Erika had the same attitude to the journalist’s role as he did. Even when they were in journalism school they had amused themselves by imagining a magazine with just such a mission statement.

Erika was the best boss Mikael could imagine. She was an organiser who could handle employees with warmth and trust but who at the same time wasn’t afraid of confrontation and could be very tough when necessary. Above all, she had an icy gut feeling when it came to making decisions about the contents of the upcoming issue. She and Mikael often had differing views and could have healthy arguments, but they also had unwavering confidence in each other, and together they made an unbeatable team. He did the field work of tracking down the story, while she packaged and marketed it.

Millennium was their mutual creation, but it would never have become reality without her talent for digging up financing. It was the working-class guy and the upper-class girl in a beautiful union. Erika came from old money. She had put up the initial seed money and then talked both her father and various acquaintances into investing considerable sums in the project.

Mikael had often wondered why Erika had set her sights on Millennium. True, she was a part owner-the majority partner, in fact-and editor in chief of her own magazine, which gave her prestige and the control over publicity that she could hardly have obtained in any other job. Unlike Mikael, she had concentrated on television after journalism school. She was tough, looked fantastic on camera, and could hold her own with the competition. She also had good contacts in the bureaucracy. If she had stuck to it, she would undoubtedly have had a managerial job at one of the TV channels at a considerably higher salary than she paid herself now.

Berger had also convinced Christer Malm to buy into the magazine. He was an exhibitionist gay celebrity who sometimes appeared with his boyfriend in “at home with” articles. The interest in him began when he moved in with Arnold Magnusson, an actor with a background at the Royal Dramatic Theatre who had made a serious breakthrough when he played himself in a docu-soap. Christer and Arn had then become a media item.

At thirty-six, Malm was a sought-after professional photographer and designer who gave Millennium a modern look. He ran his business from an office on the same floor as Millennium, and he did graphic design one week in every month.

The Millennium staff consisted of three full-time employees, a full-time trainee, and two part-timers. It was not a lucrative affair, but the magazine broke even, and the circulation and advertising revenue had increased gradually but steadily. Until today the magazine was known for its frank and reliable editorial style.

Now the situation would in all probability be changing. Blomkvist read through the press release which he and Berger had drafted and which had quickly been converted to a wire service story from TT that was already up on Aftonbladet’s website.

CONVICTED REPORTER LEAVES MILLENNIUM

Stockholm (T.T.). Journalist Mikael Blomkvist is leaving his post as publisher of the magazine Millennium, reports editor in chief and majority shareholder Erika Berger.

Blomkvist is leaving Millennium of his own choice. “He’s exhausted after the drama of recent months and needs time off,” says Berger, who will take over the role of publisher.

Blomkvist was one of the founders of Millennium, started in 1990. Berger does not think that the magazine will suffer in the wake of the so-called “Wennerström affair.”

The magazine will come out as usual next month, says Berger.

“Mikael Blomkvist has played a major role in the magazine’s development, but now we’re turning a new page.”

Berger states that she regards the Wennerström affair as the result of a series of unfortunate circumstances. She regrets the nuisance to which Hans-Erik Wennerström was subjected. Blomkvist could not be reached for comment.

“It makes me mad,” Berger said when the press release was emailed out. “Most people are going to think that you’re an idiot and I’m a bitch who’s taking the opportunity to sack you.”

“At least our friends will have something new to laugh about.” Blomkvist tried to make light of it; she was not the least amused.

“I don’t have a plan B, but I think we’re making a mistake,” she said.

“It’s the only way out. If the magazine collapses, all our years of work will have been in vain. We’ve already taken a beating on the ads revenue. How did it go with the computer company, by the way?”

She sighed. “They told me this morning that they didn’t want to take space in the next issue.”

“Wennerström has a chunk of stock in that company, so it’s no accident.”

“We can scare up some new clients. Wennerström may be a big wheel, but he doesn’t own everything in Sweden, and we have our contacts.”

Blomkvist put an arm around her and pulled her close.

“Some day we’re going to nail Herr Wennerström so hard Wall Street is going to jump out of its socks. But today Millennium has to get out of the spotlight.”

“I know all that, but I don’t like coming across as a fucking bitch, and you’re being forced into a disgusting situation if we pretend that there’s some sort of division between you and me.”

“Ricky, as long as you and I trust each other we’ve got a chance. We have to play it by ear, and right now it’s time to retreat.”

She reluctantly admitted that there was a depressing logic to what he said.

Berger stayed over the weekend. They got up only to go to the bathroom or to get something to eat, but they had not only made love. They had lain head to foot for hours and talked about the future, weighing up the possibilities, and the odds. When dawn came on Monday morning it was the day before Christmas Eve and she kissed him goodbye-until next time-and drove home.

Blomkvist spent Monday washing dishes and cleaning the apartment, then walking down to the office and clearing out his desk. He had no intention of breaking ties with the magazine, but he had eventually convinced Berger that he had to be separated from the magazine for a time. He would work from home.

The office was closed for the Christmas holidays and all his colleagues were gone. He was weeding through trays of papers and packing books in cartons to take away when the telephone rang.

“I’m looking for Mikael Blomkvist,” said a hopeful but unfamiliar voice on the line.

“Speaking.”

“Forgive me for bothering you like this unannounced, so to speak. My name is Dirch Frode.” Blomkvist noted the name and the time. “I’m a lawyer, and I represent a client who would very much like to have a talk with you.”

“That’s fine, please ask your client to call me.”

“I mean that he wants to meet with you in person.”

“OK, make an appointment and send him up to the office. But you’d better hurry; I’m clearing out my desk right now.”

“My client would like you to visit him in Hedestad-it’s only three hours by train.”

Blomkvist pushed a filing tray aside. The media have the ability to attract the craziest people to call in perfectly absurd tips. Every newsroom in the world gets updates from UFOlogists, graphologists, scientologists, paranoiacs, every sort of conspiracy theorist.

Blomkvist had once listened to a lecture by the writer Karl Alvar Nilsson at the ABF hall on the anniversary of the murder of Prime Minister Olof Palme. The lecture was serious, and in the audience were Lennart Bodström and other friends of Palme’s. But a surprising number of amateur investigators had turned up. One of them was a woman in her forties who during the Q and A had taken the proffered microphone and then lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper. This alone heralded an interesting development, and nobody was surprised when the woman began by claiming, “I know who murdered Olof Palme.” From the stage it was suggested somewhat ironically that if the woman had this information then it would be helpful if she shared it with the Palme investigation at once. She hurried to reply: “I can’t,” she said so softly it was almost impossible to hear. “It’s too dangerous!”