Blomkvist could hardly see the road. Just to be safe, he pulled into a petrol station.
They waited for the rain to let up, so they did not arrive in Stockholm until 7:00 that
evening. Blomkvist gave Salander the security code to his building and dropped
her off at the central tunnelbana. His apartment seemed unfamiliar.
He vacuumed and dusted while Salander went to see Plague in Sundbyberg. She
arrived at Blomkvist’s apartment at around midnight and spent ten minutes
examining every nook and cranny of it. Then she stood at the window for a long
time, looking at the view facing the Slussen locks.
They got undressed and slept.
At noon the next day they landed at London’s Gatwick Airport. They were met with
rain. Blomkvist had booked a room at the Hotel James near Hyde Park, an excellent
hotel compared to all the one-star places in Bayswater where he had always ended
up on his previous trips to London.
At 5:00 p.m. they were standing at the bar when a youngish man came towards
them. He was almost bald, with a blond beard, and he was wearing jeans and a
jacket that was too big for him.
“Wasp?”
“Trinity?” she said. They nodded to each other. He did not ask for Blomkvist’s name.
Trinity’s partner was introduced as Bob the Dog. He was in an old VW van around
the corner. They climbed in through the sliding doors and sat down on folding
chairs fastened to the sides. While Bob navigated through the London traffic, Wasp
and Trinity talked.
“Plague said this had to do with some crash-bang job.”
“Telephone tapping and checking emails in a computer. It might go fast, or it could
take a couple of days, depending on how much pressure he applies.” Lisbeth
gestured towards Blomkvist with her thumb. “Can you do it?”
“Do dogs have fleas?” Trinity said.