The Girl Who Played With Ice

Editor's note: Swedish journalist, sandwich enthusiast, and author Stieg Larsson died in 2004 at age 50 before he posthumously found success with his "Millenium" trilogy ("The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo," "The Girl Who Played with Fire," and "The Girl Who Shook the Hornet's Nest"), which have become international bestsellers and have been adapted to films in Sweden, and soon the United States. The novels are about the investigations of journalist Mikael "Kalle" Blomkvist and young, troubled computer hacker Lisbeth Sander into financial fraud, serial killers, human trafficking, and sexual violence. Larsson's estate recently uncovered a nearly complete unpublished manuscript of a fourth "Millenium" novel. Here are some excerpts from "The Girl Who Played with Ice." It may not make any sense unless you've read the books or seen the movies, but you can get the gist I think.

Lisbeth Sander, computer hacker, realistic lover of dumpy middle aged journalist Mikael Blomkvist

Lisbeth Sander scowled as she sat in her luxurious 97 square meter apartment in the Hjeckrønssform district of Stockholm, staring at the 12" screen of her Apple PowerMac laptop computer, with a 1 gigaherz G4 processor, 512 megabytes of random access memory, 16 megabytes of graphics memory, a 2 gigabyte hard drive, and a 56.6 megabits per second modem. She didn't need the modem, because she just had a DSL line installed. [Ed: 12 pages of specifications of the DSL line equipment and installation has been removed.]. The laptop sat on top of an Ikea Gustav desk in birch aspect, and she adjusted her Torbjörn chair, and stared pensively at the Lerberg shelf unit. Sander had just returned from Ikea, and had also purchased [Ed: 4 pages of comma separated names of other Ikea merchandise removed.]

Gustav desk

"Kalle fucking Blomkvist," she thought. How could he still be in her head? She was an orphan in her early twenties, heavily tattood, bisexual, with piercings everywhere, a computer hacker, and not at all a figment of anyone's fevered, desperate sexual fantasies. "Kalle fucking Blomkvist," she repeated as she opened up a message from Blomkvist in the Eudora email computer program. It had an attachment. It was a 412 kilobyte PDF document. She opened it up in Adobe Acrobat Reader 6.2, and stared at the spinning hourglass. In 12 seconds she had read and processed everything in the PDF document that Blomkvist had sent her, and could remember every word due to her photographic memory. The document proved that every Swede playing on the Detroit Red Wings, plus Pavel Datsyuk, was a vicious sex criminal.

Mikael Blomkvist held his mug of black coffee, ate a roast beef sandwich, and sat back in his Skruvsta swivel chair at his office in the headquarters of the investigative magazine Millenium. Across the desk was Erika Berger, the editor of Millenium, fiery, married, deeply protective of Blomkvist, still as beautiful at middle age as she was when Mikael and Erika became lovers in university. They were still lovers, and frequently have sex right in front of Erika's understanding husband. Erika, like Lisbeth Sander, was also clearly not some imaginary sexual daydream.

"You've got evidence to support this story that Henrik Zetterberg is a vicious sex criminal trafficking young girls for notorious Russian sociopath Pavel Datsyuk?" Erika shouted, then protectively caressed Mikael's head.

Henrik Zetterberg, vicious sex criminal via d.yimg.com

"I was hired to write a history of the Red Wings Swedish players while I was waiting to go to jail for some quirk of the Swedish justice system's libel laws. [Ed: 36 pages of explanation of the intricate inner workings of libel laws removed]. Because I am a dangerous journalist who will expose the truth even if I must be martyred by going to humane, minimum security Scandinavian jail for a few weeks of laptop time with an internet connection and a room to myself. I had access to the Red Wings historical files. That's when I found these photographs." Blomkvist opened a beige folder [Ed: 345 words describing the exact brand of the folder, where Blomkvist purchased it, and what other items were purchased at the same time have been removed.] containing pictures of Red Wings players Tomas Holmstrom, Johan Franzen, Jonathan Ericsson, and Nicklas Lidstrom in the locker room at Joe Louis Arena. Picking up a magnifying glass, Blomkvist, centered it on the visor of Lidstom. Erika gasped.

In the reflection on the visor was clearly the image of Niklas Kronwall. Erika's eyes widened, and she moved the magnifying glass closer. Reflected on Knonwall's visor was the image of Zetterberg and Datsyuk at the entrance of a rape room containing photographic evidence of hundreds of horrible sex crimes committed by Red Wing Swedes. "They disgust me. They hate women. Unlike me. I certainly do not over-idealize or fetishize women.

[Ed: Brutal, cringeworthy, and unbelievably disturbing and dehumanizing scene of Lisbeth Sander being beaten and sexually assaulted removed.]

Lisbeth Sander ate her cheese sandwich, and drank coffee. She scowled, then thought, "Kalle fucking Blomkvist."

Sandwich, via school.discoveryeducation.com

[Ed: Heinous, numbingly graphic, sadistic scene of Lisbeth Sander tasering and sodomizing the man who beat and sexually assaulted her previously, then pistol whipping, curb stomping, and setting him on fire removed.]

Blomkvist gazed at the full mug of jet black coffee and the pile of ham sandwiches on his Bjursta sideboard table. He was in his cottage on the isle of Skårkjarden. It had a DSL line, which attached to his [Ed: let's just shorten it to "laptop"]. His desktop had Microsoft Word 2000 document icons with filenames like "Franzen Sex Felony #49," "Holmstrom Repulsive Deviancy With Kidnapped White Slave #123," and "Connection of All Red Wings Swedes plus Pavel Datsyuk to Industry and Finance." "These sex crimes goes right to the top of Swedish finance and industry."

Coffee, via www.laboratoryequipment.com

Lisbeth Sander entered the basement office of her chief computer hacking friend, a pale, slovenly walrus of a man known as Stereotype. "Ah, Wasp. So good to see you," leered Stereotype. Sander winced. Her computer hacking name was Wasp, and she had a wasp tattoo on her neck, as is common among elite computer hackers. "But what I really need right now is a new computer. Do you have an Apple laptop with the following specifications: [Ed: 17 pages of computer specs removed.]? I must hack the Red Wings sex criminal computer network to get the evidence to take down Sweden's corrupt financial and industrial elite." "Right there, underneath those comic books, video game cartridges, empty pizza boxes, and other totems of computer geekery." Lisbeth scowled. "Kalle fucking Blomkvist," she muttered under her breath. Stereotype made an unnatural face as he stared at Wasp, imagining himself committing brutal sex crimes.

Lisbeth Sander used her new laptop to immediately hack into the Red Wings sex criminal computer network, and found a folder called "Exhaustive Damning Photographic Evidence of Sex Crimes + Connection With Finance and Industry." Sander scowled. She would make them pay. Within seconds she hacked into all the Swedish Red Wings bank accounts, draining them to an untraceable offshore bank account. 25 million kroner. She needed the money for a more lavish Ikea shopping trip, where she would purchase [Ed: literally pages of Ikea name lists removed]. She emailed the photos to the staff of Millenium, and then sat back with a lingonberry sandwich and some coffee. Sander sighed. The only man in Sweden who was not a vicious sex criminal was Kalle fucking Blomkvist, she thought to herself. She set out in the waning mid-summer night to set all the sex criminals on fire.

Johan Franzen, hater of women, via d.yimg.com

Blomkvist smiled at the top of the steps of the Millenium building, surrounded by reporters and photographers. "Kalle Blomkvist, how do you feel after exposing the vicious sex criminals at the heart of Swedish industry, finance, and the Red Wings, plus Pavel Datsyuk?" "I'm a hero, who is irresistible to all women capable of having sex, whatever their background or age. It is my niceness that keeps me from being a vicious sex criminal, unlike every other man in Sweden." But where, he thought, was Lisbeth? He decided to go have sex with Erika right in front of her husband.

The evening sky was brightened by traditional mid-summer bonfires as grateful Swedes laughed, danced, recited lists, drank coffee, and ate sandwiches, safe for a moment from vicious Red Wing sex criminals and their cohorts in finance and industry.