Unfortunately our observer lost them when they went into the tunnelbana.”
“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 running some sort of private fascist militia. They got a reputation for being shooters.”
“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 planning to involve him in a scandal, they’re planning to murder him. Then the police will find the cocaine during the investigation and draw their own conclusions.”
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
“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
“Great.”
“It’s just such a relief to be back at
“You have no idea how good it is that you’re back. I’m still elated.”
“It’s fun to be at work again.”
“Mmm.”
“I’m happy.”
“And I have to go to the gents’,” Blomkvist said, getting up.
He almost collided with a man who had just walked in. Blomkvist noticed that he looked vaguely eastern European and was staring at him. Then he saw the sub-machine gun.
As they passed Riddarholmen, Edklinth called to tell them that neither Blomkvist nor Berger were answering their mobiles. They had presumably turned them off for dinner.
Figuerola swore and passed Sodermalmstorg at a speed of close to eighty kilometres an hour. She kept her horn pressed down and made a sharp turn on to Hornsgatan. Andersson had to brace himself against the door. He had taken out his gun and checked the magazine. Modig did the same in the back seat.
“We have to call for back-up,” Andersson said. “You don’t play games with the Nikolich boys.”
Figuerola ground her teeth.
“This is what we’ll do,” she said. “Sonja and I will go straight into the restaurant and hope they’re sitting inside. Curt, you know what these guys look like, so you stay outside and keep watch.”
“Right.”
“If all goes well, we’ll take Blomkvist and Berger straight out to the car and drive them down to Kungsholmen. If we suspect anything’s wrong, we stay inside the restaurant and call for back-up.”
“O.K.,” Modig said.
Figuerola was nearly at the restaurant when the police radio crackled beneath the dashboard.
Figuerola felt a sudden lurch in her chest.
Berger saw Blomkvist bump into a man as he was heading past the entrance towards the gents’. She frowned without really knowing why. She saw the other man stare at Blomkvist with a surprised expression. She wondered if it was somebody he knew.
Then she saw the man take a step back and drop a bag to the floor. At first she did not know what she was seeing. She sat paralysed as he raised some kind of gun and aimed it at Blomkvist
Blomkvist reacted without stopping to think. He flung out his left hand, grabbed the barrel of the gun, and twisted it up towards the ceiling. For a microsecond the muzzle passed in front of his face.
The burst of fire from the sub-machine gun was deafening in the small room. Mortar and glass from the overhead lights rained down on Blomkvist as Miro Nikolich squeezed off eleven shots. For a moment Blomkvist looked directly into the eyes of his attacker.
Then Nikolich took a step back and yanked the gun towards him. Blomkvist was unprepared and lost his grip on the barrel. He knew at once that he was in mortal danger. Instinctively he threw himself at the attacker instead of crouching down or trying to take cover. Later he realized that if he had ducked or backed away, he would have been shot on the spot. He got a new grip on the barrel of the sub-machine gun and used his entire weight to drive the man against the wall. He heard another six or seven shots go off and tore desperately at the gun to direct the muzzle at the floor.
Berger instinctively took cover when the second series of shots was fired. She stumbled and fell, hitting her head on a chair. As she lay on the floor she looked up and saw that three holes had appeared in the wall just behind where she had been sitting.
In shock she turned her head and saw Blomkvist struggling with the man by the door. He had fallen to his knees and was gripping the gun with both hands, trying to wrench it loose. She saw the attacker struggling to get free. He kept smashing his fist over and over into Blomkvist’s face and temple.
Figuerola braked hard opposite Samir’s Cauldron, flung open the car door and ran across the road towards
