Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The - Stieg Larsson [204]
“And?”
“When the last bits are in place, the programme is integrated with his Internet browser. To him it will look as though his computer has locked up, and he has to restart it. During the restart a whole new software programme is installed. He uses Internet Explorer. The next time he starts Explorer, he’s really starting a whole different programme that’s invisible on his desktop and looks and functions just like Explorer, but it also does a lot of other things. First it takes control of his firewall and makes sure that everything is working. Then it starts to scan the computer and transmits bits of information every time he clicks the mouse while he’s surfing. After a while, again depending on how much he surfs, we’ve accumulated a complete mirror image of the contents of his hard drive on a server somewhere. And then it’s time for the HT.”
“HT?”
“Sorry. Plague calls it the HT. Hostile Takeover.”
“I see.”
“The really subtle thing is what happens next. When the structure is ready, Wennerström has two complete hard drives, one on his own machine and one on our server. The next time he boots up his computer, it’s actually the mirrored computer that’s starting. He’s no longer working on his own computer; in reality he’s working on our server. His computer will run a little slower, but it’s virtually not noticeable. And when I’m connected to the server, I can tap his computer in real time. Each time Wennerström presses a key on his computer I see it on mine.”
“Your friend is also a hacker?”
“He was the one who arranged the telephone tap in London. He’s a little out of it socially, but on the Net he’s a legend.”
“OK,” Blomkvist said, giving her a resigned smile. “Question number two: why didn’t you tell me about Wennerström earlier?”
“You never asked me.”
“And if I never did ask you—let’s suppose that I never met you—you would have sat here knowing that Wennerström was a gangster while Millennium went bankrupt?”
“Nobody asked me to expose Wennerström for what he is,” Salander replied in a know-it-all voice.
“Yes, but what if?”
“I did tell you,” she said.
Blomkvist dropped the subject.
Salander burned the contents of Wennerström’s hard drive—about five gigabytes—on to ten CDs, and she felt as if she had more or less moved into Blomkvist’s apartment. She waited patiently, answering all the questions he asked.
“I can’t understand how he can be so fucking dim to put all his dirty laundry on one hard drive,” he said. “If it ever got into the hands of the police…”
“People aren’t very rational. He has to believe that the police would never think of confiscating his computer.”
“Above suspicion. I agree that he’s an arrogant bastard, but he must have security consultants telling him how to handle his computer. There’s material on this machine going all the way back to 1993.”
“The computer itself is relatively new. It was manufactured a year ago, but he seems to have transferred all his old correspondence and everything else on to the hard drive instead of storing it on CDs. But at least he’s using an encryption programme.”
“Which is totally useless if you’re inside his computer and reading the passwords every time he types them in.”
After they’d been back in Stockholm for four days, Malm called on Blomkvist’s mobile at 3:00 in the morning.
“Henry Cortez was at a bar with his girlfriend tonight.”
“Uh-huh,” Blomkvist said, sleepily.
“On the way home they ended up at Centralen’s bar.”
“Not a very good place for a seduction.”
“Listen.