“I appreciate that. What I’d like to know is when you mean to publish your article, and exactly what it is you intend to publish. And this has nothing to do with damage control.”
“Does it not?”
“Herr Blomkvist, the worst possible thing I could do in this situation would be to try to influence the shape or content of your story. Instead, I am going to propose a co-operation.”
“Please explain.”
“Since we have now had confirmation that a conspiracy exists within an exceptionally sensitive part of the administration, I have ordered an investigation.” The P.M. turned to the Minister of Justice. “Please explain what the government has directed.”
“It’s very simple,” said the Minister of Justice. “Torsten Edklinth has been given the task of finding out whether we can confirm this. He is to gather information that can be turned over to the Prosecutor General, who in turn must decide whether charges should be brought. It is a very clear instruction. And this evening Edklinth has been reporting on how the investigation is proceeding. We’ve had a long discussion about the constitutional implications – obviously we want it to be handled properly.”
“Naturally,” Blomkvist said in a tone that indicated he had scant trust in the Prime Minister’s assurances.
“The investigation has already reached a sensitive stage. We have not yet identified exactly who is involved. That will take time. And that’s why we sent Inspector Figuerola to invite you to this meeting.”
“It wasn’t exactly an invitation.”
The Prime Minister frowned and glanced at Figuerola.
“It’s not important,” Blomkvist said. “Her behaviour was exemplary. Please come to the point.”
“We want to know your publication date. This investigation is being conducted in great secrecy. If you publish before Edklinth has completed it, it could be ruined.”
“And when would you like me to publish? After the next election, I suppose?”
“You decide that for yourself. It’s not something I can influence. Just tell us, so that we know exactly what our deadline is.”
“I see. You spoke about co-operation…”
The P.M. said: “Yes, but first let me say that under normal circumstances I would not have dreamed of asking a journalist to come to such a meeting.”
“Presumably in normal circumstances you would be doing everything you could to keep journalists away from a meeting like this.”
“Quite so. But I’ve understood that you’re driven by several factors. You have a reputation for not pulling your punches when there’s corruption involved. In this case there are no differences of opinion to divide us.”
“Aren’t there?”
“No, not in the least. Or rather… the differences that exist might be of a legal nature, but we share an objective. If this Zalachenko club exists, it is not merely a criminal conspiracy – it is a threat to national security. These activities must be stopped, and those responsible must be held accountable. On that point we would be in agreement, correct?”
Blomkvist nodded.
“I’ve understood that you know more about this story than anyone else. We suggest that you share your knowledge. If this were a regular police investigation of an ordinary crime, the leader of the preliminary investigation could decide to summon you for an interview. But, as you can appreciate, this is an extreme state of affairs.”
Blomkvist weighed the situation for a moment.
“And what do I get in return – if I do co-operate?”
“Nothing. I’m not going to haggle with you. If you want to publish tomorrow morning, then do so. I won’t get involved in any horse-trading that might be constitutionally dubious. I’m asking you to cooperate in the interests of the country.”
“In this case ‘nothing’ could be quite a lot,” Blomkvist said. “For one thing… I’m very, very angry. I’m furious at the state and the government and Sapo and all these fucking bastards who for no reason at all locked up a twelve-year-old girl in a mental hospital until she could be declared incompetent.”
“Lisbeth Salander has become a government matter,” the P.M. said, and smiled. “Mikael, I am personally very upset over what happened to her. Please believe me when I say that those responsible will be called to account. But before we can do that, we have to know who they are.”
“My priority is that Salander should be acquitted and declared competent.”
“I can’t help you with that. I’m not above the law, and I can’t direct what prosecutors and the courts decide. She has to be acquitted by a court.”
“O.K.,” Blomkvist said. “You want my co-operation. Then give me some insight into Edklinth’s investigation, and I’ll tell you when and what I plan to publish.”
“I can’t give you that insight. That would be placing myself in the same relation to you as the Minister of Justice’s predecessor once stood to the journalist Ebbe Carlsson.[8]”
“I’m not Ebbe Carlsson,” Blomkvist said calmly.
“I know that. On the other hand, Edklinth can decide for himself what he can share with you within the framework of his assignment.”
“Hmm,” Blomkvist said. “I want to know who Evert Gullberg was.”
Silence fell over the group.
“Gullberg was presumably for many years the chief of that division within S.I.S. which you call the Zalachenko club,” Edklinth said.
The Prime Minister gave him a sharp look.
“I think he knows that already,” Edklinth said by way of apology.
“That’s correct,” Blomkvist said. “He started at Sapo in the ’50s. In the ’60s he became chief of some outfit called the Section for Special Analysis. He was the one in charge of the Zalachenko affair.”
The P.M. shook his head. “You know more than you ought to. I would very much like to discover how you came by all this information. But I’m not going to ask.”
“There are holes in my story,” Blomkvist said. “I need to fill them. Give me information and I won’t try to compromise you.”
“As Prime Minister I’m not in a position to deliver any such information. And Edklinth is on a very thin ice if he does so.”
“Don’t pull the wool over my eyes. I know what you want and you know what I want. If you give me information, then you’ll be my sources – with all the enduring anonymity that implies. Don’t misunderstand me… I’ll tell the truth as I see it in what I publish. If you are involved, I will expose you and do everything I can to ensure that you are never re-elected. But as yet I have no reason to believe that is the case.”
The Prime Minister glanced at Edklinth. After a moment he nodded. Blomkvist took it as a sign that the Prime Minister had just broken the law – if only of the more academic specie – by giving his consent to the sharing of classified information with a journalist.
“This can all be solved quite simply,” Edklinth said. “I have my own investigative team and I decide for myself which colleagues to recruit for the investigation. You can’t be employed by the investigation because that would mean you would be obliged to sign an oath of confidentiality. But I can hire you as an external consultant.”
Berger’s life had been filled with meetings and work around the clock the minute she had stepped into Morander’s shoes.
It was not until Wednesday night, almost two weeks after Blomkvist had given her Cortez’s research papers on Borgsjo, that she had time to address the issue. As she opened the folder she realized that her procrastination had also to do with the fact that she did not really want to face up to the problem. She already knew that however she dealt with it, calamity would be inevitable.
She arrived home in Saltsjobaden at 7.00, unusually early, and it was only when she had to turn off the alarm in the hall that she remembered her husband was not at home. She had given him an especially long kiss that morning because he was flying to Paris to deliver some lectures and would not be back until the weekend.
