The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets Nest Page 0,114

be true. Our former I.T. chief talked us into it. He persuaded us that it would be less expensive in the long run, and that S.M.P. would also be able to license the program to other newspapers."

"And did any of them buy it?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, a local paper in Norway bought it."

"Meanwhile," Berger said in a dry voice, "we're sitting here with P.C.s that are five or six years old..."

"It's simply out of the question that we invest in new computers in the coming year," Flodin said.

The discussion had gone back and forth. Berger was aware that her objections were being systematically stonewalled by Flodin and Sellberg. For them costcutting was what counted, which was understandable enough from the point of view of a budget chief and a C.F.O., but unacceptable for a newly appointed editor-in-chief. What irritated her most was that they kept brushing off her arguments with patronizing smiles, making her feel like a teenager being quizzed on her homework. Without actually uttering a single inappropriate word, they displayed towards her an attitude that was so antediluvian it was almost comical. You shouldn't worry your pretty head over complex matters, little girl.

Borgsjo was not much help. He was biding his time and letting the other participants at the meeting say their piece, but she did not sense the same condescension from him.

She sighed and plugged in her laptop. She had nineteen new messages. Four were spam. Someone wanted to sell her Viagra, cybersex with "The Sexiest Lolitas on the Net" for only $4.00 per minute, "Animal Sex, the Juiciest Horse Fuck in the Universe," and a subscription to fashion.nu. The tide of this crap never receded, no matter how many times she tried to block it. Another seven messages were those so-called "Nigeria letters" from the widow of the former head of a bank in Abu Dhabi offering her ludicrous sums of money if she would only assist with a small sum of start-up money, and other such drivel.

There was the morning memo, the lunchtime memo, three emails from Fredriksson updating her on developments in the day's lead story, one from her accountant who wanted a meeting to check on the implications of her move from Millennium to S.M.P., and a message from her dental hygienist suggesting a time for her quarterly visit. She put the appointment in her calendar and realized at once that she would have to change it because she had a major editorial conference planned for that day.

Finally she opened the last one, sent from [email protected]› with the subject line [Attn: Editor-in-Chief]. Slowly she put down her coffee cup.

YOU WHORE! YOU THINK YOU'RE SOMETHING YOU FUCKING CUNT. DON'T THINK YOU CAN COME HERE AND THROW YOUR WEIGHT AROUND. YOU'RE GOING TO GET FUCKED IN THE CUNT WITH A SCREWDRIVER, WHORE! THE SOONER YOU DISAPPEAR THE BETTER.

Berger looked up and searched for the news editor, Holm. He was not at his desk, nor could she see him in the newsroom. She checked the sender and then picked up the telephone and called Peter Fleming, the I.T. manager.

"Good morning, Peter. Who uses the address [email protected]›?"

"That isn't a valid address at S.M.P."

"I just got an email from that address."

"It's a fake. Does the message contain a virus?"

"I wouldn't know. At least, the antivirus program didn't react."

"O.K. That address doesn't exist. But it's very simple to fake an apparently legitimate address. There are sites on the Net that you can use to send anonymous mail."

"Is it possible to trace an email like that?"

"Almost impossible, even if the person in question is so stupid that he sends it from his home computer. You might be able to trace the I.P. number to a server, but if he uses an account that he set up at hotmail, for instance, the trail will fizzle out."

Berger thanked him. She thought for a moment. It was not the first time she had received a threatening email or a message from a crackpot. This one was obviously referring to her new job as editor-in-chief. She wondered whether it was some lunatic who had read about her in connection with Morander's death, or whether the sender was in the building.

Figuerola thought long and hard as to what she should do about Gullberg. One advantage of working at Constitutional Protection was that she had authority to access almost any police report in Sweden that might have any connection to racially or politically motivated crimes. Zalachenko was technically an immigrant, and her job included