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 was not 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 Björck’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, Björck hangs himself – a person with whom Edklinth wished he could have had a serious talk.

Edklinth did not believe in coincidence on such a grand scale. Inspector Bublanski did not believe in such coincidence either. And Blomkvist did not believe it. 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 S.I.S., but he restrained himself for the simple reason that he did not know how far up in the organization the conspiracy reached. He did not know whom he could 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 option left that was constitutionally correct, and which might provide some protection if he ended up in political 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 telephone 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 has come across my desk that is so remarkable 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 P.M.?”

“This evening if possible.”

“Now you’ve got me worried.”

“Unhappily, there’s good reason for you to be worried.”

“How long will the meeting take?”

“It’ll probably take 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 telephone. 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 P.M.’s glasses.

The P.M. shifted his gaze to Figuerola, who had not 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 in the course of the presentation.

After a while the P.M. 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 jug.

“I’ll sum up so that I am absolutely certain that 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 have possibly misinterpreted something. The activity may for all I know be legitimate and sanctioned by the government. Then I risk proceeding on faulty or misunderstood information, thereby compromising some secret operation.”

The Prime Minister looked at the Minister of Justice. Both understood that Edklinth was covering his back.

“I’ve never heard of anything like this. Do you know anything about it?”

“Absolutely not,” the Minister of Justice said. “There’s nothing in any report that I’ve seen from the Security Police that could have a bearing on this matter.”

“Blomkvist thinks there’s a faction within Säpo. He refers to it as the Zalachenko club,” Edklinth said.

“I’d never even heard that Sweden had taken in and protected a Russian defector of such importance,” the P.M. said. “He defected during the Fälldin administration, you say?”

“I don’t believe Fälldin would have covered up something like this,” the Minister of Justice said. “A defection like this would have been given the highest priority, and would have been passed over to the next administration.”

Edklinth cleared his throat. “Fälldin’s conservative government was succeeded by Olof Palme’s. It’s no secret that some of my predecessors at S.I.S. had a certain opinion of Palme-”

“You’re suggesting that somebody forgot to inform the social democratic government?”

Edklinth nodded. “Let’s remember that Fälldin was in power for two separate mandates. Each time the coalition government collapsed. First he handed over to Ola Ullsten, who had a minority government in 1979. The government collapsed again when the moderates jumped ship, and Fälldin governed together with the People’s Party. I’m guessing that the government secretariat was in turmoil during those transition periods. It’s also possible that knowledge of Zalachenko was confined to so small a circle that Prime Minister Fälldin had no real oversight, so he never had anything to hand over to Palme.”

“In that case, who’s responsible?” the P.M. said.

All except Figuerola shook their heads.

“I assume that this is bound to leak to the media,” the P.M. said.

“Blomkvist and Millennium are going to publish it. In other words, we’re caught between the proverbial rock and hard place.” Edklinth was careful to use the word “we”.

The P.M. nodded. He realized the gravity of the situation. “Then I’ll have to start by thanking you for coming to me with this matter as soon as you did. I don’t usually agree to this sort of unscheduled meeting, but the minister here said that you were a prudent person, and that something serious must have happened if you wanted to see me outside all normal channels.”