Every detail shone with a strange precision and she saw each ripple in the landscape in front of her, as if through a camera zoom. She noted the surprise and fear in the men’s eyes, the wrinkles and irregularities in their faces and clothes, and the weapons which they were waving and firing off at random, narrowly missing their targets.
But her strongest impression did not come from any of that. It came from a silhouette further up the slope which she caught out of the corner of her eye. Not menacing in itself, it still made more of an impact on her than the men she had shot: it was her sister. Salander would have recognized her half a mile away, even though they had not seen each other in years. The air itself was poisoned by her presence and afterwards Salander wondered if she should have shot her too.
Camilla stood there a moment too long. It was careless of her to be out on the rock slope in the first place, but presumably she could not resist the temptation of seeing her sister executed. Salander recalled how she half squeezed the trigger and felt a holy rage beating in her chest. Yet she hesitated for a split second, and that was enough. Camilla threw herself behind a rock and a scrawny figure appeared on the terrace and started shooting. Salander jumped back onto the ledge and tumbled down the slope with August.
Now, walking away from the boxing club, thinking back to it all, Salander’s body tightened in readiness for a new battle. It struck her that perhaps she should not go home, but leave the country for a while. Something else drove her back to her desk, though: what she had seen in her mind’s eye in the shower, before reading Camilla’s texts, which was now occupying her thoughts more and more. August’s equation:
N = 3034267
E : y2 = x3 – x – 20; P = (3.2)
From a mathematical point of view, there was nothing unique or outstanding about it. But what was so remarkable was that August had started with the random number she had given him at Ingarö and taken that further to develop a considerably better elliptic curve than the one she herself had made. When the boy had not wanted to go to sleep, she had left it on the bedside table. She had not gotten any answer then, nor even the slightest reaction, and she had gone to bed convinced that August understood nothing about mathematical abstractions, that he was only a kind of human calculator of prime number factorizations.
But, my God…she had been wrong. August had stayed up in the night not just drawing; he had also perfected her own mathematics.
She did not even take off her boots or leather jacket, she just stomped into her apartment and opened the encrypted NSA file along with her programme for elliptic curves.
Then she rang Hanna Balder.
—
Hanna had scarcely slept because she had not brought any of her pills with her. Yet the hotel and its surroundings still cheered her. The breathtaking mountain scenery reminded her of how cramped her own existence had become. Slowly she began to unwind, and even the deep-seated fear in her body was beginning to let go. But that could have been wishful thinking. She also felt slightly at sea in such extravagant surroundings.
There had been a time when she would sail into rooms like these with perfect self-assurance: Look at me, here I come. Now she was timid and trembling and had difficulty eating anything even though the breakfast was lavish. August sat beside her, compulsively writing out his series of numbers, and he was not eating either, but he drank unbelievable volumes of freshly pressed orange juice.
Her new mobile rang, startling her. It had to be the woman who had sent them here. Nobody else had the number so far as she knew. No doubt she just wanted to know if they had arrived safely so Hanna answered cheerfully and launched into an effusive description of how wonderful everything at the hotel was. She was brusquely interrupted:
“Where are you?”
“We’re having breakfast.”
“In that case stop now and go up to your room. August and I have work to do.”
“Work?”
“I’m going to send over some equations I want him to take a look at. Is that clear?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Just show them to August, and then call me and tell me what he’s written.”
“OK,” said Hanna, nonplussed.
She grabbed a couple of croissants and a cinnamon bun and walked with August to the lifts.
—
It was only at the outset that August helped her. But it was enough. Later she could see her mistakes more clearly and make new improvements to her programme. Deep in concentration she worked on for hour after hour, until the sky darkened outside and the snow began to fall again. Then suddenly—in one of those moments she would remember forever—something strange happened to the file. It fell apart. A shock ran through her. She punched the air.
She had found the secret keys and cracked the document, and for a little while she was so overcome by this that she hardly managed to read. Then she began to examine the contents, and her amazement grew with every passing moment. Could this even be possible? It was more explosive than anything she had imagined and the reason it had all been written down could only have been that someone believed the RSA algorithm was impenetrable. But here it was, all that filth in black and white. The text was full of internal jargon and strange abbreviations and cryptic references, but that was not a problem for Salander since she was familiar with the subject. She got through about four-fifths of the text before the doorbell rang.
She chose to ignore it, probably only the postman. But then she remembered Camilla’s text message and checked the camera on the landing via her computer. She stiffened.
It was not Camilla but her other nemesis, the one she had almost forgotten with everything else that was going on. Ed the fucking Ned. He looked nothing like his pictures online, but he was unmistakable all the same: grumpy and determined. Salander’s brain started ticking. How had he managed to track her down? What should she do? The best she could come up with was to send the NSA file off to Blomkvist on their PGP link.
Then she shut down her computer and hauled herself to her feet to open the door.
—
What had happened to Bublanski? Sonja Modig was at a loss to understand it. The pained expression he had been wearing in recent weeks had vanished and now he smiled and hummed to himself. It’s true that there was plenty to be pleased about. The murderer had been caught, August Balder had survived, despite two attempts on his life, and Frans Balder’s conflict and connection with the research company Solifon were becoming clearer.
But many questions remained, and the Bublanski she knew was not one to rejoice without good reason. He was more inclined to self-doubt, even in moments of triumph. She could not understand what had gotten into him. He walked around the corridors beaming. Even now, as he sat in his office reading the dull report on the questioning of Zigmund Eckerwald by the San Francisco police, there was a smile on his lips.
“Sonja, my dear, there you are!”
She decided not to comment on the unwonted enthusiasm of his greeting and went straight to the point.
“Jan Holtser is dead.”
“Oh no.”
“And with him went our last hope of learning more about the Spiders.”
“So you think he was about to open up?”
“There was a chance, at least.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He broke down completely when his daughter showed up.”
“I didn’t know. What happened?”
“He has a daughter called Olga,” Modig said. “She came from Helsinki when she heard that her father had been injured. But when I talked to her and she realized that Holtser had tried to kill a child, she went berserk.”
“In what way?”
“She stormed into him and said something incredibly aggressive in Russian.”
“Could you understand what she was saying?”
“Something like he could die alone and she hated him.”
“Strong words, then.”
“Yes, and afterwards she told me that
she would do everything in her power to help us with the investigation.”
“How did Holtser react?”
“That’s what I was saying. For a moment I thought we had him. He was totally destroyed, had tears in his eyes. I’m not big on that Catholic teaching which says that our moral worth is determined just before we die, but it was almost touching to see. This man, who had done so much evil, was crushed.”
“My rabbi…” Bublanski began.
“Please, Jan, don’t start with your rabbi now. Let me continue. Holtser started saying what a terrible person he had been, so I told him that he should as a Christian take the opportunity to confess, and tell us who he was working for. At that moment I’m convinced he came close. He hesitated and his eyes flitted from side to side. But instead of confessing he began to talk about Stalin.”
“Stalin?”
“About how Stalin didn’t only punish the guilty but also their children and grandchildren and the entire family. I think he was trying to say that his boss was the same.”
“So he was worried about his daughter.”
“However much she may have hated him, he was. I tried to tell him that we could get the girl into a witness protection programme, but Holtser had started to drift away. He fell unconscious and died an hour later.”
“Anything else?”
“Only that someone we’re beginning to think may be a superintelligence has vanished and that we still have no trace of Andrei Zander.”
“I know, I know.”
“We’ve made progress on one front at least,” Modig said. “You remember the man identified by Amanda on August’s drawing of the traffic light?”
“The former actor?”
“That’s right, he’s called Roger Winter. Amanda interviewed him for background information, to find out whether there was any relationship between him and the boy or Balder, and I don’t think she expected to get much out of it. But Winter seemed badly shaken and before Amanda had even started to put pressure on him he confessed to a whole catalogue of sins.”
“Really?”
“And we’re not talking innocent stories. You know, Westman and Winter have been friends since they were young men at Revolutionsteatern and they used to get together to drink in the afternoons at the apartment in Torsgatan when Hanna was out. August would sit in the next room doing his puzzles, and neither of the men paid him much attention. But on one of these occasions the boy had been given a thick maths book by his mother—it was clearly way above his level, but he still leafed through it frantically, making excited noises. Lasse became irritated and grabbed the book from the boy and threw it in the bin. It seems August went completely crazy. He had some sort of fit, and Lasse kicked him several times.”
“That’s appalling.”
“That was just the beginning. After that August became very odd, said Roger, and took to glaring at them with this weird look. One day Roger found that his jeans jacket had been cut into tiny pieces, and another day someone had emptied out all the beer in the fridge and smashed the bottles of spirits. It turned into some kind of trench warfare. I suspect that Roger and Lasse in their alcoholic delirium began to imagine all sorts of strange things about the boy, and even became scared of him. The psychological aspect of this isn’t easy to understand. Roger said it made him feel like shit, and he never talked about it with Lasse afterwards. He didn’t want to beat the boy, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was as if he got his own childhood back, he said.”
“What on earth did he mean by that?”
“It’s not altogether clear. Apparently Roger Winter has a disabled younger brother. Throughout their childhood Roger was a constant disappointment, while his brother was showered with praise and distinctions and appreciated in every possible way. I guess that bred some bitterness. Maybe Roger was subconsciously getting his own back on his brother. Or else…”
“What?”
“He put it in an odd way. He said it felt as if he were trying to beat the shame out of himself.”
“That’s sick.”
“Yes. Strangest of all is the way he suddenly confessed everything. It was almost as if he wanted to be arrested. Amanda said he was limping and had two black eyes.”
“Peculiar.”
“Isn’t it? But there’s one other thing which surprises me even more,” Modig said.
“And what’s that?”
“That my boss, that brooding old grouch, has become a little ray of sunshine.”
Bublanski looked embarrassed.
“So it shows.”
“It shows.”
“Well, yes,” he stammered. “It’s just that a woman has agreed to come out to dinner with me.”
“You haven’t gone and fallen in love, have you?”
“It’s just dinner,” Bublanski said, blushing.
—
Needham knew the rules of the game even if he did not enjoy it. It was like being back in Dorchester. Whatever you did, you could not back down. If Salander wanted to play hardball, he would show her hardball. He glared at her. But it did not get him very far.
She glared back and did not say a word. It felt like a duel, and in the end Needham looked away. The whole thing was ridiculous. The girl had been unmasked and crushed, after all. He had cracked her secret identity and tracked her down, and she should be grateful that he wasn’t marching in with the Marines to arrest her.
“You think you’re pretty tough, don’t you?” he said.
“I don’t like surprise visits.”
“I don’t like people who break into my system, so we’re square. Maybe you’d like to know how I found you?”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“It was via your company in Gibraltar. Not too smart to call it Wasp Enterprises.”
“Apparently not.”
“For a smart girl, you make a lot of mistakes.”
“For a clever boy, you work for a pretty rotten organization.”
“You got me there. But we’re a necessary evil in this wicked world.”
“Especially with guys like Jonny Ingram around.”
He was not expecting that. He really was not expecting that. But he would not let it show.
“You have a good sense of humour,” he said.
“It’s hilarious. To have people murdered and to work together with villains in the Russian Duma making megabucks and saving your own skin; that’s comical, isn’t it?” she said.
For a moment he could barely breathe. He could no longer keep up the pretence. Where the hell had she gotten that from? He felt dizzy. But then he realized—and it slowed his pulse a little—that she was bluffing. If he believed her even for one second it was only because in his worst moments he too had imagined that Ingram might be guilty of something like that. But Needham knew better than anyone that there was not a shred of evidence of such a thing.
“Don’t try to bullshit me,” he growled. “I have the same material you do and a lot more besides.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Ed, unless you too have the private keys to Ingram’s RSA algorithm?”
Needham looked at her and told himself that this could not be true. Surely she could not have cracked the encryption? Not even he, with all the resources and experts at his disposal, had thought it was worth trying.
But now she was suggesting…Impossible. Maybe she had a mole in Ingram’s inner circle? No, that was just as far-fetched.
“This is how it is, Ed,” she said in a new authoritative tone. “You told Blomkvist that you would leave me in peace if I told you how I carried out my data breach. It’s possible you’re telling the truth there. It’s equally possible that you’re lying, or that you won’t have any say in the matter anyway. You could get the sack. I don’t see any case for trusting you or the people you work for.”
Needham took a deep breath.
“I respect your attitude,” he said. “But I’m a man of my word. Not because I’m a decent person. I’m a vengeful maniac, just like you,
young lady. But I wouldn’t have survived as long as I have if I let people down when it mattered. You can either believe that or not. I swear to you, though, I will make your life hell if you don’t open up.”
“You’re a tough guy,” she said. “But you’re also a proud bugger, aren’t you? You need to make absolutely sure that no-one ever gets wind of my breach, whatever the cost. As to that, I’m ridiculously well prepared. Every detail could be made public before you even have time to blink. I don’t in fact want to do it, but I will humiliate you if I have to.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“I wouldn’t have survived either if I was full of shit,” she said. “I hate this society where we’re watched over all the time. I’ve had enough of Big Brother and authorities in my life. But I’m prepared to do something for you, Ed. If you can keep your trap shut, I can give you information that will put you in a stronger position, and help you clear out the corruption in Fort Meade. I’m not telling you anything about my breach—only because it’s a matter of principle for me. But I can help you get your own back on the bastards.”
Ed stared at the strange woman in front of him. Then he did something which would surprise him for a long time.
He burst out laughing. He laughted until he cried.
CHAPTER 31
DECEMBER 2–3
Levin woke up in a good mood at Häringe castle after a long conference about the digitalization of the media, which had ended with a big party where the champagne and hard liquor had flowed. A failure of a trade union representative from the Norwegian newspaper Kveldsbladet had remarked spitefully that Serner’s parties “grow more lavish the more people you sack,” and made a bit of a scene, which resulted in Levin getting red wine on his tailor-made jacket. But he was happy to let him have that. Especially since it had enabled him to get Natalie Foss up to his hotel room in the small hours. Natalie was twenty-seven and sexy as hell, and despite the fact that he was drunk, Levin had managed to have sex with her both last night and this morning.
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