Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [34]
Erika Berger, editor in chief, checked her clock when Blomkvist arrived. He was almost fifteen minutes late for the planning meeting that was held on the second Tuesday of each month at 10:00 a.m. sharp. Tentative plans for the next issue were outlined, and decisions about the content of the magazine were made for several months in advance.
Blomkvist apologized for his late arrival and muttered an explanation that nobody heard or at least bothered to acknowledge. Apart from Berger, the meeting included the managing editor, Malin Eriksson, partner and art director Christer Malm, the reporter Monika Nilsson, and part-timers Lotta Karim and Henry Cortez. Blomkvist saw at once that the intern was absent, but that the group had been augmented by a new face at the small conference table in Berger’s office. It was very unusual for her to let an outsider in on Millennium’s planning sessions.
“This is Dag Svensson,” said Erika. “Freelancer. We’re going to buy an article from him.”
Blomkvist shook hands with the man. Svensson was blond and blue-eyed, with a crew cut and a three-day growth of beard. He was around thirty and looked shamelessly fit.
“We usually run one or two themed issues each year.” Berger went on where she had left off. “I want to use this story in the May issue. The printer is booked for April 27th. That gives us a good three months to produce the articles.”
“So what’s the theme?” Blomkvist wondered aloud as he poured coffee from the thermos.
“Dag came to me last week with the outline for a story. That’s why I asked him to join us today. Will you take it from here, Dag?” Berger said.
“Trafficking,” Svensson said. “That is, the sex trade. In this case primarily of girls from the Baltic countries and Eastern Europe. If you’ll allow me to start at the beginning—I’m writing a book on the subject and that’s why I contacted Millennium—since you now have a book-publishing operation.”
Everyone looked amused. Millennium Publishing had so far issued exactly one book, Blomkvist’s year-old brick about the billionaire Wennerström’s financial empire. The book was in its sixth printing in Sweden, had been published in Norwegian, German, and English, and was soon to be translated into French too. The sales success was remarkable given that the story was by now so well known and had been reported in every newspaper.
“Our book-publishing ventures are not very extensive,” Blomkvist said cautiously.
Even Svensson gave a slight smile. “I understand that. But you do have the means to publish a book.”
“There are plenty of larger companies,” Blomkvist said. “Well-established ones.”
“Without a doubt,” Berger said. “But for a year now we’ve been discussing the possibility of starting a niche publication list in addition to our regular activities. We’ve brought it up at two board meetings, and everyone has been positive. We’re thinking of a very small list—three or four books a year—of reportage on various topics. Typical journalistic publications, in other words. This would be a good book to start with.”
“Trafficking,” Blomkvist said. “Tell us about it.”
“I’ve been digging around in the subject of trafficking for four years now. I got into the topic through my girlfriend—her name is Mia Johansson and she’s a criminologist and gender studies scholar. She previously worked at the Crime Prevention Centre and wrote a report on the sex trade.”
“I’ve met her,” Eriksson said suddenly. “I did an interview with her two years ago when she published a report comparing the way men and women were treated by the courts.”
Svensson smiled. “That did create a stir. But she’s been researching trafficking for five or six years. That’s how we met. I was working on a story about the sex trade on the Internet and got a tip that she knew something about it. And she did. To make a long story short: she and I began working together, I as a journalist and she as a researcher. In the process we started dating, and a year ago we moved in together. She’s working on her doctorate and she’ll be defending her dissertation this