Chapter 8 Women Who Hate Men
A/N – Shorter chapters now just to balance out for the long breaks in posts. This is total almost GWTDT running around chasing baddies chapter, which also means it's completely Mikael and Blomkvist this time. The Hacker Republic also makes another guest appearance!
January 19th – 21th
Blomkvist rested his head absently on his hand, watching the sleeping figure pressed firmly into his chest. He'd been awake for some time, cherishing the closeness they only seemed to share when Salander slowly managed to scoot back towards him in her sleep.
Despite the lack of activity, Blomkvist was far from bored. In the faint, overcast light he studied her recent binary wasp tattoo with more scrutiny. While she had been in Göteborg, he'd researched the basic principles of the binary alphabet. Looking down in her prone form, he figured he hat worked out about a tenth of the tattoo. Something about spider webs and hornets. At least that's what he thought it meant.
A slight groan brought his attention to Salander as she nestled her face further into his chest. Her breathing changed as the half smirk she wore in her sleep turn to a frown.
He could just barely make out her mumbled acknowledgement to her pillow, "Hey."
"Hey yourself."
"Wake me up later."
With that, she rolled over onto her stomach and exposed her menacing dragon tattoo in the faint light as she pushed him to the very edge of the king sized bed. How someone her size could suddenly take up an entire bed, he didn't understand, but he got the message nonetheless and relocated to the shower in the adjacent master bath.
When he stepped out of the bathroom and into the kitchen fifteen minutes later, Lisbeth was practically crawling into the cavernous fridge.
"You said you had a hunch last night."
"Camilla is working for someone named Jarrod in Estonia. Pretty powerful fucker by the looks of it; he deals with the Yugoslavs and the bikers, so obvious weapon and drug connections there. He's no slouch, but won't get his hands in the dirty work." She said, turning around to face him with a plate of leftover pizza. Her baggy black t-shirt proclaimed 'Schrödinger's Cat is Dead' in courier typeface.
He looked down at the leftover pizza they'd gone and bought the night before. "That looks incredibly disgusting the morning after."
Lisbeth made a noncommittal sound as she slid the pizza into the microwave and punched in a time of three minutes before walking into the living room where her laptop was charging.
"This Jarrod guy, is his last initial S?" Her head snapped up from her computer, glaring at him with a look that plainly said, 'speak before I torture the words out of you.' He believed the silent threat wholeheartedly.
Here," he came up behind the couch and dropped her pizza in front of her before leaning over her shoulder and opening up a google image search.
"Is Jarrod Shröder. He heads off one of the biggest crime networks in Europe. He's been charged but never found guilty of murder, weapon trafficking, drug trafficking, and human trafficking."
Blomkvist saw a muscular man of about thirty with black, crew cut hair. Salander saw black eyes and a familiar weak face.
'You have at least four more brothers and three sisters in various countries. One of your brothers is an idiot, but another actually has potential. He runs the Tallinn arm of the business.'
Son of a bitch.
Salander stared at the picture and lit a cigarette. The more she looked, the more she could see the similarities between all of the Zalachenko men. Dark eyes, high foreheads, and a wiry, strong build were common among all of them except for the freak Niedermann. Supposedly there were still at least six more Zala clones out there in the world that she would have to contend with as well.
She took another long drag, blowing the smoke up into Blomkvist's face."Where would I find the fucker?"
"Protective custody, most likely."
"That doesn't mean shit to me." The cat's ears pricked slightly at the rough edge in her voice. "Where? Compound, penthouse, underground bunker?"
"You're the hacker, figure it out."
Damn right I'll figure it out. She slammed the lid to her laptop and gathered the charger cord into her laptop bag before walking back into the bedroom, throwing together a few days worth of clothes into a small duffel bag. Her passport was shoved at the back of a formerly empty drawer that Blomkvist had commandeered in the two weeks he'd been living there. It was strange to see how the apartment had in a way filled out since he'd moved in.
Blomkvist saw the passport in her hand as she walked into the kitchen, grabbing the semi-warm pizza from the microwave.
"Where are you going?"
"Tallinn," she said between bites. "Pack a bag if you want to come along."
He looked up at her as she leaned against the counter, now wearing a plain hooded sweatshirt and jeans. She looked strangely ordinary.
"Why would I want to go to Tallinn?"
"You said it yourself. Shröder heads off one of the biggest crime organizations in Europe and he's based somewhere around Tallinn. I have phone records, emails, and text messages that can all be used to trace Camilla and this Shröder fuck. By the end of this you could write an encyclopedia on transnational crime."
"Is this going to be a repeat of Gosseberga, Lisbeth?" Ice-cold fear settled in his gut as he said it. Next to the hours spent in the hell of Martin Vanger's basement, the hours that he had searched for and eventually found Lisbeth within inches of death were the most terrifying moments of his life.
She waved him off, dumping her plate in the sink, "Not right now."
'Not right now' did not ease his concern in the least. 'Not right now' implied 'in the very near future,' and her vengeance would be a force to be reckoned with when the near future finally came. Gosseberga indeed…
"So," She looked at him with black eyes, "Tallinn?"
After a short trip to the Swedbank on Hornsgatan to retrieve his nearly expired passport, Blomkvist was back to sitting in the cramped passenger seat of Salander's Civic as she sped towards Bromma airport. Flights to Tallinn left every three hours, but they were in luck and caught the last two open seats on the noon puddle jumper. A brief squabble erupted on takeoff when Lisbeth was directed to turn off her laptop, so Blomkvist took it upon himself to unscrew the battery as the flight attendant argued with the irritated redhead.
She didn't speak to him for the rest of the flight.
At the airport, she rented a massive but rather beaten up arctic white Mercedes G that had a slight pull to the right. She forced Mikael to drive the beast as she reviewed the last five hours of phone history that had accumulated in the CS-Mobile folder on her desktop.
He dared to glance over as a gust of wind pushed them around even more. Lisbeth was completely unphased. "Where are we going?"
"Just stay on Route 4, then go west on Route 11 to Keila."
He did, driving through the small villages and hamlets that dotted the road. Icy wind slipped through the weather stripping, and no amount of AC could make the cabin feel anywhere near hospitable. He wished she'd picked the damn corolla instead of the biggest machine in the lot, even though the old SUV was more inconspicuous than the brand new Toyota.
There was only one hotel in the village, at the junction of the Route 8 and 11 highways. The desk clerk was moderately proficient in Swedish and apologized in advance that the AC in the only room available had gone out two days previously when Blomkvist took the keys. Salander stood impatiently outside of the room, a nine-foot broadband cable in hand while her laptop bag, personal bag and surveillance gear were all slung over her shoulder. She hung a 'do not disturb' sign on the door handle as she dumped the surveillance equipment across the desk.
Blomkvist inspected the small room while Salander hooked up her laptop to the Internet. Next to Salander's king sized mattress, the double bed in the center of the room was horribly claustrophobic. There were no windows to be opened and the room was plastered with an awful dark green wallpaper.
"You want-" Her hand flew up to shush him as she yanked the headset out of the computer. A man's voice boomed over the small built in speakers. It had the same smooth rumble Zalachenko's.
'Rüütel just moved into his camper. It's old and may not be up to code if you get what I'm saying.'
'If it's old and cramped enough, it could pose a carbon monoxide hazard.'
'I like how your pretty little PhD brain works. Don't take too long though. You still have a few associates to deal with back in Sweden. Call me and then come back out to Saue when you're done with Rüütel so we can celebrate.'
The man's end of the call concluded with a beep, but thanks to the asphyxia impregnated on Camilla's phone, Salander could still very much hear everything that was going on in Camilla's surroundings. It sounded like she was driving somewhere as she could hear tires squealing and a solid thud. Whatever it was, she didn't stop for it.
"You missed the first half of the conversation. Rüütel is the chief of police in Tallinn with an amphetamine problem. He's going to flip on Shröder in two days because he won't keep him stocked on drugs and whores even after he spends every kroon he has on them already." She spat. He was just another asshole that hated women.
Blomkvist pulled up an ugly brown chair from next to the bed, parking it next to Lisbeth as she hammered away on her keyboard. She alternated between frowning and squinting at the screen as she worked, flicking through page after page of information that had just deposited itself into the Camilla folder.
She opened up another document, scrolling through it at a speed that only her photographic memory could handle, "Shröder's using a satellite phone."
"How do you know?" He pulled his glasses off of his shirt neck, peering at the size ten font. He still couldn't see anything, but he nodded as if he did when she pointed to a string of what looked like coordinates on the screen.
"He's in the middle of the ocean about fifty kilometers off the coast of Paldiski." She collapsed the call transcript before opening up a website with pictures of New England landscapes and forests.
She shoved a handful of bills into his hand as Lara Croft animation popped up on screen. "Go get the key to the minibar." She saw the strange look of something along the lines of rejection on his face, but did not respond. He got up and took the only key to the room with him before venturing out into the hallway.
Dakota, SixofOne, and their newest member Mendax were all online when she logged into the Hacker Republic.
I have a job for you guys again. Her standard black Old English typeface filled a new chat box.
Wasp! Was the simultaneous response from Dakota and SixofOne.
We have a noob! SoO typed.
And he's supposedly an Aussie! Dakota added on. Our slightly illegal organization is finally growing up!
Do I have a say in any of this? Mendax typed.
No, you're an Aussie and a noob! SoO typed.
Now I know why we haven't had any Aussies before… Lisbeth added on.
How would you know if this is our first Aussie? Dakota quipped back.
Can we stop calling me an Aussie? Mendax typed.
Hackers! Refocus! Assignment? MUCHO IMPORTANTE!
Do we finally get to reverse the Swedish tax paying system? Lisbeth couldn't believe SoO was still stuck that little scheme.
The what? Mendax replied.
You know for an Aussie, he isn't very bright… SoO continued to berate Mendax.
Salander was getting tired of their goofing around. I'm logging off now…
WAIT!
Aussie, tell her to come back!
Hey Wasp. Trinity had logged on. What's the job and how much are you paying?
Lisbeth smiled. At least Trinity was a no bullshit kind of guy. She wished he were a Swede instead of a snobby Brit. She wouldn't fuck him or anything, but Trinity was infinitely more useful and talented than Plague in all realms of computers.
I need a bunch of hackers with too much time on their hands to get inside of the personal emails of the higher ups in the Estonian police.
Whoa, Wasp that's a bit much. Trinity typed back.
I'll do it. Mendax typed.
Yay for the Aussie! SoO typed. But why Estonia?
Business. She responded.
Awwwww…You won't even give us a hint?
Y or N? She typed impatiently.
What are we looking for at least? Dakota piped in after a few lines of silence.
Corruption of any sort. She answered. I'll figure out pay later.
You mean we get to benefit mankind? Pshh.
Fine. Consider yourself excluded from the fun. Lisbeth typed.
Fine.
Ignore SoO. I'm in, Mendax is in, Dakota, and probably Plague. Is that a decent group? Trinity typed.
Perfect.
She shut the lid to her laptop as a key scratched against the lock.
"We can have the key, but the bar hasn't been stocked in years."
She ignored him, gathering the car keys out of an ashtray and a bag of surveillance gear she had borrowed from Milton but never got around to giving back. It contained over twenty thousand krona of camera equipment alone. "Get in the car; I'm driving this time."
In the car, she handed him a SLR Nikon camera that was rolled up in an old t-shirt, along with several a massive telephoto lens before starting the car. The wind had died down since the drive to Keila, but the potholes sent them bouncing around the cabin.
On the snowy embankments just south of the railroad crossing into Saue, Salander saw a freshly hit fox at the top of a snow mound. Its red fur stood out in stark contrast to its white and bleak surroundings. Maybe that was the sound she had heard on Camilla's phone.
Lisbeth continued driving through the small village. Most of the houses looked as if they were owned by the well to do as weekend getaways. All the streetlights were off and traffic signals flashed red, as if a blackout had recently rolled through. At the end of the main stretch, Lisbeth suddenly turned left down a poorly paved road, surrounded on both sides by aspen hedges.
A two story, bright yellow manor house could be seen as the trees opened up, but Salander would drive no further. It couldn't have been an accident that the house was built with five-kilometers of unobstructed view in all directions. Someone could easily watch the road if they got any closer. She wouldn't dare risk being spotted.
Four cars were parked in front. Lisbeth recognized the golden Saab from the day she'd barged into Tony Scala's apartment. Mentally, she berated herself for not being quicker in that particular moment; it all could have ended that day and saved her a six hundred krona plane ticket.
"Why are we-?"
Lisbeth yanked the camera she'd handed to him, screwing the telephoto lens on before snapping a dozen pictures of the compound and the license plates on the cars. She itched to get closer, but resisted. She still remembered how clever she felt in Gosseberga, only to be informed she'd triggered every fucking alarm in the woods surrounding Zala's compound after being clubbed over the head with her own pistol.
Blomkvist tapped her shoulder, "Side door, blonde woman heading for the motor pool."
Lisbeth looked up, spotting her. She looked eerily similar to her Irene Nesser alter ego. The similarity may come in handy in the future, she decided. They stayed only long enough for Lisbeth to snap off a few shots before heading back to the junction between the manor road and the main road.
"Now what?"
"We wait for the blonde woman to drive down the road and then we tail her." She shoved the camera back into his hands, "Climb into the backseat."
Lisbeth drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as they waited. She wished she'd brought the laptop with its little USB network stick with her. At least the Republic was backing her up on this. She didn't even want to think of how much valuable stakeout time she would have wasted if she tried cracking into the police database on her own.
A blue Chevy pickup truck rumbled down the manor road, the blonde woman driving. Blomkvist must have nodded off at some point and jumped when she started the SUV. Salander gave the woman a kilometer of space once they passed the railroad tracks just outside of the village.
The truck turned off Route 11 onto Route 17, heading back through Keila. Salander backed off further while Blomkvist shifted eagerly as she followed the truck into a residential area. She turned around the corner just as the truck pulled into a driveway at the end of the road.
She threw the Mercedes in reverse, circling the block. Blomkvist had the window rolled down and was at the ready on the right side of the cabin, shooting stills in rapid succession as they passed by.
"You get the address?"
"22 Saare. There was another car on the driveway."
Lisbeth brought them back to the hotel, mentally going through all that had transpired during the day. The only logical explanation she could find was that Camilla was a hit woman, cleaning up the connections Neidermann had made in Sweden. She had started with Svavelsjö. They were the big drug connection. Then there was a pimp in Uppsala – prostitution. The Yugoslavs were the gunrunners. It looked like Shröder had managed to dip his fingers in everything.
Camilla was Zala's favorite, if he even had one. If Lisbeth seriously picked through her financial records for school, payments were likely made by Karl Axel Bodin of Gosseberga. She wondered when Zala had pulled her into his gangster business, before or after Lisbeth had beaten her shitless on their seventeenth birthday?
They received awkward glances from the semi-Swede desk clerk as Blomkvist carried the oversized camera into the hotel with them. He wondered if he should make up a story to explain the absurdity of the situation. Lisbeth followed behind him on silent feet as he fumbled the room key with numb hands. Damn it, no one should have the power to be so silent.
He was beyond the point of surprise when she immediately hopped on her computer. He took it upon himself to leave her to it and drove into town to look for a half decent burger chain for a quick bite.
In the cyber world, Lisbeth logged back into the Hacker Republic. Twice in one day was almost unheard of for her. Twice in a week was much more common. The rest of the Republic didn't seem to complain when her status went online.
WE DID IT!
That was four more exclamation points more than necessary. Plague typed.
The Aussie did it! I love our Aussie! Can we keep him/it/she/thing? Lisbeth wondered if in real life, SoO was a twelve-year-old boy with severe ADHD. It would explain a lot.
I really don't know why he's acting like this… Dakota typed. It was through Dakota that SoO had managed to join the Republic, so it was Dakota who took the most offense in cases where SoO was acting more unruly than usual.
Short story even shorter: these guys like to brag A LOT. It looks like a major amphetamine ring going on with the chief and one of the gang lords that the police has in protective custody.
Shit. Lisbeth typed back.
Yep. There's also a side of prostitution, but the amphetamine is the big kahuna. Dakota added.
Lisbeth frowned at the screen. I don't know what that is, but OK, something big.
I'll email you the Asphyxia connection and you can read to your heart's delight. Can I ask you a question? Trinity typed.
Shoot.
Are you a journalist?
NO. She bit back.
Trinity was unfazed. I would highly reconsider that, then. You could make millions on this story in any currency.
*Snark.* Plague typed. Only he knew the truth behind what Salander did with the truly dirty details.
Lisbeth looked at Blomkvist as he walked back in, carrying a bag from the Wendy's in the heart of Keila. I don't make money with this stuff, but someone else makes a big difference.
AWWWWWW!
Shut up SoO! Came four responses at once. Lisbeth closed the open Republic window before an all out cyber chat war broke out.
Blomkvist looked up from a Swedish language newspaper he'd picked up from the petrol station across the street. "Anything new?"
Salander said nothing, instead crossing the room and taking a seat on Blomkvist's lap, reaching into the Wendy's take out bag. Double Baconator, score! She couldn't think of a better reward at the end of a productive day of spying.
"You know that's extremely distracting."
"Don't care." He responded by wrapping his arms around her waist. She quickly batted them away, "Eating. Give me ten more minutes to get naked."
"I want to be close to you. Not everything has to revolve around sex." His arms returned to their destination, "Did any of your hacker friends turn up anything on Shröder?"
She froze when he wrapped his arms around her waist again, placing his chin on her shoulder. . A good fuck wasn't hard to come by at all and was mind blowing when Blomkvist was involved. But closeness was a different and altogether dangerous territory with Blomkvist. It was closeness that had betrayed her into thinking that he might actually love her and it was closeness that convinced her to lower her guard enough to foolishly love him back. She could have sex with him and not have any problems with it.
She slipped off of his lap, retrieving her cigarettes from beside her laptop. It was a non smoking room, but she figured that if she flipped on the ancient fan in the bathroom and lit up there, the stench wouldn't be as obvious when they left.
"We'll take the second plane out of Tallinn back to Stockholm tomorrow. I'll copy you all the files and photos before I head back to Göteborg."
"What are we going to do about the police chief?" Blomkvist heard the strike of a match just inside the bathroom doorway. He lined himself up so that he could see her reflection in the mirror above the computer desk. She was leaning against the doorframe, staring right back at him with harsh eyes.
"Leave him."
"Lisbeth, we have information here that could save a life. We have to turn it in to the police."
"We have information that could the save the life of a corrupt cop that is also a john and a druggie," she snapped back at him, "Write a story about it if you're so concerned, but a dead man is still a dead man."
"I'll do just that, then."
"Fine. How fast could can you write it?"
"A week and a half if I push it and nothing gets hung up with Christer and Malin. It could be in circulation in three weeks if everything works out-"
"Too slow. You need something out in two weeks or less for it to be of any use." She flicked her cigarette butt into the toilet bowl before walking out.
On the desk she opened up the SD card slot in the camera, plugging it into the side of the laptop. They'd taken a combined total of forty-seven stills. Most of Blomkvist's shots were blurred, to which he shrugged sheepishly from over her shoulder as he watched her.
"If I had this hooked up to a printer you could work in a separate window while all the Asphyxia reports printed out, but you're just going to have to settle for me snatching the computer away occasionally."
Salander stood, yanking the chair out from under the desk before stripping for bed. Blomkvist looked at her in complete confusion; she had just handed over the reins to her most prized possession.
Lisbeth didn't know what to make of his new expression and only responded by throwing her shirt at him before flipping the light switch beside the bed, "Get typing."
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