.,” said Lisbeth. “What are you celebrating?” “Nothing. I just feel like getting drunk.” Giannini looked at her sceptically and took a seat. “Do you often feel that way?” “I drank myself stupid after I was released, but I have no tendency to alcoholism. It just occurred to me that for the first time in my life I have a legal right to get drunk here in Sweden.” Giannini ordered a Campari. “O.K. Do you want to drink alone,” she said, “or would you like some company?” “Preferably alone. But if you don’t talk too much you can sit with me. I take it you don’t feel like coming home with me and having sex.” “I beg your pardon?” Giannini said. “No, I didn’t think so. You’re one of those insanely heterosexual people.” Giannini suddenly looked amused. “That’s the first time in my life that one of my clients has proposed sex.” “Are you interested?” “No, not in the least, sorry. But thanks for the offer.” “So what was it you wanted, counsellor?” “Two things. Either I quit as your lawyer here and now or you start answering your telephone when I call. We’ve already had this discussion, when you were released.” Salander looked at Giannini. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you for a week. I’ve called, I’ve sent letters, I’ve emailed.” “I’ve been away.” “In fact you’ve been impossible to get hold of for most of the autumn. This just isn’t working. I said I would represent you in all negotiations105 with the government. There are formalities that have to be taken care of. Papers to be signed. Questions to be answered. I have to be able to reach you, and I have no wish to be made to feel like an idiot because I don’t know where the hell you are.” “I was away again for two weeks. I came home yesterday and called you as soon as I knew you were looking for me.” “That’s not good enough. You have to keep me informed of where you are and get in touch at least once a week until all the issues about compensation and such are resolved.” “I don’t give a shit about compensation. I just want the government to leave me alone.” “But the government isn’t going to leave you alone, no matter how much you may want it to. Your acquittal has set in motion a long chain of consequences. It’s not just about you. Teleborian is going to be charged for what he did to you. You’re going to have to testify. Ekstr?m is the subject of an investigation74 for dereliction of duty, and he may even be charged too if it turns out that he deliberately106 disregarded his duty at the behest of the Section.” Salander raised her eyebrows107. For a moment she looked interested. “I don’t think it’s going to come to an indictment108. He was led up the garden path by the Section and in fact he had nothing to do with them. But as recently as last week a prosecutor109 initiated111 a preliminary investigation against the guardianship112 agency. It involves several reports being sent to the Parliamentary Ombudsman, as well as a report to the Ministry113 of Justice.” “I didn’t report anyone.” “No. But it’s obvious that there has been gross dereliction of duty. You’re not the only person affected114.” Salander shrugged115. “This has nothing to do with me. But I promise to be in closer contact with you. These last two weeks have been an exception. I’ve been working.” Giannini did not look as though she believed her. “What are you working on?” “Consulting.” “I see,” she said. “The other thing is that the inventory of the estate is now ready.” “Inventory of what estate?” “Your father’s. The state’s legal representative contacted me since nobody seemed to know how to get in touch with you. You and your sister are the sole heirs.” Salander looked at Giannini blankly. Then she caught the waitress’s eye and pointed116 at her glass. “I don’t want any inheritance from my father. Do whatever the hell you want with it.” “Wrong. You can do what you want with the inheritance. My job is to see to it that you have the opportunity to do so.” “I don’t want a single ?re from that pig.” “Then give the money to Greenpeace or something.” “I don’t give a shit about whales.” Giannini’s voice suddenly softened117. “Lisbeth, if you’re going to be a legally responsible citizen, then you’re going to have to start behaving like one. I don’t give a damn what you do with your money. Just sign here that you received it, and then you can get drunk in peace.” Salander glanced at her and then looked down at the table. Annika assumed this was some kind of conciliatory gesture that perhaps corresponded to an apology in Salander’s limited register of expressions. “What kind of figures are we talking about?” “They’re not insignificant118. Your father had about 300,000 kronor in shares. The property in Gosseberga would sell for around 1.5 million – there’s a little woodland included. And there are three other properties.” “What sort of properties?” “It seems that he invested a significant amount of money. There’s nothing of enormous value, but he owns a small building in Udderalla with six apartments, and they bring in some income. But the property is not in good shape. He didn’t bother with upkeep and the apartments have even been up before the rental119 board. You won’t get rich, but you’d get a good price if you sold it. He also owns a summer cabin in Sm?land that’s worth around 250,000 kronor. Plus he owns a dilapidated industrial site outside Norrt?lje.” “Why in the world did he buy all this shit?” “I have no idea. But the estate could bring in over four million kronor after taxes etc., but…” “But what?” “The inheritance has to be divided equally between you and your sister. The problem is that nobody knows where your sister is.” Salander looked at Giannini in silence. “Well?” “Well what?” “Where is your sister?” “I have no idea. I haven’t seen her for ten years.” “Her file is classified, but I found out that she is listed as out of the country.” “I see,” Salander said, showing little interest. Giannini sighed in exasperation. “I would suggest that we liquidate120 all the assets and deposit half the proceeds in the bank until your sister can be found. I can initiate110 the negotiations if you give me the go-ahead.” Salander shrugged. “I don’t want anything to do with his money.” “I understand that. But the balance sheet still has to be sorted out. It’s part of your responsibility as a citizen.” “Sell the crap, then. Put half in the bank and send the rest to whoever you like.” Giannini stared at her. She had understood that Salander had money stashed121 away, but she had not realized that her client was so well off that she could ignore an inheritance that might amount to a million kronor or more. What is more, she had no idea where Salander had got her money, or how much was involved. On the other hand she was keen to finalize122 the bureaucratic123 procedure. “Lisbeth, please … could you read through the estate inventory and give me the green light so that we can get this matter resolved?” Salander grumbled124 for a moment, but finally she acquiesced125 and stuffed the folder into her shoulder bag. She promised to read through it and send instructions as to what she wanted Giannini to do. Then she went back to her beer. Giannini kept her company for an hour, drinking mostly mineral water. It was not until several days later, when Giannini telephoned to remind her about the estate inventory, that Salander took out the crumpled126 papers. She sat at the kitchen table, smoothed out the documents, and read through them. The inventory covered several pages. There was a detailed list of all kinds of junk – the china in the kitchen cupboards in Gosseberga, clothing, cameras and other personal effects. Zalachenko had not left behind much of real value, and not one of the objects had the slightest sentimental127 value for Salander. She decided that her attitude had not changed since she met with Giannini at the theatre bar. Sell the crap and give the money away. Or something. She was positive that she did not want a single ?re of her father’s wealth, but she also was pretty sure that Zalachenko’s real assets were hidden where no tax inspector128 would look for them. Then she opened the title deeds for the property in Norrt?lje. It was an industrial site of three buildings totalling twenty thousand square metres in the vicinity of Skederid, between Norrt?lje and Rimbo. The estate assessor had apparently paid a cursory129 visit, and noted130 that it was an old brickworks that had been more or less empty and abandoned since it was shut down in the ’60s, apart from a period in the ’70s when it had been used to store timber. He noted that the buildings were in “extremely poor condition” and could not in all likelihood be renovated131 for any other activity. The term “poor condition” was also used to describe the “north building,” which had in fact been destroyed by fire and collapsed132. Some repairs, he wrote, had been made to the “main building”. What gave Salander a jolt133 was the site’s history. Zalachenko had acquired the property for a song on 12 March, 1984, but the signatory on the purchase documents was Agneta Sofia Salander. So Salander’s mother had in fact been the owner of the property. Yet in 1987 her ownership had ceased. Zalachenko had bought her out for 2,000 kronor. After that the property had stood unused for fifteen years. The inventory showed that on 17 September, 2003, K.A.B. Import A.B. had hired the builders NorrBygg Inc. to do renovations which included repairs to the floor and roof, as well as improvements to the water and electrical systems. Repair work had gone on for two months, until the end of November, and then discontinued. NorrBygg had sent an invoice135 which had been paid. Of all the assets in her father’s estate, this was the only surprising entry. Salander was puzzled. Ownership of the industrial site made sense if her father had wanted to give the impression that K.A.B. Import was carrying on legitimate activities or owned certain assets. It also made sense that he had used her mother as a front in the purchase and had then for a pittance136 bought back the property. But why in heaven’s name would he spend almost 440,000 kronor to renovate a ramshackle building, which according to the assessor was still not being used for anything in 2005? She could not understand it, but was not going to waste time wondering. She closed the folder and called Giannini. “I’ve read the inventory. What I said still holds. Sell the shit and do whatever you like with the money. I want nothing from him.” “Very well. I’ll see to it that half the revenue is deposited in an account for your sister, and I’ll suggest some suitable recipients137 for the rest.” “Right,” Salander said and hung up without further discussion. She sat in her window seat, lit a cigarette, and looked out towards Saltsj?n. Salander spent the next week helping138 Armansky with an urgent matter. She had to help track down and identify a person suspected of being hired to kidnap a child in a custody139 battle resulting from a Swedish woman divorcing her Lebanese husband. Salander’s job amounted to checking the email of the person who was presumed to have hired the kidnapper140. Milton Security’s role was discontinued when the parties reached a legal solution. On December 18, the Sunday before Christmas, Salander woke at 6.00 and remembered that she had to buy a Christmas present for Palmgren. For a moment she wondered whether there was anyone else she should buy presents for – Giannini perhaps. She got up and took a shower in no particular hurry, and ate a breakfast of toast with cheese and marmalade and a coffee. She had nothing special planned for the day and spent a while clearing papers and magazines from her desk. Then her gaze fell on the folder with the estate inventory. She opened it and reread the page about the title registration141 for the site in Norrt?lje. She sighed. O.K. I have to find out what the hell he had going on there. She put on warm clothes and boots. It was 8.30 when she drove her burgundy Honda out of the garage beneath Fiskargatan 9. It was icy cold but beautiful, sunshine and a pastel-blue sky. She took the road via Slussen and Klarabergsleden and wound her way on to the E18 going north, heading for Norrt?lje. She was in no hurry. At 10.00 she turned into an O.K. petrol station and shop a few miles outside Skederid to ask the way to the old brickworks. No sooner had she parked than she realized that she did not even need to ask. She was on a hillside with a good view across the valley on the other side of the road. To the left towards Norrt?lje she could see a paint warehouse142, some sort of builder’s yard, and another yard with bulldozers. To the right, at the edge of the industrial area, about four hundred metres from the road was a dismal143 brick building with a crumbling144 chimney-stack. The factory stood like a last outpost of the industrial area, somewhat isolated beyond a road and a narrow stream. She surveyed the building thoughtfully and asked herself what on earth had possessed145 her to drive all the way up to Norrt?lje. She turned and glanced at the O.K. station, where a long-distance truck and trailer with the emblem146 of the International Road Transport Union had just pulled in. She remembered that she was on the main road from the ferry terminal at Kapellsk?r, through which a good deal of the freight traffic between Sweden and the Baltic countries passed. She started the car and drove out on to the road towards the old brickworks. She parked in the middle of the yard and got out. It was below freezing outside, and she put on a black knitted cap and leather gloves. The main building was on two floors. On the ground floor all the windows had been boarded up with plywood, and she could see that on the floor above many of them had been broken. The factory was a much bigger building than she had imagined, and it was incredibly dilapidated. She could see no evidence of repairs. There was no trace of a living soul, but she saw that someone had discarded a used condom in the yard, and that graffiti artists had attacked part of the facade. Why had Zalachenko owned this building? She walked around the factory and found the ramshackle north building to the rear. She saw that the doors to the main building were locked. In frustration147 she studied a door at one end of the building. All the other doors had padlocks attached with iron bolts and galvanized security strips, but the lock on the gable end seemed weaker and was in fact attached only with rough spikes148. Damn it, it’s my building. She looked about and found a narrow iron pipe in a pile of rubbish. She used it to lever open the fastening of the padlock. She entered a stairwell with a doorway149 on to the ground floor area. The boarded-up windows meant that it was pitch black inside, except for a few shafts150 of light seeping151 in at the edges of the boards. She stood still for several minutes until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She saw a sea of junk, wooden pallets, old machine parts and timber in a workshop that was forty-five metres long and about twenty metres wide, supported by massive pillars. The old brick ovens seemed to have been disassembled, and in their place were big pools of water and patches of mould on the floor. There was a stale, foul152 smell from all the debris153. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. She turned back and went up the stairs. The top floor was dry and consisted of two similar rooms, each about twenty by twenty metres square, and at least eight metres high. There were tall, inaccessible154 windows close to the ceiling which provided no view but let in plenty of light. The upper floor, just like the workshop downstairs, was full of junk. There were dozens of one-metre-high packing cases stacked on top of one another. She gripped one of them but could not move it. The text on the crate155 read: Machine parts 0-A77, with an apparently corresponding text in Russian underneath156. She noticed an open goods lift halfway157 down one wall of the first room. A machine warehouse of some sort, but that would hardly generate income so long as the machinery158 stood there rusting159. She went into the inner room and discovered that this was where the repair work must have been carried out. The room was again full of rubbish, boxes and old office furniture arranged in some sort of labyrinthine160 order. A section of the floor was exposed where new floor planks161 had been laid. Salander guessed that the renovation134 work had been stopped abruptly162. Tools, a crosscut saw and a circular saw, a nail gun, a crowbar, an iron rod and tool boxes were still there. She frowned. Even if the work had been discontinued, the joiners should have collected up their tools. But this question too was answered when she held a screwdriver163 up to the light and saw that the writing on the handle was Russian. Zalachenko had imported the tools and probably the workers as well. She switched on the circular saw and a green light went on. There was power. She turned it off. At the far end of the room were three doors to smaller rooms, perhaps the old offices. She tried the handle of the door on the north side of the building. Locked. She went back to the tools and got a crowbar. It took her a while to break open the door. It was pitch black inside the room and smelled musty. She ran her hand along the wall and found a switch that lit a bare bulb in the ceiling. Salander looked around in astonishment. The furniture in the room consisted of three beds with soiled mattresses164 and another three mattresses on the floor. Filthy165 bedlinen was strewn around. To the right was a two-ring electric hob and some pots next to a rusty water tap. In a corner stood a tin bucket and a roll of toilet paper. Somebody had lived here. Several people. Then she saw that there was no handle on the inside of the door. She felt an ice-cold shiver run down her back. There was a large linen cupboard at the far end of the room. She opened it and found two suitcases. Inside the one on top were some clothes. She rummaged through them and held up a dress with a Russian label. She found a handbag and emptied the contents on the floor. From among the cosmetics166 and other bits and pieces she retrieved167 a passport belonging to a young, dark-haired woman. It was a Russian passport, and she spelled out the name as Valentina. Salander walked slowly from the room. She had a feeling of déjà vu. She had done the same kind of crime scene examination in a basement in Hedeby two and a half years earlier. Women’s clothes. A prison. She stood there for a long time, thinking. It bothered her that the passport and clothes had been left behind. It did not feel right. Then she went back to the assortment of tools and rummaged about until she found a powerful torch. She checked that there was life in the batteries and went downstairs into the larger workshop. The water from the puddles168 on the floor seeped169 into her boots. The nauseating170 stench of rotting matter grew stronger the further into the workshop she went, and seemed to be worst when she was in the middle of the room. She stopped next to the foundations of one of the old brick furnaces, which was filled with water almost to the brim. She shone her torch on to the coal-black surface of the water but could not make anything out. The surface was partly covered by algae171 that had formed a green slime. Nearby she found a long steel rod which she stuck into the pool and stirred around. The water was only about fifty centimetres deep. Almost immediately the rod bumped into something. She manipulated it this way and that for several seconds before a body rose to the surface, face first, a grinning mask of death and decomposition172. Breathing through her mouth, Salander looked at the face in the beam of the torch and saw that it was a woman, possibly the woman from the passport photograph. She knew nothing about the speed of decay in cold, stagnant173 water, but the body seemed to have been in the pool for a long time. There was something moving on the surface of the water. Larvae174 of some sort. She let the body sink back beneath the surface and poked175 around more with the rod. At the edge of the pool she came across something that might have been another body. She left it there and pulled out the rod, letting it fall to the floor as she stood thinking next to the pool. Salander went back up the stairs. She used the crowbar to break open the middle door. The room was empty. She went to the last door and slotted the crowbar in place, but before she began to force it, the door swung open a crack. It was not locked. She nudged it open with the crowbar and looked around. The room was about thirty metres square. It had windows at a normal height with a view of the yard in front of the brickworks. She could see the O.K. petrol station on the hill. There was a bed, a table, and a sink with dishes. Then she saw a bag lying open on the floor. There were banknotes in it. In surprise she took two steps forward before she noticed that it was warm and saw an electric heater in the middle of the room. Then she saw that the red light was on on the coffee machine. Someone was living here. She was not alone in the buildin
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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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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con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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motorway
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| n.高速公路，快车道 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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15
glowered
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| v.怒视( glower的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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17
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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18
wariness
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| n. 注意,小心 | |
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19
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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20
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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21
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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22
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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23
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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24
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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25
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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26
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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27
lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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28
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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29
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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30
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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31
tattoos
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| n.文身( tattoo的名词复数 )；归营鼓；军队夜间表演操；连续有节奏的敲击声v.刺青，文身( tattoo的第三人称单数 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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32
boxer
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| n.制箱者，拳击手 | |
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33
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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34
solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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35
quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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36
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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37
folder
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| n.纸夹，文件夹 | |
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38
brewed
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|
| 调制( brew的过去式和过去分词 )； 酝酿； 沏（茶）； 煮（咖啡） | |
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39
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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40
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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41
tattooed
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|
| v.刺青，文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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42
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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43
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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44
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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45
stockbroker
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| n.股票（或证券），经纪人（或机构） | |
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46
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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47
celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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48
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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49
mediation
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| n.调解 | |
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50
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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51
glamorous
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| adj.富有魅力的；美丽动人的；令人向往的 | |
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52
collapsing
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| 压扁[平]，毁坏，断裂 | |
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53
wasp
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| n.黄蜂，蚂蜂 | |
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54
lucrative
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| adj.赚钱的，可获利的 | |
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55
impersonally
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| ad.非人称地 | |
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56
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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57
facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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58
deranged
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| adj.疯狂的 | |
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59
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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61
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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62
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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63
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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64
blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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65
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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66
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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67
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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68
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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69
relatively
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| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
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70
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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71
chicanery
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| n.欺诈，欺骗 | |
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72
astronomical
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| adj.天文学的，（数字）极大的 | |
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73
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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74
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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75
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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76
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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77
stabilized
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| v.（使）稳定， （使）稳固( stabilize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
solvent
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|
| n.溶剂；adj.有偿付能力的 | |
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79
alcoholic
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|
| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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80
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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81
commendable
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|
| adj.值得称赞的 | |
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82
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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83
renovate
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| vt.更新，革新，刷新 | |
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84
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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85
rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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86
perusing
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的现在分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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87
assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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88
acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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89
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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90
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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91
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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92
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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93
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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94
brokers
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| n.（股票、外币等）经纪人( broker的名词复数 )；中间人；代理商；（订合同的）中人v.做掮客（或中人等）( broker的第三人称单数 )；作为权力经纪人进行谈判；以中间人等身份安排… | |
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95
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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96
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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97
astonishment
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|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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98
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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99
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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100
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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101
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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102
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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103
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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104
inventory
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| n.详细目录，存货清单 | |
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105
negotiations
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| 协商( negotiation的名词复数 )； 谈判； 完成（难事）； 通过 | |
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106
deliberately
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|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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107
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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108
indictment
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| n.起诉；诉状 | |
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109
prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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110
initiate
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| vt.开始，创始，发动；启蒙，使入门；引入 | |
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111
initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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112
guardianship
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| n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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113
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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114
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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115
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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116
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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117
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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118
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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119
rental
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| n.租赁，出租，出租业 | |
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120
liquidate
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| v.偿付，清算，扫除；整理，破产 | |
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121
stashed
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| v.贮藏( stash的过去式和过去分词 )；隐藏；藏匿；藏起 | |
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122
finalize
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| v.落实，定下来 | |
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123
bureaucratic
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| adj.官僚的，繁文缛节的 | |
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124
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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125
acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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127
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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128
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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129
cursory
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| adj.粗略的；草率的；匆促的 | |
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130
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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131
renovated
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| 翻新，修复，整修( renovate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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133
jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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134
renovation
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| n.革新，整修 | |
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135
invoice
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| vt.开发票；n.发票，装货清单 | |
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136
pittance
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| n.微薄的薪水，少量 | |
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137
recipients
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|
| adj.接受的；受领的；容纳的；愿意接受的n.收件人；接受者；受领者；接受器 | |
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138
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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139
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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140
kidnapper
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| n.绑架者，拐骗者 | |
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141
registration
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| n.登记，注册，挂号 | |
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142
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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143
dismal
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|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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144
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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145
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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146
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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frustration
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| n.挫折，失败，失效，落空 | |
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148
spikes
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| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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149
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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150
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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151
seeping
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的现在分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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152
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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153
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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154
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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155
crate
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| vt.(up)把…装入箱中；n.板条箱，装货箱 | |
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156
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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157
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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158
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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159
rusting
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| n.生锈v.（使）生锈( rust的现在分词 ) | |
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160
labyrinthine
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| adj.如迷宫的；复杂的 | |
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161
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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162
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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163
screwdriver
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| n.螺丝起子；伏特加橙汁鸡尾酒 | |
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164
mattresses
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| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
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165
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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166
cosmetics
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| n.化妆品 | |
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167
retrieved
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| v.取回( retrieve的过去式和过去分词 )；恢复；寻回；检索（储存的信息） | |
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168
puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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169
seeped
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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170
nauseating
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| adj.令人恶心的，使人厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的现在分词 ) | |
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171
algae
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| n.水藻，海藻 | |
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172
decomposition
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| n. 分解, 腐烂, 崩溃 | |
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173
stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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174
larvae
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| n.幼虫 | |
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175
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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