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

by Stieg Larsson

  “I’ll take Falun with me.”

  “Good. Georg, I want you to see Ekström this afternoon and take his pulse. Everything has gone smoothly until now, but I can’t ignore what you two are telling me.”

  Clinton sat in silence for a moment more.

  “The best thing would be if there wasn’t any trial …” he said at last.

  He raised his eyes and looked at Nyström. Nyström nodded. Sandberg nodded.

  “Nyström, can you investigate our options?”

  Sandberg and the locksmith known as Falun parked a short distance from the railway tracks and walked through Morgongåva. It was 8.30 in the evening. It was too light and too early to do anything, but they wanted to reconnoitre and get a look at the place.

  “If the building is alarmed, I’m not doing it,” Falun said. “It would be better to have a look through the window. If there’s anything lying around, you can just chuck a rock through, jump in, grab what you need and run like hell.”

  “That’ll work,” Sandberg said.

  “If you only need one copy of the magazine, we can check the dustbins round the back. There must be overruns and test printings and things like that.”

  Hallvigs Reklam printing factory was in a low, brick building. They approached from the south on the other side of the street. Sandberg was about to cross when Falun took hold of his elbow.

  “Keep going straight,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Keep going straight, as if we’re out for an evening stroll.”

  They passed Hallvigs and made a tour of the neighbourhood.

  “What was all that about?” Sandberg said.

  “You’ve got to keep your eyes peeled. The place isn’t just alarmed. There was a car parked alongside the building.”

  “You mean somebody’s there?”

  “It was a car from Milton Security. The factory is under surveillance, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Milton Security?” Clinton felt the shock hit him in the gut.

  “If it hadn’t been for Falun, I would have walked right into their arms,” Sandberg said.

  “There’s something fishy going on,” Nyström said. “There is no rationale for a small out-of-town printer to hire Milton Security for 24-hour surveillance.”

  Clinton’s lips were pressed tight. It was after 11.00 and he needed to rest.

  “And that means Millennium really is up to something,” Sandberg said.

  “I can see that,” Clinton said. “O.K. Let’s analyse the situation. What’s the worst-case scenario? What could they know?” He gave Nyström an urgent look.

  “It has to be the Salander report,” he said. “They beefed up their security after we lifted the copies. They must have guessed that they’re under surveillance. The worst case is that they still have a copy of the report.”

  “But Blomkvist was at his wits’ end when it went missing.”

  “I know. But we may have been duped. We can’t shut our eyes to that possibility.”

  “We’ll work on that assumption,” Clinton said. “Sandberg?”

  “We do know what Salander’s defence will be. She’s going to tell the truth as she sees it. I’ve read this autobiography of hers. In fact it plays right into our hands. It’s full of such outrageous accusations of rape and violation of her civil rights that it will come across as the ravings of a paranoid personality.”

  Nyström said: “Besides, she can’t prove a single one of her claims. Ekström will use the account against her. He’ll annihilate her credibility.”

  “O.K. Teleborian’s new report is excellent. There is, of course, the possibility that Giannini will call in her own expert who’ll say that Salander isn’t crazy, and the whole thing will end up before the medical board. But again – unless Salander changes tactics, she’s going to refuse to talk to them too, and then they’ll conclude that Teleborian is right. She’s her own worst enemy.”

  “The best thing would still be if there was no trial,” Clinton said.

  Nyström shook his head. “That’s virtually impossible. She’s in Kronoberg prison and she has no contact with other prisoners. She gets an hour’s exercise each day in the little area on the roof, but we can’t get to her up there. And we have no contacts among the prison staff.”

  “There may still be time.”

  “If we’d wanted to dispose of her, we should have done it when she was at Sahlgrenska. The likelihood that a hit man would do time is almost 100 per cent. And where would we find a gun who’d agree to that? And at such short notice it would be impossible to arrange a suicide or an accident.”

  “I was afraid of that. And unexpected deaths have a tendency to invite questions. O.K., we’ll have to see how the trial goes. In reality, nothing has changed. We’ve always anticipated that they would make some sort of counter-move, and it seems to be this so-called autobiography.”

  “The problem is Millennium,” Sandberg said.

  “Millennium and Milton Security,” Clinton said pensively. “Salander has worked for Armansky, and Blomkvist once had a thing with her. Should we assume that they’ve joined forces?”

  “It doesn’t seem unreasonable that Milton Security is watching the factory where Millennium is being printed. And it can’t be a coincidence.”

  “When are they going to publish? Sandberg, you said that they’re almost two weeks behind schedule. If we assume that Milton is keeping an eye on the printer’s to make sure that nobody gets hold of a copy, that means either that they’re publishing something that they don’t want to leak, or that the magazine has already been printed.”

  “To coincide with the opening of the trial,” Sandberg said. “That’s the only reasonable explanation.”

  Clinton nodded. “O.K. What’s going to be in the magazine?”

  They thought for a while, until Nyström broke the silence.

  “In the worst case they have a copy of the 1991 report, as we said.”

  Clinton and Sandberg had reached the same conclusion.

  “But what can they do with it?” Sandberg said. “The report implicates Björck and Teleborian. Björck is dead. They can press hard with Teleborian, but he’ll claim that he was doing a routine forensic psychiatric examination. It’ll be their word against his.”

  “And what can we do if they publish the report?” Nyström said.

  “I think we’re holding the trump card,” Clinton said. “If there’s a ruckus over the report, the focus will be on Säpo, not the Section. And when reporters start asking questions, Säpo will just pull it out of the archive …”

  “And it won’t be the same report,” Sandberg said.

  “Shenke has put the modified version in the archive, that is, the version Ekström was given to read. It was assigned a case number. So we could swiftly present a lot of disinformation to the media … We have the original, which Bjurman got hold of, and Millennium only has a copy. We could even spread information to suggest that it was Blomkvist himself who falsified the original.”

  “Good. What else could Millennium know?”

  “They can’t know anything about the Section. That wouldn’t be possible. They’ll have to focus on Säpo, and that would mean Blomkvist being cast as a conspiracy theorist.”

  “By now he’s rather well known,” Clinton said slowly. “Since the resolution of the Wennerström affair he’s been taken pretty seriously.”

  “Could we somehow reduce his credibility?” Sandberg said.

  Nyström and Clinton exchanged glances. Clinton looked at Nyström.

  “Do you think you could put your hands on … let’s say, fifty grams of cocaine?”

  “Maybe from the Yugos.”

  “Give it a try. And get a move-on. The trial starts in three days.”

  “I don’t get it,” Sandberg said.

  “It’s a trick as old as the profession. But still extremely effective.”

  “Morgongåva?” Edklinth said with a frown. He was sitting in his dressing gown on the sofa a
t home, reading through Salander’s autobiography for the third time, when Figuerola called. Since it was after midnight, he assumed that something was up.

  “Morgongåva,” Figuerola repeated. “Sandberg and Lars Faulsson were there at 8.30 this evening. They were tailed by Inspector Andersson from Bublanski’s gang, and we had a radio transmitter planted in Sandberg’s car. They parked near the old railway station, walked around for a while, and then returned to the car and drove back to Stockholm.”

  “I see. Did they meet anyone, or—”

  “No. That was the strange thing. They just got out of the car and walked around a little, then drove straight back to Stockholm, so Andersson told me.”

  “I see. And why are you calling me at 12.30 at night to tell me this?”

  “It took a little while to work it out. They walked past Hallvigs printers. I talked to Blomkvist about it. That’s where Millennium’s being printed.”

  “Oh shit,” Edklinth said. He saw the implications immediately.

  “Since Falun was along, I have to suppose that they were intending to pay the printer’s a late-night visit, but they abandoned the expedition,” Figuerola said.

  “Why?”

  “Because Blomkvist asked Armansky to keep an eye on the factory until the magazine was distributed. They probably saw the car from Milton Security. I thought you’d want to know straightaway.”

  “You’re right. It means that they’ve begun to smell a rat.”

  “Alarm bells must have gone off in their heads when they saw the car. Sandberg dropped Faulsson off in town and then went back to Artillerigatan. We know that Clinton is there. Nyström arrived at about the same time. The question is, what are they going to do?”

  “The trial starts on Wednesday … Can you reach Blomkvist and urge him to double up on security at Millennium? Just in case.”

  “They already have good security. And they blew smoke rings round their tapped telephones – like old pros. Blomkvist is so paranoid already that he’s using diversionary tactics we could learn from.” “I’m happy to hear it, but call him anyway.”

  Figuerola closed her mobile and put it on the bedside table. She looked up and studied Blomkvist as he lay naked with his head against the foot of the bed.

  “I’m to call you and tell you to beef up security at Millennium,” she said.

  “Thanks for the suggestion,” he said wryly.

  “I’m serious. If they start to smell a rat, there’s a danger that they’ll go and do something without thinking. They might break in.”

  “Henry’s sleeping there tonight. And we have a burglar alarm that goes straight to Milton Security, three minutes away.”

  He lay in silence with his eyes shut.

  “Paranoid,” he muttered.

  CHAPTER 24

  Monday, 11.vii

  It was 6.00 on Monday morning when Linder from Milton Security called Blomkvist on his T10.

  “Don’t you people ever rest?” Blomkvist said, drunk with sleep.

  He glanced at Figuerola. She was up already and had changed into jogging shorts, but had not yet put on her T-shirt.

  “Sure. But the night duty officer woke me. The silent alarm we installed at your apartment went off at 3.00.”

  “Did it?”

  “I drove down to see what was going on. This is a bit tricky. Could you come to Milton this morning? As soon as possible, that is.”

  “This is serious,” Armansky said.

  It was just after 8.00 when Armansky, Blomkvist and Linder were gathered in front of a T. V. monitor in a conference room at Milton Security. Armansky had also called in Johan Fräklund, a retired criminal inspector in the Solna police, now chief of Milton’s operations unit, and the former inspector Sonny Bohman, who had been involved in the Salander affair from the start. They were pondering the surveillance video that Linder had just shown them.

  “What we see here is Säpo officer Jonas Sandberg opening the door to Mikael’s apartment at 3.17. He has his own keys. You will recall that Faulsson the locksmith made copies of the spare set when he and Göran Mårtensson broke in several weeks ago.”

  Armansky nodded sternly.

  “Sandberg is in the apartment for approximately eight minutes. During that time he does the following things. First, he takes a small plastic bag from the kitchen, which he fills. Then he unscrews the back plate of a loudspeaker which you have in the living room, Mikael. That’s where he places the bag. The fact that he takes a bag from your kitchen is significant.”

  “It’s a Konsum bag,” Blomkvist said. “I save them to put cheese and stuff in.”

  “I do the same. What matters, of course, is that the bag has your fingerprints on it. Then he takes a copy of S.M.P. from the recycling bin in the hall. He tears off a page to wrap up an object which he puts on the top shelf of your wardrobe. Same thing there: the paper has your fingerprints on it.”

  “I get you,” Blomkvist said.

  “I drive to your apartment at around 5.00,” Linder said. “I find the following items: in your loudspeaker there are now approximately 180 grams of cocaine. I’ve taken a sample which I have here.”

  She put a small evidence bag on the conference table.

  “What’s in the wardrobe?” Blomkvist said.

  “About 120,000 kronor in cash.”

  Armansky motioned to Linder to turn off the T. V. He turned to Fräklund.

  “So Mikael Blomkvist is involved in cocaine dealing,” Fräklund said good-naturedly. “Apparently they’ve started to get a little worried about what Blomkvist is working on.”

  “This is a counter-move,” Blomkvist said.

  “A counter-move to what?”

  “They ran into Milton’s security patrol in Morgongåva last night.”

  He told them what he had heard from Figuerola about Sandberg’s expedition to the printing factory.

  “That busy little rascal,” Bohman said.

  “But why now?”

  “They must be nervous about what Millennium might publish when the trial starts,” Fräklund said. “If Blomkvist is arrested for dealing cocaine, his credibility will drop dramatically.”

  Linder nodded. Blomkvist looked sceptical.

  “How are we going to handle this?” Armansky said.

  “We should do nothing,” Fräklund said. “We hold all the cards. We have crystal-clear evidence of Sandberg planting the stuff in your apartment. Let them spring the trap. We can prove your innocence in a second, and besides, this will be further proof of the Section’s criminal activities. I would so love to be prosecutor when those guys are brought to trial.”

  “I don’t know,” Blomkvist said slowly. “The trial starts the day after tomorrow. The magazine is on the stands on Friday, day three of the trial. If they plan to frame me for dealing cocaine, I’ll never have the time to explain how it happened before the magazine comes out. I risk sitting in prison and missing the beginning of the trial.”

  “So, all the more reason for you to stay out of sight this week,” Armansky said.

  “Well … I have to work with T.V.4 and I’ve got a number of other things to do. It would be enormously inconvenient—”

  “Why right now?” Linder said suddenly.

  “How do you mean?” Armansky said.

  “They’ve had three months to smear Blomkvist. Why do it right now? Whatever happens they’re not going to be able to prevent publication.”

  They all sat in silence for a moment.

  “It might be because they don’t have a clue what you’re going to publish, Mikael,” Armansky said. “They have to suppose that you have something in the offing … but they might think all you have is Björck’s report. They have no reason to know that you’re planning on rolling up the whole Section. If it’s only about Björck’s report, then it’s certainly enough to blacken your reputation. Any revelations you might come up with would be drowned out when you’re arrested and charged. Big scandal. The famous Mikael Blomkvist arrested on a drugs char
ge. Six to eight years in prison.”

  “Could I have two copies of the video?” Blomkvist said.

  “What are you going to do with them?”

  “Lodge one copy with Edklinth. And in three hours I’m going to be at T.V.4. I think it would be prudent to have this ready to run on T. V. if or when all hell breaks loose.”

  Figuerola turned off the D.V.D. player and put the remote on the table. They were meeting in the temporary office on Fridhemsplan.

  “Cocaine,” Edklinth said. “They’re playing a very dirty game here.”

  Figuerola looked thoughtful. She glanced at Blomkvist.

  “I thought it best to keep all of you up to date,” he said with a shrug.

  “I don’t like this,” Figuerola said. “It implies a recklessness. Someone hasn’t really thought this through. They must realize that you wouldn’t go quietly and let yourself be thrown into Kumla bunker under arrest on a drugs charge.”

  “I agree,” Blomkvist said.

  “Even if you were convicted, there’s still a strong likelihood that people would believe what you have to say. And your colleagues at Millennium wouldn’t keep quiet either.”

  “Furthermore, this is costing them a great deal,” Edklinth said. “They have a budget that allows them to distribute 120,000 kronor here and there without blinking, plus whatever the cocaine costs them.”

  “I know, but the plan is actually not bad,” Blomkvist said. “They’re counting on Salander landing back in the asylum while I disappear in a cloud of suspicion. They’re also assuming that any attention would be focused on Säpo – not on the Section.”

  “But how are they going to convince the drug squad to search your apartment? I mean, an anonymous tip will hardly be enough for someone to kick in the door of a star journalist. And if this is going to work, suspicion would have to be cast on you within forty-eight hours.”

  “Well, we don’t really know anything about their schedule,” Blomkvist said.

  He felt exhausted and longed for all this to be over. He got up.

  “Where are you off to?” Figuerola said. “I’d like to know where you’re going to be for the next few days.”