all the required medical arguments. Get rid of those who are handicapped. Don’t allow the Saami people to spread; they have a Mongolian influence. People who are mentally ill would regard death as a form of liberation, wouldn’t they? Loose women, vagrants, gypsies, and Jews—you can imagine. In my brother’s fantasies, Auschwitz could have been located in Dalarna.
After the war Greger Vanger became a secondary-school teacher and eventually the headmaster of the Hedestad preparatory school. Vanger thought that he no longer belonged to any party after the war and had given up Nazism. He died in 1974, and it wasn’t until he went through his brother’s correspondence that he learned that in the fifties Greger had joined the politically ineffectual but totally crackpot sect called the Nordic National Party. He had remained a member until his death.
Quote, Henrik Vanger, tape 2, 04167:
Consequently, three of my brothers were politically insane. How sick were they in other respects?
The only brother worthy of a measure of empathy in Vanger’s eyes was the sickly Gustav, who died of lung disease in 1955. Gustav had never been interested in politics, and he seemed to be some sort of misanthropic artistic soul, with absolutely no interest in business or working in the Vanger Corporation.
Blomkvist asked Vanger: “Now you and Harald are the only ones left. Why did he move back to Hedeby?”
“He moved home in 1979. He owns that house.”
“It must feel strange living so close to a brother that you hate.”
“I don’t hate my brother. If anything, I may pity him. He’s a complete idiot, and he’s the one who hates me.”
“He hates you?”
“Precisely. I think that’s why he came back here. So that he could spend his last years hating me at close quarters.”
“Why does he hate you?”
“Because I got married.”
“I think you’re going to have to explain that.”
Vanger had lost contact with his older brothers early on. He was the only brother to show an aptitude for business—he was his father’s last hope. He had no interest in politics and steered clear of Uppsala. Instead he studied economics in Stockholm. After he turned eighteen he spent every break and summer holiday working at one of the offices within the Vanger Corporation or working with the management of one of its companies. He became familiar with all the labyrinths of the family business.
On 10 June, 1941—in the midst of an all-out war—Vanger was sent to Germany for a six-week visit at the Vanger Corporation business offices in Hamburg. He was only twenty-one and the Vanger’s German agent, a company veteran by the name of Hermann Lobach, was his chaperone and mentor.
“I won’t tire you with all the details, but when I went there, Hitler and Stalin were still good friends and there wasn’t yet an Eastern Front. Everyone still believed that Hitler was invincible. There was a feeling of…both optimism and desperation. I think those are the right words. More than half a century later, it’s still difficult to put words to the mood. Don’t get me wrong—I was not a Nazi, and in my eyes Hitler seemed like some absurd character in an operetta. But it would have been almost impossible not to be infected by the optimism about the future, which was rife among ordinary people in Hamburg. Despite the fact that the war was getting closer, and several bombing raids were carried out against Hamburg during the time I was there, the people seemed to think it was mostly a temporary annoyance—that soon there would be peace and Hitler would establish his Neuropa. People wanted to believe that Hitler was God. That’s what it sounded like in the propaganda.”
Vanger opened one of his many photograph albums.
“This is Lobach. He disappeared in 1944, presumably lost in some bombing raid. We never knew what his fate was. During my weeks in Hamburg I became close to him. I was staying with him and his family in an elegant apartment in a well-to-do neighbourhood of Hamburg. We spent time together every day. He was no more a Nazi than I was, but for convenience he was a member of the party. His membership card opened doors and facilitated opportunities for the Vanger Corporation—and business was precisely what we did. We built freight wagons for their trains—I’ve always wondered whether any of our wagons were destined for Poland. We sold fabric for their uniforms and tubes for their radio sets—although officially we didn’t know what they were using the goods for. And Lobach knew how