married man with five children and a dog. He might also be a man who worked in maintenance. "He" could even be a woman.
She simply needed to prune the number of names on the list, and her group was now down from forty-eight to eighteen since her latest cut. The list was made up largely of the better-known reporters, managers or middle managers aged thirty-five or older. If she did not find anything of interest in that group, she could always widen the net again.
At 4.00 she logged on to Hacker Republic and uploaded the list to Plague. He pinged her a few minutes later.
- 18 names. What's this?
- A small side project. Consider it an exercise.
- Huh?
- One of the names belongs to a bastard. Find it.
- What are the criteria?
- We must work fast. Tomorrow I go offline. By then we should have found him.
She outlined the Poison Pen situation.
- Okay. Draw I something from this?
Lisbeth Salander thought for a while.
- Yeah. That I'm not going to Sundbyberg to put your home on fire.
- Could you?
- I'll pay when I ask you to do something for me. This is not for me. Consider expenses.
- You're beginning to show signs of social competence.
- Well, what?
- Okay.
She sent him the access codes for S.M.P.'s newsroom and then logged off from I.C.Q.
It was 4.20 before Cortez called.
"They're showing signs of leaving."
"We're ready."
Silence.
"They're going their separate ways outside the pub. Jonas heading north. Teleborian to the south. Lottie's going after him."
Blomkvist raised a finger and pointed as Jonas flashed past them on Vasagatan. Figuerola nodded and started the engine. Seconds later Blomkvist could also see Cortez.
"He's crossing Vasagatan, heading towards Kungsgatan," Cortez said into his mobile.
"Keep your distance so he doesn't spot you."
"Quite a few people out."
Silence.
"He's turning north on Kungsgatan."
"North on Kungsgatan," Blomkvist said.
Figuerola changed gear and turned up Vasagatan. They were stopped by a red light.
"Where is he now?" Blomkvist said as they turned on to Kungsgatan.
"Opposite P.U.B. department store. He's walking fast. Whoops, he's turned up Drottninggatan heading north."
"Drottninggatan heading north," Blomkvist said.
"Right," Figuerola said, making an illegal turn on to Klara Norra and heading towards Olof Palmes Gata. She turned and braked outside the S.I.F. building. Jonas crossed Olof Palmes Gata and turned up towards Sveavagen. Cortez stayed on the other side of the street.
"He turned east - "
"We can see you both."
"He's turning down Hollandargatan. Hello... Car. Red Audi."
"Car," Blomkvist said, writing down the registration number Cortez read off to him.
"Which way is he facing?" Figuerola said.
"Facing south," Cortez reported. "He's pulling out in front of you on Olof Palmes Gata... now."
Monica was already on her way and passing Drottninggatan. She signalled and headed off a couple of pedestrians who tried to sneak across even though their light was red.
"Thanks, Henry. We'll take him from here."
The red Audi turned south on Sveavagen. As Figuerola followed she flipped open her mobile with her left hand and punched in a number.
"Could I get an owner of a red Audi?" she said, rattling off the number.
"Jonas Sandberg, born 1971. What did you say? Helsingorsgatan, Kista. Thanks."
Blomkvist wrote down the information.
They followed the red Audi via Hamngatan to Strandvagen and then straight up to Artillerigatan. Jonas parked a block away from the Armemuseum. He walked across the street and through the front door of an 1890s building.
"Interesting," Figuerola said, turning to Blomkvist.
Jonas Sandberg had entered a building that was only a block away from the apartment the Prime Minister had borrowed for their private meeting.
"Nicely done," Figuerola said.
Just then Karim called and told them that Teleborian had gone up on to Klarabergsgatan via the escalators in Central Station and from there to police headquarters on Kungsholmen.
"Police headquarters at 5.00 on a Saturday afternoon?"
Figuerola and Blomkvist exchanged a sceptical look. Monica pondered this turn of events for a few seconds. Then she picked up her mobile and called Criminal Inspector Jan Bublanski.
"Hello, it's Monica from S.I.S. We met on Norr Malarstrand a while back."
"What do you want?" Bublanski said.
"Have you got anybody on duty this weekend?"
"Modig," Bublanski said.
"I need a favour. Do you know if she's at headquarters?"
"I doubt it. It's beautiful weather and Saturday afternoon."
"Could you possibly reach her or anyone else on the investigative team who might be able to take a look in Prosecutor Ekstrom's corridor... to see if there's a meeting