The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets Nest Page 0,252

one metre eighty-five tall, about fifty years old maybe fifty-five, blond hair that was turning grey and was a bit on the long side, a weak chin, and too much weight around the middle. But still reasonably well preserved. He was reading the Financial Times. When he finished his beer and headed for the lift, Salander got up and followed him.

He pushed the button for the sixth floor. Salander stood next to him and leaned her head against the side of the lift.

"I'm drunk," she said.

He smiled down at her. "Oh, really?"

"It's been one of those weeks. Let me guess. You're a businessman of some sort, from Hanover or somewhere in northern Germany. You're married. You love your wife. And you have to stay here in Gibraltar for another few days. I gathered that much from your telephone call in the bar."

The man looked at her, astonished.

"I'm from Sweden myself. I'm feeling an irresistible urge to have sex with somebody. I don't care if you're married and I don't want your phone number."

He looked startled.

"I'm in room 711, the floor above yours. I'm going to go up to my room, take a bath and get into bed. If you want to keep me company, knock on the door within half an hour. Otherwise I'll be asleep."

"Is this some kind of joke?" he said as the lift stopped.

"No. It's just that I can't be bothered to go out to some pick-up bar. Either you knock on my door or you don't."

Twenty-five minutes later there was a knock on the door of Salander's room. She had a bath towel around her when she opened the door.

"Come in," she said.

He stepped inside and looked around the room suspiciously.

"I'm alone here," she said.

"How old are you, actually?"

She reached for her passport on top of a chest of drawers and handed it to him.

"You look younger."

"I know," she said, taking off the bath towel and throwing it on to a chair. She went over to the bed and pulled off the bedspread.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was staring at her tattoos.

"This isn't a trap. I'm a woman, I'm single, and I'll be here for a few days. I haven't had sex for months."

"Why did you choose me?"

"Because you were the only man in the bar who looked as if you were here alone."

"I'm married - "

"And I don't want to know who she is or even who you are. And I don't want to discuss sociology. I want to fuck. Take off your clothes or go back down to your room."

"Just like that?"

"Yes. Why not? You're a grown man - you know what you're supposed to do."

He thought about it for all of thirty seconds. He looked as if he was going to leave. She sat on the edge of the bed and waited. He bit his lip. Then he took off his trousers and shirt and stood hesitantly in his boxer shorts.

"Take it all off," Salander said. "I don't intend to fuck somebody in his underwear. And you have to use a condom. I know where I've been, but I don't know where you've been."

He took off his shorts and went over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. Salander closed her eyes when he bent down to kiss her. He tasted good. She let him tip her back on to the bed. He was heavy on top of her.

Jeremy Stuart MacMillan, solicitor, felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck as soon as he tried to unlock the door to his office at Buchanan House on Queensway Quay above the marina. It was already unlocked. He opened it and smelled tobacco smoke and heard a chair creak. It was just before 7.00, and his first thought was that he had surprised a burglar.

Then he smelled the coffee from the machine in the kitchenette. After a couple of seconds he stepped hesitantly over the threshold and walked down the corridor to look into his spacious and elegantly furnished office. Salander was sitting in his desk chair with her back to him and her feet on the windowsill. His P.C. was turned on. Obviously she had not had any problem cracking his password. Nor had she had any problem opening his safe. She had a folder with his most private correspondence and bookkeeping on her lap.

"Good morning, Miss Salander," he said at last.

"Ah, there you are," she said. "There's freshly brewed coffee and croissants