The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest (18 page)

“You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Yes, I do. But you’re going to have to make up your mind whether to take on the assignment or not. Either we ancients step in and do our bit, or the Section will cease to exist a few weeks from now.”

Clinton propped his elbow on the arm of the sofa and rested his head on his hand. He thought about it for two minutes.

“Tell me your plan,” he said at last.

Gullberg and Clinton talked for a long time.

Wadensjöö stared in disbelief when Gullberg returned at 2:57 with Clinton in tow. Clinton looked like a skeleton. He seemed to have difficulty breathing; he kept one hand on Gullberg’s shoulder.

“What in the world . . . ?” Wadensjöö said.

“Let’s get the meeting moving again,” Gullberg said briskly.

They settled themselves again around the table in Wadensjöö’s office. Clinton sank silently onto the chair that was offered.

“You all know Fredrik Clinton,” Gullberg said.

“Indeed,” Wadensjöö said. “The question is, what’s he doing here?”

“Clinton has decided to return to active duty. He’ll be leading the Section’s
operations department until the present crisis is over.” Gullberg raised a hand to forestall Wadensjöö’s objections. “Clinton is tired. He’s going to need assistance. He has to go regularly to the hospital for dialysis. Wadensjöö, assign two personal assistants to help him with all the practical matters. But let me make this quite clear: with regard to this affair, it’s Clinton who will be making the operational decisions.”

He paused for a moment. No-one voiced any objections.

“I have a plan. I think we can handle this matter successfully, but we’re going to have to act fast so that we don’t squander the opportunity,” he said. “It depends on how decisive you can be in the Section these days.”

“Let’s hear it,” Wadensjöö said.

“First of all, we’ve already discussed the police. This is what we’re going to do. We’ll try to isolate them in a lengthy investigation, sidetracking them into the search for Niedermann. That will be Nyström’s task. Whatever happens, Niedermann is of no importance. We’ll arrange for Faste to be assigned to investigate Salander.”

“That may not be such a bright idea,” Nyström said. “Why don’t I just go and have a discreet talk with Prosecutor Ekström?”

“And if he gets difficult?”

“I don’t think he will. He’s ambitious and on the lookout for anything that will benefit his career. I might be able to use some leverage if I need to. He would hate to be dragged into any sort of scandal.”

“Good. Stage two is
Millennium
and Mikael Blomkvist. That’s why Clinton has returned to duty. This will require extraordinary measures.”

“I don’t think I’m going to like this,” Wadensjöö said.

“Probably not. But
Millennium
can’t be manipulated in the same straightforward way. On the other hand, the magazine is a threat because of one thing only: Björck’s 1991 police report. I presume that the report now exists in two places, possibly three. Salander found the report, but Blomkvist somehow got ahold of it. Which means that there was some degree of contact between the two of them while Salander was on the run.”

Clinton held up a finger and uttered his first words since he had arrived.

“It also tells us something about the character of our adversary. Blomkvist is not afraid to take risks. Remember the Wennerström affair.”

Gullberg nodded. “Blomkvist gave the report to his editor in chief, Erika Berger, who in turn messengered it to Bublanski. So Berger has read it too. We have to assume that they made a copy for safekeeping. I’m guessing that Blomkvist has a copy and that there’s one at the editorial offices.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Wadensjöö said.

“Millennium
is a monthly, so they won’t be publishing it tomorrow. We’ve got a little time—find out exactly how long before the next issue is published—but we have to confiscate both those copies of the police report. And we can’t go through the prosecutor general.”

“I understand.”

“So we’re talking about an operation, getting into Blomkvist’s apartment and
Millennium
’s offices. Can you handle that, Jonas?”

Sandberg glanced at Wadensjöö.

“Evert, you have to understand that we don’t do things like that anymore,” Wadensjöö said. “It’s a new era. We deal more with computer hacking and electronic surveillance. We don’t have the resources for what you’d think of as an operations unit.”

Gullberg leaned forward. “Wadensjöö, you’re going to have to arrange some resources pretty damn fast. Hire some people. Hire a bunch of skinheads from the Yugo mafia who can whack Blomkvist over the head if necessary. But those two copies have to be recovered. If they don’t have the copies, they don’t have the evidence. If you can’t manage a simple job like that, then you might as well sit here with your thumb up your ass until the constitutional committee comes knocking on your door.”

Gullberg and Wadensjöö glared at each other for a long moment.

“I can handle it,” Sandberg said suddenly.

“Are you sure?”

Sandberg nodded.

“Good. Starting now, Clinton is your boss. He’s the one you take your orders from.”

Sandberg nodded his agreement.

“It’s going to involve a lot of surveillance,” Nyström said. “I can suggest a few names. We have a man in the external organization, Mårtensson—he works as a bodyguard in SIS. He’s fearless and shows promise. I’ve been considering bringing him in here. I’ve even thought that he could take my place one day.”

“That sounds good,” Gullberg said. “Clinton can decide.”

“I’m afraid there might be a third copy,” Nyström said.

“Where?”

“This afternoon I found out that Salander has hired a lawyer. Her name is Annika Giannini. She’s Blomkvist’s sister.”

Gullberg pondered this news. “You’re right. Blomkvist will have given his sister a copy. He must have. In other words, we have to keep tabs on all three of them—Berger, Blomkvist, and Giannini—until further notice.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about Berger. There was a report today that she’s going to be the new editor in chief at
Svenska Morgon-Posten
. She’s finished with
Millennium.”

“Check her out anyway. As far as
Millennium
is concerned, we’re going to need telephone taps and bugs in everyone’s homes, and at the offices. We have to check their email. We have to know whom they meet and whom they talk to. And we would very much like to know what strategy they’re planning. Above all, we have to get those copies of the report. A whole lot of stuff, in other words.”

Wadensjöö sounded doubtful. “Evert, you’re asking us to run an operation against an influential magazine and the editor in chief of
SMP
. That’s just about the riskiest thing we could do.”

“Understand this: you have no choice. Either you roll up your sleeves or it’s time for somebody else to take over here.”

The challenge hung like a cloud over the table.

“I think I can handle
Millennium,”
Sandberg said at last. “But none of this solves the basic problem. What do we do with Zalachenko? If he talks, anything else we pull off is useless.”

“I know. That’s my part of the operation,” Gullberg said. “I think I have an argument that will persuade Zalachenko to keep his mouth shut. But it’s going to take some preparation. I’m leaving for Göteborg later this afternoon.”

He paused and looked around the room. Then he fixed his eyes on Wadensjöö.

“Clinton will make the operational decisions while I’m gone,” he said.

Not until Monday evening did Dr. Endrin decide, in consultation with her colleague Dr. Jonasson, that Salander’s condition was stable enough for her to have visitors. First, two police inspectors were given fifteen minutes to ask her questions. She looked at the officers in sullen silence as they came into her room and pulled up chairs.

“Hello. My name is Marcus Erlander, criminal inspector. I work in the violent crimes division here in Göteborg. This is my colleague Inspector Modig from the Stockholm police.”

Salander said nothing. Her expression did not change. She recognized Modig as one of the officers on Bublanski’s team. Erlander gave her a cool smile.

“I’ve been told that you don’t generally communicate much with the authorities. Let me put it on record that you do not have to say anything at
all. But I would be grateful if you would listen to what we have to say. We have a number of things to discuss with you, but we don’t have time to go into them all today. There’ll be opportunities later.”

Salander still said nothing.

“First of all, I’d like to let you know that your friend Mikael Blomkvist has told us that a lawyer by the name of Annika Giannini is willing to represent you, and that she knows about the case. He says that he already mentioned her name to you in connection with something else. I need you to confirm that this would be your intention. I’d also like to know if you want Giannini to come here to Göteborg, the better to represent you.”

Annika Giannini. Blomkvist’s sister
. He had mentioned her in an email. Salander had not thought about the fact that she would need a lawyer.

“I’m sorry, but I have to insist that you answer the question. A yes or no will be fine. If you say yes, the prosecutor here in Göteborg will contact Advokat Giannini. If you say no, the court will appoint a defence lawyer on your behalf. Which do you prefer?”

Salander considered the choice. She assumed that she really would need a lawyer, but having Kalle Fucking Blomkvist’s sister working for her was hard to stomach. On the other hand, some unknown lawyer appointed by the court would probably be worse. She rasped out a single word:

“Giannini.”

“Good. Thank you. Now I have a question for you. You don’t have to say anything before your lawyer gets here, but this question does not, as far as I can see, affect you or your welfare. The police are looking for a German citizen by the name of Ronald Niedermann, wanted for the murder of a policeman.”

Salander frowned. She had no clue as to what had happened to Niederman after he ran from the woodshed.

“The Göteborg police are anxious to arrest him as soon as possible. My colleague here would like to question him also in connection with the three recent murders in Stockholm. You should know that you are no longer a suspect in those cases. So we are asking for your help. Do you have any idea . . . can you give us any help at all in finding this man?”

Salander flicked her eyes suspiciously from Erlander to Modig and back.

They don’t know that he’s my brother
.

Then she considered whether she wanted Niedermann caught or not. Most of all she wanted to take him to a hole in the ground in Gosseberga and bury him. Finally she shrugged. Which she should not have done, because pain flew through her left shoulder.

“What day is it today?” she said.

“Monday.”

She thought about that. “The first time I heard the name Ronald Niedermann was last Thursday. I tracked him to Gosseberga. I have no idea where he is or where he might go, but he’ll try to get out of the country as soon as he can.”

“Why would he flee abroad?”

Salander thought about it. “Because while Niedermann was out digging a grave for me, Zalachenko told me that things were getting too hot and that it had already been decided that Niedermann should leave the country for a while.”

Salander had not exchanged this many words with a police officer since she was twelve.

“Zalachenko . . . so that’s your father?”

Well, at least they’ve worked that one out. Probably thanks to Kalle Fucking Blomkvist
.

“I have to tell you that your father has made a formal accusation to the police stating that you tried to murder him. The case is now at the prosecutor’s office, and he has to decide whether to bring charges. But you have already been placed under arrest on a charge of aggravated assault, for having struck Zalachenko on the head with an axe.”

There was a long silence. Then Modig leaned forward and said in a low voice, “I just want to say that we on the police force don’t put much faith in Zalachenko’s story. Have a serious discussion with your lawyer so we can come back later and have another talk.”

The detectives stood up.

“Thanks for the help with Niedermann,” Erlander said.

Salander was surprised that the officers had treated her in such a professional, almost friendly manner. She thought about what the Modig woman had said. There had to be some ulterior motive, she decided.

At 5:45 p.m. on Monday, Blomkvist closed the lid on his iBook and got up from the kitchen table in his apartment on Bellmansgatan. He put on a jacket and walked to Milton Security’s offices in Slussen. He took the elevator up to the reception on the fourth floor and was immediately shown into a conference room. It was 6:00 p.m. on the dot, but he was the last to arrive.

“Hello, Dragan,” he said and shook hands. “Thank you for being willing to host this informal meeting.”

Blomkvist looked around the room. There were four others there: his sister, Salander’s former guardian Holger Palmgren, Malin Eriksson, and former criminal inspector Sonny Bohman, who now worked for Milton Security. At Armansky’s instruction Bohman had been following the Salander investigation from the start.

Palmgren was on his first outing in more than two years. Dr. Sivarnandan of the Ersta rehabilitation home had been less than enchanted at the idea of letting him out, but Palmgren himself had insisted. He had come by special transport for the disabled, accompanied by his personal assistant and trainer, Johanna Karolina Oskarsson, whose salary was paid from a fund that had been mysteriously established to provide Palmgren with the best possible care. Oskarsson was sitting in an office next to the conference room. She had brought a book with her. Blomkvist closed the door behind him.

“For those of you who haven’t met her before, this is Malin Eriksson,
Millennium
’s editor in chief. I asked her to be here because what we’re going to discuss will also affect her job.”