“Henrik, this is absurd. I really don’t believe I can solve the mystery of Harriet’s disappearance.”

“According to the contract, you don’t have to. All it asks is that you do your best. If you fail, then it’s God’s will, or-if you don’t believe in Him-it’s fate.”

Blomkvist sighed. He was feeling more and more uncomfortable and wanted to end this visit to Hedeby, but he relented.

“All right, let’s hear it.”

“I want you to live and work here in Hedeby for a year. I want you to go through the investigative report on Harriet’s disappearance one page at a time. I want you to examine everything with new eyes. I want you to question all the old conclusions exactly the way an investigative reporter would. I want you to look for something that I and the police and other investigators may have missed.”

“You’re asking me to set aside my life and career to devote myself for a whole year to something that’s a complete waste of time.”

Vanger smiled. “As to your career, we might agree that for the moment it’s somewhat on hold.”

Blomkvist had no answer to that.

“I want to buy a year of your life. Give you a job. The salary is better than any offer you’ll ever get in your life. I will pay you 200,000 kronor a month-that’s 2.4 million kronor if you accept and stay the whole year.”

Blomkvist was astonished.

“I have no illusions. The possibility you will succeed is minimal, but if against all odds you should crack the mystery then I’m offering a bonus of double payment, or 4.8 million kronor. Let’s be generous and round it off to five million.”

Vanger leaned back and cocked his head.

“I can pay the money into any bank account you wish, anywhere in the world. You can also take the money in cash in a suitcase, so it’s up to you whether you want to report the income to the tax authorities.”

“This is…not healthy,” Blomkvist stammered.

“Why so?” Vanger said calmly. “I’m eighty-two and still in full possession of my faculties. I have a large personal fortune; I can spend it any way I want. I have no children and absolutely no desire to leave any money to relatives I despise. I’ve made my last will and testament; I’ll be giving the bulk of my fortune to the World Wildlife Fund. A few people who are close to me will receive significant amounts-including Anna.”

Blomkvist shook his head.

“Try to understand me,” Vanger said. “I’m a man who’s going to die soon. There’s one thing in the world I want to have-and that’s an answer to this question that has plagued me for half my life. I don’t expect to find the answer, but I do have resources to make one last attempt. Is that unreasonable? I owe it to Harriet. And I owe it to myself.”

“You’ll be paying me several million kronor for nothing. All I need to do is sign the contract and then twiddle my thumbs for a year.”

“You wouldn’t do that. On the contrary-you’ll work harder than you’ve ever worked in your life.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I can offer you something that you can’t buy for any price, but which you want more than anything in the world.”

“And what would that be?”

Vanger’s eyes narrowed.

“I can give you Hans-Erik Wennerström. I can prove that he’s a swindler. He happened, thirty-five years ago, to begin his career with me, and I can give you his head on a platter. Solve the mystery and you can turn your defeat in court into the story of the year.”

CHAPTER 7. Friday, January 3

Erika set her coffee cup on the table and stood by the window looking out at the view of Gamla Stan. It was 9:00 in the morning. All the snow had been washed away by the rain over New Year’s.

“I’ve always loved this view,” she said. “An apartment like this would make me give up living in Saltsjöbaden.”

“You’ve got the keys. You can move over from your upper-class reserve any time you want,” Blomkvist said. He closed the suitcase and put it by the front door.

Berger turned and gave him a disbelieving look. “You can’t be serious, Mikael,” she said. “We’re in our worst crisis and you’re packing to go and live in Tjottahejti.”

“Hedestad. A couple of hours by train. And it’s not for ever.”

“It might as well be Ulan Bator. Don’t you see that it will look as if you’re slinking off with your tail between your legs?”

“That’s precisely what I am doing. Besides, I have to do some gaol time too.”

Christer Malm was sitting on the sofa. He was uncomfortable. It was the first time since they founded Millennium that he had seen Berger and Blomkvist in such disagreement. Over all the years they had been inseparable. Sometimes they had furious clashes, but their arguments were always about business matters, and they would invariably resolve all those issues before they hugged each other and went back to their corners. Or to bed. Last autumn had not been fun, and now it was as if a great gulf had opened up between them. Malm wondered if he was watching the beginning of the end of Millennium.

“I don’t have a choice,” Blomkvist said. “We don’t have a choice.”

He poured himself a coffee and sat at the kitchen table. Berger shook her head and sat down facing him.

“What do you think, Christer?” she said.

He had been expecting the question and dreading the moment when he would have to take a stand. He was the third partner, but they all knew that it was Blomkvist and Berger who were Millennium. The only time they asked his advice was when they could not agree.

“Honestly,” Malm said, “you both know perfectly well it doesn’t matter what I think.”

He shut up. He loved making pictures. He loved working with graphics. He had never considered himself an artist, but he knew he was a damned good designer. On the other hand, he was helpless at intrigue and policy decisions.

Berger and Blomkvist looked at each other across the table. She was cool and furious. He was thinking hard.

This isn’t an argument, Malm thought. It’s a divorce.

“OK, let me present my case one last time,” Blomkvist said. “This does not mean I’ve given up on Millennium. We’ve spent too much time working our hearts out for that.”

“But now you won’t be at the office-Christer and I will have to carry the load. Can’t you see that? You’re the one marching into self-imposed exile.”

“That’s the second thing. I need a break, Erika. I’m not functioning anymore. I’m burned out. A paid sabbatical in Hedestad might be exactly what I need.”

“The whole thing is idiotic, Mikael. You might as well take a job in a circus.”

“I know. But I’m going to get 2.4 million for sitting on my backside for a year, and I won’t be wasting my time. That’s the third thing. Round One with Wennerström is over, and he knocked me out. Round Two has already started-he’s going to try to sink Millennium for good because he knows that the staff here will always know what he’s been up to, for as long as the magazine exists.”

“I know what he’s doing. I’ve seen it in the monthly ad sales figures for the last six months.”

“That’s exactly why I have to get out of the office. I’m like a red rag waving at him. He’s paranoid as far as I’m concerned. As long as I’m here, he’ll just keep on coming. Now we have to prepare ourselves for Round Three. If we’re going to have the slightest chance against Wennerström, we have to retreat and work out a whole new strategy. We have to find something to hammer him with. That’ll be my job this year.”

“I understand all that,” Berger said. “So go ahead and take a holiday. Go abroad, lie on a beach for a month. Check out the love life on the Costa Brava. Relax. Go out to Sandhamn and look at the waves.”

“And when I come back nothing will be different. Wennerström is going to crush Millennium unless he is appeased by my having stood down. You know that. The only thing which might otherwise stop him is if we get something on him that we can use.”