Stieg Larsson - The Girl who played with Fire

She had given Svensson only one piece of usable information: the name Nils Bjurman. He must have called Bjurman the minute she left the apartment.

And she was the link. If she hadn’t visited Svensson, he and Johansson would still be alive.

Zalachenko said: “You have no idea how surprised we were when the police started hunting you for the murders.”

Salander bit her lip.

Zalachenko scrutinized her. “How did you find me?” he said.

She shrugged.

“Lisbeth… Ronald is coming back soon. I can tell him to break the bones in your body one by one until you answer. Save us the trouble.”

“The P.O. box. I traced Niedermann’s car from the rental agency and waited until that pimply shit showed up and emptied the box.”

“Aha. So simple. Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

The muzzle of the pistol was still pointing at her chest.

“Do you really think this is going to blow over?” Salander said. “You’ve made too many mistakes. The police are going to identify you.”

“I know. Björck called yesterday and told me that a journalist from Millennium has been sniffing around and that it was just a matter of time. It’s possible that we’ll have to do something about that.”

“It’ll be a long list,” Salander said. “Mikael Blomkvist and Erika Berger, the editor in chief, the managing editor, and half a dozen others at Millennium alone. And then you have Dragan Armansky and some of his staff at Milton Security. And Detective Inspector Bublanski and everyone involved in the investigation. How many people would you have to kill to cover this up? No, they’re going to get to you.”

Zalachenko gave her a horrible twisted smile.

“So what? I haven’t shot anybody, and there isn’t one shred of forensic evidence against me. They can identify whoever the hell they want. Believe me… they can search this house from top to bottom and they won’t find so much as a speck of dust that could connect me to any criminal activity. It was Säpo who locked you up in the asylum, not me, and it won’t take much for them to put all the papers on the table.”

“Niedermann,” Lisbeth reminded him.

“Early tomorrow morning Ronald is going on vacation abroad for a while and he’ll wait out whatever develops.”

Zalachenko gave Salander a triumphant look.

“You’re still going to be the prime suspect. So it’s best if you just disappear.”

It was almost an hour before Niedermann returned. He was wearing boots.

Salander glanced at the man who according to her father was her half brother. She couldn’t see the slightest resemblance. In fact, he was her diametrical opposite. But she felt very strongly that there was something wrong with Niedermann. His build, the weak face, and the voice that hadn’t really broken – they all seemed like genetic defects of some sort. He had evidently been insensitive to the Taser, and his hands were enormous. Nothing about Ronald Niedermann seemed quite normal.

There are all sorts of genetic defects in the Zalachenko family , she thought bitterly.

“Ready?” Zalachenko asked.

Niedermann nodded. He held out his hand for the Sig Sauer.

“I’ll come with you,” Zalachenko said.

Niedermann hesitated. “It’s quite a walk.”

“I’ll come anyway. Get my jacket.”

Niedermann shrugged and did as he was told. Zalachenko put on his jacket and vanished into the next room for a while. Salander watched as Niedermann screwed what appeared to be a homemade silencer onto the gun.

“All right, let’s go,” Zalachenko said from the door.

Niedermann bent and pulled Salander to her feet. She looked him in the eye.

“I’m going to kill you too,” she said.

“You’re very sure of yourself. I’ll say that for you,” her father said.

Niedermann smiled mildly and then pushed her towards the front door and out into the yard. He kept a firm grip on the back of her neck. His fingers could reach almost all the way around it. He steered her towards the woods beyond the barn.

They moved slowly and Niedermann stopped occasionally to let Zalachenko catch up. They both had powerful flashlights. When they reached the edge of the woods Niedermann let go of Salander’s neck. He kept the pistol trained on her back.

They followed a difficult path for about four hundred yards. Salander stumbled twice, but each time was lifted to her feet.

“Turn right here,” Niedermann said.

After about fifty feet they came into a clearing. Lisbeth saw a hole in the ground. In the beam of Niedermann’s flashlight she saw a spade stuck in a mound of soil. Then she understood Niedermann’s assignment. He pushed her towards the hole and she tripped and went down on all fours with her hands buried deep in the sandy earth. She got up and gave him an expressionless look. Zalachenko was taking his time, and Niedermann waited patiently. The muzzle of the pistol was unswervingly aimed at her chest.

Zalachenko was out of breath. It was more than a minute before he could speak.

“I ought to say something, but I don’t think I have anything to say to you,” he said.

“That’s fine by me,” Salander said. “I don’t have much to say to you either.” She gave him a lopsided smile.

“Let’s get it over with,” Zalachenko said.

“I’m glad that my very last act was to have you locked away forever,” Salander said. “The police will be here tonight.”

“Bullshit. I was expecting you to try a bluff. You came here to kill me and nothing else. You didn’t say anything to anybody.”

Salander’s smile broadened. She suddenly looked malevolent.

“May I show you something, Pappa?”

Slowly she reached into her left-hand pants pocket and took out a rectangular object. Niedermann watched her every move.

“Every word you’ve said in the past hour has been broadcast over Internet radio.”

She held up her Palm Tungsten T3 computer.

Zalachenko’s brow furrowed where his eyebrows should have been.

“Let’s see that,” he said, holding out his good hand.

Salander lobbed the PDA to him. He caught it in midair.

“Bullshit,” Zalachenko said. “This is an ordinary Palm.”

As Niedermann bent to look at her computer, Salander flung a fistful of sand right into his eyes. He was blinded, but instinctively fired a round from his pistol. Salander had already moved two steps to one side and the bullet only tore a hole through the air where she had been standing. She grabbed the spade and swung it at his gun hand. She hit him with the sharp edge full force across the knuckles and saw his Sig Sauer fly in a wide arc away from them and into some bushes. Blood spurted from a gash above his index finger.

He should be screaming with pain.

Niedermann fumbled with his wounded hand as he desperately tried to rub his eyes with the other. Her only chance to win this fight was to cause him massive damage, and as quickly as possible. If it came down to a physical contest she was hopelessly lost. She needed five seconds to make it into the woods. She swung the spade back over her shoulder and tried to twist the handle so that the edge would hit first, but she was in the wrong position. The flat side of the spade smacked into Niedermann’s face.

Niedermann grunted as his nose broke for the second time in a matter of days. He was still blinded by the sand, but he swung his right arm and managed to shove Salander away from him. She stumbled over a tree root. For a second she was down on the ground but sprang instantly to her feet. Niedermann was briefly out of action.

I’m going to make it.

She took two steps towards the undergrowth when out of the corner of her eye- click -she saw Zalachenko raise his arm.