The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest by Stieg Larsson
"Then?"
"Well, she thinks it's embarrassing and doesn't know what to do. Part of it is probably that she's very impressed by you and likes you a lot . . . as a boss, I mean. So she came to me and asked for my advice."
"And what did you tell her?"
"I said that someone had faked your address and is obviously harassing her. Or possibly both of you. I said I'd talk to you about it."
"Thank you. Could you please ask her to come to my office in ten minutes?"
In the meantime Berger composed her own email.
It has come to my attention that an employee of SMP has received a number of emails that appear to come from me. The emails contain vulgar sexual innuendos. I have also received similar emails from a sender who purports to be "centraled" at SMP. No such address exists.
I have consulted the head of the IT department, who informs me that it is very easy to fake a sender's address. I don't understand how it's done, but there are sites on the Internet where such things can be arranged. I have to draw the conclusion that some sick individual is doing this.
I want to know if any other colleagues have received strange emails. If so, I would like them to inform Fredriksson of this immediately. If these unpleasant pranks continue we will have to consider reporting them to the police.
Erika Berger, Editor in Chief
----------
She printed a copy of the email and then pressed Send so that the message went out to all employees in the company. At that moment, Eva Carlsson knocked on the door.
"Hello. Have a seat," Berger said. "Peter told me that you got an email from me."
"Well, I didn't really think it came from you."
"Thirty seconds ago you did get an email from me. I wrote it all by myself and sent it to everyone in the company."
She handed Carlsson the printout.
"OK. I get it," the girl said.
"I'm really sorry that somebody decided to target you for this ugly campaign."
"You don't have to apologize for the actions of some asshole."
"I just want to make sure that you don't have any lingering suspicions that I had anything to do with these emails."
"I never believed you sent them."
"Thanks," Berger said with a smile.
Figuerola spent the afternoon gathering information. She started by ordering passport photographs of Faulsson. Then she ran a check in the criminal records and got a hit at once.
Lars Faulsson, forty-seven years old and known by the nickname Falun, had begun his criminal career stealing cars at seventeen. In the seventies and eighties he was arrested twice and charged with breaking and entering, burglary, and receiving stolen goods. The first time, he was given a light prison sentence; the second time, he got three years. At that time he was regarded as "up and coming" in criminal circles and had been questioned as a suspect in three other burglaries, one of which was a relatively complicated and widely reported safe-cracking heist at a department store in Vasteras. When he got out of prison in 1984 he kept his nose clean--or at least he did not pull any jobs that got him arrested and convicted again. But he had retrained himself to be a locksmith (of all professions), and in 1987 he started his own company, Lars Faulsson Lock and Key Service, with an address near Norrtull in Stockholm.
Identifying the woman who had filmed Martensson and Faulsson proved to be easier than she had anticipated. She simply called Milton Security and explained that she was looking for a female employee she had met a while ago and whose name she had forgotten. She could give a good description of the woman. The switchboard told her that it sounded like Susanne Linder, and put her through. When Linder answered the phone, Figuerola apologized and said she must have dialled the wrong number.
The public registry listed eighteen Susanne Linders in Stockholm county, three of them around thirty-five years old. One lived in Norrtalje, one in Stockholm, and one in Nacka. She requisitioned their passport photographs and identified at once the woman she had followed from Bellmansgatan as the Susanne Linder who lived in Nacka.
She set out her day's work in a memo and went in to see Edklinth.
Blomkvist closed Cortez's research folder and pushed it away with distaste. Malm put down the printout of his article, which he had read four times. Cortez sat on the sofa in Eriksson's office looking guilty.
"Coffee," Eriksson said, getting up. She came back with four mugs and the coffeepot.
"This is a great sleazy story," Blomkvist said. "First-class research. Documentation to the hilt. Perfect dramaturgy with a bad guy who swindles Swedish tenants through the system--which is legal--but who is so greedy and so fucking stupid that he outsources to this company in Vietnam."
"Very well written too," Malm said. "The day after we publish this, Borgsjo is going to be persona non grata. TV is going to pick this up. He's going to be right up there with the directors of Skandia. A genuine scoop for Millennium. Well done, Henry."
"But this thing with Erika is a real fly in the ointment," Blomkvist said.
"Why should that be a problem?" Eriksson said. "Erika isn't the villain. We have to be free to examine any chairman of the board or CEO, even if he happens to be her boss."
"It's a hell of a dilemma," Blomkvist said.
"Erika hasn't completely left Millennium," Malm said. "She owns 30 percent and sits on our board. In fact, she's chairman of the board until we can elect Harriet Vanger at the next board meeting, and that won't be until August. Plus, Erika is working at SMP and you're about to expose her boss."
Glum silence.
"So what the hell are we going to do?" Cortez said. "Do we kill the article?"
Blomkvist looked Cortez straight in the eye. "No, Henry. We're not going to kill the article. That's not the way we do things at Millennium. But this is going to take some legwork. We can't just dump it on Erika's desk as a newspaper headline."
Malm waved a finger in the air. "We're really putting Erika on the spot. She'll have to sell her share of Millennium and leave our board . . . or in the worst case, she could get fired by SMP. Either way she would have a terrible conflict of interest. Honestly, Henry, I agree with Mikael that we should publish the story, but we may have to postpone it for a month."
"Because we're facing a conflict of loyalties too," Blomkvist said.
"Should I call her?"
"No, Christer," Blomkvist said. "I'll call her and arrange to meet. Tonight."
Figuerola gave a summary of the circus that had sprung up around Blomkvist's building on Bellmansgatan. Edklinth felt the floor sway slightly beneath his chair.
"An employee of SIS goes into Blomkvist's building with an ex-safebreaker, now retrained as a locksmith."
"Correct."
"What do you think they did in the stairwell?"
"I don't know. But they were in there for forty-nine minutes. My guess is that Faulsson opened the door and Martensson spent the time in Blomkvist's apartment."
"And what did they do there?"
"It couldn't have been to plant bugs, because that takes only a minute or so. Martensson must have been looking through Blomkvist's papers or whatever else he keeps at his place."
"But Blomkvist has already been warned . . . they stole Bjorck's report from there."
"Right. He knows he's being watched, and he's watching the ones who are watching him. He's calculating."
"Calculating what?"
"I mean, he has a plan. He's gathering information and is going to expose Martensson. That's the only reasonable explanation."
"And this Linder woman?"
"Susanne Linder, former police officer."
"Police officer?"
"She graduated from the police academy and worked for six years on the Sodermalm crime team. She resigned abruptly. There's nothing in her file that says why. She was out of a job for several months before she was hired by Milton Security."
"Armansky," Edklinth said thoughtfully. "How long was she in the building?"
"Nine minutes."
"Doing what?"
"Since she was filming Martensson and Faulsson on the street I'm guessing that she's documenting their activities. That means that Milton Security is working with Blomkvist and has placed surveillance cameras in his apartment or in the stairwell. She probably went in to collect the film."
Edklinth sighed. The Zalachenko story was beginning to get tremendously complicated.
"Thank you. You go home. I have to think about this."
Figuerola went to the gym at St. Eriksplan.
Blomkvist used his second mobile when he punched in Berger's number at SMP. He interrupted a discussion she was having with her editors about what angle to give an article on international terrorism.
"Oh, hello, it's you . . . wait a second."
Berger put her hand over the mouthpiece.
"I think we're done," she said, and gave them one last instruction. When she was alone she said: "Hello, Mikael. Sorry not to have been in touch. I'm just so swamped here. There are a thousand things I have got to learn. How's the Salander stuff going?"
"Good. But that's not why I called. I have to see you. Tonight."
"I wish I could, but I have to be here until 8:00. And I'm dead tired. I've been at it since dawn. What's it about?"
"I'll tell you when I see you. But it's not good."
"I'll come to your place at 8:30."
"No. Not at mine. It's a long story, but my apartment is unsuitable for the time being. Let's meet at Samir's Cauldron for a beer."
"I'm driving."
"Then we'll have a light beer."
Berger was slightly annoyed when she walked into Samir's Cauldron. She was feeling guilty because she had not contacted Blomkvist even once since the day she had walked into SMP.
Blomkvist waved from a corner table. She stopped in the doorway. For a second he seemed a stranger. Who's that over there? God, I'm so tired. Then he stood and kissed her on the cheek, and she realized to her dismay that she had not even thought about him for several weeks and that she missed him terribly. It was as though her time at SMP had been a dream and she might suddenly wake up on the sofa at Millennium. It felt unreal.
"Hello, Mikael."
"Hello, editor in chief. Have you eaten?"
"It's 8:30. I don't have your disgusting eating habits."
Samir came over with the menu and she realised she was hungry. She ordered a beer and a small plate of calamari with Greek potatoes. Blomkvist ordered couscous and a beer.
"How are you?" she said.
"These are interesting times we're living in. I'm swamped too."
"And Salander?"
"She's part of what makes it so interesting."
"Micke, I'm not going to steal your story."
"I'm not trying to evade your question. The truth is that right now everything is a little confused. I'd love to tell you the whole thing, but it would take half the night. How do you like being editor in chief?"
"It's not exactly Millennium. I fall asleep like a blown-out candle as soon as I get home, and when I wake up, I see spreadsheets before my eyes. I've missed you. Can't we go back to your place and sleep? I don't have the energy for sex, but I'd love to curl up and sleep next to you."
"I'm sorry, Ricky. The apartment isn't a good place right now."
"Why not? Has something happened?"
"Well, some spooks have bugged the place and they listen, presumably, to every word I say. I've had cameras installed to record what happens when I'm not home. I don't think we should let the state archives have footage of your naked posterior."
"Are you kidding?"
"No. But that wasn't why I had to see you tonight."
"What is it? Tell me."
"Well, I'll be very direct. We've come across a story that will sink your CEO. It's about using child labour and exploiting political prisoners in Vietnam. We're looking at a conflict of interest."
Berger put down her fork and stared at him. She saw at once that he was not being funny.
"This is how things stand," he said. "Borgsjo is chairman and majority stockholder of a company called Svea Construction, which in turn is sole owner of a subsidiary called Vitavara Inc. They make toilets at a factory in Vietnam which has been condemned by the UN for using child labour."
"Run that by me again."
Blomkvist told her the details of the story that Cortez had compiled. He opened his laptop bag and took out a copy of the documentation. Berger read slowly through the article. Finally she looked up and met Blomkvist's eyes. She felt unreasoning panic mixed with disbelief.
"Why the hell is it that the first thing Millennium does after I leave is to start running background checks on SMP's board members?"
"That's not what happened, Ricky." He explained how the story had developed.
"And how long have you known about this?"
"Since today; since this afternoon. I feel deeply uncomfortable about how this has unfolded."
"And what are you going to do?"
"I don't know. We have to publish. We can't make an exception just because it deals with your boss. But not one of us wants to hurt you." He threw up his hands. "We're all extremely unhappy about the situation. Henry especially."
"I'm still a member of Millennium's board. I'm a part owner. It's going to be viewed as--"
"I know exactly how it's going to be viewed. You're going to land in a shitload of trouble at SMP."
Berger felt weariness settling over her. She clenched her teeth and stifled an impulse to ask Blomkvist to sit on the story.
"Goddamnit," she said. "And there's no doubt in your mind . . . ?"
Blomkvist shook his head. "I spent the whole afternoon going over Henry's documentation. We have Borgsjo ready for the slaughter."
"So what are you planning, and when?"
"What would you have done if we'd uncovered this story two months ago?"
Berger looked intently at her friend, who had also been her lover over the past twenty years. Then she lowered her eyes.
"You know what I would have done."
"This is a disastrous coincidence. None of it is directed at you. I'm terribly, terribly sorry. That's why I insisted on seeing you at once. We have to decide what to do."
"We?"
"Listen, the story was slated to run in the June issue. I've killed that idea. The earliest it could come out is August, and it can be postponed further if you need more time."
"I understand." Her voice took on a bitter tone.
"I suggest we don't decide anything now. Take the documentation and go home and think it over. Don't do anything until we can agree on a common strategy. We have time."
"A common strategy?"
"You either have to resign from Millennium's board before we publish, or resign from SMP. You can't wear both hats."
She nodded. "I'm so linked to Millennium that no-one will believe I didn't have a hand in this, whether I resign or not."
"There is an alternative. You could take the story to SMP and confront Borgsjo and demand his resignation. I'm quite sure Henry would agree to that. But don't do anything until we all agree."
"So I start by getting the person who recruited me fired."
"I'm sorry."
"He isn't a bad person."
"I believe you. But he's greedy."
Berger got up. "I'm going home."
"Ricky, I--"
She interrupted him. "I'm just dead tired. Thanks for warning me. I'll let you know."
She left without kissing him, and he had to pay the bill.
Berger had parked 200 yards from the restaurant and was halfway to her car when she felt such strong heart palpitations that she had to stop and lean against a wall. She felt sick.
She stood for a long time breathing in the mild May air. She had been working fifteen hours a day since May 1. That was almost three weeks. How would she feel after three years? Was that how Morander had felt before he dropped dead in the newsroom?
After ten minutes she went back to S
"Erika . . ."
"Mikael, don't say a word. We've been friends so long--nothing can destroy that. You're my best friend, and this feels exactly like the time you disappeared to Hedestad two years ago, only vice versa. I feel stressed out and unhappy."
He put his arms around her. She felt tears in her eyes.
"Three weeks at SMP have already done me in," she said.
"Now, now. It takes more than that to do in Erika Berger."
"Your apartment is compromised. And I'm too tired to drive home. I'd fall asleep at the wheel and die in a crash. I've decided. I'm going to walk to the Scandic Crown and book a room. Come with me."
"It's called the Hilton now."
"Same difference."
They walked the short distance without talking. Blomkvist had his arm around her shoulder. Berger glanced at him and saw that he was just as tired as she was.
They went straight to the front desk, took a double room, and paid with Berger's credit card. When they got to the room, they undressed, showered, and crawled into bed. Berger's muscles ached as though she had just run the Stockholm marathon. They cuddled for a while and then both fell asleep in seconds.
Neither of them had noticed the man in the lobby who was watching them as they stepped into the elevator.
CHAPTER 15
Thursday, May 19-Sunday, May 22
Salander spent most of Wednesday night and early Thursday morning reading Blomkvist's articles and the chapters of the Millennium book that were more or less finished. Since Prosecutor Ekstrom had tentatively referred to a trial in July, Blomkvist had set June 20 as his deadline for going to press. That meant that Blomkvist had about a month to finish writing and patching up all the holes in his text.
She could not imagine how he could finish in time, but that was his problem, not hers. Her problem was how to respond to his questions.
She took her Palm and logged on to the Yahoo group [Idiotic_Table] to check whether he had put up anything new in the past twenty-four hours. He had not. She opened the document that he had called [Central Questions]. She knew the text by heart already, but she read through it again anyway.
He outlined the strategy that Giannini had already explained to her. When her lawyer spoke to her she had listened with only half an ear, almost as though it had nothing to do with her. But Blomkvist, knowing things about her that Giannini did not, could present a more forceful strategy. She skipped down to the fourth paragraph.