She nodded.

“It might be as early as this weekend. The hospital administration doesn’t want you here.”

“Who could blame them.”

“Er… that device of yours-”

“I’ll leave it in the recess behind the table here.” She pointed.

“Good idea.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Jonasson stood up.

“I have to check on my other patients.”

“Thanks for everything. I owe you one.”

“Just doing my job.”

“No. You’ve done a great deal more. I won’t forget it.”

Blomkvist entered police headquarters on Kungsholmen through the entrance on Polhemsgatan. Figuerola accompanied him up to the offices of the Constitutional Protection Unit. They exchanged only silent glances in the lift.

“Do you think it’s such a good idea for me to be hanging around at police H.Q.?” Blomkvist said. “Someone might see us together and start to wonder.”

“This will be our only meeting here. From now on we’ll meet in an office we’ve rented at Fridhemsplan. We get access tomorrow. But this will be O.K. Constitutional Protection is a small and more or less self-sufficient unit, and nobody else at S.I.S. cares about it. And we’re on a different floor from the rest of Säpo.”

He greeted Edklinth without shaking hands and said hello to two colleagues who were apparently part of his team. They introduced themselves only as Stefan and Anders. He smiled to himself.

“Where do we start?” he said.

“We could start by having some coffee… Monica?” Edklinth said.

“Thanks, that would be nice,” Figuerola said.

Edklinth had probably meant for her to serve the coffee. Blomkvist noticed that the chief of the Constitutional Protection Unit hesitated for only a second before he got up and brought the thermos over to the conference table, where place settings were already laid out. Blomkvist saw that Edklinth was also smiling to himself, which he took to be a good sign. Then Edklinth turned serious.

“I honestly don’t know how I should be managing this. It must be the first time a journalist has sat in on a meeting of the Security Police. The issues we’ll be discussing now are in very many respects confidential and highly classified.”

“I’m not interested in military secrets. I’m only interested in the Zalachenko club.”

“But we have to strike a balance. First of all, the names of today’s participants must not be mentioned in your articles.”

“Agreed.”

Edklinth gave Blomkvist a look of surprise.

“Second, you may not speak with anyone but myself and Monica Figuerola. We’re the ones who will decide what we can tell you.”

“If you have a long list of requirements, you should have mentioned them yesterday.”

“Yesterday I hadn’t yet thought through the matter.”

“Then I have something to tell you too. This is probably the first and only time in my professional career that I will reveal the contents of an unpublished story to a police officer. So, to quote you… I honestly don’t know how I should be managing this.”

A brief silence settled over the table.

“Maybe we-”

“What if we-”

Edklinth and Figuerola had started talking at the same time before falling silent.

“My target is the Zalachenko club,” Blomkvist said. “You want to bring charges against the Zalachenko club. Let’s stick to that.”

Edklinth nodded.

“So, what have you got?” Blomkvist said.

Edklinth explained what Figuerola and her team had unearthed. He showed Blomkvist the photograph of Evert Gullberg with Colonel Wennerström.

“Good. I’ll have a copy of that.”

“It’s in Åhlen’s archive,” Figuerola said.

“It’s on the table in front of me. With text on the back,” Blomkvist said.

“Give him a copy,” Edklinth said.

“That means that Zalachenko was murdered by the Section.”

“Murder, coupled with the suicide of a man who was dying of cancer. Gullberg’s still alive, but the doctors don’t give him more than a few weeks. After his suicide attempt he sustained such severe brain damage that he is to all intents and purposes a vegetable.”

“And he was the person with primary responsibility for Zalachenko when he defected.”

“How do you know that?”

“Gullberg met Prime Minister Fälldin six weeks after Zalachenko’s defection.”

“Can you prove that?”

“I can. The visitors’ log of the government Secretariat. Gullberg arrived together with the then chief of S.I.S.”

“And the chief has since died.”

“But Fälldin is alive and willing to talk about the matter.”

“Have you-”

“No, I haven’t. But someone else has. I can’t give you the name. Source protection.”

Blomkvist explained how Fälldin had reacted to the information about Zalachenko and how he had travelled to the Hague to interview Janeryd.

“So the Zalachenko club is somewhere in this building,” Blomkvist said, pointing at the photograph.

“Partly. We think it’s an organization inside the organization. What you call the Zalachenko club cannot exist without the support of key people in this building. But we think that the so-called Section for Special Analysis set up shop somewhere outside.”

“So that’s how it works? A person can be employed by Säpo, have his salary paid by Säpo, and then in fact report to another employer?”

“Something like that.”

“So who in the building is working for the Zalachenko club?”

“We don’t know yet. But we have several suspects.”

“Mårtensson,” Blomkvist suggested.

Edklinth nodded.

“Mårtensson works for Säpo, and when he’s needed by the Zalachenko club he’s released from his regular job,” Figuerola said.

“How does that work in practice?”

“That’s a very good question,” Edklinth said with a faint smile. “Wouldn’t you like to come and work for us?”

“Not on your life,” Blomkvist said.

“I jest, of course. But it’s a good question. We have a suspect, but we’re unable to verify our suspicions just yet.”

“Let’s see… it must be someone with administrative authority.”

“We suspect Chief of Secretariat Albert Shenke,” Figuerola said.

“And here we are at our first stumbling block,” Edklinth said. “We’ve given you a name, but we have no proof. So how do you intend to proceed?”

“I can’t publish a name without proof. If Shenke is innocent he would sue Millennium for libel.”

“Good. Then we are agreed. This co-operative effort has to be based on mutual trust. Your turn. What have you got?”

“Three names,” Blomkvist said. “The first two were members of the Zalachenko club in the ’80s.”

Edklinth and Figuerola were instantly alert.

“Hans von Rottinger and Fredrik Clinton. Von Rottinger is dead. Clinton is retired. But both of them were part of the circle closest to Zalachenko.”

“And the third name?” Edklinth said.

“Teleborian has a link to a person I know only as Jonas. We don’t know his last name, but we do know that he was with the Zalachenko club in 2005… We’ve actually speculated a bit that he might be the man with Mårtensson in the pictures from Café Copacabana.”

“And in what context did the name Jonas crop up?”

Salander hacked Teleborian’s computer, and we can follow the correspondence that shows how Teleborian is conspiring with Jonas in the same way he conspired with Björck in 1991.

“He gives Teleborian instructions. And now we come to another stumbling block,” Blomkvist said to Edklinth with a smile. “I can prove my assertions, but I can’t give you the documentation without revealing a source. You’ll have to accept what I’m saying.”

Edklinth looked thoughtful.

“Maybe one of Teleborian’s colleagues in Uppsala. O.K. Let’s start with Clinton and von Rottinger. Tell us what you know.”

Borgsjö received Berger in his office next to the boardroom. He looked concerned.