The Girl Who Takes an Eye for an Eye

by David Lagercrantz

  —

  Giannini had eaten her lunch in the staff canteen at Flodberga and was back in the visitors’ section in H Block, to take part in the continuation of Faria’s questioning, which Modig was leading.

  In the afternoon session, Modig was proving to be capable and efficient. She agreed with Giannini that it was important not only to establish the facts of the long-standing oppression Faria had suffered, but also to do what they could after all this time to investigate whether her attack on her brother might be a case of assault and manslaughter rather than murder. Had she really intended to kill him?

  Giannini was optimistic. She had gotten Faria to summon up every possible aspect of her frame of mind at the time of the attack. But then Modig got a call, which she had taken in the corridor. When she returned she was no longer her cool and collected self. This shift of mood vexed Giannini.

  “For God’s sake, don’t try that poker face on me. I can tell that something serious has happened. Spit it out. Now!”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you,” Modig said. “Bashir Kazi and Benito have abducted Lisbeth. We have the whole team working on it, but it’s not looking good.”

  “Tell me everything,” Giannini said.

  Modig told her, and Giannini shuddered. Faria shrank back into her chair, her arms folded around her legs. But then something shifted in her. Giannini was the first to notice it. Faria’s eyes were not only filled with fear and rage. There was something else there, deep and intense:

  “Did you say Vadabosjö?”

  “Yes, the last sighting of them is from a surveillance camera. The van swung onto a forest track heading towards the area around the lake,” Modig said.

  “We…”

  “Yes, what is it?” Giannini said.

  “Before we could afford to go to Mallorca, my family used to camp at Vadabosjö,” Faria said. “We went often. It’s not far, so we could decide at the last moment to go there for the weekend. That was when our mother was still alive. Vadabosjö is surrounded by thick forest, you know, and it’s full of narrow paths and hiding places. There was one time…” Faria hesitated, holding on to her knees. “Have you got a signal on your phone? If you can pull up a detailed map of the area, I’ll try to explain.”

  Modig searched and muttered and searched again, and eventually she brightened. The Uppsala police had downloaded a map for them.

  “Show me,” Faria said, a new tone to her voice.

  “They drove in here,” Modig said, showing her the map on her screen.

  “Wait just a moment,” Faria said. “Let me try to get my bearings. There’s something called Söderviken somewhere around the lake, isn’t there? Or Södra viken, Södra stranden?”

  “Let me take a look.”

  Modig keyed “Södra” into the search engine.

  “Could it be Södra Strandviken?” she said.

  “That’s it, yes, that must be it,” Faria said eagerly. “Let me see now. There’s a small bumpy track, but still wide enough for a car. Could that be it?” she said, zooming in. “I’m not sure. But at the time there was a yellow sign where you drove in. ‘End of public road,’ it said. A little way down the track, a little more than a mile along, there’s a sort of cave, not a real cave, more like a sheltered space in the midst of a large clump of trees with thick foliage. It’s at the top of a hill on the left, and you have to pass through a whole curtain of leaves but then you come out in a completely secluded spot, surrounded by bushes and trees. You can see a ravine and a brook through a gap in the vegetation. Bashir took me there once, and I thought he wanted to show me something exciting, but it was to frighten me. It was when my body was starting to fill out a bit and some guys on the beach had whistled at me. When we arrived, he told me a whole load of rubbish about how in the old days they used to take women there who had behaved like whores, to punish them. He scared me out of my wits, and that’s why I remember it. Now I’m wondering if Bashir took Lisbeth to that place.”

  Modig nodded gravely and thanked her. She took back her mobile and made a call.

  —

  Bublanski was getting reports from Sami Hamid, one of the police helicopter pilots. Hamid was circling Vadabosjö and the surrounding woodland at low altitude, but had seen no sign of a grey van. Nor had the walkers, the campers, or any of the policemen patrolling the area. It wasn’t easy, admittedly. The lake was bordered by wide-open beaches, but the surrounding forest was dense and a jumble of labyrinthine paths crisscrossed the terrain. It seemed an ideal place to hide, and that worried Bublanski. He had not cursed so much in a long time, and he kept egging Flod on to drive faster.

  They were thundering along National Highway 77 and still had some way to go before they reached the lake. Thanks to voice identification they knew it was Benito and Bashir Kazi whom they were pursuing, which meant the threat to Salander was critical. Bublanski did not waste a second. He was on to the coordinators at Uppsala police every few minutes and rang every conceivable person he could think of who might provide information. He rang Blomkvist several times, but the journalist had switched off his mobile.

  Bublanski swore and prayed by turns. Although he and Salander were hardly on friendly terms, he felt a fatherly affection for her, not least because she had given them the means to solve a serious crime. He asked Flod to pick up the pace. They were getting closer to the woods around the lake. His mobile rang. It was Modig, telling him to key “Södra Strandviken” into the car’s GPS, and then she passed her mobile to Faria Kazi. He couldn’t understand why he should be talking to her, but in fact the woman sounded quite different; she spoke with a fierce determination and with perfect clarity. Bublanski listened carefully and intently and hoped it would not be too late.

  Just up ahead, they saw a yellow sign that marked a turnoff into the forest.

  CHAPTER 22

  June 22

  Salander had no idea where she was. It was hot and she could hear flies and mosquitoes, wind rustling in the trees and bushes, and water babbling softly. She focused on her legs. They were skinny and did not look like much, but they were strong, and right now they were the only thing she had to defend herself with. She was kneeling in the van, her hands tied. Benito was grimacing in her bandages, the dagger and the cloth shaking in her hands. She really did look like death. Salander glanced at the door of the van. The men held her down by the shoulders and shouted at her. She looked up to see Bashir’s face shining with sweat—he glared as if he wanted to punch her.

  Salander asked herself if she might be able to play them off against each other. Time was running out. Benito was standing in front of her now, an evil queen with her long dagger, and the mood inside the van was changing. It became solemn and still, as if something momentous was about to happen. One of the men ripped Salander’s T-shirt to expose her collarbone. She looked at Benito. Her red lipstick cut a slash across her ash-grey skin. But she seemed to be steadier on her feet now, as if the horror of the moment had sharpened her senses. In a voice which fell one octave, she said:

  “Hold her still! Good, good. This is immense. This is the moment of her death. Can you feel my Keris pointed at you? You’re going to suffer now. You’re going to die.”

  Benito peered into Salander’s face and smiled with eyes which were beyond all mercy and humanity. For a second or so all Salander could see was the blade of the dagger held out towards her exposed chest. A split second later a flood of impressions washed over her. She saw Benito had three safety pins in her bandage, she saw that her right pupil was larger than the left, and she saw there was a sign from Bagarmossen animal hospital just inside the van door. She saw three yellow paperclips and a dog leash on the floor and a line drawn with blue felt-tip on the inside of the van above her. But most of all she saw the red-velvet cloth. Benito was not comfortable holding it. However self-confident she might be with the dagger, the cloth was a foreign object, nothing more than ritual mumbo jumbo. She did not seem to know what to do with it, and
suddenly she threw it onto the floor.

  Salander braced herself with her toes. Bashir yelled at her to stay still, and she heard nervousness in his voice. She saw Benito blink and the dagger being raised to home in on the point just below her collarbone. She prepared herself by stiffening the muscles in her body and wondered if survival was even possible. She was on her knees, her hands bound, and the men were holding her tight. She closed her eyes and pretended to have resigned herself to her fate while she listened to the silence and the breathing in the back of the van. She felt excitement in the air, the thirst for blood, and also fear—a kind of pleasure mixed with terror. Even in this company an execution was a serious undertaking, and…What was that?

  It was far away and hard to make out, but it sounded like engine noise, not from a single car but from several.

  At that very moment Benito made her move and then it was time. Salander flew up in an explosive burst of energy. She scrambled to her feet, but she did not escape the dagger.

  —

  Flod braked so sharply that the car skidded and she looked angrily at Bublanski as if it was his fault. The Chief Inspector was oblivious, he was on the line to Faria and called out:

  “We’ve found the sign, I see it.” He cursed under his breath as the car swerved and shook. The yellow sign did indeed say “end of public road.”

  Flod controlled the skid and turned into the track, a swamp of mud with deep ruts. The rain, which had fallen relentlessly before the heat wave took the country in its grip, had made it almost impassable, and the car slipped and bumped.

  “Slow down, for God’s sake, we can’t afford to miss it!” Bublanski yelled.

  According to Faria, the place was at the top of a rise hidden behind a kind of screen of branches and foliage. Bublanski could see no sign of any rising ground. Looking at the density of the trees all around he did not think they had much of a chance of finding the van. It could be hidden anywhere in this forest. It might even be on its way to some different place. He tried to calculate the length of time that had passed since the van was last sighted. And above all: How could the girl be so sure where the clearing was? How could she remember so many details, or have the least clear idea of distances after so many years?

  The forest looked the same to him on all sides; nowhere were there any distinguishing features. He was about to give up. The trees were closing in overhead so that it was practically dark. Uppsala sent word that other police vehicles were behind them. That would be helpful, if indeed they were on the right track. He felt sure the forest would be able to camouflage an entire fleet of vans or trucks. But he did not see how they would be able to find anything in this impenetrable jungle. He racked his brains as Flod negotiated the mud bath. Then, over there…it was not a hill, exactly, but still a definite slope. Flod accelerated gently, the wheels spun, and the car approached the top of the rise. Bublanski continued to describe what he was seeing. There was a large globe-shaped stone by the side of the track, which Faria might remember. But she did not. Damn it! They were getting nowhere.

  And then he heard a bang, something striking tin or sheet metal, and he heard shouting, agitated voices. He put his hand on Flod’s arm and she hit the brakes. He drew his service revolver and jumped out, flinging himself into the forest, under branches and through bushes, and in a dizzying instant he realized that they really had found the place.

  DECEMBER, ONE AND A HALF YEARS EARLIER

  Dan Brody was kneeling in the wet snow in another forest at another time of year, under that pine tree not far from Vidåkra village, staring down at Leo as his face turned blue, the life draining out of his blue eyes. It was a moment of pure horror. But it cannot have lasted long.

  Dan restarted the artificial respiration right away, though Leo’s lips were as cold as the snow beneath him and his lungs were not responding. And Dan thought he could hear footsteps returning. Soon he would have to head back to the car as only half a person. Wake up, Leo, wake up! he muttered over and over, like a mantra, a prayer. He no longer had any faith in his plan, or in his ability to revive his brother.

  Benjamin had to be close, maybe even spying on him in the darkness through a gap in the trees. He must have been nervous and impatient, desperate to bury Leo and get the hell out of there. The situation was hopeless, but Dan kept going, ever more desperate. He pinched Leo’s nose shut and breathed into his airways with such force and violence that he grew dizzy; he hardly knew what he was doing. He remembered hearing a car far off, a distant engine. There was a rustling in the forest, the sound of a startled animal. Some birds flew up with a loud flapping, and then the silence returned, a frightening silence. He felt as if his very life had drained away, he needed to take a break, he had run out of breath and was coughing. It was a second or two before he realized that something strange was happening. His coughing seemed to reverberate and echo from the ground. Then it dawned on him that it was Leo. He too was panting and struggling, Dan could hardly believe it. He just stared at Leo and felt—what did he feel? Not happiness. Just urgency.

  “Leo,” he whispered. “They’re going to kill you. You’ve got to run further into the forest. Get up! Go! Now!”

  Leo struggled to understand. He was fighting for air and trying to get his bearings. Dan pulled him up, and shoved him into the bushes. Leo fell badly, but staggered to his feet and stumbled away.

  Dan did not watch him go. He began to fill in the hole with a ferocious energy, and then he heard what he had anticipated for some time: Benjamin’s footsteps. He looked down into the shallow grave, sure he would be found out, and his digging became even more frenzied. He shovelled and cursed, throwing himself into the work, and now he could hear Benjamin breathing; he heard his trouser legs rustling and his feet crunching against the wet snow. He expected Benjamin to lunge at him, or to start chasing after Leo. But the man said nothing. Another car could be heard far off in the distance. More birds took to the air.

  “I couldn’t bear to look at him,” Dan said.

  He thought the words rang hollow, and when Benjamin did not respond he prepared for the worst and closed his eyes. Benjamin came closer, he smelled of tobacco.

  “I’ll help you,” he said.

  They shovelled and pushed the rest of the earth into the empty grave and carefully replaced the turf and stones. Then they walked slowly to the car, their heads bowed. On the way back to Stockholm Dan sat quietly, grimly listening to Greitz’s plans.

  —

  Salander shot up like a cannonball and was stabbed in the side. She had no idea how serious her injury was, nor did she have time to worry about it. Benito had lost her balance and was now stabbing wildly at thin air with her dagger. Salander stepped smartly to one side, head-butted her and sprang to the van door. She opened it with her body and jumped down onto the grass with her hands bound, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She landed on her feet, but with such a force that she fell forward and rolled down a short, steep slope to a small brook. She just had time to see the water begin to turn bloodred before she scrambled to her feet and ran into the forest. She heard the sound of cars pulling up, voices raised, doors slamming. She did not think to stop. She needed only to get away.

  —

  Bublanski did not see Salander through the leaves, but he spotted two men making their way down a steep slope. Up above them stood a grey van facing into the foliage. He yelled:

  “Stop. Police. Nobody move!” and pointed his service revolver at them.

  It was unbearably hot and humid in the clearing and his body felt heavy. He was panting. The men he was confronting were both younger and stronger, and no doubt more ruthless too. But as he looked around and listened out in the direction of the track they had come along, he still felt the situation was under control. Flod was standing nearby in the same stance. The police teams sent by Uppsala must be very close by now. The men were unarmed and had been caught unawares.

  “Don’t do anything stupid now,” he said. “You’re surrounded. Where’
s Salander?”

  The men said nothing. They looked irresolutely in the direction of the van. One of its rear doors was open. Bublanski knew at once that something unpleasant was going to emerge. He could make out a figure moving slowly and with difficulty. At last, there she stood barely upright, a spectre with a bloodied dagger in her hand: Benito Andersson. She seemed to sway and put a hand to her head, and then she hissed at him, as if she were the one calling the shots:

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Chief Inspector Jan Bublanski. Where’s Lisbeth Salander?”

  “That little Jew?” she spat.

  “Tell me where Salander is.”

  “I’d say she’s probably dead.” The woman came towards him, her dagger raised.

  “Stop right there. Don’t move,” he warned her.

  She kept coming, as if his revolver was nothing, hissing more anti-Semitic remarks. Bublanski did not think she deserved to be shot—she must not be allowed to claim martyrdom in the hellish fraternities she inhabited—and it was Flod who fired. Benito was hit in the left thigh, and soon their colleagues came storming in and it was over. But they never found Salander, only drops of her blood in the van. It was as if the forest had swallowed her up.

  —

  Dan seemed exhausted. He clutched his head in his hands.

  “So what happened to Leo?” Blomkvist said, gently.

  Dan looked out through the studio windows.

  “He stumbled about in the trees, going in circles. He fell over and felt sick, he ate snow or drank meltwater. As time went on he found the strength to start shouting. But no-one heard him. After hours of wandering in the bitter cold he was surprised to find himself at the top of a long slope, which he slithered down, ending up in a field. The open space seemed vaguely familiar, as if he’d been there before a long time ago, or maybe dreamed it. By the edge of the forest on the other side he could see light shining from a house with a large terrace. Leo reached it eventually and rang the bell. A young couple lived there—their names are Stina and Henrik Norebring, in case you want to check. They were getting ready for Christmas, wrapping presents for their children. They were terrified at first—Leo must have looked like an absolute wreck. But he reassured them, saying that his car had skidded off the road, he’d lost his phone and probably had a concussion. I suppose it must have sounded convincing.