“Save him, for God’s sake! You’re a doctor. You’re not trying to kill him, are you?”
“What are you talking about? Of course not. He’ll soon be back on his feet, you’ll see. Move away so I can assist him,” she said. When he saw how smoothly and professionally she handled the contents of her bag, he felt he had no alternative but to trust her.
It was as good a measure as any of the extent of his desperation. He held his twin brother’s hand, hoping that the person who had injected him with poison would also be the one to save him.
That was precisely what Greitz was thinking: how critical it was for her to behave like a doctor and inspire confidence. She resisted the urge to block Leo’s airways and make short work of the whole process, and instead prepared a syringe with physostigmine before pushing up the sleeve of Leo’s pullover to inject the substance into a vein. He improved rapidly, although he was still dazed. She felt – and this is what mattered most – that she had regained some of Daniel’s trust.
“Will he be O.K.?” he asked.
“He’ll be fine,” she said, and kept on talking.
She was improvising, but she could draw on the emergency plan which had now been in place for some time. Years ago, Ivar Ögren had got hold of Leo’s login details at the firm and in Leo’s name – or rather using various names, dummy companies and other fronts – had made a series of illegal transactions in the share and derivatives markets. Details of these had been collected in a file which could not only spell Leo’s social and professional ruin, it could also put him in prison. Ivar had already used the information to get his hands on Madeleine Bard – and Greitz did not approve. Her private opinion was that Ivar was stupid. But in the end she had acquiesced. After all, she needed the information he had gathered in order to put pressure on Leo if ever he found out anything and tried to expose her.
“Listen to me, Daniel,” she said. “I have to tell you something. It may be the most important thing you’ll have heard in your whole life.”
There was such a pleading look on his face that she was filled with confidence. She spoke in a voice that was both soothing and business-like, like a doctor conveying a diagnosis.
“Leo’s a bad apple, Daniel. It hurts me to say it, but that’s how it is. He’s been involved in insider dealing and illegal transactions. He’s going to end up in prison.”
“What? What are you saying?”
She could tell that he wasn’t taking it in. He just kept stroking his brother’s hair, telling him that everything was going to be alright. What bullshit. That aggravated Greitz, and she took on a sharper tone:
“Listen, I said. Leo’s not what you think. We have proof, and he’s going to end up in prison. He’s a crook and a swindler.”
Daniel looked at her in confusion.
“Why the hell would he do that? He isn’t even interested in money.”
“That’s what you think.”
“Is it? Before you arrived he tried to give me half of everything he owns – just like that.” He gestured with his hand, and she bit her lip. It was not what she wanted to hear.
“Why should you make do with only half?”
“I don’t want anything at all. I only want …”
He fell silent, as if he had understood. Certainly he sensed something. Seeing the panic in his eyes, Greitz expected an outburst, perhaps even a violent one. She glanced at Benjamin, he had to be ready. But Daniel only looked intently at Leo.
“What did you really give him? It wasn’t a sedative, was it?”
She did not answer. She was unsure now how best to play her cards. She knew that every word, every nuance in her voice, could be decisive.
“Curare,” she said eventually.
“And what’s that?”
“A plant-based poison.”
“Why the hell did you give him poison?” Dan was shouting again.
“Because I thought it necessary,” she said.
Like a desperate animal caught in a trap, Daniel looked up at Benjamin.
“But then … then you gave him something else.”
“Physostigmine. It’s an antidote,” she said.
“O.K., so now let’s take him to hospital.”
Greitz said nothing and so he picked up his mobile. She considered telling Benjamin to take it from him, but as long as he made no calls, there was no danger. She guessed he was Googling information on curare, and she let him search for a while. But when she saw fear in his eyes she snatched the phone from him. He went crazy. He yelled and flailed about, and even Benjamin had difficulty restraining him.
“Calm down, Daniel.”
“Never!”
“But don’t you understand that I’m giving you a fantastic gift?” she said.
“I don’t want to hear it!” he screamed.
She told him that physostigmine would suspend the effect of the curare for only a short time.
“So you can’t save him?” His voice was barely human.
“I’m so sorry,” she lied, and Benjamin had no choice but to silence him.
As he taped Daniel’s mouth shut, Greitz voiced her regret at having to go through all this and explained in more detail that Leo’s respiratory muscles would soon be blocked again, that he would suffocate and die. She looked at him. “We have a difficult situation on our hands, Daniel. Leo is near death and we not only have your fingerprints on the syringe, we also have a clear motive, don’t we? I see in your eyes just how envious you are of everything he has. But there’s a plus side …”
Daniel was struggling to hit out left and right, trying to tear himself free.
“The plus side is that Leo can go on living – but in a different way, Daniel. Through you.”
She gestured around the apartment.
“You can have his life, his money and opportunities, an existence you could only have dreamed of before. You can take over, Daniel. You can have it, and I promise you, all the terrible things Leo’s done, his despicable greed, will never come to light. We’ll see to it, we’ll back you up in every way. The fact that you’re mirror-image twins could present some difficulties, admittedly. But you’re so extraordinarily alike. Everything will be fine, I just know it.”
At that very moment Greitz heard a sound she could not identify. It was one of Daniel’s teeth, which he had ground to pieces.
CHAPTER 20
22.vi
Leo Mannheimer at last emerged from his office in a light-blue linen suit, grey T-shirt and trainers, and Blomkvist got up to shake his hand. It was a peculiar meeting. Blomkvist had spent a great deal of time researching this man, and here they were, standing eye to eye. It was immediately apparent that there was something unspoken and painful hanging over them like a shadow, a phantom.
Leo was nervously rubbing his hands together. His nails were long and neat, his hair curly and a little dishevelled, and he seemed to be listening out for something. He looked tense and did not ask Blomkvist to come through, instead they stood in the large lobby in front of the reception desk.
“I enjoyed your conversation with Karin Laestander at the Fotografiska Museum,” Blomkvist said.
“Thanks,” Leo said. “It was—”
“—clever,” Blomkvist cut in. “And true. We’re living in a time when lies and false news reports have more of an impact than ever. Or should I say ‘alternative facts’?”
“The post-truth society,” Leo replied, and hesitantly returned Blomkvist’s smile.
“Indeed, and we play around with our identities too, don’t we? Pretend to be people we’re not – on Facebook and so on.”
“I’m not actually on Facebook.”
“Me neither. I’ve never really understood the point. But I sometimes mess around with different identities too,” Blomkvist said. “It’s part of my job. How about you?”
Leo glanced at his wristwatch and looked out of the window at the square.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I have wall-to-wall meetings today. What is it you
wanted to see me about?”
“What do you think?”
“I really have no idea.”
“Anything you’ve had second thoughts about? Anything that would interest my magazine, Millennium?”
Leo swallowed hard. He gave the question serious consideration, and then, looking at the floor, he said:
“I suppose over the years I’ve done a few deals which could have been handled better. They’re a bit of a dog’s breakfast.”
“I’d be happy to take a look at them,” Blomkvist said. “Dog’s breakfasts are right up my street. But just now I’m interested in more personal matters, small divergences let’s say.”
“Divergences?”
“Exactly.”
“Such as?”
“Such as you becoming right-handed.”
Leo – if indeed it was Leo – seemed to be listening out for something again. He ran his fingers through his hair.
“I haven’t, actually. I just changed around. I’ve always used both hands.”
“So you write equally well with your right and your left hand?”
“Roughly speaking.”
“Could you show me?”
Blomkvist pulled out a pen and his reporter’s notebook.
“I’d rather not.”
Sweat beaded on Leo’s upper lip. He looked away.
“Are you feeling O.K.?”
“No, I can’t say that I am.”
“It must be the heat.”
“Perhaps.”
“I’m not in the best shape, myself,” Blomkvist said. “I was up half the night drinking with Hilda von Kanterborg. You know her, don’t you?”
Blomkvist saw fear in the man’s eyes and realized that he had him. He could tell by his look, by the way he squirmed. But maybe – Blomkvist was watching him very carefully – there was something else too, something hard to define, a hint of impatience perhaps, and also doubt. As if Leo, or whoever it might be, were confronting a major decision.
“Hilda told me an unbelievable story,” Blomkvist said.
“Is that so?”
“It was about twins who had been separated at birth. One of the boys was named Daniel Brolin. He had to work like a dog on a farm outside Hudiksvall, while his twin brother—”
“Not so loud,” the man interrupted.
“Excuse me?” Blomkvist pretended to be surprised and looked at him.
“Perhaps we should go for a walk,” he said.
“I’m not so sure—”
“—if we should take a walk?”
The man plainly did not know what to say. He mumbled something about the men’s toilet and hurried off. The excuse was not in the least convincing as he took out his mobile before he was even out of sight. That was when Blomkvist became convinced that he had guessed right. He texted Salander that Leo was almost certainly Daniel.
As he continued to wait, he became increasingly worried that he had been outwitted – that the man had escaped through a back door. The minutes went by and nothing happened, employees and visitors came and went. The young woman at reception smiled and wished everyone a good day.
It was a stylish place with high ceilings and red-patterned wallpaper. Oil paintings of elderly gentlemen in suits, presumably one-time partners or board members, hung on the walls. In this day and age, the lack of women was an obscenity.
Blomkvist’s mobile buzzed. It was Giannini, and he was about to take the call when the man – Leo or Daniel – came back down the corridor. He seemed to have pulled himself together, perhaps he had made some sort of decision. It was hard to tell. His throat was flushed and he looked tense and serious. His eyes were fixed on the floor and he said nothing to Blomkvist, just told the receptionist that he would be gone for a few hours.
They took the lift down and stepped out onto Norrmalmstorg. Stockholm was ferociously hot. People were fanning themselves with newspapers, with anything. Men had slung their jackets over their shoulders. They turned into Hamngatan, and Blomkvist noticed the man look nervously behind him. He briefly wondered whether to suggest that they hop on a bus or take a taxi. Instead they crossed the street into Kungsträdgården. They walked on in silence, as if they were waiting for something to happen.
The man was sweating more than he ought to have been, even in this heat, and again glancing around anxiously. They found themselves diagonally across from Operan, and although he could not put his finger on why, Blomkvist sensed a threat. Maybe he had made a mistake, the people from the Registry could already be a step ahead of him. He turned around. Nothing. In fact the streets were peaceful, there was a holiday feeling in the air. People sat on park benches and on café terraces, their faces towards the sun. Perhaps his companion’s nervousness was rubbing off on him. He went straight to the point:
“So, shall I call you Leo or Daniel?”
The man bit his lip and a shadow came over his face. A second later he threw himself on top of Blomkvist, and together they crashed to the ground.
Greitz, who had been waiting on a bench on Norrmalmstorg, had seen Daniel Brolin walk away with Blomkvist. She understood that elements had been set in motion which would lead to the story leaking out sooner rather than later.
She was neither surprised nor shocked. She had known for some time that the stakes were high, but instead of exciting merely despair, this allowed her also a kind of freedom, all the way to the grave. She appeared to have acquired the resolve of someone who has nothing to lose. Plus, she had Benjamin. He was not dying as she was, but he was bound to her, by his life-long loyalty and by the unspeakable things they had done together. If it all came out, his fall would be as great as hers. Without questioning it, he had agreed to put Blomkvist out of action and take Daniel to a place where they could talk sense into him.
This was why Benjamin, in spite of the heat, was wearing a black hoodie and dark glasses. He was carrying a concealed syringe filled with ketamine, an anaesthetic which would knock the journalist clean out.
Although she had been suffering from stomach pains all morning, Greitz had dragged herself over to the avenue running alongside Kungsträdgården. In the glaring sunlight she made out Benjamin moving along with quick steps.
Her senses sharpened. The city became one single concentrated moment, one sparkling scene, and she watched intently as Daniel and Blomkvist slowed and the journalist appeared to be asking a question. Good, she thought, that will distract them, and in that moment she believed it would go precisely as planned.
Further down the street a horse-drawn carriage appeared. A blue hot-air balloon hung in the sky and people were walking by in every direction, oblivious to what was going on. Her heart pounded in anticipation and she was breathing deeply. But then Daniel looked up, saw Benjamin and threw Blomkvist to the ground. The journalist lay flat on the pavement and Benjamin hesitated and missed his chance. Blomkvist jumped to his feet. Benjamin lunged at Blomkvist. But the journalist dodged him, and then Benjamin took to his heels. The coward! Furious, she watched as Daniel and Blomkvist ran towards Operakällaren. They jumped into a taxi and were gone. The heat settled like a wet blanket over Greitz and she felt only how unwell and nauseous she was. Yet she managed to pull herself up to her full height, and as rapidly as she was able she left the scene.
Salander was lying pressed against the floor of the grey van, being kicked at intervals in the stomach and face. The noxious rag was again placed over her nose, and she felt woozy and weak as she went in and out of consciousness. She had no trouble recognizing Benito and Bashir, no happy combination. Benito was looking pale and was bandaged around her head and jaw. She was having difficulty moving, so she kept still, which was good. Most of the blows aimed at Salander came from the men: Bashir, bearded and sweaty, dressed in the same clothes as the day before, and a thickset man of about thirty-five with a shaved head, grey T-shirt and black leather waistcoat. A third man was driving.
The van rolled down past Slussen, at least she thought so. She tried to register every detail in the ve
hicle – a coil of rope, a roll of tape, two screwdrivers. Another kick, this time to her neck. Someone grabbed her hands. They tied her up, frisked her and took her mobile. That was a worry, but the bald guy stuffed it into his pocket and that was fine. She made a note of his physique and his jerky movements, and his tendency to keep looking at Benito. He was obviously Benito’s lapdog, not Bashir’s.
There was a bench on the left side of the van. They sat there while she lay on the floor amid the smell of perfume, the stench of surgical spirit and sweat from their trainers. Salander thought they were heading north but she could not be sure, she was far too light-headed. For a long time no-one spoke, the only sounds were of people breathing and engine noise and the metallic rattling of the old banger, it must have been at least thirty years old. They drove out onto a main road and after twenty minutes or so began to talk. That was good, that was what she needed. Bashir had a bruise on his throat, from her blow with the hockey stick she hoped. He looked like he had slept badly. In fact he looked like shit.
“You have no idea how we’re going to make you suffer, you little whore,” he said.
Salander was silent.
“Then I’m going to kill you. Slowly. With my Keris,” Benito said.
Still Salander said nothing. Why would she, when she knew that every word spoken was being transmitted to a number of different computers.
Nothing too sophisticated, at least not by her standards. When they overpowered her in the street she had whispered “Harpy” into her modified iPhone. That had activated her alarm button via S.R.I.’s A.I. system and a boosted microphone was switched on automatically, triggering a sound recording that was sent to all members of the so-called Hacker Republic, together with the mobile’s G.P.S. co-ordinates.
The Girl Who Takes an Eye for an Eye: Continuing Stieg Larsson's Millennium Series Page 30