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Some other names from outside SIS had to be added to the list:
Peter Teleborian, psychiatrist
Lars Faulsson, locksmith
Teleborian had been hired by SIS as a psychiatric consultant on specific cases in the late eighties and early nineties--on three occasions, to be exact--and Edklinth had examined the reports in the archive. The first had been extraordinary: Counter-Espionage had identified a Russian informer inside the Swedish telecom industry, and the spy's background indicated that he might be inclined to suicide in the event that his actions were exposed. Teleborian had done a strikingly good analysis, which helped them turn the informer so that he could become a double agent. His other two reports had involved less significant evaluations: one was of an employee inside SIS who had an alcohol problem, and the second was an analysis of the bizarre sexual behaviour of an African diplomat.
Neither Teleborian nor Faulsson--especially not Faulsson--had any position inside SIS. And yet through their assignments they were connected to . . . to what?
The conspiracy was intimately linked to the late Alexander Zalachenko, the defected GRU agent who had apparently turned up in Sweden on Election Day in 1976. A man no-one had ever heard of before. How was that possible?
Edklinth tried to imagine what reasonably would have happened if he had been sitting at the chief's desk at SIS in 1976 when Zalachenko defected. What would he have done? Absolute secrecy would have been essential. The defection could only be known to a small group without risking that the information might leak back to the Russians, and . . . How small a group?
An operations department?
An unknown operations department?
If the affair had been appropriately handled, Zalachenko's case should have ended up in Counter-Espionage. Ideally he should have come under the auspices of the military intelligence service, but they had neither the resources nor the expertise to run this sort of operational activity. So, SIS it was.
But Counter-Espionage never had him. Bjorck was the key; he had been one of the people who handled Zalachenko. And yet Bjorck never had anything to do with Counter-Espionage. Bjorck was a mystery. Officially he had held a post in the immigration division since the seventies, but in reality he had scarcely been seen in the department before the nineties, when suddenly he became assistant chief.
And yet Bjorck was the primary source of Blomkvist's information. How had Blomkvist been able to persuade Bjorck to reveal such explosive material? And to a journalist at that.
Prostitutes. Bjorck messed around with teenage prostitutes, and Millennium was going to expose him. Blomkvist must have blackmailed Bjorck.
Then Salander came into the picture.
The deceased lawyer Nils Bjurman worked in the immigration division at the same time as the deceased Bjorck. They were the ones who had taken care of Zalachenko. But what did they do with him?
Somebody must have made the decision. With a defector of such importance the order must have come from the highest level.
From the government. It must have been backed by the government. Anything else would be unthinkable.
Edklinth felt cold shivers of apprehension. This was all conceivable in practice. It made sense.
But what happened in 1991 did not make sense. Bjorck had hired Teleborian to lock Salander up in a psychiatric hospital for children under the pretense that she was mentally deranged. That was a crime. That was such a monstrous crime that Edklinth felt yet more apprehensive.
Somebody must have made that decision. It simply could not have been the government. Ingvar Carlsson had been prime minister at the time, and then Carl Bildt.* But no politician would dare to be involved in such a decision, which contradicted all law and justice and which would result in a disastrous scandal if it were ever discovered.
If the government was involved, then Sweden wasn't one iota better than any dictatorship in the entire world.
It was impossible.
And what about the events of April 12? Zalachenko was conveniently murdered at Sahlgrenska hospital by a mentally ill fanatic at the same time as a burglary was committed at Blomkvist's apartment and Advokat Giannini was mugged. In both latter instances, copies of Bjorck's strange report dating from 1991 were stolen. Armansky had contributed this information, but it was completely off the record. No police report was ever filed.
And at the same time, Bjorck--a person with whom Edklinth wished he could have had a serious talk--hangs himself.
Edklinth didn't believe in coincidence on such a grand scale. Inspector Bublanski didn't believe in it either. Neither did Blomkvist. Edklinth took up his felt pen once more:
Evert Gullberg, seventy-eight years old. Tax specialist.???
Who the hell was Evert Gullberg?
He considered calling up the chief of SIS but restrained himself for the simple reason that he did not know how far up in the organization the conspiracy reached. He didn't know whom to trust.
For a moment he considered turning to the regular police. Jan Bublanski was the leader of the investigation concerning Ronald Niedermann, and obviously he would be interested in any related information. But from a purely political standpoint, it was out of the question.
He felt a great weight on his shoulders.
There was only one constitutionally correct option left, which might provide some protection if he ended up in hot water. He would have to turn to the chief to secure political support for what he was working on.
It was just before 4:00 on Friday afternoon. He picked up the phone and called the minister of justice, whom he had known for many years and had dealings with at numerous departmental meetings. He got him on the line within five minutes.
"Hello, Torsten. It's been a long time. What's the problem?"
"To tell you the truth, I think I'm calling to check how much credibility I have with you."
"Credibility? That's a peculiar question. As far as I'm concerned you have absolute credibility. What makes you ask such a dramatic question?"
"It's prompted by a dramatic and extraordinary request. I need to have a meeting with you and the prime minister, and it's urgent."
"Whoa!"
"If you'll forgive me, I'd rather explain when we can talk in private. Something so remarkable came across my desk that I believe both you and the prime minister need to be informed."
"Does it have anything to do with terrorists and threat assessments?"
"No. It's more serious than that. I'm putting my reputation and career on the line by calling you with this request."
"I see. That's why you asked about your credibility. How soon do you need the meeting with the PM?"
"This evening if possible."
"Now you've got me worried."
"Unfortunately, there's good reason for you to be worried."
"How long will the meeting take?"
"Probably an hour."
"Let me call you back."
The minister of justice called back ten minutes later and said that the prime minister would meet with Edklinth at his residence at 9:30 that evening. Edklinth's palms were sweating when he put down the phone. By tomorrow morning my career could be over.
He called Figuerola.
"Hello, Monica. At 9:00 tonight you have to report for duty. You'd better dress nicely."
"I always dress nicely," Figuerola said.
The prime minister gave the director of Constitutional Protection a long, wary look. Edklinth had a sense that cogs were whirring at high speed behind the PM's glasses.
The PM shifted his gaze to Figuerola, who hadn't said a word during the presentation. He saw an unusually tall and muscular woman looking back at him with a polite, expectant expression. Then he turned to the minister of justice, who had paled over the course of the presentation.
Then the PM took a deep breath, removed his glasses, and stared for a moment into the distance.
"I think we need a little more coffee," he said.
"Yes, please," Figuerola said.
Edklinth nodded and the minister of justice poured coffee from a thermos carafe.
"Let me be absolutely certain I understood you correctly," the prime minister said. "You suspect that there's a conspiracy within the Security Police that is acting outside its constitutional mandate, and that over the years this conspiracy has committed what could be categorized as serious criminal acts."
"Yes."
"And you're coming to me because you don't trust the leadership of the Security Police?"
"No, not exactly," Edklinth said. "I decided to turn directly to you because this sort of activity is unconstitutional. But I don't know the objective of the conspiracy, or whether I've misinterpreted something. For all I know, the activity may be legitimate and sanctioned by the government. Then I risk proceeding on faulty information, thereby compromising some secret operation."
