The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets’ Nest

But Gustavsson had decided that a matter of this importance could not credibly be restricted to S.I.S. She had therefore called in Inspector Bublanski and his team, consisting of Modig, Holmberg and Andersson from the regular police force. They had, after all, been working on the Salander case since Easter and were familiar with all the details. Gustavsson had also called in Prosecutor Jervas and Inspector Erlander from the Göteborg police. The investigation of the Section had a direct co

When Figuerola mentioned that former Prime Minister Thorbjörn Fälldin might have to take the stand as a witness, Holmberg and Modig were scarcely able to conceal their discomfort.

For five hours they examined one individual after another who had been identified as an activist in the Section. After that they established the various crimes that could be linked to the apartment on Artillerigatan. A further nine people had been identified as being co

“It is still impossible to say how widespread the conspiracy is. We do not know under what circumstances these people meet with Wadensjöö or with anyone else. They could be informers, or they may have been given the impression that they’re working for internal affairs or something similar. So there is some uncertainty about the degree of their involvement, and that can be resolved only after we’ve had a chance to interview them. Furthermore, these are merely those individuals we have observed during the weeks the surveillance has been in effect; there could be more that we do not yet know about.”

“But the chief of Secretariat and the chief of Budget-”

“We have to assume that they’re working for the Section.”

It was 6.00 on Monday when Gustavsson gave everyone an hour’s break for di

It was just as everyone had stood up and begun to move about that Jesper Thoms, Figuerola’s colleague from C.P.’s operations unit, drew her aside to report on what had developed during the last few hours of surveillance.

“ Clinton has been in dialysis for most of the day and got back to Artillerigatan at 3.00. The only one who did anything of interest was Nyström, although we aren’t quite sure what it was he did.”

“Tell me,” said Figuerola.

“At 1.30 he drove to Central Station and met up with two men. They walked across to the Sheraton and had coffee in the bar. The meeting lasted for about twenty minutes, after which Nyström returned to Artillerigatan.”

“O.K. So who were they?”

“They’re new faces. Two men in their mid-thirties who seem to be of eastern European origin. Unfortunately our observer lost them when they went into the tu

“I see,” Figuerola said wearily.

“Here are the pictures,” Thoms said. He handed her a series of surveillance photographs.

She glanced at the enlargements of two faces she had never set eyes on before.

“Thanks,” she said, laying out the photographs on the conference table. She picked up her handbag to go and find something to eat.

Andersson, who was standing nearby, bent to look more closely at the pictures.

“Oh shit,” he said. “Are the Nikolich brothers involved in this?”

Figuerola stopped in her tracks. “Who did you say?”

“These two are seriously rotten apples,” Andersson said. “Tomi and Miro Nikolich.”

“Have you had dealings with them?”

“Sure. Two brothers from Huddinge. Serbs. We had them under observation several times when they were in their twenties and I was in the gangs unit. Miro is the dangerous one. He’s been wanted for about a year for G.B.H. I thought they’d both gone back to Serbia to become politicians or something.”

“Politicians?”

“Right. They went down to Yugoslavia in the early ’90s and helped carry out ethnic cleansing. They worked for a Mafia leader, Arkan, who was ru

“Shooters?”

“Hit men. They’ve been flitting back and forth between Belgrade and Stockholm. Their uncle has a restaurant in Norrmalm, and they’ve apparently worked there once in a while. We’ve had reports that they were mixed up in at least two of the killings in what was known as the ‘cigarette war’, but we never got close to charging them with anything.”

Figuerola gazed mutely at the photographs. Then suddenly she turned pale as a ghost. She stared at Edklinth.

“Blomkvist,” she cried with panic in her voice. “They’re not just pla

Edklinth stared back at her.

“He’s supposed to be meeting Erika Berger at Samir’s Cauldron,” Figuerola said. She grabbed Andersson by the shoulder. “Are you armed?”

“Yes…”

“Come with me.”

Figuerola rushed out of the conference room. Her office was three doors down. She ran in and took her service weapon from the desk drawer. Against all regulations she left the door to her office unlocked and wide open as she raced off towards the lifts. Andersson hesitated for a second.

“Go,” Bublanski told him. “Sonja, you go with them too.”

Blomkvist got to Samir’s Cauldron at 6.20. Berger had just arrived and found a table near the bar, not far from the entrance. He kissed her on the cheek. They both ordered lamb stew and strong beers from the waiter.

“How was the She woman?” Berger said.

“Cool, as usual.”

Berger laughed. “If you don’t watch out you’re going to become obsessed by her. Imagine, a woman who can resist the famous Blomkvist charm.”

“There are in fact several women who haven’t fallen for me over the years,” Blomkvist said. “How has your day been?”

“Wasted. But I accepted an invitation to be on a panel to debate the whole S.M.P. business at the Publicists’ Club. That will be my final contribution.”

“Great.”

“It’s just such a relief to be back at Mille