The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo Trilogy Bundle

by Stieg Larsson

  To :

  And we’ve always agreed about who we should hire. We will this time too, no matter who you choose. We’re going to scupper Wennerström. That’s the whole story. Just let me finish this in peace./M.

  In early October Salander read an article on the Internet edition of the Hedestad Courier. She told Blomkvist about it. Isabella Vanger had died after a short illness. She was mourned by her daughter, Harriet Vanger, lately returned from Australia.

  Encrypted email from

  To :

  Hi Mikael.

  Harriet Vanger came to see me at the office today. She called five minutes before she arrived, and I was totally unprepared. A beautiful woman, elegant clothes and a cool gaze.

  She came to tell me that she’ll be replacing Martin Vanger as Henrik’s representative on our board. She was polite and friendly and assured me that the Vanger Corporation had no plans to back out of the agreement. On the contrary, the family stands fully behind Henrik’s obligations to the magazine. She asked for a tour of the editorial offices, and she wanted to know how I see the situation.

  I told her the truth. That it feels as if I don’t have solid ground under my feet, that you have forbidden me to come to Sandhamn, and that I don’t know what you’re working on, other than that you are planning to sink Wennerström. (I assumed it was OK to say that. She is on the board, after all.) She raised an eyebrow and smiled and asked if I had doubts that you’d succeed. What was I supposed to say to that? I said that I would sleep a little easier if I knew exactly what you were writing. Jeez, of course I trust you. But you’re driving me crazy.

  I asked her if she knew what you were working on. She denied it but said that it was her impression that you were extremely resourceful, with an innovative way of thinking. (Her words.)

  I said that I also gathered that something dramatic had happened up in Hedestad and that I was ever so slightly curious about the story regarding Harriet Vanger herself. In short, I felt like an idiot. She asked me whether you really hadn’t told me anything. She said that she understood that you and I have a special relationship and that you would undoubtedly tell me the story when you had time. Then she asked if she could trust me. What was I supposed to say? She’s on the Millennium board, and you’ve left me here totally in the dark.

  Then she said something odd. She asked me not to judge either her or you too harshly. She said she owed you some sort of debt of gratitude, and she would really like it if she and I could also be friends. Then she promised to tell me the story someday if you couldn’t do it. Half an hour ago she left, and I’m still in a daze. I think I like her, but who is this person?/Erika

  P.S. I miss you. I have a feeling that something nasty happened in Hedestad. Christer says that you have a strange mark on your neck.

  From

  To :

  Hi Ricky. The story about Harriet is so miserably awful that you can’t even imagine it. It would be great if she could tell you about it herself. I can hardly bring myself to think about it.

  By the way, you can trust her. She was telling the truth when she said that she owes a debt of gratitude to me—and believe me, she will never do anything to harm Millennium. Be her friend if you like her. She deserves respect. And she’s a hell of a businesswoman./M.

  The next day Mikael received another email.

  From

  To :

  Hi Mikael. I’ve been trying to find time to write to you for several weeks now, but it seems there are never enough hours in the day. You left so suddenly from Hedeby that I never had a chance to say goodbye.

  Since my return to Sweden, my days have been filled with bewildering impressions and hard work. The Vanger Corporation is in chaos, and along with Henrik I’ve been working hard to put its affairs in order. Yesterday I visited the Millennium offices; I’ll be Henrik’s representative on the board. Henrik has filled me in on all the details of the magazine’s situation and yours.

  I hope that you will accept having me show up like this. If you don’t want me (or anyone else from the family) on the board, I’ll understand, but I do assure you that I’ll do all I can to support Millennium. I am in great debt to you, and I will always have the best of intentions in this regard.

  I met your colleague Erika Berger. I’m not sure what she thought of me, and I was surprised to hear that you hadn’t told her about what happened.

  I would very much like to be your friend. If you can stand to have anything more to do with the Vanger family. Best regards, Harriet

  P.S. I understood from Erika that you’re planning to tackle Wennerström again. Dirch Frode told me how Henrik pulled a swifty on you, as they say in Australia. What can I say? I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.

  From

  To :

  Hi Harriet. I left Hedeby in a big hurry and am now working on what I really should have been spending my time on this year. You’ll be advised in plenty of time before the article goes to press, but I think I can say that the problems of the past year will soon be over.

  I hope you and Erika will be friends, and, of course, I have no problem with you being on Millennium’s board. I’ll tell Erika about what happened, if you think that’s wise. Henrik wanted me never to say anything to anyone. Let’s see, but right now I don’t have the time or the energy and I need a little distance first.

  Let’s keep in touch. Best/Mikael

  Salander was not especially interested in what Mikael was writing. She looked up from her book when Blomkvist said something, but at first she could not make it out.

  “Sorry. I was talking aloud. I said that this is horrible.”

  “What’s horrible?”

  “Wennerström had an affair with a twenty-two-year-old waitress and he got her pregnant. Have you read his correspondence with his lawyer?”

  “My dear Mikael—you have ten years of correspondence, emails, agreements, travel arrangements, and God knows what on that hard drive. I don’t find Wennerström so fascinating that I’d cram six gigs of garbage into my head. I read through a fraction of it, mostly to satisfy my curiosity, and that was enough to tell me that he’s a gangster.”

  “OK. He got her pregnant in 1997. When she wanted compensation, his lawyer got someone to try to convince her to have an abortion. I assume the intention was to offer her a sum of money, but she wasn’t interested. Then the persuading ended up with the heavy holding her underwater in a bath until she agreed to leave Wennerström in peace. And Wennerström’s idiot writes all this to the lawyer in an email—of course encrypted, but even so … It doesn’t say much for the IQ of this bunch.”

  “What happened to the girl?”

  “She had an abortion, and Wennerström was pleased.”

  Salander said nothing for ten minutes. Her eyes had suddenly turned dark.

  “One more man who hates women,” she muttered at last.

  She borrowed the CDs and spent the next few days reading through Wennerström’s emails and other documents. While Blomkvist kept working, Salander was up in the sleeping loft with her PowerBook on her knees, pondering Wennerström’s peculiar empire.

  An idea had occurred to her and she could not let it go. Most of all she wondered why it had not occurred to her sooner.

  In late October Mikael turned off his computer when it was only 11:00 in the morning. He climbed up to the sleeping loft and handed Salander what he had written. Then he fell asleep. She woke him that evening and gave him her opinion of the article.

  Just after 2:00 in the morning, Blomkvist made the last backup of his work.

  The next day he closed the shutters on the windows and locked up. Salander’s holiday was over. They went back to Stockholm together.

  He brought up the sub
ject as they were drinking coffee from paper cups on the Vaxholm ferry.

  “What the two of us need to decide is what to tell Erika. She’s going to refuse to publish this if I can’t explain how I got hold of the material.”

  Erika Berger. Blomkvist’s editor in chief and long-time lover. Salander had never met her and was not sure that she wanted to either. Berger seemed like some indefinable disturbance in her life.

  “What does she know about me?”

  “Nothing.” He sighed. “The fact is that I’ve been avoiding her ever since the summer. She’s very frustrated about the fact that I couldn’t tell her what happened in Hedestad. She knows, of course, that I’ve been staying out at Sandhamn and writing this story, but she doesn’t know what it’s about.”

  “Hmm.”

  “In a couple of hours she’ll have the manuscript. Then she’s going to give me the third degree. The question is, what should I tell her?”

  “What do you want to tell her?”

  “I’d like to tell her the truth.”

  Salander frowned.

  “Lisbeth, Erika and I argue almost all the time. It seems to be part of how we communicate. But she’s absolutely trustworthy. You’re a source. She would rather die than reveal who you are.”

  “How many others would you have to tell?”

  “Absolutely no-one. It will go to the grave with me and Erika. But I won’t tell her your secret if you don’t want me to. On the other hand, it’s not an option for me to lie to Erika, make up some source that doesn’t exist.”

  Salander thought about it until they docked by the Grand Hotel. Analysis of consequences. Reluctantly she finally gave Blomkvist permission to introduce her to Erika. He switched on his mobile and made the call.

  Berger was lunching with Malin Eriksson, whom she was considering hiring as managing editor. Eriksson was twenty-nine years old and had been working as a temp for five years. She had never held a permanent job and had started to doubt that she ever would. Berger called her on the very day that Malin’s latest temp job ended to ask if she would like to apply for the Millennium position.

  “It’s a temporary post for three months,” Berger said. “But if things work out, it could be permanent.”

  “I’ve heard rumours that Millennium is having a difficult time.”

  Berger smiled.

  “You shouldn’t believe rumours.”

  “This Dahlman that I would be replacing …” Eriksson hesitated. “He’s going to work at a magazine owned by Hans-Erik Wennerström …”

  Berger nodded. “It’s hardly a trade secret that we’re in conflict with Wennerström. He doesn’t like people who work for Millennium.”

  “So if I take the job at Millennium, I would end up in that category too.”

  “It’s very likely, yes.”

  “But Dahlman got a job with Monopoly Financial Magazine, didn’t he?”

  “You might say that it’s Wennerström’s way of paying for services rendered. Are you still interested?”

  Eriksson nodded.

  “When do you want me to start?”

  That’s when Blomkvist called.

  She used her own key to open the door to his apartment. It was the first time since his brief visit to the office at Midsummer that she was meeting him face to face. She went into the living room and found an anorexically thin girl sitting on the sofa, wearing a worn leather jacket and with her feet propped up on the coffee table. At first she thought the girl was about fifteen, but that was before she looked into her eyes. She was still looking at this creature when Blomkvist came in with a coffeepot and coffee cake.

  “Forgive me for being completely impossible,” he said.

  Berger tilted her head. There was something different about him. He looked haggard, thinner than she remembered. His eyes had a shamed expression, and for a moment he avoided her gaze. She glanced at his neck. She saw a pale red line, clearly distinguishable.

  “I’ve been avoiding you. It’s a very long story, and I’m not proud of my role in it. But we’ll talk about that later … Now I want to introduce you to this young woman. Erika, this is Lisbeth Salander. Lisbeth, Erika Berger, editor in chief of Millennium and my best friend.”

  Salander studied Berger’s elegant clothes and self-confident manner and decided after ten seconds that she was most likely not going to be her best friend.

  Their meeting lasted five hours. Berger twice made calls to cancel other meetings. She spent an hour reading parts of the manuscript that Blomkvist put in her hands. She had a thousand questions but realised that it would take weeks before she got them answered. The important thing was the manuscript, which she finally put down. If even a fraction of these claims were accurate, a whole new situation had emerged.

  Berger looked at Blomkvist. She had never doubted that he was an honest person, but now she felt dizzy and wondered whether the Wennerström affair had broken him—that what he had been working on was all a figment of his imagination. Blomkvist was at that moment unpacking two boxes of printed-out source material. Berger blanched. She wanted, of course, to know how it had come into his possession.

  It took a while to convince her that this odd girl, who had said not one word during the meeting, had unlimited access to Wennerström’s computer. And not just his—she had also hacked into the computers of several of his lawyers and close associates.

  Berger’s immediate reaction was that they could not use the material since it had been obtained through illegal means.

  But, of course, they could use it. Blomkvist pointed out that they had no obligation to explain how they had acquired the material. They could just as well have a source with access to Wennerström’s computer who had burned everything on his hard drive to a CD.

  Finally Berger realised what a weapon she had in her hands. She felt exhausted and still had questions, but she did not know where to begin. At last she leaned back against the sofa and threw out her hands.

  “Mikael, what happened up in Hedestad?”

  Salander looked up sharply. Blomkvist answered with a question.

  “How are you getting along with Harriet Vanger?”

  “Fine. I think. I’ve met her twice. Christer and I drove up to Hedestad for a board meeting last week. We got drunk on wine.”

  “And the board meeting?”

  “She kept her word.”

  “Ricky, I know you’re frustrated that I’ve been ducking you and coming up with excuses not to tell you what happened. You and I have never had secrets from each other, and all of a sudden there’s six months of my life that I’m … not prepared to tell you about.”

  Berger met Blomkvist’s gaze. She knew him inside and out, but what she saw in his eyes was something she had never seen before. He was begging her not to ask. Salander watched their wordless dialogue. She was no part of it.

  “Was it that bad?”

  “It was worse. I’ve been dreading this conversation. I promise to tell you, but I’ve spent several months suppressing my feelings while Wennerström has absorbed all my attention … I’m still not ready. I’d prefer it if Harriet told you instead.”

  “What’s that mark around your neck?”

  “Lisbeth saved my life up there. If it weren’t for her, I’d be dead.”

  Berger’s eyes widened. She stared at the girl in the leather jacket.

  “And right now you need to come to an agreement with her. She is our source.”

  Berger sat for a time, thinking. Then she did something that astonished Blomkvist and startled Salander; she surprised even herself. The whole time she had been sitting at Mikael’s living-room table, she had felt Salander’s eyes on her. A taciturn girl with hostile vibrations.

  Berger stood up and went around the table and threw her arms around the girl. Salander squirmed like a worm about to be put on a hook.

  CHAPTER 29

  Saturday, November 1–Tuesday, November 25

  Salander was surfing through Wennerström’s cyber-empire. S
he had been staring at her computer screen for almost eleven hours. The idea that had materialised in some unexplored nook of her brain during the last week at Sandhamn had grown into a manic preoccupation. For four weeks she had isolated herself in her apartment and ignored any communication from Armansky. She had spent twelve hours a day in front of her computer, some days more, and the rest of her waking hours she had brooded over the same problem.

  During the past month she had had intermittent contact with Blomkvist. He too was preoccupied, busy at the Millennium offices. They had conferred by telephone a couple of times each week, and she had kept him updated on Wennerström’s correspondence and other activities.

  For the hundredth time she went over every detail. She was not afraid that she had missed anything, but she was not sure that she had understood how every one of the intricate connections fitted together.

  This much-discussed empire was like a living, formless, pulsating organism that kept changing shape. It consisted of options, bonds, shares, partnerships, loan interest, income interest, deposits, bank accounts, payment transfers, and thousands of other elements. An incredibly large proportion of the assets was deposited in post-office-box companies that owned one another.

  The financial pundits’ most inflated analyses of the Wennerström Group estimated its value at more than 900 billion kronor. That was a bluff, or at least a figure that was grossly exaggerated. Obviously Wennerström himself was by no means poor. She calculated the real assets to be worth between 90 and 100 billion kronor, which was nothing to sneeze at. A thorough audit of the entire corporation would take years. All in all Salander had identified close to three thousand separate accounts and bank holdings all over the world. Wennerström was devoting himself to fraud that was so extensive it was no longer merely criminal—it was business.