Thursday, 2. vi Berger’s mobile was ringing. It was 9.05. “Good morning, Fru Berger. Dragan Armansky. I understand you called last night.” Berger explained what had happened and asked whether Milton Security could take over the contract from Nacka Integrated Protection. “We can certainly install an alarm that will work,” Armansky said. “The problem is that the closest car we have at night is in Nacka centre. Response time would be about thirty minutes. If we took the job I’d have to subcontract out your house. We have an agreement with a local security company, Adam Security in Fisks?tra, which has a response time of ten minutes if all goes as it should.” “That would be an improvement on N.I.P., which doesn’t bother to turn up at all.” “It’s a family-owned business, a father, two sons, and a couple of cousins. Greeks, good people. I’ve known the father for many years. They handle coverage about 320 days a year. They tell us in advance the days they aren’t available because of holidays or something else, and then our car in Nacka takes over.” “That works for me.” “I’ll be sending a man out this morning. His name is David Rosin, and in fact he’s already on his way. He’s going to do a security assessment. He needs your keys if you’re not going to be home, and he needs your authorization to do a thorough examination of your house, from top to bottom. He’s going to take pictures of the entire property and the immediate surroundings.” “Alright.” “Rosin has a lot of experience, and we’ll make you a proposal. We’ll have a complete security plan ready in a few days which will include a personal attack alarm, fire security, evacuation and break-in protection.” “O.K.” “If anything should happen, we also want you to know what to do in the ten minutes before the car arrives from Fisks?tra.” “Sounds good.” “We’ll install the alarm this afternoon. Then we’ll have to sign a contract.” Only after she had finished her conversation with Armansky did Berger realize that she had overslept. She picked up her mobile to call Fredriksson and explained that she had hurt herself. He would have to cancel the 10.00. “What’s happened?” he said. “I cut my foot,” Berger said. “I’ll hobble in as soon as I’ve pulled myself together.” She used the toilet in the master bathroom and then pulled on some black trousers and borrowed one of Greger’s slippers for her injured foot. She chose a black blouse and put on a jacket. Before she removed the doorstop from the bedroom door, she armed herself with the canister of Mace. She made her way cautiously through the house and switched on the coffeemaker. She had her breakfast at the kitchen table, listening out for sounds in the vicinity. She had just poured a second cup of coffee when there was a firm knock on the front door. It was David Rosin from Milton Security. Figuerola walked to Bergsgatan and summoned her four colleagues for an early morning conference. “We’ve got a deadline now,” she said. “Our work has to be done by July 13, the day the Salander trial begins. We have just under six weeks. Let’s agree on what’s most important right now. Who wants to go first?” Berglund cleared his throat. “The blond man with M?rtensson. Who is he?” “We have photographs, but no idea how to find him. We can’t put out an A.P.B.” “What about Gullberg, then? There must be a story to track down there. We have him in the Secret State Police from the early ’50s to 1964, when S.I.S. was founded. Then he vanishes.” Figuerola nodded. “Should we conclude that the Zalachenko club was an association formed in 1964? That would be some time before Zalachenko even came to Sweden.” “There must have been some other purpose … a secret organization within the organization.” “That was after Stig Wennerstr?m. Everyone was paranoid.” “A sort of secret spy police?” “There are in fact parallels overseas. In the States a special group of internal spy chasers was created within the C.I.A. in the ’60s. It was led by a James Jesus Angleton, and it very nearly sabotaged the entire C.I.A. Angleton’s gang were as fanatical as they were paranoid – they suspected everyone in the C.I.A. of being a Russian agent. As a result the agency’s effectiveness in large areas was paralysed.” “But that’s all speculation …” “Where are the old personnel files kept?” “Gullberg isn’t in them. I’ve checked.” “But what about a budget? An operation like this has to be financed.” The discussion went on until lunchtime, when Figuerola excused herself and went to the gym for some peace, to think things over. Berger did not arrive in the newsroom until lunchtime. Her foot was hurting so badly that she could not put any weight on it. She hobbled over to her glass cage and sank into her chair with relief. Fredriksson looked up from his desk and she waved him in. “What happened?” he said. “I trod on a piece of glass and a shard lodged in my heel.” “That … wasn’t so good.” “No. It wasn’t good. Peter, has anyone received any more weird emails?” “Not that I’ve heard.” “O.K. Keep your ears open. I want to know if anything odd happens around S.M.P.” “What sort of odd?” “I’m afraid some idiot is sending really vile emails and he seems to have targeted me. So I want to know if you hear of anything going on.” “The type of email Eva Carlsson got?” “Right, but anything strange at all. I’ve had a whole string of crazy emails accusing me of being all kinds of things – and suggesting various perverse things that ought to be done to me.” Fredriksson’s expression darkened. “How long has this been going on?” “A couple of weeks. Keep your eyes peeled … So tell me, what’s going to be in the paper tomorrow?” “Well …” “Well, what?” “Holm and the head of the legal section are on the warpath.” “Why is that?” “Because of Frisk. You extended his contract and gave him a feature assignment. And he won’t tell anybody what it’s about.” “He is forbidden to talk about it. My orders.” “That’s what he says. Which means that Holm and the legal editor are up in arms.” “I can see that they might be. Set up a meeting with legal at 3.00. I’ll explain the situation.” “Holm is not best pleased—” “I’m not best pleased with Holm, so we’re all square.” “He’s so upset that he’s complained to the board.” Berger looked up. Damn it. I’m going to have to face up to the Borgsj? problem. “Borgsj? is coming in this afternoon and wants a meeting with you. I suspect it’s Holm’s doing.” “O.K. What time?” “2.00,” said Fredriksson, and he went back to his desk to write the midday memo. Jonasson visited Salander during her lunch. She pushed away a plate of the health authority’s vegetable stew. As always, he did a brief examination of her, but she noticed that he was no longer putting much effort into it. “You’ve recovered nicely,” he said. “Hmm. You’ll have to do something about the food at this place.” “What about it?” “Couldn’t you get me a pizza?” “Sorry. Way beyond the budget.” “I was afraid of that.” “Lisbeth, we’re going to have a discussion about the state of your health tomorrow—” “Understood. And I’ve recovered nicely.” “You’re now well enough to be moved to Kronoberg prison. I might be able to postpone the move for another week, but my colleagues are going to start wondering.” “You don’t need to do that.” “Are you sure?” She nodded. “I’m ready. And it had to happen sooner or later.” “I’ll give the go-ahead tomorrow, then,” Jonasson said. “You’ll probably be transferred pretty soon.” She nodded. “It might be as early as this weekend. The hospital administration doesn’t want you here.” “Who could blame them.” “Er … that device of yours—” “I’ll leave it in the recess behind the table here.” She pointed. “Good idea.” They sat in silence for a moment before Jonasson stood up. “I have to check on my other patients.” “Thanks for everything. I owe you one.” “Just doing my job.” “No. You’ve done a great deal more. I won’t forget it.” Blomkvist entered police headquarters on Kungsholmen through the entrance on Polhemsgatan. Figuerola accompanied him up to the offices of the Constitutional Protection Unit. They exchanged only silent glances in the lift. “Do you think it’s such a good idea for me to be hanging around at police H.Q.?” Blomkvist said. “Someone might see us together and start to wonder.” “This will be our only meeting here. From now on we’ll meet in an office we’ve rented at Fridhemsplan. We get access tomorrow. But this will be O.K. Constitutional Protection is a small and more or less self-sufficient unit, and nobody else at S.I.S. cares about it. And we’re on a different floor from the rest of S?po.” He greeted Edklinth without shaking hands and said hello to two colleagues who were apparently part of his team. They introduced themselves only as Stefan and Anders. He smiled to himself. “Where do we start?” he said. “We could start by having some coffee … Monica?” Edklinth said. “Thanks, that would be nice,” Figuerola said. Edklinth had probably meant for her to serve the coffee. Blomkvist noticed that the chief of the Constitutional Protection Unit hesitated for only a second before he got up and brought the thermos over to the conference table, where place settings were already laid out. Blomkvist saw that Edklinth was also smiling to himself, which he took to be a good sign. Then Edklinth turned serious. “I honestly don’t know how I should be managing this. It must be the first time a journalist has sat in on a meeting of the Security Police. The issues we’ll be discussing now are in very many respects confidential and highly classified.” “I’m not interested in military secrets. I’m only interested in the Zalachenko club.” “But we have to strike a balance. First of all, the names of today’s participants must not be mentioned in your articles.” “Agreed.” Edklinth gave Blomkvist a look of surprise. “Second, you may not speak with anyone but myself and Monica Figuerola. We’re the ones who will decide what we can tell you.” “If you have a long list of requirements, you should have mentioned them yesterday.” “Yesterday I hadn’t yet thought through the matter.” “Then I have something to tell you too. This is probably the first and only time in my professional career that I will reveal the contents of an unpublished story to a police officer. So, to quote you … I honestly don’t know how I should be managing this.” A brief silence settled over the table. “Maybe we—” “What if we—” Edklinth and Figuerola had started talking at the same time before falling silent. “My target is the Zalachenko club,” Blomkvist said. “You want to bring charges against the Zalachenko club. Let’s stick to that.” Edklinth nodded. “So, what have you got?” Blomkvist said. Edklinth explained what Figuerola and her team had unearthed. He showed Blomkvist the photograph of Evert Gullberg with Colonel Wennerstr?m. “Good. I’ll have a copy of that.” “It’s in ?hlen’s archive,” Figuerola said. “It’s on the table in front of me. With text on the back,” Blomkvist said. “Give him a copy,” Edklinth said. “That means that Zalachenko was murdered by the Section.” “Murder, coupled with the suicide of a man who was dying of cancer. Gullberg’s still alive, but the doctors don’t give him more than a few weeks. After his suicide attempt he sustained such severe brain damage that he is to all intents and purposes a vegetable.” “And he was the person with primary responsibility for Zalachenko when he defected.” “How do you know that?” “Gullberg met Prime Minister F?lldin six weeks after Zalachenko’s defection.” “Can you prove that?” “I can. The visitors’ log of the government Secretariat. Gullberg arrived together with the then chief of S.I.S.” “And the chief has since died.” “But F?lldin is alive and willing to talk about the matter.” “Have you—” “No, I haven’t. But someone else has. I can’t give you the name. Source protection.” Blomkvist explained how F?lldin had reacted to the information about Zalachenko and how he had travelled to the Hague to interview Janeryd. “So the Zalachenko club is somewhere in this building,” Blomkvist said, pointing at the photograph. “Partly. We think it’s an organization inside the organization. What you call the Zalachenko club cannot exist without the support of key people in this building. But we think that the so-called Section for Special Analysis set up shop somewhere outside.” “So that’s how it works? A person can be employed by S?po, have his salary paid by S?po, and then in fact report to another employer?” “Something like that.” “So who in the building is working for the Zalachenko club?” “We don’t know yet. But we have several suspects.” “M?rtensson,” Blomkvist suggested. Edklinth nodded. “M?rtensson works for S?po, and when he’s needed by the Zalachenko club he’s released from his regular job,” Figuerola said. “How does that work in practice?” “That’s a very good question,” Edklinth said with a faint smile. “Wouldn’t you like to come and work for us?” “Not on your life,” Blomkvist said. “I jest, of course. But it’s a good question. We have a suspect, but we’re unable to verify our suspicions just yet.” “Let’s see … it must be someone with administrative authority.” “We suspect Chief of Secretariat Albert Shenke,” Figuerola said. “And here we are at our first stumbling block,” Edklinth said. “We’ve given you a name, but we have no proof. So how do you intend to proceed?” “I can’t publish a name without proof. If Shenke is innocent he would sue Millennium for libel.” “Good. Then we are agreed. This co-operative effort has to be based on mutual trust. Your turn. What have you got?” “Three names,” Blomkvist said. “The first two were members of the Zalachenko club in the ’80s.” Edklinth and Figuerola were instantly alert. “Hans von Rottinger and Fredrik Clinton. Von Rottinger is dead. Clinton is retired. But both of them were part of the circle closest to Zalachenko.” “And the third name?” Edklinth said. “Teleborian has a link to a person I know only as Jonas. We don’t know his last name, but we do know that he was with the Zalachenko club in 2005 … We’ve actually speculated a bit that he might be the man with M?rtensson in the pictures from Café Copacabana.” “And in what context did the name Jonas crop up?” Salander hacked Teleborian’s computer, and we can follow the correspondence that shows how Teleborian is conspiring with Jonas in the same way he conspired with Bj?rck in 1991. “He gives Teleborian instructions. And now we come to another stumbling block,” Blomkvist said to Edklinth with a smile. “I can prove my assertions, but I can’t give you the documentation without revealing a source. You’ll have to accept what I’m saying.” Edklinth looked thoughtful. “Maybe one of Teleborian’s colleagues in Uppsala. O.K. Let’s start with Clinton and von Rottinger. Tell us what you know.” * Borgsj? received Berger in his office next to the boardroom. He looked concerned. “I heard that you hurt yourself,” he said, pointing to her foot. “It’ll pass,” Berger said, leaning her crutches against his desk as she sat down in the visitor’s chair. “Well … that’s good. Erika, you’ve been here a month and I want us to have a chance to catch up. How do you feel it’s going?” I have to discuss Vitavara with him. But how? When? “I’ve begun to get a handle on the situation. There are two sides to it. On the one hand, S.M.P. has financial problems and the budget is strangling the newspaper. On the other, S.M.P. has a huge amount of dead meat in the newsroom.” “Aren’t there any positive aspects?” “Of course there are. A whole bunch of experienced professionals who know how to do their jobs. The problem is the ones who won’t let them do their jobs.” “Holm has spoken to me …” “I know.” Borgsj? looked puzzled. “He has a number of opinions about you. Almost all of them are negative.” “That’s O.K. I have a number of opinions about him too.” “Negative too? It’s no good if the two of you can’t work together—” “I have no problem working with him. But he does have a problem with me.” Berger sighed. “He’s driving me nuts. He’s very experienced and doubtless one of the most competent news chiefs I’ve come across. At the same time he’s a bastard of exceptional proportions. He enjoys indulging in intrigue and playing people against each other. I’ve worked in the media for twenty-five years and I have never met a person like him in a management position.” “He has to be tough to handle the job. He’s under pressure from every direction.” “Tough … by all means. But that doesn’t mean he has to behave like an idiot. Unfortunately Holm is a walking disaster, and he’s one of the chief reasons why it’s almost impossible to get the staff to work as a team. He takes divide-and-rule as his job description.” “Harsh words.” “I’ll give him one month to sort out his attitude. If he hasn’t managed it by then, I’m going to remove him as news editor.” “You can’t do that. It’s not your job to take apart the operational organization.” Berger studied the chairman of the board. “Forgive me for pointing this out, but that was exactly why you hired me. We also have a contract which explicitly gives me free rein to make the editorial changes I deem necessary. My task here is to rejuvenate the newspaper, and I can do that only by changing the organization and the work routines.” “Holm has devoted his life to S.M.P.” “Right. And he’s fifty-eight with six years to go before retirement. I can’t afford to keep him on as a dead weight all that time. Don’t misunderstand me, Magnus. From the moment I sat down in that glass cage, my life’s goal has been to raise S.M.P.’s quality as well as its circulation figures. Holm has a choice: either he can do things my way, or he can do something else. I’m going to bulldoze anyone who is obstructive or who tries to damage S.M.P. in some other way.” Damn … I’ve got to bring up the Vitavara thing. Borgsj? is going to be fired. Suddenly Borgsj? smiled. “By God, I think you’re pretty tough too.” “Yes, I am, and in this case it’s regrettable since it shouldn’t be necessary. My job is to produce a good newspaper, and I can do that only if I have a management that functions and colleagues who enjoy their work.” After the meeting with Borgsj?, Berger limped back to the glass cage. She felt depressed. She had been with Borgsj? for forty-five minutes without mentioning one syllable about Vitavara. She had not, in other words, been particularly straight or honest with him. When she sat at her computer she found a message from MikBlom@millennium.nu>. She knew perfectly well that no such address existed at Millennium. She opened the email: YOU THINK THAT BORGSJ? CAN SAVE YOU, YOU LITTLE WHORE. HOW DOES YOUR FOOT FEEL? She raised her eyes involuntarily and looked out across the newsroom. Her gaze fell on Holm. He looked back at her. Then he smiled. It can only be someone at S.M.P. The meeting at the Constitutional Protection Unit lasted until after 5.00, and they agreed to have another meeting the following week. Blomkvist could contact Figuerola if he needed to be in touch with S.I.S. before then. He packed away his laptop and stood up. “How do I get out of here?” he asked. “You certainly can’t go running around on your own,” Edklinth said. “I’ll show him out,” Figuerola said. “Give me a couple of minutes, I just have to pick up a few things from my office.” They walked together through Kronoberg park towards Fridhemsplan. “So what happens now?” Blomkvist said. “We stay in touch,” Figuerola said. “I’m beginning to like my contact with S?po.” “Do you feel like having dinner later?” “Bosnian again?” “No, I can’t afford to eat out every night. I was thinking of something simple at my place.” She stopped and smiled at him. “Do you know what I’d like to do now?” she said. “No.” “I’d like to take you home and undress you.” “This could get a bit awkward.” “I know. But I hadn’t thought of telling my boss.” “We don’t know how this story’s going to turn out. We could end up on opposite sides of the barricades.” “I’ll take my chances. Now, are you going to come quietly or do I have to handcuff you?” The consultant from Milton Security was waiting for Berger when she got home at around 7.00. Her foot was throbbing painfully, and she limped into the kitchen and sank on to the nearest chair. He had made coffee and he poured her some. “Thanks. Is making coffee part of Milton’s service agreement?” He gave her a polite smile. David Rosin was a short, plump man in his fifties with a reddish goatee. “Thanks for letting me borrow your kitchen today.” “It’s the least I could do. What’s the situation?” “Our technicians were here and instal............