Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, The - Stieg Larsson [108]
“And what happened?”
“His nearest competitor was a Swedish wholesale outfit called Vitavara Inc., which sells genuine Swedish toilets for 1700 kronor apiece. And shrewd municipal buyers started to scratch their heads and wonder why they were shelling out 1700 kronor when they could get a similar toilet from Thailand for 500.”
“Better quality maybe,” Karim said.
“No. The exact same.”
“Thailand,” Malm said. “That sounds like child labour and stuff like that. Which could explain the low price.”
“Not so,” Cortez said. “Child labour exists mostly in the textile and souvenir industries in Thailand. And the paedophile industry, of course. The United Nations keeps an eye on child labour, and I’ve checked out this company. They’re a reputable manufacturer. It’s a big, modern, respectable operation producing appliances and plumbing goods.”
“Alright … but we’re talking about low-wage countries, and that means that you risk writing an article proposing that Swedish industry should be outbid by Thai industry. Fire the Swedish workers and close the factories here, and import everything from Thailand. You won’t win any points with the Trades Union Federation.”
A smile spread over Cortez’s face. He leaned back and looked ridiculously pleased with himself.
“No again,” he said. “Guess where Vitavara Inc. makes its toilets to sell at 1700 kronor apiece?”
Silence fell over the room.
“Vietnam,” Cortez said.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Eriksson said.
“They’ve been making toilets there for at least ten years. Swedish workers were already out of that race in the ’90s.”
“Oh, shit.”
“But here comes my point. If you imported directly from the factory in Vietnam, the price would be in the order of 390 kronor. Guess how you can explain the price difference between Thailand and Vietnam?”
“Don’t tell me that—”
“Oh, yes. Vitavara Inc. subcontracts the work to an outfit called Fong Soo Industries. They’re on the U.N. list of companies that use child labour, at least they were in an investigation from 2001. But the majority of the workers are convicts.”
Eriksson burst out laughing. “This is great. This is really great. I’m sure you’re going to be a journalist when you grow up. How fast can you have the story ready?”
“Two weeks. I have a lot of international trade stuff to check out. And then we need a bad guy for the story, so I’m going to see who owns Vitavara Inc.”
“Then we could run it in the June issue?”
“No problem.”
Inspector Bublanski listened to Prosecutor Ekström without expression. The meeting had lasted forty minutes, and Bublanski was feeling an intense desire to reach out and grab the copy of The Law of the Swedish Kingdom that lay on the edge of Ekström’s desk and ram it into the prosecutor’s face. He wondered what would happen if he acted on his impulse. There would certainly be headlines in the evening papers and it would probably result in an assault charge. He pushed the thought away. The whole point of the socialized human being was to not give in to that sort of impulse, regardless of how belligerently an opponent might behave. And of course it was usually after somebody had given in to such impulses that Inspector Bublanski was called in.
“I take it that we’re in agreement,” Ekström said.
“No, we are not in agreement,” Bublanski said, getting to his feet. “But you’re the leader of the preliminary investigation.”
He muttered to