The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets Nest Page 0,176

me about the revenge?

- I read the list of Rosin with all incidents that relate to the poison pen.

Why am I not surprised?

- And?

- I don't think it's the work of a stalker.

- What do you mean?

- A stalker is a person motivated by a sexual obsession. It seems to me in this case someone is imitating a stalker. Fuck the ass with a screwdriver... Sorry for mentioning it.

- Yes?

- I have seen real stalkers. They are much more perverted, vulgar and grotesque. They express love and hate at the same time. There is something that does not fit in all this.

- Is it not vulgar enough?

- No. The email to Eva Carlsson doesn't go at all with the profile of a stalker. It's just someone who want to bug you.

- I understand. I had not been raised that way.

- It's not stalker. It is addressed to you in person.

- Agreed. What do you propose?

- Do you trust me?

- Maybe.

- I need to access the internal network of S.M.P.

- Stop, stop.

- Now. Soon I will move, I can't have access to the Internet then.

Berger hesitated for ten seconds. Open up S.M.P. to... what? A complete loony? Salander might be innocent of murder, but she was definitely not normal.

But what did she have to lose?

- How?

- I need you to install a program.

- We have firewalls.

- You must help. Start Internet browser.

- Done.

- Explorer?

- Yes.

- I'm going to write an address. Copy and paste it in the Explorer.

- Done.

- Now you see a list of programs. Click Asphyxia Server and download.

Berger followed the instruction.

- Done.

- Start Asphyxia. Click on install and click Explorer.

It took three minutes.

- Ready. Perfect. Now you have to restart your computer. Loosing touch for a while.

- Okay.

- When we return, I will transfer your hard drive to an Internet server.

- Okay.

- Restart. We will be out of touch for a while.

Berger stared in fascination at the screen as her computer slowly rebooted. She wondered whether she was mad. Then her I.C.Q. pinged.

- Hello again.

- Hello.

- It would be faster this way: start browser than copy and paste the address I'll send.

- Okay.

- Now you will get a question. Click Start.

- Agreed.

- Now you need to give name to the hard drive image. Let's name it SMP-2.

- Okay.

- Go and have a coffee. This will take a while.

Figuerola woke at 8.00 on Saturday morning, about two hours later than usual. She sat up in bed and looked at the man beside her. He was snoring. Well, nobody's perfect.

She wondered where this affair with Blomkvist was going to lead. He was obviously not the faithful type, so no point in looking forward to a long-term relationship. She knew that much from his biography. Anyway, she was not so sure she wanted a stable relationship herself - with a partner and a mortgage and kids. After a dozen failed relationships since her teens, she was tending towards the theory that stability was overrated. Her longest had been with a colleague in Uppsala - they had shared an apartment for two years.

But she was not someone who went in for one-night stands, although she did think that sex was an underrated therapy for just about all ailments. And sex with Blomkvist, out of shape as he was, was just fine. More than just fine, actually. Plus, he was a good person. He made her want more.

A summer romance? A love affair? Was she in love?

She went to the bathroom and washed her face and brushed her teeth. Then she put on her shorts and a thin jacket and quietly left the apartment. She stretched and went on a 45-minute run out past Rålambshov hospital and around Fredhall and back via Smedsudden. She was home by 9.00 and discovered Blomkvist still asleep. She bent down and bit him on the ear. He opened his eyes in bewilderment.

"Good morning, darling. I need somebody to scrub my back."

He looked at her and mumbled something.

"What