Chapter 17 Chapter Seventeen

When Blomkvist returned to his penthouse at No. 1 Bellman Road, he hadn't expected the stairwell to be occupied.It was seven o'clock at night.He stopped at the sight of a woman with short, blond curly hair sitting on the top staircase, and recognized her as Figuelaura from the NSA, whose passport photo Rota had found. "Hello, Blomkvist." She closed the book she was reading just now and greeted her happily.Blomkvist glanced at the book and saw that it was an English book about ancient views of God.He looked at the uninvited guest who had gotten up at this time.She was wearing a short-sleeved summer dress and a brick-red leather jacket at the top of the stairs.

"We need to talk to you," she said. She was tall, taller than him, especially standing two stairs higher than him, which intensified this feeling.He looked at her arms, then at her feet, and saw that she was much stronger than himself. "You spend a few hours a week in the gym," he said. She smiled and took out her ID. "My name is……" "Monica Figerola, born in 1969, lives in Pentonie Street, Kings Island. You are from Borlange, Dalarna Province, and you used to work for the Uppsala police station , have been working in the National Security Bureau's Constitutional Protection Team for three years. You are a sports fanatic. You were once a top athlete and almost entered the Swedish Olympic team. What do you want me for?"

She was taken aback, but quickly regained her composure. "Very well," she whispered, "You know who I am, so you don't have to be afraid of me." "yes?" "Someone wanted to talk to you calmly. But it looks like your apartment and phone are bugged and we need to keep it a secret, so they sent me over to invite you." "Why should I go with a man who works for the secret police?" She thought about it. "Well... you can accept a friendly personal invitation, or if you'd rather have me handcuff you and take you away by force." She smiled charmingly. "Blomkvist, I understand that you have no reason to trust the people sent by the NSA. But not everyone who works there is your enemy, and my superiors really want to talk to you. So you What do you say? Put on handcuffs or go by yourself?"

"I've had the police handcuffed once this year and that's enough. Where are we going?" She parked the car on the corner of Price Lane.After they got into her new Saab 915, she turned on her phone and pressed a speed dial button. "We'll be there in fifteen minutes." She asked Blomkvist to fasten her seat belt, then drove to East Maugham via Slusen, and parked in an alley on Cannon Road.She sat for a moment looking at him. "Blomkvist, this is a friendly invitation. You take no risk." Blomkvist didn't say a word, everything had to wait until he figured out what was going on.She walked to a door and pressed the code.They took the elevator up to the sixth floor and came to an apartment that said "Martinson".

"This place is borrowed for tonight's meeting." She said and opened the door. "On the right, enter the living room." The first person Blomkvist sees is Aiklint, which is not surprising, because everything that happened is closely related to the secret police, and Aiklint is Figuelaura's boss.The leader of the constitutional protection team took so much trouble to bring him here, it can be seen that someone is nervous. Then he saw a man by the window.It's the Attorney General.This was beyond his expectation. Then he heard a voice to the right and saw the Prime Minister rise from the armchair.This is something he never dreamed of.

"Hello, Mr. Blomkvist," said the Prime Minister, "forgive us for calling you here so hastily, but we have discussed the situation and we all agree that we should speak to you. Would you like some coffee or something?" drinks?" Blomkvist looked around and saw a dark wooden dining table littered with glasses, coffee mugs, and leftover sandwiches.They must have been here for hours. "Ramrosa mineral water," he replied. So Figolaura poured him a glass of mineral water.When they sat down on the sofa, she stepped back. "He recognizes me and knows my name, where I live, where I work and what I love about sports," Figuelaura said, without targeting anyone in particular.

The Prime Minister glanced quickly at Aiklint, then at Blomkvist.Blomkvist immediately found himself in a favorable position.The Prime Minister needs something from him and may not know how much he knows. "How do you know the identity of Officer Figerola?" Aiklint asked. Blomkvist looked at the head of the constitutional protection group.He wasn't quite sure why the Prime Minister was meeting with him in a borrowed apartment in East Maugham, but suddenly it dawned on him that it wasn't much of a possibility.It should have been Armansky's disclosure to a trusted person that set off the chain of events.And that person must be Ai Kelinte, or someone close to him.So Blomkvist decided to try his luck.

"Our mutual friend talked to you." He said to Ai Kelinte: "So you sent Figuelaura to find out, and she found out that some secret police were illegally listening to me and broke into the house. Stealing from my house. This means that you have confirmed the existence of what I call the 'Zarachenko Club'. You are very nervous and know that you have to do something further, but you sit in the office for a while, not knowing what to do OK. So you go to the Attorney General and he goes to the Prime Minister. And here we are all. What do you want me to do?" Blomkvist's confident tone seemed to imply that he had clues to the core, and knew every step Aiklint took.As soon as Ai Kelinte opened his eyes wide, he knew that his guess was indistinguishable.

"The people from the 'Zarachenko Club' are watching me, and I'm watching them." Blomkvist continued: "You are also watching the 'Zarachenko Club', which makes the Prime Minister both angry and disturbed. He knew this conversation would be followed by a scandal that could prove to be an existential issue for the government." Figuelaura found out that Blomkvist was just playing tricks, and she knew how he could say her name and shoe size out of the blue. He saw me in the car on Bellman Road.He took down the car number and made an investigation.But everything else is guesswork.

But she said nothing. The Prime Minister did seem very disturbed at this time. "Is this really going to happen?" he said. "Is there really going to be a scandal that brings down the government?" "The survival of the government has nothing to do with me," Blomkvist said. "My role is to expose crap like the 'Zaraqianke Club.'" "And my duty is to run the country according to the constitution," the prime minister said. "That is to say, my problem is definitely the government's problem, but not necessarily the other way around."

"Can we stop going around in circles? Why do you think I arranged this meeting?" "Want to find out what I know, and what are you going to do?" "Only partly true. But more clearly, we are in a constitutional crisis. I would like to state that there is absolutely no government involvement in this matter, and we are certainly caught off guard. I have never heard of... what you say The 'Zalaqianke Club'. The ministers who are here have never heard of it. Ai Kelinte is a high-level member of the National Security Bureau, and has been in the National Security Bureau for many years, and he has never heard of it." "It's still not my problem." "I understand. What I want to know is when you plan to publish the article and what exactly you want to publish. But this is not about damage control." "Really?" "Mr. Blomkvist, in the present circumstances, it would be the worst thing I could do to try to influence the form or content of your reporting. In fact, I would like to propose cooperation." "please explain." "Since the existence of a cabal in an extremely sensitive executive branch has been confirmed, I have ordered an investigation." The Prime Minister then turned to the Minister of Justice and said: "Please explain to him what orders the government has issued." "Very simple," said the Minister. "Ecklint is in charge of finding out whether we have the means to prove this. He is going to collect data that can be passed on to the Attorney General, who will decide whether to prosecute. The instructions are very clear. .Tonight, Aiklint also reported on the progress of the investigation. We discussed many issues with constitutional implications, and we certainly hope that they can be handled properly." "Of course." The tone of Blomkvist's voice showed that he didn't quite believe the Prime Minister's assurance. "The investigation has reached a sensitive stage, but who is involved has not yet been identified, which will take time. That's why we asked Inspector Figerola to come forward and invite you to meet." "It's not exactly an invitation either." The Prime Minister frowned and glanced at Figueraura. "That doesn't matter," Blomkvist said. "She's playing by the rules. Get to the point, please." "We want to know your publication date. This investigation is being conducted in great secrecy, and if you publish before Aiklint completes his investigation, everything will be over." "So when do you want me to publish it? After the next election?" "You decide for yourself, it's not something I can influence. You just name the date and let us know the deadline." "I understand. You just said that you want to cooperate..." The prime minister said: "Yes, but let me start by stating that under normal circumstances I would never have thought of having a meeting with a reporter like this." "I guess under normal circumstances, you'd do everything you can to keep journalists out of this kind of meeting." "That's right. But I understand that you have several motivations behind you. It is a well-known fact that you are never soft when it comes to corruption issues. In this case, we are like-minded." "yes?" "Yes, absolutely. Or... maybe there are some differences on the legal level, but the goal is the same. If there is such a 'Zarachenko Club', it is not only a criminal cabal, but also a threat to the National security. These activities must be stopped and those responsible must be brought to justice. We should be on the same page on this, right?" Blomkvist nodded. "I know you know more about this matter than anyone else, and we recommend that you come forward with everything you know. If this were an ordinary police investigation into an ordinary crime, the head of the initial investigation could decide to summon you for questioning, but you I also understand that this is an extraordinary situation related to national affairs." Blomkvist considered it slightly. "What do I get in return...if I cooperate?" "Nothing. I don't intend to bargain with you. If you want to publish it early tomorrow morning, please do so. I don't want to be involved in a transaction that seems to be unconstitutional. I am asking for your cooperation in the interest of the country." "If that's the case, 'nothing' could be a lot," Blomkvist said. "One thing...I'm very, very angry. I'm angry at the state, the government, the secret police and all these fucking bastards, To put a twelve-year-old girl in a mental institution for no reason until she was declared incapacitated." "Salander has become a matter of concern to the government." The Prime Minister smiled and said, "Michel, I am personally very angry about what happened to her. Please believe what I say, those responsible must give an explanation. But in Before that, we need to know who they are." "I think releasing Salander and revoking the disability declaration is the top priority." "I can't help that. I'm not above the law and cannot direct the decision of the prosecutor and the court. Her release must be enforced by the court." "Okay." Blomkvist said, "If you want me to cooperate, then let me know a little bit about Aiklint's investigation, and I'll tell you the time and content of the publication." "I can't say yes to that, or my relationship with you will be like that of former Attorney General and journalist Albert Carlson." "I'm not Albert Carlson," Blomkvist said coldly. "I know. But having said that, Aikelint can decide what information he can share with you in his mission structure." "Well," said Blomkvist, "I wonder who Gulbe is." Everyone was silent. "It is speculated that Gulbo should have been in charge of the National Security Bureau, your so-called 'Zalaqianke Club' for many years." Ai Kelinte finally said. The Prime Minister gave him a stern look. "I think he already knew about it." Aikelint apologized with an explanation. "That's right," said Blomkvist. "He was a member of the secret police in the fifties, and in the sixties he was the head of a so-called 'special analysis unit' dealing with Zarachenko affairs." The Prime Minister shook his head. "You shouldn't know so much. I'd love to know where you got all this information, but I won't ask." “There are a lot of holes in my reporting,” Blomkvist said. “They need to be filled. Give me information and I won’t burden you.” "As prime minister I can't send that kind of message, and it would be very dangerous for Aiklint to do so." "Don't lie to me, I know what you want, and you know what I want. If you provide information, it is equivalent to my source, which also means that your identity will never be exposed. But please don't get me wrong... …I will tell the truth in my published articles. If you were involved, I would expose you and do everything in my power to make you never re-elected. But at this time I have no reason to think you were involved.” The Prime Minister glanced at Ai Kelint, and nodded after a while.Blomkvist took this as a signal that the prime minister had broken the law - purely in theory - by agreeing to share classified information with journalists. "All of this can be easily resolved." Aikelint said: "I have my investigation team, and I decide which colleagues to recruit for investigation. I can't hire you, otherwise you have to sign a non-disclosure agreement. But I can hire you as an outside consultant." As soon as Erica took Moreland's stick, her life was filled with meetings and work twenty-four hours a day. It was nearly two weeks after Blomkvist brought her Kertesz's report on Bosher on Wednesday night before she had time to deal with it.As soon as she opened the binder, she realized that the reason for the delay was that she didn't really want to face the problem.She already knew that no matter what she did, disaster could not be avoided. She arrived home in Saltshobachgen at seven o'clock, surprisingly early, only to remember that her husband wasn't home when she turned off the hall alarm.She also gave him a special long kiss that morning, because he was flying to Paris to give a speech and would not be back until the weekend.As for where she was going to speak and what she was going to say, she had no idea. After she went upstairs to run the hot water and undressed, she took Kertesz's binder into the bathroom and spent half an hour reading it.She couldn't help smiling. This kid would be a great reporter in the future.He's twenty-six years old, and he's been in Millennium right out of journalism school, four years now.She was vaguely proud.This story is Millennium from beginning to end, with meticulous attention to detail. But she also felt very depressed.Boshe is a nice guy, and she likes him.Soft-spoken, smart, and charming, he doesn't seem to care about his reputation.Besides, he was her boss.Damn Boshe!How could he be so stupid? While she thought there might be some other reason or extenuating circumstance, she knew it was impossible. She put the binder on the window sill, and lay in the bathtub thinking. Millennium will run the story, no doubt about it.Had she been around, she would not have hesitated for a moment. "Millennium" leaked the content of the report to her in advance, purely out of good intentions, hoping to reduce the harm to her personally.If, on the other hand, it was the Swedish Morgan Post who found out about the bad news about the chairman of Millennium (who happened to be herself), they wouldn't hesitate. After the report is published, it will be a fatal blow to Boshe.What's serious is not that his company, Vittavala, imports goods from a company blacklisted by the United Nations for its use of child labor—it's that the company also enslaves criminals, some of them no doubt political.What is really serious is that Boshe knew all about it and continued to order toilets from Fengsu Industry.After the crimes committed by other capitalists, such as the former Scandinavian president, were revealed, the Swedish people may find it difficult to accept his greedy behavior. Of course Bosche would claim that he did not know Fonsu's situation, but Kertesz had solid proof.Had Bosher adopted this tactic, the lying would have been exposed.In June 1997, The Temple House went to Vietnam to sign the first batch of contracts.He stayed for ten days that time and visited the company's factories everywhere.It would be foolish for him to say that he did not know that many of the workers were only twelve or thirteen years old. Kertesz cites that in 1999, the United Nations Anti-Child Labor Committee included Fengsu Industry in the list of companies that exploited child labor, and it was also the subject of magazine reports at that time.Two anti-child labor groups—one of which is the London-based, world-renowned International United Against Child Labor—have written to companies that placed orders with Fonsu.Vittavala received seven letters, two of which were addressed to Bosher himself, and the London organization was more than happy to provide evidence.And Vittavala didn't answer a single letter. To make matters worse, Temple House later made two trips to Vietnam, in 2001 and 2004, to renew his contract.This is the fatal blow.It was no longer possible for Bosher to say that he did not know. The inevitable media storm can only lead to one result.If The Temple House is smart enough, he should resign from all directorships, apologize and step down.If he decides to fight to the end, he will eventually perish. Erica didn't care if Bosche was the chairman of Vittavala, what she cared about was that he was the chairman of the Swedish Morgan Post.The newspaper is now in jeopardy and is undergoing a renewal plan, and a chairman like him cannot be tolerated. Erica made up her mind. She was going to see Boshe and show him the material, hoping to persuade him to resign before the report came out. If he stood his ground, she would convene an interim board meeting to explain the situation and force the directors to fire The Temple.If they refused, she would have to resign immediately. She thought for a long time, and the bath water turned cold before she came out to take a shower, dried herself, and went back to the bedroom to put on her nightgown.Then he picked up his cell phone and called Blomkvist, but no one answered.She went downstairs to make coffee, then decided to see if there was a movie on the TV and relax, for the first time since she had been at the Swedish Morgan Post. When I walked into the living room, I suddenly felt a tingling pain under my feet, and I looked down and saw that there was blood.After taking another step, her whole leg was in severe pain again, so she had to jump to the front of the antique chair with one foot and sit down.She raised her foot and was surprised to find that there was a shard of glass stuck in the heel.I was a little dizzy at first, but then I managed to calm myself down, grabbed the fragments and pulled them out. The pain was excruciating, and blood gushed out of the wound immediately. She opened the drawer in the hall where she kept her scarves, gloves, and hat, found a scarf, and tied it around her feet.This alone was not enough, so another bandage was used as a temporary bandage to fix it, and the bleeding situation was obviously eased. She looked at the blood-stained glass in surprise.Where did this come from?Then saw more on the foyer floor.My goodness... She looked into the living room and saw that the French windows were broken and the floor was full of broken glass. She walked back to the front door, put on the walking shoes she had kicked off on the way home, no, put on one shoe and tucked the injured toe into the other, and then hopped into the living room to see the damage. That's when she noticed a brick in the center of the living room floor. She limped from the balcony door to the garden outside.Someone sprayed two one-meter-high characters on the back wall. Just after nine o'clock in the evening, Figuolaura opened the car door for Blomkvist, and then went around and got into the driver's seat. "Would you like me to drive you home or where you want to go?" Blomkvist stared straight ahead. "Honestly, I'm still a little lost. I've never had a direct confrontation with the Prime Minister." Figuelaura laughed. "You're a good poker player," she said. "I had no idea you were such a good poker player." "I'm serious." "Of course, but I mean you pretend you know a lot when you don't. I'll see when I figure out how you recognize me." Blomkvist turned to look at her in profile. "You took my car number down when I parked it on the hill outside your house. You acted like you knew what we were discussing in the Prime Minister's office." "Why don't you tell the truth?" asked Blomkvist. She glanced quickly at him, then back to Gravedur Street. "Rules of the game. I shouldn't have picked that spot, but there's no other place to park. You're aware of your surroundings, aren't you?" "You're sitting in the car on the phone, and there's a map splayed out in the front seat. I'll take your car number and do a routine lookup. I'll check any car that comes to my attention, but usually nothing. It turned out that you were from the National Security Bureau." "I'm following Mo Tiansen." "Aha, it's that simple." "Later I found out that you also used Susan from Milton Security to follow him." "It was Armansky who sent her to keep an eye on my neighborhood." "Because she entered your apartment building, I assume Milton installed hidden cameras on your floor." "That's right. We clearly recorded the process of them breaking into the house to search for documents. Mo Tiansen took a portable copier with him. Have you found out the identity of Mo Tiansen's accomplice?" "He's not important. Just an ex-convict locksmith, probably for a fee." "What is your name?" "Is the source protected?" "certainly." "Lars Forsong, forty-seven, aka Fallon. Committed safe burglary and other small crimes in the eighties. He had a shop in Nordur." "Thank you." "But let's keep it a secret until we meet again tomorrow." At the end of the conversation just now, an agreement has been reached, and Blomkvist will go to the Constitutional Guarantee Team the next day to exchange information with them.Blomkvist had something on his mind.The car had just driven past Segel Square in the city center. "Do you know? I'm starving. I ate very late at noon. I was planning to go home and cook noodles, but you stopped me. Have you eaten?" "It's been a while." "Let's find a restaurant and eat something delicious." “All the food is delicious.” He looks at her. "I thought you were a health food freak." "No, I'm a fitness freak. If you're working out, you can eat anything. Within reason." She hit the brakes on the Clarabell Viaduct, wondering where she could go.In the end she did not turn south toward Sodermalm, but headed straight for Kings Island. "I don't know what restaurants are in Söder, but I do know that there is a great Bosnian restaurant in Peace House Square, and their Brick scones are out of this world." "Sounds good," Blomkvist said. Salander typed out her report word for word.She works an average of five hours a day, and she chooses her words carefully and precisely, omitting any details that might be detrimental to her. In fact, being imprisoned was a good thing for her.Whenever she heard the rattle of the key ring or the sound of a key in the lock, she had plenty of time to hide the computer. I was about to lock the door on my way out of Biermann's cottage on the outskirts of Stallehmann when Landin and Niminan arrived on motorcycles.They had been looking for me for Zarachenko and Niederman for a long time, so it was a surprise to see me there.Landing got off the motorcycle and said, "I want to show this lesbian a dick." But his and Niminan's behavior was so threatening that I had no choice but to exercise my right of self-defense.I left the scene on Landing's motorcycle and later abandoned it at a shopping center in Overseas. There was no reason for her to take the initiative to mention that Landing called her a whore, or that she stooped to pick up Niminan's Eighty-Three Varnad, and shot Landing in the foot as punishment, and so on.The police should be able to guess, but they have to produce evidence.She didn't want to admit that she had done something that might be sentenced to jail, it would be cheap for them. The content of the article has increased to thirty-three pages, and it is drawing to a close.She is especially careful about details, and she spends her energy guarding against probable evidence for many of her earlier claims, obscuring even obvious ones, before moving on to the next link in the chain of events. She scrolled up the article, rereading the passage describing how Attorney Bierman raped her in a brutal and abusive manner.This part took her the most time and was one of the few parts that took several rewrites before she was satisfied.She wrote nineteen lines in total, clearly recording how he beat her, pinned her on the bed, taped her mouth, and handcuffed her.He then described how he repeatedly subjected her to sexual violence, including anal penetration.It goes on to mention that at a certain stage of the rape, he would wrap a piece of cloth—her own T-shirt, actually—wrapped around her neck and tighten it for so long that she would temporarily lose consciousness.The next few lines describe the paraphernalia he used during the rape, including a short whip, a butt plug, a hard dildo, and clamps for her nipples. She read with a frown.Finally, I picked up the stylus and typed a few more lines. At one point, with my mouth still taped, Bierman made a comment about my several tattoos and piercings, including a nipple ring on my left side, and asked me if I liked being stabbed. Just leave the room.When I came back, I had an extra needle in my hand, and he pierced my right nipple with the needle. Instead, her honest description makes the article feel unreal, like a ridiculous fantasy work. The story sounds unbelievable. That's exactly what she meant. At this time, she heard the shaking of the guard's key ring, and quickly turned off the computer and put it in the alcove behind the bedside table.It was Annika.She frowned.It was already nine o'clock in the evening, and Annika usually didn't come this late. "Hello, Liz." "Hello." "how do you feel?" "I'm not ready yet." Annika sighed. "Liz, the court date has been set for July 13th." "Well." "No, that's not good. I'm running out of time and you haven't told me anything. I'm starting to think that taking this job was a huge mistake. If you're going to have any chance of winning, you've got to trust me. We have to cooperate." Salander studied her for a while, then finally leaned her head back and looked at the ceiling. "I know what we're supposed to do. I know Michael's plan, and he's right." "I'm not that sure." "But I have." "The police want to question you again. It's a Stockholm policeman named Hans Fast." "Let him ask. I won't say a word." "You have to make a statement." Salander glared at Annika with piercing eyes. "I'll say it again: We're not going to say a word to the police. When we go to court, the prosecutors won't have any evidence from the interrogation. They'll just get a statement that I'm working on right now, and most of it looks at it. It all sounds ridiculous. I'll give them a few days before court." "So when are you going to sit down properly and get a pen and paper to write this statement?" "You'll have it in a few days. But it won't be handed over to the prosecutor until the trial." Annika looked suspicious.Salander suddenly showed a cautious smile. "You said trust. Can I trust you?" "of course can." "Okay, so can you sneak in a PDA so I can connect to people online?" "No, of course not. If found out, I will not only be sentenced but also have my license revoked." "Then if someone brings it in for me...will you tell the police?" Annika raised her eyebrows. "If I didn't know..." "But what would you do if you knew?" "I'll pretend to be deaf and dumb. How about it?" "This hypothetical computer will send you a hypothetical email shortly, and I hope you read it and come back to me." "Liz..." "Wait. Here's the thing. The prosecutor is playing a fake card. No matter what I do, I will be at a disadvantage. The purpose of this trial is to put me in a mental institution." "I know." "If I want to survive, I have to play tricks." Annika finally nodded. "The first time you came to see me," Salander said, "carried a message for Blomkvist. He said he told you almost everything except a few things. The few exceptions One of the things was when we were at Hedstadt, he saw the skills I had." "That's right." "He means I'm good at computers, even good enough to browse and copy stuff on Extron's computer." Annika suddenly turned pale. "You can't get involved in this and you can't use the data in court," Salander said. "You're right, it really can't." "So you know nothing." "it is good." "Though others, such as your brother, could publish excerpts. You have to plan your strategy with that possibility in mind." "I know." "Anika, whoever uses the strongest means in this trial will be the winner." "I know." "I'm glad you're my lawyer. I trust you and need your help." "Ok." "But if you have a hard time accepting that I'm going to use unethical methods, we're going to lose the case." "right." "If so, please tell me now, I have to find a new lawyer." "Liz, I can't break the law." "You don't have to break the law at all, you just have to be deaf to what I do. Can you?" Salander waited patiently for nearly a minute before Annika nodded. "Very well. Let me tell you the main points of my statement." Figolaura is right, the brick scones here are out of this world.When she came back from the bathroom, Blomkvist looked at her carefully. Although her manner was as elegant as a ballet dancer, her body was like... er... Blomkvist couldn't help but be fascinated, and it was hard to suppress it. The urge to reach out and feel the muscles in her legs. "How long have you been working out?" he asked. "It started in the teens." "How many hours a week do you exercise?" "Two hours a day, sometimes three hours." "Why? I mean I understand why people exercise, but..." "You think it's too much." "I don't even know what I'm thinking." She smiled lightly and seemed not at all annoyed by his question. "Maybe you're just not used to seeing girls with muscles. Do you think it's desexualizing or unfeminine?" "No, not at all. It suits you just fine. You're sexy." She laughed out loud. "I'm doing less exercise now. Ten years ago I was doing solid workouts, which was cool. But now I have to be careful not to let the muscle turn into fat. I don't want a baggy body, so I lift weights once a week, and the rest of the time I run, play badminton, swim, etc. It’s just exercise, not serious training.” "learn." "I work out because it feels good. It's very common for people who do extreme training. The body makes a pain-inhibiting chemical, and over time it becomes addictive. If you don't run every day, after a while There are withdrawal-like symptoms. When you give your all to something, there’s a very blissful feeling, almost like having good sex.” Blomkvist laughed. "You should start working out, too," she said. "Your waist is getting bigger." "I know," he said. "I feel guilty all the time. Sometimes I run regularly and lose a few kilos, and then something gets too busy and I stop for a month or two." "You have been very busy in recent months. I read a lot of articles about you. You tracked Zarachenko several steps ahead of the police and confirmed Niederman's identity." "Salander is faster." "How did you know that Niederman was in Gosseberg?" Blomkvist shrugged. "Routine investigation work. I didn't find him, but our editorial secretary, er, our current editor-in-chief Marlene, discovered it from the company's materials. He is the KAB import company founded by Zaraqianke directors." "It's that simple..." "How did you join the secret police?" he asked. "Believe it or not, I can say I'm as old-school as the Democrats. I'm saying the police are necessary, and democracy needs a political line of defense. So I'm proud to be on the Constitutional Security Team." "Is it really something to be proud of?" asked Blomkvist. "You don't like the secret police." "I dislike any organization that is not subject to the normal scrutiny of Parliament. No matter how high-sounding its intentions, it invites people to abuse their power. Why are you interested in ancient religions?" Figuelaura looked at him puzzled. "You were just reading a book about it in my stairwell," he said. "It's the subject matter that fascinates me." "what." "I'm interested in a lot of things. When I was in the police department, I studied law and political science, and before that I did philosophy and intellectual history." "Do you have any weaknesses?" "I don't read novels, I don't go to the cinema, I only watch TV news. What about you? Why are you a reporter?" "Because some organizations like the secret police lack parliamentary oversight, someone needs to be exposed from time to time. Actually, I don't know, maybe the answer is the same as yours: I believe in constitutional democracy, and sometimes it needs to be protected. " "Like you did with Hans-Eric Wennerstrom?" "I guess so." "You are not married, are you with Erica Bayeux?" "Erica is married." “这么说关于你们两人的传闻都是空穴来风啰。你有女朋友吗？” “没有固定的。” “那传闻到底还是真的了。” 布隆维斯特笑了一笑。 玛琳在阿斯塔家中的餐桌上工作到凌晨。她埋首于《千禧年》的预算表，完全专注其中，最后男友安东索性也不和她说话了。他洗了碗盘、做了宵夜，又煮了咖啡，然后坐下来看“CSI犯罪现场”影集的回放，让她安静地工作。 玛琳以前应付过最复杂的也不过就是家用预算，但她曾经和爱莉卡一起平衡每月开销，她了解原则。如今她一夕之间成了总编辑，预算的责任也随之而来。午夜过后，她决定无论如何都要请个会计师来帮忙。每星期记一天账的欧斯卡森无须负责预算，至于该付多少钱给自由撰稿人，或是想买一部新的打印机，但又不包含在资本投资与IT升级的预算中，公司负不负担得起等等问题，欧斯卡森更是完全帮不上忙。实际上的情况很荒谬：《千禧年》在赚钱，但那是因为爱莉卡总能以极度紧缩的预算平衡收支。因此他们没有花四万五千克朗买一部基本的彩色激光打印机，而是将就着用一部八千克朗的黑白打印机。 有一度她曾经羡慕过爱莉卡。以她在《瑞典摩根邮报》所能运用的预算，这么一点费用应该只是零头吧。 上次开年度大会时，《千禧年》的财务状况很健全，但盈利主要都来自布隆维斯特那本关于温纳斯壮事件的书本。拨出来作投资的收入缩水速度惊人，原因之一便是布隆维斯特为了写莎兰德的报道所带来的花费。《千禧年》没有资源能让每一名员工预算无上限地租车、住饭店、搭出租车、购买调查器材、新手机等等。 玛琳签了欧森在哥德堡的一张请款单，同时叹了口气。布隆维斯特批准一笔一万四千克朗的费用，让他进行一星期的调查，结果现在却不刊登报道了。付给吉第的钱在预算中归入不能指名的消息来源费用项目，也就是说会计师会抗议少了发票或收据，并坚持要由董事会认可。《千禧年》付给律师安妮卡的费用应该属于一般经费，但她也会拿火车票根与其他费用的收据来向杂志社请款。 她将笔放下，看着总计的金额。布隆维斯特在莎兰德的报道上花了十五万克朗，远远超出预算。这种情况不能再继续下去。 她得找他谈一谈。 这个晚上，爱莉卡不是坐在沙发上看电视，而是在纳卡医院的急诊室度过。玻璃碎片插得太深以至于血流不止，后来发现她脚跟里还留有一块碎片，必须取出。她作了局部麻醉，手术后伤口缝了三针。 在医院的时候，爱莉卡咒骂个不停，也不断试着打电话找丈夫和布隆维斯特，不料两人都选择不接电话。到了十点，她脚上缠着厚厚的绷带，拄着院方给的拐杖搭出租车回家。 她一拐一拐地在客厅里扫地收拾，花了好一会儿工夫。接着打电话给紧急玻璃安装公司订购新窗。她运气还不错，这天夜里很平静，他们二十分钟内就赶到了。但客厅的窗子太大，他们没有库存，工人提议先暂时用三夹板把窗子封死，她欣然接受了。 装三夹板的时候，她打了电话给纳卡全防安保的值班人员，质问为何有人拿砖头砸碎她家最大的窗户，那昂贵的防盗警铃却没响。 安保公司派人来查看损坏情形，才发现几年前安装警铃的人竟忘了给客厅的窗户接线。 爱莉卡气炸了。 安保公司的人说第二天一早就会来处理。爱莉卡告诉他不用麻烦了，接着转而打给米尔顿安保解释自己的情况，并希望他们第二天早上就能来安装一套完整的防盗系统。“我知道得签合约，不过跟阿曼斯基说我是爱莉卡·贝叶，明天早上非要派人过来不可。” 最后她才打电话报警。对方说目前没有车子，无法派人过来替她做笔录，并建议她明天早上联络当地的警所。谢谢，滚你妈的蛋。 接下来她坐着生了好久的闷气，直到肾上腺素下降，才开始想到今晚得独自睡在一间没有警报器的屋内，而那个骂她婊子、砸碎她窗户的人还在附近游荡。 她考虑着是否应该进市区去住饭店，不过爱莉卡不是个喜欢被恐吓的人，更不喜欢屈服于恐吓之下。 但她确实做了一些基本的防范措施。 布隆维斯特曾跟她说过莎兰德用一根高尔夫球杆了结连环杀人犯马丁·范耶尔。于是她便到车库，花了几分钟找高尔夫球袋，她都已经大约十五年没想起它了。她挑了一根比较有点重量的铁杆，放在床边伸手可及的地方，又在门厅摆一支推杆、厨房摆一支八号铁杆。她在地下室的工具箱里拿了一根铁槌，也放到主卧室。 她将原本放在肩袋里的梅西喷雾器摆到床头柜上，最后找来一块橡胶门挡卡放在浴室门底下。一切就绪后，她几乎希望那个骂她婊子、砸坏她窗户的白痴会笨到当晚再回来。 当她觉得防护得够周全时，已经凌晨一点。她八点得进办公室，看了日程表发现有四个会要开，第一个会是十点。脚还是痛得厉害。她脱下衣服爬上床去。 接下来当然是忧虑得难以入眠。 bitch. 先前收到过九封电子邮件，里头都有“婊子”的字眼，而且似乎都来自不同媒体。第一封还是从她自己的编辑室寄出，不过邮箱地址是假造的。 她下床拿出新的戴尔笔记本电脑，那是进入《瑞典摩根邮报》后报社分配给她的。 第一封邮件说要拿螺丝起子插她，这是最粗鲁骇人的一封，寄件时间五月十六日，几个星期前。 第二封在两天后，五月十八日送达。 接着过了一个星期，邮件又开始陆续寄来，每封都间隔大约二十四小时。再就是攻击她的住家。还是那个字眼，婊子。 在这段时期，文化版的伊娃收到一封假借爱莉卡的名义寄出的下流邮件。如果伊娃收到这种信，寄件人很可能是忙着到处发信，其他人显然也会收到她发送的邮件而她却不知情。 想到这里真是令人不快。 而最令人不安的还是住家遭到攻击。 有人特意查出她的住所，开车前来，丢砖块砸破窗户。这显然是预谋，因为攻击者还带了喷漆罐。想到这她顿时寒毛直竖，因为想到还有另一起攻击意外。她和布隆维斯特在斯鲁森希尔顿饭店过夜时，车子的四个轮胎都被割破。 结论既明显也让人不悦。她被跟踪了。 有人为了某个不明的原因，决定骚扰她。 住家成为攻击目标，这可以理解，因为房子就在那里藏不了。但假如随意停在索德马尔姆街上的车受到毁损，那么停车之际，跟踪她的人想必就在附近。他们肯定时时刻刻跟在她身后。