Thank you for your constant patience. You guys are phenomenal.

~TruthIsOutThere

The first thing Salander did upon returning to the guest quarters was tear through the collection of playing cards and splay their contents across the floor where she could see them clearly. When she had finished, Salander got to her feet and paced, eyeing the codes as she worked them out. Most of them easy. Nadia Ivansson clearly possessed a dull but curious habit of repetition. There were at least twenty cards that displayed the same, simplistic message. C-F-D-K-E-K-W-J-J. Drapsmann. The warning. Salander couldn't believe she had wasted so much time trying to work that out. It all felt so rudimentary now that she understood.

The remaining defaced cards were more difficult to read. Most were covered in circled numbers that obviously held some significance, though they didn't correlate with anything the keyboard like their alphabetical counterparts did. Salander frowned. Nadia had selected only fours, sevens, twos, nines, and tens, marking them with dark ink. Surely there was some obvious meaning. Salander tried equations first, but came up with nothing of significance. Shortly after this she tried dates, pulling up both Henrik and Nadia's profiles on her Macbook before concluding that those combinations held no significance, either. For a moment, Salander wondered if the cards represented a sum of money. It was a possibility. She reopened Vanger Industries financial reports to find no correlating withdrawals. She was just about to move on to Henrik's personal account when Blomkvist stormed in looking utterly disgruntled.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, breathlessly. He looked down at the carpet, where he had already stepped down on two or three cards. "Were you already working?"

Blomkvist didn't wait for her reply. He shrugged out of his jacket and stepped around the display of playing cards, momentarily losing his footing as he scooted around the couch towards his bedroom. He swore, shaking his head, and slammed the door behind him.

Salander frowned and set her laptop aside, getting up to stretch. Her mind was on the cards, but she was hungry as well, and this was as good a distraction as any. She paced into the kitchen, made herself an open sandwich, and then strode over to the bedroom door. Salander knocked quickly, leaning up against the frame.

Blomkvist wrenched the door open a moment later. She could hear he had turned the shower on. He looked startled.

"Do you need something?" he asked, obviously stressed.

Salander raised her eyebrows and stepped away from the door, giving him space. She had no time to deal with other people's mood swings as it was.

Blomkvist shook his head and looked apologetic.

"Shit," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. Do you know what I forgot?"

Salander resumed her seat and waited for him to tell her.

"Amidst all of this—" Blomkvist motioned at the cards laying out on the carpet. "— I completely forgot why we're actually here."

Salander looked up from her work.

"Henrik's funeral," Blomkvist reminded her. Salander frowned. She had almost forgotten about that, as well.

"So what?" she asked, with a tiny shrug. She didn't see the need for worry.

"Well, I'm hardly prepared," Blomkvist sighed. "I should have picked up a suit or something…" He looked distraught. "Or maybe a nicer jacket… This whole procession will be outdoors." He left to turn the shower off while he thought.

"You know," Blomkvist called, from the other room. "I really did like Henrik. It's a shame…" Pause. "And here I've been, shut up in the room all day. Not that it hasn't been nice." Another pause. "But I wonder if maybe I haven't properly paid my respects to the family."

"The family treats you like shit," Salander said, quickly. "What obligation do you have?" She chewed her thumbnail, passively, eyes still fixed on her computer screen.

"They weren't all bad," Blomkvist said, rummaging through his suitcase. "Some of the Vangers have been pleasant."

Salander sat forward, frowning. Blomkvist caught her cool gaze.

"Well, Harriet is nice," he offered.

"Because she spent her life away from this hellhole," Salander reasoned.

Blomkvist chuckled and agreement, but Salander was barely listening as she grabbed her laptop again and bypassed the server protecting Henrik's financial information. She wondered if the people who built these sites were aware of all the loopholes they left open for people like her. Maybe they were too stupid to care, she thought, as her fingers flew across the keys.

"Lisbeth," Blomkvist prompted, from just beyond the door. Salander sighed and looked up from her work, irritated by the frequency of his interruptions.

Blomkvist stepped out into the living room, rummaging around for something on the kitchen table.

"About the cards," he began, his back to her as he searched. "If Nadia was sending Henrik these messages, why in the world did she bother putting them in code? Clearly she was worried about Larissa Mikhailovich— who you say is dead, apparently." Blomkvist paused, looking thoughtful if not slightly unconvinced. "Even so," he began. "It only makes sense that Nadia was terrified of someone close. Someone who could, conceivably intercept a message."

"The killer," Salander offered, letting her eyes wander back to the screen. She thought briefly of the boy by the lake.

"You really think this is about a murder, then?" Blomkvist asked, for what felt like the thousandth time.

"Yes," Salander said. She got to her feet then, picked up her laptop, and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She had no time for repetitive questions. Henrik Vanger's bank statement had just finished downloading and she was ready to look it over.

Once she was alone and free of distraction, Salander began searching through records dating back to time of Nadia Ivansson's arrival in Hedestad. Most of the withdrawals were small and inconsequential. The first substantial withdrawal took place three weeks after Nadia's arrival. Eight thousand kroner had been withdrawn from his account that day without ever being refunded. Salander raised her eyebrows. It wasn't necessarily conclusive, but she kept it in mind as she continued her search.

A second, larger withdrawal was made five weeks later from the same account. This time eighteen thousand kroner were withdrawn. Salander frowned and thought back to the cards, still laying out on the coffee table. The numbers circled were four, seven, nine, two, and ten. One circled number per deck. Each card belonged to the diamond suit. Salander tried to find the pattern.

The eight thousand kroner, could easily correlate with the 'four' card, while the eighteen-thousand kroner could correlate with the nine. It made sense. Nadia was working on a system of twos. It was simplistic, just as the keyboard coding had been.

Salander continued to sift through the records. Sure enough, in the months prior to his death, Henrik Vanger made a withdrawal of fourteen thousand kroner, a withdrawal of twenty thousand kroner, and a final withdrawal of four thousand kroner. In total, Henrik had given Nadia Ivansson just over sixty-four thousand kroner. Salander stared at the screen, momentarily taken aback. Either the old man really had gone senile, or he had one hell of a reason to be giving money away. Salander grabbed her jacket and headed for the door. She ran into Blomkvist on her way out.

"Are you leaving?" he asked, clumsily lighting a cigarette.

"I'm going to find Nadia Ivansson," Salander said.

Blomkvist craned his neck to see the large clock mounted above the bedroom door.

"You do know it's nearly one in the morning, don't you?"

Salander only shrugged and kept her wits about her as she left the estate and walked towards home she recognized as Isabella Vanger's.

Once she reached the porch, Salander paused. She gazed at the snow around the house. She could see no footprints— no evidence of fowl play. There were no cryptic hints lying about.

As far as she knew, Salander was alone for now.

From the size and shape of Isabella's home, Salander was able to deduce that there weren't any bedrooms on the ground floor. The second floor— while barely visible— was clearly the more viable option. Salander frowned, gazing up at the dark windowpanes. Henrik Vanger's funeral was the next morning. After that, she and Blomkvist would be expected to leave.

There was no time to waste.

Salander paced the perimeter of the house, trying to decide how best to attract the attention of Nadia Ivansson without either scaring her senseless or waking her Aunt in the process.

Fortunately, there was little need for planning. A moment later, an upstairs window screeched open and a small face peered out without prompting.

Salander looked up to meet the gaze of Nadia Ivansson.

"Have you worked it out?" Nadia hissed, rubbing her hands together in the frigid cold.

Salander nodded, wordlessly.

Nadia paused. It was just barely light enough to see the conflicted expression on her face. Salander repressed an impatient sigh, and looked over her shoulder once again. No sign of any unwanted visitors. She tapped her frozen fingers against her bicep, waiting for the kid to make up her mind.

Nadia shook her head.

"I'll be right down. Wait there."

Salander nodded. Then the window was closed again.

Nearly fifteen minutes passed and Salander began to suspect Nadia had changed her mind when finally Isabella Vanger's door swung open, and out came the young girl, fully dressed in warm clothes.

Nadia paused on the porch, slowly letting the door fall closed behind her. Though they had spoken twice before, she seemed wary of Salander now, appraising her fully before coming to stand by her side.

"We should walk away from the house," Nadia said.

Salander shrugged— her way of complying. She kept an eye on where the girl led her as they walked out on to the snowy road.

"Did you look into Larissa Mikhailovich?" Nadia asked, her voice quiet and frightened.

"Yes."

"Do you know anything about her?"

Salander frowned. "I know that she's dead."

Nadia stared at her, abashed. "You really are good at this," she remarked. "There are no records of her death anywhere."

"Which is exactly how I knew," Salander said, coolly. She didn't have time to tip-toe around the point, and she wasn't interested in flattery. "People like Larissa Mikhailovich don't just disappear without a trace." She thought breifly of Harriet Vanger, then frowned again. "It's rare, at least," she said, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets, to fend off the biting cold.

"Well now you know," Nadia said. "You're one of only four now. Henrik knew too but…" She frowned, and shook her head slightly. "Does Herr Blomkvist know as well then?"

"He knows," Salander said.

Nadia gave a curt nod. "Five then," she said. "Five people know, besides those who were involved." She sucked a breath in through her teeth. "It's dangerous," she whispered. "The more people who know, the more risk there is that…" she trailed off, blinking rapidly, as if to fend off tears.

"How did she die?" Salander asked, making no attempt at subtlety.

Nadia looked away.

"I'm not sure I can tell you," she admitted, after a moment's pause. "They listen, you know. They knew we're here."

Salander frowned. "Who?"

Nadia shook her head. "Not the killer, if that's what you think," she said, making a point to keep her voice down. "It's the men who work for him you have to worry about. They've been keeping a close watch on Hedestad ever since I got here."

"What do they want with you?" Salander asked. Now she, too, glanced over her shoulder, for safety's sake.

"I already told you," Nadia hissed. "I know too much."

"Too much about what?" Salander demanded. Now she was frustrated. "You want me to work this out, but you haven't given me sufficient information."

Nadia looked away again. "You found Harriet," she breathed. "Henrik told me all about it. He said the work you did was incredible… You found things he couldn't find over forty years."

"With Harriet we had more to go on," Salander snapped. "A girl's name on some cryptic cards is hardly enough."

Nadia looked terrified. "It's all I can give," she breathed. "Don't you understand? I have people breathing down my neck! There's only so much I can tell you before they catch on…" She shook her head.

"It's not enough," Salander said. "There isn't time. I'm leaving Hedestad day after tomorrow. If you want to say something—"

"— There was supposed to be more," Nadia blurted out. Salander stared at her, wild-eyed.

"Tish Solovyova," Nadia said. "She was supposed to give something to Herr Blomkvist… An… article or something." She frowned, as though she couldn't quite recall the details of their plan— or maybe she hadn't been filled in at all.

There it was, Salander thought. She and Blomkvist had been so sure Solovyova was involved in this somehow. Only now was there finally a confirmation. Salander thought of the article Blomkvist had promised to proof read. She didn't even know what it was about…

"What's in the article?" Salander asked.

Nadia bit her lip, and looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure," she admitted, with a tiny shrug. "All Tish said was that she had read Herr Blomkvist's previous work and she knew how to spark his interest— get him on the right path, you know? She said she'd get the information to him somehow!"

"He has it…" Salander breathed. She shook her head in disbelief. Of course, Blomkvist hadn't so much as touched Solovyova's article. It never seemed pressing.

Ridiculous, she thought. The pieces to this puzzle were too messy and disjointed to make sense of on their own. And there wasn't much time left…

"I need to know who killed Larissa Mikhailovich," Salander pressed.

"I already told you, I can't say it out loud," Nadia urged.

"Then what do you expect me to do?" Salander snapped, frustrated.

"Read the article," Nadia said. "Read it, and it will clue you in. I promise." She backed up a few steps, heading towards Isabella's house again.

Salander wasn't done yet.

"Did you leave a card outside my window the other night?" she asked, following Nadia the rest of the way.

Nadia looked up, startled. "I'm surprised you found that, actually. I assumed the balloon would blow away. It was a last resort."

"It didn't," Salander grumbled. She gazed out at the lake just down the hill.

Nadia's face grew ashen, as she followed Salander's gaze. She began to tremble slightly.

"Something happened, didn't it?" she asked, sucking in a deep breath to support herself.

Salander didn't respond.

"I have to go," Nadia hissed. "You should get inside. Quickly. They know I've been talking to you…" She glanced over her shoulder, and then sprinted for the porch.

Once she was out of sight, Salander headed back to the Vanger Estate, irritated and insanely determined at the same time. She glanced over her shoulder the whole way.

Inside the guest quarters, Salander immediately headed for Solovyova's article, leaving her coat in a heap on the sitting room floor in the process.

Blomkvist sat at the kitchen table, waiting for her. He had his computer out, and was looking oddly intently at something on the screen.

"Did you speak with Nadia?" he asked, getting up from his seat.

Salander nodded and began rummaging through the heap of paper left out on the counter. It was amazing how much garbage they'd accumulated in only four days.

"Looking for this?" Blomkvist asked.

Salander turned to see he was already holding Solovyova's article. She plucked it from his fingertips, greedily reading it over as quickly as she could.

"I took a look at it as soon as you left," Blomkvist said, settling down in his seat once again. "Strangely enough, I don't think Tish wrote this for the local news, as she said." There was a wry look on his face.

Salander shook her head as she looked over the material.

"She was tipping us off," Blomkvist said.

Salander's mind raced as she stared down at page after page of research. Legal documents, journalistic articles, interviews, and fathomless recorded Internet buzz were all stapled together, ready to be read and investigated. Each documented the life and career of one young man.

"Demyan Belyakov." She said his name out loud, trying to work out where exactly she'd heard it before.

Blomkvist turned his laptop towards her, allowing her a full view of what he had found.

A list of headlines were displayed, one of top of the other, making up a large archive that chronicled the work of Damyan Belyakov.

"He's a criminal," Blomkvist said. "He's a thief, a rapist, a murderer, and the leader of a powerful organized crime ring running through down Scandinavia from Eastern Europe. And look at this." Blomkvist clicked on another tab, pulling up a photo for Salander to see.

The photograph depicted two young men with a woman between then. The man on the left was tall and sturdy-looking, with a hearty grin on his face. The woman looked young. The man on the right was awfully familiar.

"Read the caption," Blomkvist said, scrolling down for her to see.

Salander squinted and leaned in close.

PHOTOGRAPHED [LEFT TO RIGHT]: DAMYAN BELYAKOV, LARISSA MIKHAILOVICH, AND JULIEN IVANSSON.

Salander's head snapped up. "Where did you find this?" she asked.

"One of the links in Tish's research. It was an unusual website. It was all in code."

Salander raised an eyebrow, as if to say, 'Then how did you get through?'

Blomkvist gave a little shrug. "I sent it to Plague."

Salander snorted and walked away, taking Blomkvist's computer with her. Of course he did, she thought. He was Kalle Fucking Blomkvist, after all.

"Where are you going now?" Blomkvist asked, following her out into he sitting room.

"To speak with Julien Ivansson," Salander said. She reached for the doorknob, but Blomkvist got there first.

"I think I'll go with you this time," he said. He had a strange look in his eyes— a cross between hesitation and excitement. Salander knew the feeling. The were close now. They could figure this out.

Salander gave an impatient shrug. Then she ventured out into the hall, with Blomkvist two steps behind. Somewhere down the hall, the grandfather clock in Henrik's study struck three. They had less than six hours before Henrik Vanger's funeral.

It was time to finally figure this out.