“That was clearly wrong.”
“It was, and we still don’t know how she went about it, but the operation itself—once she was inside—was relatively straightforward. She connected to Spotify, and to the speakers which had been set up for the evening, and put on that rock song.”
“But people were driven nearly crazy by it.”
“There was an equalizer there too, which unfortunately was both digital and parametric, and connected to the WiFi.”
“Use words that I can understand.”
“The equalizer adjusts the volume, gets the base and treble just right, and Lisbeth—let’s just say it was her—connected her mobile up to that and created the worst kind of sound shock. Horrific, in fact, to the point where it could be felt in the heart. Apparently that’s why so many people were clutching their chests. They had no idea it was sound that was doing the damage.”
“So her objective was to create chaos.”
“Above all she wanted to send a message. The song’s called ‘Killing the World with Lies,’ by the Crazy Sisters. You know, that hard rock protest band.”
“Those red-haired whores?”
“The very ones,” Bogdanov said, without admitting that he thought the band were pretty cool. “The song was written about the killings of gays in Chechnya, but in fact it’s not about the murderers themselves, or even the machinery of state, but about the person who orchestrated the hate campaign on social media which led to the violence.”
“Kuznetsov himself, in other words?”
“Exactly, but the thing is—”
“—that nobody on the outside is supposed to know about it.”
“No-one’s even meant to know that he’s behind the information agencies.”
“So how did Lisbeth find out?”
“We’re looking into that, and trying to reassure all those involved. Kuznetsov is wild. He’s wasted and scared witless.”
“How come? It’s not as if it’s the first time he’s pitted people against each other.”
“No indeed, but it all got out of hand in Chechnya. People were buried alive,” he said.
“That’s Kuznetsov’s own fucking problem.”
“It is. But what worries me…”
“Well, what?”
“Salander’s main target probably isn’t Kuznetsov at all. We can’t rule out that she knows about our own involvement in the information agencies. Don’t you think her vengeance might be directed at you, not him?”
“We should have killed her a long time ago.”
“There’s one more thing I haven’t mentioned.”
“What?”
Bogdanov knew that there was no point in putting it off any longer.
“After barging into you last night, she stumbled,” he said. “The impact made her lose her balance and she tumbled forward—that’s what it looked like anyway. She had to catch herself with her hand against your limousine, just above the rear wheel. At first I thought it looked pretty natural. But then I ran the surveillance footage over and over, and came to the conclusion that it might not have been a fall after all. Rather than steadying herself, she was in fact pressing something against the bodywork. Here it is.”
He held up a small rectangular box.
“What is it?”
“A GPS transmitter that followed you all the way here.”
“So now she knows where I live?” Camilla forced out the words through clenched teeth and tasted blood in her mouth.
“I’m afraid so,” Bogdanov said.
“Idiots,” she spat.
“We’ve taken all precautions,” Bogdanov went on, increasingly nervous. “We’ve stepped up protection, especially of the IT system, obviously.”
“So we’re on the defensive now, is that what you’re saying?”
“No, no, not at all. I’m just telling you.”
“Just make sure you find her, then.”
“That’s not so easy, unfortunately. We’ve checked all the surveillance cameras in the area. We don’t see her anywhere, and we’ve not been able to trace her via any mobiles or computers.”
“Search the hotels then. Report her as missing. Turn everything upside down and inside out, everything you see and hear.”
“We’re working on it, I’m convinced we’ll crush her.”
“Just don’t underestimate that witch.”
“I don’t underestimate her for one second. But I think she’s missed her chance—the advantage has shifted to us.”
“How the hell can you say that when she knows where I live?”
Bogdanov hesitated, fumbling for words.
“You said you thought she would kill you, right?” he said.
“I was certain of it. But she must be planning something worse.”
“I think you’re wrong there.”
“How do you mean?”
“I think she really did want to shoot you. I can’t see why else she would have attacked. Sure, she scared the shit out of Kuznetsov. But apart from that, what did she gain? Nothing. All she did was expose herself.”
“So what you’re suggesting…” She looked out at the garden, and wondered where the hell the gardeners had got to.
“I’m suggesting that she hesitated and couldn’t bring herself to do it. That she hasn’t got it in her. That she’s not so strong after all.”
“That’s a comforting thought,” Kira said.
“I think it’s true. Otherwise it doesn’t add up.”
She suddenly felt a little better.
“And I suppose she has people she cares about,” she said.
“She has her girlfriends.”
“And she has her Blomkvist. More than anything, she has her Mikael Blomkvist.”
CHAPTER 7
August 16
Blomkvist was in Gondolen restaurant at Slussen, dining with Dragan Armansky, the founder of Milton Security. He was slightly regretting it now. His legs and back hurt after his run in Årstaviken, and on top of that he was rather bored. Armansky was droning on about opportunities for developing his business in the East, or maybe it was the West, and then in the middle of it all there was an anecdote about a horse which had managed to get into a festival tent on Djurgården: