“Disappointment?”
“Exactly. Disappointment. They imagine that if they please me, they’ll live. They
adapt to my rules. They start to trust me and develop a certain camaraderie with
me, hoping to the very end that this camaraderie means something. The
disappointment comes when it finally dawns on them that they’ve been well and
truly screwed.”
Martin walked around the table and leaned against the steel cage.
“You with your bourgeois conventions would never grasp this, but the excitement
comes from planning a kidnapping. They’re not done on impulse—those kinds of
kidnappers invariably get caught. It’s a science with thousands of details that I have
to weigh. I have to identify my prey, map out her life, who is she, where does she
come from, how can I make contact with her, what do I have to do to be alone with
my prey without revealing my name or having it turn up in any future police
investigation?”
Shut up, for God’s sake, Blomkvist thought.
“Are you really interested in all this, Mikael?”
He bent down and stroked Blomkvist’s cheek. The touch was almost tender.
“You realise that this can only end one way? Will it bother you if I smoke?”
“You could offer me a cigarette,” he said.
Martin lit two cigarettes and carefully placed one of them between Blomkvist’s lips,
letting him take a long drag.
“Thanks,” Blomkvist said, automatically.
Martin Vanger laughed again.
“You see. You’ve already started to adapt to the submission principle. I hold your
life in my hands, Mikael. You know that I can dispatch you at any second. You
pleaded with me to improve your quality of life, and you did so by using reason
and a little good manners. And you were rewarded.”
Blomkvist nodded. His heart was pounding so hard it was almost unbearable.