Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, The - Stieg Larsson [190]
Saturday, 3.00 at the Ring in Central Station. Jonas
Shit. Jonas. He was mentioned in a lot of correspondence with Teleborian. Used a hotmail account. Not identified.
Salander glanced at the digital clock on her bedside table. 2.28. She immediately pinged Blomkvist’s I.C.Q. No response.
Blomkvist printed out the 220 pages of the manuscript that were finished. Then he shut off the computer and sat down at Salander’s kitchen table with an editing pencil.
He was pleased with the text. But there was still a gigantic gaping hole. How could he find the remainder of the Section? Eriksson might be right: it might be impossible. He was running out of time.
Salander swore in frustration and pinged Plague. He did not answer either. She looked again at the clock. 2.30.
She sat on the edge of the bed and tried Cortez next and then Eriksson. Saturday. Everybody’s off work. 2.32.
Then she tried to reach Berger. No luck. I told her to go home. Shit. 2.33.
She should be able to send a text message to Blomkvist’s mobile … but it was tapped. She tugged her lip.
Finally in desperation she rang for the nurse.
It was 2.35 when she heard the key in the lock and Nurse Agneta looked in on her.
“Hello. Are you O.K.?”
“Is Dr Jonasson on duty?”
“Aren’t you feeling well?”
“I feel fine. But I need to have a few words with him. If possible.”
“I saw him a little while ago. What’s it about?”
“I just have to talk to him.”
Nurse Agneta frowned. Lisbeth Salander had seldom rung for a nurse if she did not have a severe headache or some other equally serious problem. She never pestered them for anything and had never before asked to speak to a specific doctor. But Nurse Agneta had noticed that Dr Jonasson had spent time with the patient who was under arrest and otherwise seemed withdrawn from the world. It was possible that he had established some sort of rapport.
“I’ll find out if he has time,” Nurse Agneta said gently, and closed the door. And then locked it. It was 2.36, and then the clock clicked over to 2.37.
Salander got up from the edge of the bed and went to the window. She kept an eye on the clock. 2.39. 2.40.
At 2.44 she heard steps in the corridor and the rattle of the Securitas guard’s key ring. Jonasson gave her an inquisitive glance and stopped in his tracks when he saw her desperate look.
“Has something happened?”
“Something is happening right now. Have you got a mobile on you?”
“A what?”
“A mobile. I have to make a call.”
Jonasson looked over his shoulder at the door.
“Anders – I need a mobile. Now!”
When he heard the desperation in her voice he dug into his inside pocket and handed her his Motorola. Salander grabbed it from him. She could not call Blomkvist because he had not given her the number of his Ericsson T10. It had never come up, and he had never supposed that she would be able to call him from her isolation. She hesitated a tenth of a second and punched in Berger’s number. It rang three times before Berger answered.
Berger was in her B.M.W. half a mile from home in Saltsjöbaden when her mobile rang.
“Berger.”
“Salander. No time to explain. Have you got the number of Mikael’s second mobile? The one that’s not tapped.”
“Yes.”
Salander had already surprised her once today.
“Call him. Now! Teleborian is meeting Jonas at the Ring in Central Station at 3.00.”
“What’s—”
“Just hurry. Teleborian. Jonas. The Ring in Central Station. 3.00. He has fifteen minutes.”
Salander flipped the mobile shut so that Berger would not be tempted to waste precious seconds with unnecessary questions.
Berger pulled over to the curb. She reached for the address book in her bag and found the number Blomkvist had given her the night they met at Samir’s Cauldron.
Blomkvist heard his mobile beeping. He got up from the kitchen table, went to Salander’s office and picked up the telephone from the desk.
“Yes?”
“Erika.”
“Hi.”
“Teleborian is meeting