The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets Nest Page 0,135

ground floor talking to a blond man who looked to be in very good shape. A policeman she thought. She recognized him as the other man Malm had photographed outside the Copacabana on May Day.

She bought herself a coffee and sat at the opposite end of the cafe and opened her Dagens Nyheter. Mårtensson and his companion were talking in low voices. She took out her mobile and pretended to make a call, although neither of the men were paying her any attention. She took a photograph with the mobile that she knew would be only 72 dpi - low quality, but it could be used as evidence that the meeting had taken place.

After about fifteen minutes the blond man stood up and left the cafe. Figuerola cursed. Why had she not stayed outside? She would have recognized him when he came out. She wanted to leap up and follow him. But Mårtensson was still there, calmly nursing his coffee. She did not want to draw attention to herself by leaving so soon after his unidentified companion.

And then Mårtensson went to the toilet. As soon as he closed the door Figuerola was on her feet and back out on Kungsgatan. She looked up and down the block, but the blond man was gone.

She took a chance and hurried to the corner of Sveavagen. She could not see him anywhere, so she went down to the tunnelbana concourse, but it was hopeless.

She turned back towards Kungstornet, feeling stressed. Mårtensson had left too.

Berger swore when she got back to where she had parked her B.M.W. the night before.

The car was still there, but during the night some bastard had punctured all four tyres. Infernal bastard piss rats, she fumed.

She called the vehicle recovery service, told them that she did not have time to wait, and put the key in the exhaust pipe. Then she went down to Hornsgaten and hailed a taxi.

Lisbeth Salander logged on to Hacker Republice and saw that Plague was online. She pinged him.

- Hello, Wasp. How are things in Sahlgrenska?

- Relaxing. I need your help.

- Well, well.

- I never thought I would ask you to.

- Must be something serious.

- Goran Mårtensson, resident in Vallingby. I need access to his computer.

- Okay.

- You have to transfer all the material to Mikael Blomkvist, a Millennium.

- Agreed. Consider it done.

- Big Brother has tapped the phone Blomkvist and probably his email. You'll have to send the material to a hotmail address.

- Okay.

- If I'm not accessible, Blomkvist will ask you for help. He will contact you.

- Mmm.

- He's a bit square in the head, but you can trust him.

- Mmm.

- How much do you want?

Plague went quiet for a few seconds.

- Is this has to do with your situation?

- Yes.

- Can I help?

- Yes.

- Then I'll help.

- Thanks. But I always pay my debts. I need your aid until trial. I will pay 30,000.

- Can you afford it?

- I can afford it.

- Okay.

- I think we have to resort to Trinity. Can you possibly convince him to come to Sweden?

- To do what?

- What he does best of all. I'll pay your usual fee plus expenses.

- Agreed. Who?

She explained what she needed to have done.

On Friday morning Jonasson was faced with an obviously irritated Inspector Faste on the other side of his desk.

"I don't understand this," Faste said. "I thought Salander had recovered. I came to Goteborg for two reasons: to interview her and to get her ready to be transferred to a cell in Stockholm, where she belongs."

"I'm sorry for your wasted journey," Jonasson said. "I'd be glad to discharge her because we certainly don't have any beds to spare here. But - "

"Could she be faking?"

Jonasson smiled politely. "I really don't think so. You see, Lisbeth Salander was shot in the head. I removed a bullet from her brain, and it was 50/50 whether she would survive. She did survive and her prognosis has been exceedingly satisfactory... so much so that my colleagues and I were getting ready to discharge her. Then yesterday she had a setback. She complained of severe headaches and developed a fever that has