The Girl Who Played with Fire . The woman may have had a few too many drinks, but her going to bed with a book about the mysteries of mathematics. Read The Girl Who Played with Fire (Millennium #2) online free from your iPhone , iPad, android, Pc, Mobile. The Girl Who Played with Fire is a Mystery novel by. The Girl Who Played with Fire (Millennium Series Book 2) and millions of other books are available for instant access. view site eBook | view Audible.
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The Girl Who Played with Fire (Millennium Series Book 2) - site edition by Stieg Larsson, Reg Keeland. Download it once and read it on your site device, . The Girl Who Played with Fire is the second novel in the best-selling Millennium series by .. Print/export. Create a book · Download as PDF · Printable version. The Girl Who Played with Fire is a Swedish thriller film directed by Daniel Alfredson, and the sequel to The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. It is based on the best-selling novel of the same name by the late Swedish .. Print/export. Create a book · Download as PDF · Printable version.
Blomkvist asks Roberto to help by finding Miriam Wu, who, released by the police, has been avoiding all contact from the press, including Blomkvist. In the meantime, at Salander's suggestion, Blomkvist focuses on Zala as the key connection among the three murders and the sex trafficking. As the police continue the investigation, Blomkvist's team also notices the three-year gap in Salander's biography.
Roberto, staking out Salander's former apartment in the hopes of catching Wu, witnesses her being kidnapped into a van by a paunchy man with a ponytail Salander's earlier attacker and a "blond giant". He follows the van to a warehouse south of Nykvarn , where he attempts to rescue Wu by boxing with the giant. He finds his opponent unusually muscular and totally insensitive to pain , and only through applications of massive blunt trauma can he and Wu stun the giant enough to escape.
The giant recovers and sets the warehouse on fire to destroy the evidence. However, Roberto is able to direct the police to the site, where they find three buried and dismembered bodies.
Visiting Bjurman's summer cabin, Salander finds a classified Swedish Security Service file written about "All The Evil", and begins to make the connection between Bjurman and Zala, whose real name is Alexander Zalachenko.
Salander physically incapacitates them, leaving more suspects for Bublanski to find.
She returns to her apartment and, having no choice, decides to find Zalachenko and kill him. In his apartment, Blomkvist finds Salander's keys, which he had picked up after her escape from Lundin. He manages to find her new, upscale apartment as well as the DVD revealing Bjurman's crime. He became the partner of a year-old woman who became pregnant with twins, Lisbeth and Camilla. Zalachenko was an itinerant father who physically and emotionally abused his partner when he was home.
The cycle of violence culminated in Lisbeth Salander's deliberately setting his car alight with gasoline while her father was in it. This is the event Salander refers to as "All the Evil", since the authorities, instead of listening to her pleas on behalf of her mother, imprisoned Salander and declared her insane. Salander's mother was left with the first of a series of cerebral hemorrhages which consigned her to nursing homes and ultimately caused her death.
Salander realised that the government would never acknowledge Zalachenko's crimes, which would require them to admit his existence. Zalachenko was allowed to walk away, but suffered serious injuries and had to have his foot amputated. Niedermann had killed Svensson and Johansson on Zalachenko's orders: Bjurman then called Zalachenko in a panic, leading not only to their deaths but to his own, as well. Blomkvist does not share all of his findings with Bublanski, out of respect for Salander's privacy, but between his testimony, the various character witnesses, and the additional accomplices piling up, the police are forced to admit that their original suspicions of Salander as a psychotic murderer may have been wrong.
Armansky is satisfied, as his true goal in aiding the investigation—ensuring Salander is not simply condemned as a murderer out of hand—has been achieved. He has deduced that Salander has entered what Roberto and his boxing friends called " Terminator Mode", where she attacks without restraint to defend her life and those she cares about.
Salander enters the farmhouse and is captured as a result of secret cameras and alarms Zalachenko had installed. Zalachenko tells Salander that Niedermann is her half-brother. When Salander attempts to escape, Zalachenko shoots her in the hip, shoulder, and head, and Niedermann buries her, not realising she is still alive.
Battling through immense pain, Salander slowly digs herself out and again attempts to kill Zalachenko with an axe, noting that Zalachenko's use of a Browning. The book ends as Blomkvist finds Salander and calls emergency services.
The English version was published in January and immediately became a number 1 bestseller. Carla McKay at the Daily Mail said that, like its predecessor, the book is "not just a thrilling read, but tackles head-on the kind of issues that Larsson himself railed against in society".
Most of the reviewers concentrated mainly on the character of Lisbeth Salander, with Mark Lawson at the Guardian saying that "the huge pleasure of these books is Salander, a fascinating creation with a complete and complex psychology. The character of Paolo Roberto is an actual person. He is a former boxer and television chef who has also dabbled in politics. He played himself in the film adaptation of the book. In the first part of the book, Salander is exploring Dimensions in Mathematics apparently written by L.
Parnault and published by Harvard University Press in On February 9, , Harvard University Press announced on their website that this book and the author are purely fictitious. Bodin was born in Karlstad and later moved to Sundsvall. At the war's end, Bodin and another Swedish volunteer stole a car in an attempted escape to Sweden. The car's owner saw the theft, and soon a gunfight erupted in which the car owner and Bodin's friend were shot.
Bodin left his friend behind and crossed the border. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Sweden portal Books portal s portal.
The Sunday Times. April 25, New York: Seven Stories, Daily Mail. The Guardian.
A Swedish punk tops our charts". The Independent. January 23, The New York Times. Retrieved 19 October Retrieved She had sat down in the shade under some palms to watch the children playing football by the water. She was engrossed in Dimensions when the boy came and sat in the sand a few yards away from her, apparently without noticing she was there.
She observed him in silence. A thin black boy in sandals, black jeans, and a white shirt. He too had opened a book and immersed himself in it. Like her, he was reading a mathematics book—Basics 4. He began to scribble in an exercise book. Five minutes later, when Salander cleared her throat, he jumped up with a start. He apologized for bothering her and was on the brink of being gone when she asked him if what he was working on were complicated formulas. After a minute she had shown him an error in his calculation.
After half an hour they had finished his homework. After an hour they had gone through the whole of the next chapter in his textbook and she had explained the trick behind the arithmetical operations as though she were his tutor.
He had looked at her awestruck. After two hours he told her that his mother lived in Toronto, that his father lived in Grenville on the other side of the island, and that he himself lived in a shack a little way along the beach. He was the youngest in the family, with three older sisters.
Salander found his company surprisingly relaxing. The situation was unusual. She hardly ever began conversations with strangers just to talk. It was not a matter of shyness. For her, a conversation had a straightforward function. How do I get to the pharmacy? Conversation also had a professional function. When she worked as a researcher for Dragan Armansky at Milton Security, she had never minded having a long conversation if it was to ferret out facts.
On the other hand, she disliked personal discussions, which always led to snooping around in areas she considered private. How old are you? Do you like Britney Spears? Are you a lesbian? Piss off. This boy was gawky and self-conscious, but he was polite and tried to have an intelligent conversation without competing with her or poking his nose into her life. Like her, he seemed lonely. He appeared to accept without puzzlement that a goddess of mathematics had descended onto Grand Anse Beach, and with pleasure that she would keep him company.
They got up as the sun sank to the horizon. They walked together towards her hotel, and he pointed out the shack that was his student quarters. Shyly he asked if he might invite her to tea. The shack contained a table that was cobbled together, two chairs, a bed, and a wooden cabinet for clothes.
The only lighting was a desk lamp with a cable that ran to the Coconut. He had a camp stove. He offered her a meal of rice and vegetables, which he served on plastic plates. Boldly he even offered her a smoke of the local forbidden substance, which she also accepted.
Salander could not help noticing that he was affected by her presence and did not know how he should treat her. She, on a whim, decided to let him seduce her.
It developed into a painfully roundabout procedure in which he certainly understood her signals but had no idea how to react to them. Finally she lost patience, pushed him roughly onto the bed, and took off her shirt and jeans. It was the first time she had shown herself naked to anyone since the operation in Italy. She had left the clinic with a feeling of panic.
It took her a long while to realize that no-one was staring at her. Young Bland had been a perfect initiation for her new self. When at last after some encouragement he managed to unfasten her bra, he immediately switched off the lamp before undressing himself.
Salander could tell that he was shy, and she turned the lamp back on. She watched his reactions closely as he began to touch her clumsily.
Only much later did she relax, certain that he thought her breasts were natural. On the other hand, it was unlikely he had much to compare them to. She had not planned to get herself a teenage lover on Grenada. But the next day she ran into him on the beach and realized that the clumsy boy was pleasant company. For the seven weeks she lived on Grenada, George Bland became a regular part of her life. They did not spend time together during the day, but they spent the hours before sundown on the beach and the evenings alone in his shack.
She was aware that when they walked together they looked like two teenagers. Sweet sixteen. He evidently thought that life had become much more interesting.
He had met a woman who was teaching him about mathematics and eroticism. He opened the door and smiled delightedly at her. Salander left the shack just after two in the morning. She had a warm feeling in her body and strolled along the beach instead of taking the road to the Keys Hotel.
She walked alone in the dark, knowing that Bland would be a hundred yards behind. He always did that. She had never slept over at his place, and he often protested that she, a woman all alone, should not be walking back to her hotel at night.
He insisted it was his duty to accompany her back to the hotel. Especially when it was very late, as it often was. Salander would listen to his objections and then cut the discussion off with a firm no. The first time she caught him following her she was really annoyed.
But now she thought his wanting to protect her was rather sweet, so she pretended that she did not know he was there behind her or that he would turn back when he saw her go in the door of the hotel. She wondered what he would do if she were attacked.
She would make use of the hammer she had bought at a hardware store and kept in the outside pocket of her shoulder bag. There were not so many physical threats that could not be countered with a decent hammer, Salander thought. There was a full moon and the stars were sparkling.
Salander looked up and identified Regulus in Leo near the horizon.
She was almost at the hotel terrace when she stopped short. She had caught sight of someone near the waterline below the hotel. It was the first time she had seen a living soul on the beach after dark. He was almost a hundred yards off, but Salander knew at once who it was there in the moonlight. It was the fine Dr. Forbes from room She took three quick steps into the shadow of a tree.
When she turned her head, Bland was invisible too. He was smoking a cigarette. Every so often he would stop and bend down as if to examine the sand. Salander waited for a few minutes before she went down to where Dr.
Library The Girl Who Played with Fire (Millennium) - Stieg Larsson
Forbes had been. She made a slow semicircle, inspecting the sand. All she could make out was pebbles and some shells. After a few minutes she broke off her search and went back to the hotel. All was quiet. After a while she took from her shoulder bag some papers to roll a joint from the supply that Bland had given her.
She sat down on a balcony chair and gazed out at the dark water of the Caribbean as she smoked and thought. She felt like a radar installation on high alert. He saw everyone passing in an unbroken stream, but observed none of them.
He was thinking of Lisbeth Salander. He thought often about Salander. What he was thinking made him boil with rage. Salander had crushed him. He was never going to forget it. She had taken command and humiliated him. She had abused him in a way that had left indelible marks on his body. On an area the size of a book below his navel.
He had been assigned to be her guardian, which made her inescapably dependent on him. From the first time he met her he had fantasized about her. He could not explain it, but she seemed to invite that response. What he had done—he, a fifty-five-year-old lawyer—was reprehensible, indefensible by any standard.
He knew that, of course. The laws, the most basic moral code, and his responsibility as her guardian—none of it mattered at all. She was a strange girl—fully grown but with an appearance that made her easily mistaken for a child. He had control over her life; she was his to command. She had a record that robbed her of credibility if she ever had a mind to protest.
Nor was it a rape of some innocent—her file confirmed that she had had many sexual encounters, could even be regarded as promiscuous. A police patrol had observed a drunken older man sitting with a young girl on a park bench in Tantolunden. The police had confronted the pair; the girl had refused to answer their questions, and the man was too intoxicated to give them any sensible information. Salander was a whore at the bottom of the social scale.
It was risk-free. If she dared to protest to the Guardianship Agency, no-one was going to believe her word against his. She was the ideal plaything—grown-up, promiscuous, socially incompetent, and at his mercy. It was the first time he had exploited one of his clients.
Previously it had never occurred to him to make advances to anyone with whom he had a professional relationship. To satisfy his sexual needs, he had always turned to prostitutes.
He had been discreet and he paid well; the problem was that prostitutes were not serious, they were only pretending. It was a service he bought from a woman who moaned and rolled her eyes; she played her part, but it was as phony as street theatre. He had tried to dominate his wife in the years that he was married, but she had merely gone along with it, and that too was a game.
Salander had been the perfect solution. She was defenceless. She had no family, no friends: The opportunity makes the thief. And then out of the blue she had destroyed him. She had struck back with a power and determination that he had not dreamed she possessed.
She had humiliated him. She had tortured him. She had all but demolished him.
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He had locked himself in, did not answer the telephone, and was unable even to keep up contact with his regular clients. After two weeks he went on sick leave. His secretary was deputized to deal with his correspondence at the office, cancelling all his meetings and trying to keep irritated clients at bay. Every day he was confronted by the tattoo on his body. Finally he took down the mirror from the bathroom door.
1/3 Millennium 2 : THE GIRL WHO PLAYED WITH FIRE
He returned to his office at the beginning of summer. He had handed over most of his clients to his colleagues. The only ones he kept for himself were companies for whom he dealt with legal business correspondence without being involved in meetings. His only active client now was Salander—each month he wrote up a balance sheet and a report for the Guardianship Agency. He did very precisely what she had demanded: Each report was an excruciating reminder of her existence, but he had no choice.
Bjurman had spent the summer and the autumn in helpless, furious brooding. And then, in December, he pulled himself together and went on a vacation to France.
While there, he consulted a specialist at a clinic for cosmetic surgery outside Marseilles about how best to remove the tattoo. The specialist had examined his abdomen with ill-concealed astonishment.
At last he recommended a course of action. One way would be laser treatment, he said, but the tattoo was so extensive and the needle had penetrated so deeply that he was afraid the only realistic solution was a series of skin grafts. It would be expensive and would take time.
In the past two years Bjurman had seen Salander on only one occasion. On the night she attacked him and established control over his life, she had taken the spare set of keys to his office and apartment. She would be watching him, she had told him, and when he least expected it she would drop in. He had almost begun to believe it was an empty threat, but he had not dared to change the locks.
Her warning had been unmistakable—if she ever found him in bed with a woman, Salander would make public the ninety-minute video that documented how he had raped her. In January a year ago he had woken at 3: He turned on his bedside light and almost howled in fright when he saw her standing at the foot of his bed. She was like a ghost suddenly there. Her face was pale and expressionless. In her hand she held her fucking Taser.
While I slept? He could not tell whether she was bluffing. Bjurman cleared his throat and was about to speak. She cut him off with a gesture. Send them to this hotmail address. Is that understood? He had not dared to try to reach her, since she had threatened to send the video to the authorities if he did.
Instead he had thought for months what he would say to her when eventually she contacted him. He really had nothing he could say in his defence. All he could do was appeal to her humanity. He would try to convince her—if she would only give him a chance to speak—that he had done it in a fit of insanity, that he was utterly sorry for it and wanted to make amends. He would grovel if that would convince her, if he could only somehow defuse the threat that she posed.
Then she put one foot on the bottom of the bed and stared at him in disgust. I have no reason to forgive you. You fail, and the video goes to the agency.
You contact me in any way other than I tell you to, then I make the video public. I die in an accident, the video will be made public.
You ever touch me again, I will kill you. The day I set you free, you can do as you like. But until that day you will not set foot again in that clinic in Marseilles. The next moment she was gone. He heard a faint click as she turned the front-door key. It was as if a ghost had paid him a visit. At that instant he began to loathe Lisbeth Salander with an intensity that blazed like red-hot steel in his brain and transformed his life into an obsession to crush her.
He fantasized about killing her. He toyed with fantasies of having her crawl at his feet and beg him for mercy. But he would be merciless. He would put his hands around her throat and strangle her until she gasped for air. He wanted to tear her eyes from their sockets and her heart from her chest. He wanted to erase her from the earth. Paradoxically, it was at this same moment that he felt as though he had begun to function again, and he discovered in himself a surprising emotional balance.
He was obsessed with the woman and she was on his mind every waking minute. But he had begun to think rationally again.
If he was going to find a way of destroying her, he would have to get his head in order. His life settled on a new objective.
He stopped fantasizing about her death and began planning for it. Neither he nor Berger had ever heard of Nils Bjurman, so neither was aware of his being there. Berger frowned and moved an ashtray aside to make room for her glass.
Blomkvist hung his jacket over the back of his chair, slid the ashtray over to his side of the table, and lit a cigarette. Berger detested cigarette smoke and gave him a furious look.
He turned his head to blow the smoke away from her. Berger rolled her eyes. Naturally I expect you to behave like a gentleman. Probably a little hero worship. If I were twenty years younger I might not have even hesitated. Over the past year he had received invitations to the most improbable places, parties, and events. He was greeted with air kisses from all sorts of people he had hardly shaken hands with before. They were not primarily media people—he knew all of them already and was on either good or bad terms with them—but so-called cultural figures and B-list celebrities now wanted to appear as though they were his close friends.
Now it was the thing to have Mikael Blomkvist as your guest at a launch party or a private dinner. One downside of his star status was an increasing rash of rumours. An acquaintance had mentioned with concern that he heard a rumour claiming that Blomkvist had been seen at a rehab clinic. As to alcohol, he was only ever seriously intoxicated at private dinners or parties.
In a bar he would seldom have more than one large, strong beer. He also liked to drink medium-strong beer. His drinks cabinet at home had vodka and a few bottles of single malt Scotch, all presents. It was absurd how rarely he indulged in them.
Blomkvist was single. The fact that he had occasional affairs was known both inside and outside his circle of friends, and that had led to further rumours. His longlasting affair with Erika Berger was frequently the subject of speculation. An obscure journalist had once even urged him to seek help for his sex addiction. Blomkvist had indeed had many brief relationships. He knew he was reasonably good-looking, but he had never considered himself exceptionally attractive.
But he had often been told that he had something that made women interested in him. Berger had told him that he radiated self-confidence and security at the same time, that he had an ability to make women feel at ease. Going to bed with him was not threatening or complicated, but it might be erotically enjoyable. And that, according to Blomkvist, was as it should be. Most astonishing were the young women who made impulsive advances in unexpected circumstances.
But Blomkvist was not turned on by teenagers with miniskirts and perfect bodies. When he was younger his women friends had often been older than he—in some cases considerably older—and more experienced. Over time the age difference had evened out. Salander had definitely been a step in the other direction. And this was the reason for his hastily called meeting with Berger. This was nothing unusual; they had several interns each year.
She did not miss an opportunity to be in close contact with him. He pretended not to notice her blatant advances, but that only induced her to redouble her efforts. Quite simply, it was becoming tiresome. Berger burst out laughing. She knows damned well how to express herself. She rang your doorbell last night—is that the extent of it? Besides, he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to pay attention to his surroundings.
Ever since the lifting of his mental paralysis, he had been continuously circling round and round the same conundrum. Salander had in her possession a video of his assault on her which she had recorded with a hidden camera. She had made him watch the video. There was no room for favourable interpretations. If it ever got to the Guardianship Agency, or, God forbid, if it ended up in the hands of the media, his career, his freedom, and his life would be over.
He knew the penalties for aggravated rape, exploitation of a person in a subordinate position, abuse and aggravated abuse; he reckoned he would get at least six years in prison. A zealous prosecutor might use one section of the video as the basis for a charge of attempted murder. He had all but asphyxiated her during the rape when he had excitedly pressed a pillow over her face. He devoutly wished he had finished the job. They would not accept that she was the whole time playing a game.
She had provoked him to rape her. They would never see that she had in fact put on a performance. She had planned… The first thing he would have to do was to gain possession of the video and make sure somehow that there were no copies. That was the crux of the problem.
There was no doubt in his mind that a witch like Salander would have made enemies over the years. Here Bjurman had an advantage. Unlike anyone else who might try to get at her, he had access to all her medical records, welfare reports, and psychiatric assessments.
He was one of the very few people in Sweden who knew her secrets. He had read the file over and over. As a lawyer he was well practiced in extracting information from the records of public authorities. As her guardian he was able to penetrate the layers of confidentiality surrounding her medical records. He could get hold of every document he wanted that dealt with Salander.
He had discussed her condition with Dr. Jesper H. Everyone was helpful. He found a real gold mine of information in the form of two notebooks in a box gathering dust in the archive of the Guardianship Agency. Palmgren had conscientiously submitted a report each year to the agency, and Bjurman supposed Salander had probably not known that Palmgren also made meticulous notes for himself. They were the originals. There was no indication that copies had ever been made.
Bjurman learned from these notes that Salander was by no means a slow-witted office junior who did the photocopying and made coffee. Salander seemed to have only two friends in her life.
Palmgren was out of the picture now. Armansky remained, and could possibly be a threat. Bjurman decided to steer clear of Armansky. The notebooks had explained a lot.
Bjurman understood how Salander had discovered so much about him. He could not for the life of him see how she had found out about his visit to the plastic surgery clinic in France, but much of the mystery surrounding her had vanished. He at once took fresh precautions with his own investigations and decided that since Salander had access to his apartment, it was not a good idea to keep any papers there that dealt with her case. He gathered all the documentation and filled a cardboard box to take to his summer cabin near Stallarholmen, where he was spending more and more of his time in solitary brooding.
The more he read about Salander, the more convinced he became that she was pathologically unwell. He shuddered to remember how she had handcuffed him to his bed. He had been totally under her control then, and he did not doubt that she would make good her threat to kill him if he provoked her. She lacked social inhibitions, one of her reports stated. Well, he could conclude a stage or two further: A loose cannon. A whore. On several occasions he had recorded very personal diary-type accounts of conversations that he had had with Salander.
A crazy old man. Bjurman wrote down the words All The Evil. The years in foster homes? Some particular attack? The explanation ought to be there in the documentation to which he already had access.
He opened the psychiatric assessment of Salander as an eighteen-year-old and read it through for the fifth or sixth time. There had to be a gap in his knowledge.
Something had set off the madness when she was twelve. There were other gaps in her biography. He discovered to his great surprise that Salander had a twin sister who had not been referred to in any of the material to which he had previously had access.
My God, there are two of them. But he could not find any reference to what had happened to the sister. The father was unknown, and there was no explanation as to why her mother could not take care of her. But now he was sure that something had happened to Salander when she was twelve or thirteen. All The Evil. A trauma of some kind. In the psychiatric assessment he finally found a reference to an attachment that was missing—the number of a police report dated March 12, It was handwritten in the margin of the copy from the social welfare agency archive.
Bjurman was stymied. The fact that a police report dealing with a twelve-year-old girl was classified was not in itself surprising—there could be all manner of reasons for the protection of privacy. He could not understand why gaining access to such a report should require an appeal to a government department. He submitted his application. Two months passed before he was informed that his request had been denied. What could there be in a police report almost fourteen years old about so young a girl to classify it as top secret?
It had to have been discussed between Palmgren and his ward but never written down. Perhaps Palmgren had never had time to write up his own conclusions about this apparently crucial series of events before he had his stroke. Chances were that he knew about everything that had happened. At first glance the description was disappointing: No alternative was discussed. Only a cryptic formulation: But here there was the name of the policeman who wrote the report.
Bjurman registered the name with shock. He knew it well. Indeed he knew it very well, and this discovery put matters in a wholly new light. It still took him two more months to get the report, this time via completely different methods. It consisted of forty-seven pages of A4, with a dozen or so pages of notes that were added over a six-year period. And finally the photographs.
And the name. Now he realized why the report had been stamped top secret. There was one other person who had reason to hate Salander with the same passion as he did. He had an ally, the most improbable ally he could have imagined. He looked up and saw a blond … giant was the only word for him. For a few seconds he recoiled before he regained his composure. The man looking down at him stood more than six foot six and had an exceptionally powerful build. A bodybuilder without a doubt. Bjurman could not see a hint of fat.
The man made a terrifying impression. His blond hair was cropped close at the sides with a short shock left on top. He had an oval, oddly soft, almost childlike face. His ice-blue eyes, however, were not remotely gentle. He was dressed in a midlength black leather jacket, blue shirt, black tie, and black trousers. The last thing Bjurman noticed was his hands. If all of the rest of him was large, his hands were enormous. With difficulty he kept his expression neutral and nodded.
Tell me what you want. He disliked intensely the idea of having to be at the mercy of a stranger. But it was a necessity. He reminded himself that he was not alone in having a grudge against Salander. It was a question of recruiting allies. In a low voice he explained his business.
Ten minutes later she had paid the deposit, adjusted the seat and rearview mirror, test-started it, and checked that there was fuel in the tank. Just after 8: Forbes came into the bar. He was freshly shaven and dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and blue tie.
He ordered eggs, toast, orange juice, and black coffee. Salander followed at a suitable distance. She drove past him, parked near the centre of the harbour promenade, and waited patiently until he passed her before she followed him again. Salander was drenched with sweat and her feet were swollen. For four hours she had walked up one street in St.
Her pace had been leisurely, but she never stopped. The steep hills began to strain her muscles. She had begun to think of giving up the project when suddenly he turned towards the Turtleback. She gave him ten minutes before she too entered the restaurant and sat outside on the veranda. They both sat in the same places as the day before, and just as he had done then, he drank a Coca-Cola as he stared at the harbour.
Forbes was one of very few people on Grenada in a suit and tie. He seemed untroubled by the heat. He walked unhurriedly along the Carenage and hopped on one of the minibuses heading out to Grand Anse. Salander parked outside the Keys Hotel five minutes before the bus dropped him off.
She went to her room, ran a bath with cold water, and stretched out in it, frowning deeply. Every morning Forbes left the hotel dressed for battle with his briefcase, yet he spent the day doing absolutely nothing except killing time.
Whatever he was doing on Grenada, he was not planning the building of a new school, and yet he wanted to give the impression that he was on the island for business. Then why all this theatre?
The only person he might want to hide something from in this connection was his wife, who presumably thought that he was extremely busy during the day. But why? Had the deal fallen through and he was too proud to admit it?
Did he have another objective on this visit to the island? Was he waiting for something, or someone? Salander had four email messages. The first was from Plague and had been sent only an hour after she had written to him. The message was encrypted and posed the question: Nor, for that matter, had Salander. Two further emails had been sent around 2: One was from Plague, also encrypted, telling her that an Internet acquaintance who went by the name of Bilbo, who apparently lived in Texas, had snapped up her enquiry.
Minutes later Bilbo emailed her from a hotmail address. The message said only that Bilbo would send the data on Dr. Forbes and his wife within twenty-four hours. The fourth email was also from Bilbo, sent late that afternoon. It contained an encrypted bank account number and an FTP address. It was a folder containing four low-resolution photographs and five Word documents. Two of the pictures were of Dr. The fourth photograph was of Forbes in a church pulpit.
The second document contained eighty-four pages of text downloaded from the Internet. The next two documents were OCR-scanned newspaper clippings from the Austin American-Statesman, and the final document was an overview of Dr. Apart from the fact that Salander knew the Book of Leviticus by heart—the year before, she had had occasion to study biblical references to punishment—she had little more than a sketchy grasp of religious history. She had only a vague sense of the differences between Jewish, Presbyterian, and Catholic churches, apart from the fact that the Jewish ones were called synagogues.
For a moment she was afraid that she would have to immerse herself in the theological details. Forbes belonged to. Richard Forbes, aka Reverend Richard Forbes, was forty-two. The home page of the Church of Austin South showed that the church had seven employees. Reverend Duncan Clegg was at the top of the list.
The photograph showed a powerful man with bushy grey hair and a well-groomed grey beard. Forbes was the third name on the list, responsible for educational matters. Through prayer and thanksgiving we shall serve the people of Austin South by offering the stability, theology, and hopeful ideology as defended by the Presbyterian Church of America. He was a certified public accountant and had also studied archaeology. Bilbo had not been able to find the source of his doctorate.
Forbes had met Geraldine Knight in the congregation, the only daughter of rancher William F. Knight, also a member of Austin South. At the age of twenty-five, in , he had been charged with aggravated bodily harm following a car accident.
He was acquitted by the court. As far as Salander could tell from the press clippings, he was indeed innocent. In he was charged with embezzling money from the Christian rock band he managed. He was acquitted that time too. He was a member of the Democratic Party, participated diligently in charity work, and collected money to fund schooling for children in less fortunate families.
The Church of Austin South concentrated its work among Spanish-speaking families.
The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest by Stieg Larsson (PDF) – Millennium 3
In , allegations had been made against Forbes for financial irregularities in his work with the Santa Maria Foundation. According to one newspaper article, Forbes was suspected of having placed a larger portion of the assets into investment funds than was stipulated in the statutes. No charges were filed, and an audit turned up nothing untoward.
Geraldine Forbes was responsible for their financial stability. Her father had died in The couple had no children. Forbes was therefore dependent on his wife. Salander thought that this was not a good position to be in if you were in the habit of abusing your wife.
She went out on the balcony and leaned against the railing. The sun was about to set. A breeze was rustling the crowns of the palm trees along the seawall. Grenada was feeling the outer bands of Matilda. Then she went down to the bar and ordered fish for dinner and a bottle of Carib. The only event of interest was when Dr.
He did not seem particularly anxious. He wore a cross on a gold chain around his neck and looked vigorous, even attractive. She took a short walk after dinner, but the wind was blowing hard and the temperature had dropped sharply. She went back to her room and crept into bed by 9: The wind was rattling the windows. She had intended to read for a while but fell fast asleep almost immediately. She was awakened all of a sudden by a loud banging.
She looked at her watch: She lurched out of bed and opened the door to the balcony. Gusts of wind made her take a step back. She braced herself on the doorjamb, took a cautious step onto the balcony, and looked around. Some hanging lamps around the pool were swinging back and forth, creating a dramatic shadow play in the garden. She noticed that several hotel guests were standing by the opening in the wall, looking out at the beach. Others were grouped near the bar.
To the north she could see the lights of St. The sky was overcast, but it was not raining.
She could not see the ocean in the dark, but the roar of the waves was much louder than usual. The temperature had dropped even further. For the first time since she had arrived in the Caribbean she shivered with cold. As she stood on the balcony there was a loud knock on her door. She wrapped a sheet around her and opened the door. Freddy McBain looked resolute. Trinidad and Tobago lay about miles southeast of Grenada.However, Roberto is able to direct the police to the site, where they find three buried and dismembered bodies.
Rick Groen of The Globe and Mail describes the film as "Tepid and downright confusing" for those who have not read the books, although he suspects there are few who have not; he notes that the plot, "already thick on the page, often seems impenetrable here. Salander left the shack just after two in the morning. Zalachenko tells Salander that Niedermann is her half-brother.
Parents Guide: Then he walked around the bed and tightened the foot restraint. Blomkvist sighed, switched off the TV, and went to the window to gaze out at City Hall. Views Read Edit View history.
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