Somebody must have made that decision. It simply could not have been the government. Ingvar Carlsson had been Prime Minister at the time, and then Carl Bildt.[6] But no politician would dare to be involved in such a decision, which contradicted all law and justice and which would result in a disastrous scandal if it were ever discovered.
If the government was involved, then Sweden was not one iota better than any dictatorship in the entire world.
It was impossible.
And what about the events of April 12? Zalachenko was conveniently murdered at Sahlgrenska hospital by a mentally ill fanatic at the same time as a burglary was committed at Blomkvist's apartment and Advokat Giannini was mugged. In both latter instances, copies of Bjorck's strange report dating from 1991 were stolen. Armansky had contributed this information, but it was completely off the record. No police report was ever filed.
And at the same time, Bjorck hangs himself - a person with whom Edklinth wished he could have had a serious talk.
Edklinth did not believe in coincidence on such a grand scale. Inspector Bublanski did not believe in such coincidence either. And Blomkvist did not believe it. Edklinth took up his felt pen once more:
Evert Gullberg, seventy-eight years old. Tax specialist.???
Who the hell was Evert Gullberg?
He considered calling up the chief of S.I.S., but he restrained himself for the simple reason that he did not know how far up in the organization the conspiracy reached. He did not know whom he could trust.
For a moment he considered turning to the regular police. Jan Bublanski was the leader of the investigation concerning Ronald Niedermann, and obviously he would be interested in any related information. But from a purely political standpoint, it was out of the question.
He felt a great weight on his shoulders.
There was only one option left that was constitutionally correct, and which might provide some protection if he ended up in political hot water. He would have to turn to the chief to secure political support for what he was working on.
It was just before 4.00 on Friday afternoon. He picked up the telephone and called the Minister of Justice, whom he had known for many years and had dealings with at numerous departmental meetings. He got him on the line within five minutes.
"Hello, Torsten. It's been a long time. What's the problem?"
"To tell you the truth... I think I'm calling to check how much credibility I have with you."
"Credibility? That's a peculiar question. As far as I'm concerned you have absolute credibility. What makes you ask such a dramatic question?"
"It's prompted by a dramatic and extraordinary request. I need to have a meeting with you and the Prime Minister, and it's urgent."
"Whoa!"
"If you'll forgive me, I'd rather explain when we can talk in private. Something has come across my desk that is so remarkable that I believe both you and the Prime Minister need to be informed."
"Does it have anything to do with terrorists and threat assessments - "
"No. It's more serious than that. I'm putting my reputation and career on the line by calling you with this request."
"I see. That's why you asked about your credibility. How soon do you need the meeting with the P.M.?"
"This evening if possible."
"Now you've got me worried."
"Unhappily, there's good reason for you to be worried."
"How long will the meeting take?"
"It'll probably take an hour."
"Let me call you back."
The Minister of Justice called back ten minutes later and said that the Prime Minister would meet with Edklinth at his residence at 9.30 that evening. Edklinth's palms were sweating when he put down the telephone. By tomorrow morning my career could be over.
He called Figuerola.
"Hello, Monica. At 9.00 tonight you have to report for duty. You'd better dress nicely."
"I always dress nicely," Figuerola said.
The Prime Minister gave the Director of Constitutional Protection a long, wary look. Edklinth had a sense that cogs were whirring at high speed behind the P.M.'s glasses.
The P.M. shifted his gaze to Figuerola, who had not said a word during the presentation. He saw an unusually tall and muscular woman looking back at him with a polite, expectant expression. Then he turned to the Minister of Justice, who had paled in the course of the presentation.
After a while the P.M. took a deep breath, removed his glasses, and stared for a moment into the distance.
"I think we need a little more coffee," he said.
"Yes, please," Figuerola said.
Edklinth nodded and the Minister of Justice poured coffee from a