Millennium 03 - The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest

by Stieg Larsson

  “Does it have anything to do with terrorists and threat assessments—”

  “No. It’s more serious than that. I’m putting my reputation and career on the line by calling you with this request.”

  “I see. That’s why you asked about your credibility. How soon do you need the meeting with the P.M.?”

  “This evening if possible.”

  “Now you’ve got me worried.”

  “Unhappily, there’s good reason for you to be worried.”

  “How long will the meeting take?”

  “It’ll probably take an hour.”

  “Let me call you back.”

  The Minister of Justice called back ten minutes later and said that the Prime Minister would meet with Edklinth at his residence at 9.30 that evening. Edklinth’s palms were sweating when he put down the telephone. By tomorrow morning my career could be over.

  He called Figuerola.

  “Hello, Monica. At 9.00 tonight you have to report for duty. You’d better dress nicely.”

  “I always dress nicely,” Figuerola said.

  The Prime Minister gave the Director of Constitutional Protection a long, wary look. Edklinth had a sense that cogs were whirring at high speed behind the P.M.’s glasses.

  The P.M. shifted his gaze to Figuerola, who had not said a word during the presentation. He saw an unusually tall and muscular woman looking back at him with a polite, expectant expression. Then he turned to the Minister of Justice, who had paled in the course of the presentation.

  After a while the P.M. took a deep breath, removed his glasses, and stared for a moment into the distance.

  “I think we need a little more coffee,” he said.

  “Yes, please,” Figuerola said.

  Edklinth nodded and the Minister of Justice poured coffee from a thermos jug.

  “I’ll sum up so that I am absolutely certain that I understood you correctly,” the Prime Minister said. “You suspect that there’s a conspiracy within the Security Police that is acting outside its constitutional mandate, and that over the years this conspiracy has committed what could be categorized as serious criminal acts.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re coming to me because you don’t trust the leadership of the Security Police?”

  “No, not exactly,” Edklinth said. “I decided to turn directly to you because this sort of activity is unconstitutional. But I don’t know the objective of the conspiracy, or whether I have possibly misinterpreted something. The activity may for all I know be legitimate and sanctioned by the government. Then I risk proceeding on faulty or misunderstood information, thereby compromising some secret operation.”

  The Prime Minister looked at the Minister of Justice. Both understood that Edklinth was covering his back.

  “I’ve never heard of anything like this. Do you know anything about it?”

  “Absolutely not,” the Minister of Justice said. “There’s nothing in any report that I’ve seen from the Security Police that could have a bearing on this matter.”

  “Blomkvist thinks there’s a faction within Säpo. He refers to it as the Zalachenko club,” Edklinth said.

  “I’d never even heard that Sweden had taken in and protected a Russian defector of such importance,” the P.M. said. “He defected during the Fälldin administration, you say?”

  “I don’t believe Fälldin would have covered up something like this,” the Minister of Justice said. “A defection like this would have been given the highest priority, and would have been passed over to the next administration.”

  Edklinth cleared his throat. “Fälldin’s conservative government was succeeded by Olof Palme’s. It’s no secret that some of my predecessors at S.I.S. had a certain opinion of Palme—”

  “You’re suggesting that somebody forgot to inform the social democratic government?”

  Edklinth nodded. “Let’s remember that Fälldin was in power for two separate mandates. Each time the coalition government collapsed. First he handed over to Ola Ullsten, who had a minority government in 1979. The government collapsed again when the moderates jumped ship, and Fälldin governed together with the People’s Party. I’m guessing that the government secretariat was in turmoil during those transition periods. It’s also possible that knowledge of Zalachenko was confined to so small a circle that Prime Minister Fälldin had no real oversight, so he never had anything to hand over to Palme.”

  “In that case, who’s responsible?” the P.M. said.

  All except Figuerola shook their heads.

  “I assume that this is bound to leak to the media,” the P.M. said.

  “Blomkvist and Millennium are going to publish it. In other words, we’re caught between the proverbial rock and hard place.” Edklinth was careful to use the word “we”.

  The P.M. nodded. He realized the gravity of the situation. “Then I’ll have to start by thanking you for coming to me with this matter as soon as you did. I don’t usually agree to this sort of unscheduled meeting, but the minister here said that you were a prudent person, and that something serious must have happened if you wanted to see me outside all normal channels.”

  Edklinth exhaled a little. Whatever happened, the wrath of the Prime Minister was not going to come down on him.

  “Now we just have to decide how we’re going to handle it. Do you have any suggestions?”

  “Perhaps,” Edklinth said tentatively.

  He was silent for so long that Figuerola cleared her throat. “May I say something?”

  “Please do,” the P.M. said.

  “If it’s true that the government doesn’t know about this operation, then it’s illegal. The person responsible in such a case is the criminal civil servant – or civil servants – who overstepped his authority. If we can verify all the claims Blomkvist is making, it means that a group of officers within S.I.S. have been devoting themselves to criminal activity for a long time. The problem would then unfold in two parts.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “First we have to ask the question: how could this have been possible? Who is responsible? How did such a conspiracy develop within the framework of an established police organization? I myself work for S.I.S., and I’m proud of it. How can this have gone on for so long? How could this activity have been both concealed and financed?”

  “Go on,” the P.M. said.

  “Whole books will probably be written about this first part. It’s clear that there must have been financing, at least several million kronor annually I’d say. I looked over the budget of the Security Police and found nothing resembling an allocation for the Zalachenko club. But, as you know, there are a number of hidden funds controlled by the chief of Secretariat and chief of Budget that I have no access to.”

  The Prime Minister nodded grimly. Why did Säpo always have to be such a nightmare to administer?

  “The second part is: who is involved? And very specifically, which individuals should be arrested? From my standpoint, all these questions depend on the decision you make in the next few minutes,” she said to the P.M.

  Edklinth was holding his breath. If he could have kicked Figuerola in the shin he would have done so. She had cut through all the rhetoric and intimated that the Prime Minister himself was responsible. He had considered coming to the same conclusion, but not before a long and diplomatic circumlocution.

  “What decision do you think I should make?”

  “I believe we have common interests. I’ve worked at Constitutional Protection for three years. I consider this office of central importance to Swedish democracy. The Security Police has worked satisfactorily within the framework of the constitution in recent years. Naturally I don’t want the scandal to affect S.I.S. For us it’s important to bear in mind that this is a case of criminal activity perpetrated by a small number of individuals.”

  “Activity of this kind is most definitely not sanctioned by the government,” the Minister of Justice said.

  Figuerola nodded and thought for
a few seconds. “It is, in my view, essential that the scandal should not implicate the government – which is what would happen if the government tried to cover up the story.”

  “The government does not cover up criminal activity,” the Minister of Justice said.

  “No, but let’s assume, hypothetically, that the government might want to do so. There would be a scandal of enormous proportions.”

  “Go on,” the P.M. said.

  “The situation is complicated by the fact that we in Constitutional Protection are being forced to conduct an operation which is itself against regulations in order to investigate this matter. So we want everything to be legitimate and in keeping with the constitution.”

  “As do we all,” the P.M. said.

  “In that case I suggest that you – in your capacity as Prime Minister – instruct Constitutional Protection to investigate this mess with the utmost urgency,” Figuerola said. “Give us a written order and the authority we need.”

  “I’m not sure that what you propose is legal,” the Minister of Justice said.

  “It is legal. The government has the power to adopt a wide range of measures in the event that breaches of the constitution are threatened. If a group from the military or police starts pursuing an independent foreign policy, a de facto coup has taken place in Sweden.”

  “Foreign policy?” the Minister of Justice said.

  The P.M. nodded all of a sudden.

  “Zalachenko was a defector from a foreign power,” Figuerola said. “The information he contributed was supplied, according to Blomkvist, to foreign intelligence services. If the government was not informed, a coup has taken place.”

  “I follow your reasoning,” the P.M. said. “Now let me say my piece.”

  He got up and walked once around the table before stopping in front of Edklinth.

  “You have a very talented colleague. She has hit the nail on the head.”

  Edklinth swallowed and nodded. The P.M. turned to the Minister of Justice.

  “Get on to the Undersecretary of State and the head of the legal department. By tomorrow morning I want a document drawn up granting the Constitutional Protection Unit extraordinary authority to act in this matter. Their assignment is to determine the truth behind the assertions we have discussed, to gather documentation about its extent, and to identify the individuals responsible or in any way involved. The document must not state that you are conducting a preliminary investigation – I may be wrong, but I think only the Prosecutor General could appoint a preliminary investigation leader in this situation. But I can give you the authority to conduct a one-man investigation. What you are doing is therefore an official public report. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. But I should point out that I myself am a former prosecutor.”

  “We’ll have to ask the head of the legal department to take a look at this and determine exactly what is formally correct. In any case, you alone are responsible for your investigation. You will choose the assistants you require. If you find evidence of criminal activity, you must turn this information over to the P.G., who will decide on the charges.”

  “I’ll have to look up exactly what applies, but I think you’ll have to inform the speaker of parliament and the constitutional committee … This is going to leak out fast,” the Minister of Justice said.

  “In other words, we have to work faster,” the P.M. said.

  Figuerola raised a hand.

  “What is it?” the P.M. said.

  “There are two problems remaining. First, will Millennium’s publication clash with our investigation, and second, Lisbeth Salander’s trial will be starting in a couple of weeks.”

  “Can we find out when Millennium’s going to publish?”

  “We could ask,” Edklinth said. “The last thing we want to do is to interfere with the press.”

  “With regard to this girl Salander …” the Minister of Justice began, and then he paused for a moment. “It would be terrible if she really has been subjected to the injustices that Millennium claims. Could it really be possible?”

  “I’m afraid it is,” Edklinth said.

  “In that case we have to see to it that she is given redress for these wrongs, and above all that she is not subjected to new injustices,” the P.M. said.

  “And how would that work?” asked the Minister of Justice. “The government cannot interfere in an ongoing prosecution case. That would be against the law.”

  “Could we talk to the prosecutor?”

  “No,” Edklinth said. “As Prime Minister you may not influence the judicial process in any way.”

  “In other words, Salander will have to take her chances in court,” the Minister of Justice said. “Only if she loses the trial and appeals to the government can the government step in and pardon her or require the P.G. to investigate whether there are grounds for a new trial. But this applies only if she’s sentenced to prison. If she’s sentenced to a secure psychiatric facility, the government cannot do a thing. Then it’s a medical matter, and the Prime Minister has no jurisdiction to determine whether or not she is sane.”

  At 10.00 on Friday night, Salander heard the key turn in the door. She instantly switched off her Palm and slipped it under the mattress. When she looked up she saw Jonasson closing the door.

  “Good evening, Fröken Salander,” he said. “And how are you doing this evening?”

  “I have a splitting headache and I feel feverish.”

  “That doesn’t sound so good.”

  Salander looked to be not particularly bothered by either the fever or the headache. Jonasson spent ten minutes examining her. He noticed that over the course of the evening her fever had again risen dramatically.

  “It’s a shame that you should be having this setback when you’ve been recovering so well over the past few weeks. Unfortunately I won’t now be able to discharge you for at least two more weeks.”

  “Two weeks should be sufficient.”

  *

  The distance by land from London to Stockholm is roughly 1900 kilometres, or 1180 miles. In theory that would be about twenty hours’ driving. In fact it had taken almost twenty hours to reach the northern border of Germany with Denmark. The sky was filled with leaden thunderclouds, and when the man known as Trinity found himself on Sunday in the middle of the Öresundsbron, there was a downpour. He slowed and turned on his windscreen wipers.

  Trinity thought it was sheer hell driving in Europe, since everyone on the Continent insisted on driving on the wrong side of the road. He had packed his van on Friday morning and taken the ferry from Dover to Calais, then crossed Belgium by way of Liege. He crossed the German border at Aachen and then took the Autobahn north towards Hamburg and on to Denmark.

  His companion, Bob the Dog, was asleep in the back. They had taken it in turns to drive, and apart from a couple of hour-long stops along the way, they had maintained a steady ninety kilometres an hour. The van was eighteen years old and was not able to go much faster anyway.

  There were easier ways of getting from London to Stockholm, but it was not likely that he would be able to take thirty kilos of electronic gear on a normal flight. They had crossed six national borders but they had not been stopped once, either by customs or by passport control. Trinity was an ardent fan of the E.U., whose regulations simplified his visits to the Continent.

  Trinity was born in Bradford, but he had lived in north London since childhood. He had had a miserable formal education, and then attended a vocational school and earned a certificate as a trained telecommunications technician. For three years after his nineteenth birthday he had worked as an engineer for British Telecom. Once he had understood how the telephone network functioned and realized how hopelessly antiquated it was, he switched to being a private security consultant, installing alarm systems and managing burglary protection. For special clients he would also offer his video surveillance and telephone tapping services.

  Now thirty-two years old, he had a theoretical knowl
edge of electronics and computer science that allowed him to knock spots off any professor in the field. He had lived with computers since he was ten, and he hacked his first computer when he was thirteen.

  It had whetted his appetite, and when he was sixteen he had advanced to the extent that he could compete with the best in the world. There was a period in which he spent every waking minute in front of his computer screen, writing his own programs and planting insidious tendrils on the Internet. He infiltrated the B.B.C., the Ministry of Defence and Scotland Yard. He even managed – for a short time – to take command of a nuclear submarine on patrol in the North Sea. It was as well that Trinity belonged to the inquisitive rather than the malicious type of computer marauder. His fascination was extinguished the moment he had cracked a computer, gained access, and appropriated its secrets.

  He was one of the founders of Hacker Republic. And Wasp was one of its citizens.

  It was 7.30 on Sunday evening as he and Bob the Dog were approaching Stockholm. When they passed Ikea at Kungens Kurva in Skärholmen, Trinity flipped open his mobile and dialled a number he had memorized.

  “Plague,” Trinity said.

  “Where are you guys?”

  “You said to call when we passed Ikea.”

  Plague gave him directions to the youth hostel on Långholmen where he had booked a room for his colleagues from England. Since Plague hardly ever left his apartment, they agreed to meet at his place at 10.00 the next morning.

  Plague decided to make an exceptional effort and washed the dishes, generally cleaned up, and opened the windows in anticipation of his guests’ arrival.

  PART III

  DISK CRASH

  27.v – 6.VI

  The historian Diodorus from Sicily, 100 B.C. (who is regarded as an unreliable source by other historians), describes the Amazons of Libya, which at that time was a name used for all of north Africa west of Egypt. This Amazon reign was a gynaecocracy, that is, only women were allowed to hold high office, including in the military. According to legend, the realm was ruled by a Queen Myrina, who with thirty thousand female soldiers and three thousand female cavalry swept through Egypt and Syria and all the way to the Aegean, defeating a number of male armies along the way. After Queen Myrina finally fell in battle, her army scattered.