She didn't reply, allowing the dizzying conclusions to settle in his head.

'All the work will have to be done in here,' he went on. 'That means you and me. Can you do layout?'

'More or less.'

He shut his eyes, and covered them with his hands for a few seconds.

'How many pages are we talking about?'

'Four spreads,' she said. 'Plus the front and the leader.'

He sat silent, thinking, for an infinitely long minute before he spoke.

'I'll call the printers and tell them to shift half the news section.'

'Extra pages?'

'Two plates is enough,' Schyman said, 'eight pages.'

'Is there anyone we can trust to keep quiet at the printers?'

'Bob. He can set the plates. How quick are you with Quark?'

She dropped her bag on the floor.

'Not very.'

She looked at his eyes. Concentration had drawn a veil of decisiveness and determination over them.

'It's going to be a long night,' he said.

'I know,' she said.

THE END.

A Word from the Author I spent several years wondering how to set a novel in the northern Swedish region of Norrbotten. I wanted to show the unique isolation and majestic strangeness of the place. You really are on the roof of the world up there, and that was the feeling I wanted to convey. I was born there, in a small village called Palmark, between the tiny towns of Pitea and alvsbyn. (Palmark actually isn't even a village; just a dozen houses spread out along three kilometres of road leading to the thorp of Holmtrask.) In many ways it turned out very well. Red Wolf Red Wolf was probably my best novel up to that point. It became an international success, and was actually the twelfth best-selling book worldwide when it was first published. was probably my best novel up to that point. It became an international success, and was actually the twelfth best-selling book worldwide when it was first published.

But there was one group of people who didn't appreciate the book quite as much: the inhabitants of Norrbotten itself. They said I had portrayed the people there as provincial, the landscape as bare and tundralike, and they definitely didn't agree with me describing the location as cold and dark.

I thought that was a perfectly understandable reaction. Someone was finally describing their corner of the world in a novel a medium that could cross national boundaries and the people of Norrbotten wanted a description taken from some tourist brochure: a nice, shiny picture of how great everything was. But here I was, telling things the way they really were.

The people of Norbotten came to the conclusion that I didn't like them, so they were certainly not going to like me. To their great irritation, I had already been granted a plaque and an engraved portrait on the main street in the town of Pitea, and there was a lot of discussion about digging it up and getting rid of it; after all, in their eyes I had slandered my hometown. Eventually the fuss died down, though, and a year later I was awarded the finest accolade an author could wish for the cultural prize of Pitea District (pretty much the equivalent of the n.o.bel Prize).

But the truth is that I love Norrbotten and its people. They're my context, my backbone. I grew up there, my first daughter was born there, I started working as a journalist there.

In the mid eighties, I lived in a two-room apartment on Lovskatan in Lulea, in a block that was right next to the railway line. All night long the trains carrying iron ore from the mines to the north would rumble past my bedroom window on their way to the blast furnaces at Swedish Steel, a few hundred metres down the line. I thought the area I lived in was incredibly . . . well, I was going to say beautiful, but most people would probably disagree. Maybe fascinating is a better word powerful, overwhelming. Swedish Steel in Lulea is one of the most modern and imposing plants in the world. It's practically alive, breathing and pulsating right round the clock. Blast furnace number 2 looms like a huge, illuminated monster over the Gulf of Bothnia: you can see it from anywhere along the coast around Lulea.

I used to go for long walks with my little daughter along the railway track. The other mothers would go to the playground, but I would take my poor daughter in her pushchair all the way out to the West Gate, just because it was so impressive. For a change we would sometimes go the other way, down to the iron-ore harbour to look at the cranes.

My daughter grew up to be a very independent young woman. (She also just happens to be called Annika, and she has kindly lent her name to the heroine of this book. Her surname comes from my favourite boss on the Expressen Expressen newspaper, Bengt Bengtzon, the most brilliant, capricious and unnerving boss I've ever had.) newspaper, Bengt Bengtzon, the most brilliant, capricious and unnerving boss I've ever had.) I first got the idea for Red Wolf Red Wolf back in December 1996. I was editor-in-chief of a newspaper called back in December 1996. I was editor-in-chief of a newspaper called Metro Weekend Metro Weekend, a morning paper published on Sat.u.r.days and Sundays. The first issue had appeared just three months earlier, and in only twelve weeks we had gained more than 60,000 subscribers. It was a great success, in both marketing and sales terms. Then came the fatal blow.

The Minister of Culture, Marita Ulvskog, pushed through a government proposal that came to be known as the Metro Weekend Law. It meant that my paper could no longer be distributed along with the other morning papers. She was using her power to close down a new, successful paper. I couldn't believe it. I thought things like that only happened in dictatorships. The fact that something like this could happen in a democracy like Sweden came as a huge shock.

There I was, with a newsroom full of highly skilled people who had left other jobs because they believed in the idea I was promoting, and they had done a fantastic job. And along comes a government minister and destroys us with a stroke of her pen. All of my staff had to leave at once, but they were talented enough to get new jobs quickly.

The whole episode was a bitter lesson in how power operates in Sweden.

Naturally, since then I've thought a lot about what might have made the Minister of Culture do something as undemocratic as closing down one particular newspaper. How it all came about is a long story, and it started when the Metro Metro newspaper was first distributed free of charge at metro stations in Stockholm. The big morning papers in Stockholm, newspaper was first distributed free of charge at metro stations in Stockholm. The big morning papers in Stockholm, Svenska Dagbladet Svenska Dagbladet and and Dagens Nyheter Dagens Nyheter, looked on scornfully. Svenska Dagbladet Svenska Dagbladet had actually been invited to buy a part share in had actually been invited to buy a part share in Metro Metro, but had turned the offer down flat.

Metro turned out to be the biggest success ever in Swedish media history that much was apparent after only a couple of months. The smiles were soon wiped off the faces of the bosses of the more traditional morning papers, and when we (I was news editor at turned out to be the biggest success ever in Swedish media history that much was apparent after only a couple of months. The smiles were soon wiped off the faces of the bosses of the more traditional morning papers, and when we (I was news editor at Metro Metro) announced that we were launching another paper, Metro Weekend Metro Weekend, Svenska Dagbladet Svenska Dagbladet and and Dagens Nyheter Dagens Nyheter were ready for us. The owners gave fine speeches about how their main aim was to protect freedom of speech and democracy, but their words turned out to be hollow. were ready for us. The owners gave fine speeches about how their main aim was to protect freedom of speech and democracy, but their words turned out to be hollow.

The two papers presented the Minister of Culture with an offer she couldn't refuse: Metro Weekend Metro Weekend would be closed down, or else the two big papers would see to it that would be closed down, or else the two big papers would see to it that Dala-Demokraten Dala-Demokraten and a raft of other small regional papers, most of them with social-democrat leanings, would no longer be distributed to their readers. The focus on and a raft of other small regional papers, most of them with social-democrat leanings, would no longer be distributed to their readers. The focus on Dala-Demokraten Dala-Demokraten was well-chosen, because the Minister of Culture had herself been the paper's editor-in-chief before she entered government. So the decision was straightforward. was well-chosen, because the Minister of Culture had herself been the paper's editor-in-chief before she entered government. So the decision was straightforward.

Things progressed quickly. Only a couple of months later she pushed a change in the law through parliament. Every other party apart from the Centre, who were offered some form of financial inducement, opposed the amendment.

A few days later we were closed down.

Of course this made me think about what power can be used for. Marita Ulvskog could justify her decision in political terms, and there was an ideological motivation behind it, but what if someone in a position of power was concealing a big personal secret? And what would happen if someone else found out? What sort of black-mail might then be possible? I wanted to show that power always carries with it the potential for corruption.

Annika Bengtzon makes it a personal crusade to uncover the abuse of power, but what happens if her own life is threatened? If her husband is on the point of leaving her and their children? What would she be prepared to do then? Would she be prepared to abuse her own power as a journalist in order to save her family?

This time I allowed her to do exactly that.

Liza Marklund Stockholm, June 2010

Author's Acknowledgements This is fiction. I want to emphasize that all events and characters are entirely and only the product of my own vivid imagination. Like everyone else, however, I have memories, experiences and impressions that I make use of as I find necessary.

I spend a lot of time on research for my books. Even though every line is fiction, I take care that the details of places, activities and phenomena which do exist in the real world are as accurately described as possible. This means that people sometimes recognize some elements, which is entirely proper. Everything in this book could have could have happened. happened.

However, I sometimes make use of the author's prerogative to change details of existing bus-routes, the location of certain compressor sheds, the use of various sites, etc.

The interior of the Norrbotten Airbase, which is closed to the public and must not be photographed or otherwise doc.u.mented, is my own invention.

Neither the Evening Post Evening Post nor the nor the Norrland News Norrland News exist, but they bear traces of many different actual media organizations. exist, but they bear traces of many different actual media organizations. Katrineholms-Kuriren Katrineholms-Kuriren (Katrineholm Post) does exist, however, but all references that my characters make to the newspaper and its organization are completely fict.i.tious. (Katrineholm Post) does exist, however, but all references that my characters make to the newspaper and its organization are completely fict.i.tious.

A project aimed at threats to politicians, involving among others the a.s.sociation of Local Councils and the Federation of County Councils and the Department of Justice, did actually take place during 2003 and 2004, but Thomas's working group and its members, methods, discussions and consequences are entirely imaginary.

This is, in other words, a novel, and it could not have been written without Torbjorn Safve's incisive a.n.a.lysis of the rebel movement in his book Rebellerna i Sverige Rebellerna i Sverige (Forfattarforlaget 1971; The Rebels in Sweden) thank you, Jan, for the tip, and Matthias, for finding a copy in a second-hand bookshop in Vadstena! (Forfattarforlaget 1971; The Rebels in Sweden) thank you, Jan, for the tip, and Matthias, for finding a copy in a second-hand bookshop in Vadstena!

Further essential reading was provided by Bjorn k.u.mm's doc.u.mentation and summary of the history of terrorism in the book of the same name (Terrorismens historia, Historiska media; I have editions published in 1997, 1998 and 2002).

I would also like to thank the following, without whose tolerant a.s.sistance this project would never have been successfully completed. They are: Dan Swardh, theatrical manager of Teater Scratch Teater Scratch in Lulea, and a dormant Maoist going by the codenames of 'Greger' and 'Mats', who initiated me into both the public and the hidden activities of Maoist groups in Lulea in the early 1970s. in Lulea, and a dormant Maoist going by the codenames of 'Greger' and 'Mats', who initiated me into both the public and the hidden activities of Maoist groups in Lulea in the early 1970s.

Mikael Niemi, author and old acquaintance from Pajala, for discussions of the backgrounds of various characters, and for an introduction to Laestadianism in the Torne Valley.

Christer L. Lundin, public relations manager of Teracom, who provided information about the technical and political development, marketing and situation of digital television, and with whom I discussed and a.n.a.lysed the consequences and plausibility of various fict.i.tious political decisions.

Stefan Helsing, public relations manager of the Norrbotten Airbase, F21, in Lulea, for facts and discussions concerning the history of the base and scenarios of possible attacks.

Anders Linner, public relations manager for the Air Force, for discussion of the political and military complications surrounding an attack against a military target, and for information regarding flying routines and the security arrangements of airbases.

Peter Svensson, personal advisor to the Supreme Commander of the Swedish Armed Forces, for ongoing invaluable collaboration.

Thorbjorn Larsson, chair of the board of the newspaper Expressen Expressen and TV4, and a colleague on the board of publishing company Piratforlaget, for valuable discussions concerning media issues. and TV4, and a colleague on the board of publishing company Piratforlaget, for valuable discussions concerning media issues.

Per-Erik Rodin, chair of the executive committee of the Uppsala Student Union, for a.s.sistance with local knowledge and contacts.

Sakari Pitkanen, editor-in-chief of the newspaper Metro Metro, for information regarding newspaper technology and other matters.

Peter Ronnerfalk, chief medical officer and health advisor to Stockholm County Council, for information regarding the diagnosis and treatment of ventricular cancer, frostbite, etc.

Lotta Snickare, head of management training at ForeningsSparbanken, for constructive discussions on all manner of subjects, from capitalism to ceramics courses.

Lena Tornberg, head of the lost property section of Stockholm Police; Niclas Abrahamsson, police inspector with the Norrmalm Police in Stockholm, and Tor Petrell, detective inspector with the Stockholm Police, for theoretical discussions concerning lost property.

Niclas Salomonsson, my literary agent, and his staff at Salomonsson Agency, for all their dedicated work.

Tove Alsterdal, dramatist, who follows me every step of the way and reads everything first of all. Without you there would be no books.

Any mistakes or errors that have crept in are entirely my own.

Liza Marklund Name: Eva Elisabeth Marklund (which only the bank statement calls her. To the rest of the world, she's Liza). Eva Elisabeth Marklund (which only the bank statement calls her. To the rest of the world, she's Liza).

Family: Husband and three children. Husband and three children.

Home: A house in the suburbs of Stockholm, and a townhouse in southern Spain. A house in the suburbs of Stockholm, and a townhouse in southern Spain.

Born: In the small village of Palmark in northern Sweden, in the vast forests just below the Arctic Circle. In the small village of Palmark in northern Sweden, in the vast forests just below the Arctic Circle.

Drives: A 2001 Chrysler Sebring LX (a convertible, much more suitable for Spain than Palmark). A 2001 Chrysler Sebring LX (a convertible, much more suitable for Spain than Palmark).

Five Interesting Facts About Liza 1. She once walked from Tel Aviv to London. It took all of one summer, but she made it. Sometimes she hitchhiked as well, sometimes she sneaked on board trains. When her money ran out she took various odd jobs, including working in an Italian circus. Sadly she had to give that up when it turned out she was allergic to tigers.

2. Liza used to live in Hollywood. Not because she wanted to be a film star, but because that was where her first husband was from. In the early 1980s she had a two-room apartment on Citrus Avenue, a narrow side-street just a couple of blocks from Mann's Chinese Theatre (the cinema on Hollywood Boulevard with all the stars' hand and footprints). She moved back to Sweden to study journalism in Kalix.

3. She was once arrested for vagrancy in Athens. Together with fifty other young people from all corners of the world she was locked in a garage full of motorbikes. But Liza was released after just quarter of an hour: she had asked to meet the head of police, commended him on his work, and pa.s.sed on greetings from her father, the head of police in Stockholm. This was a blatant lie: Liza's father runs a tractor-repair workshop in Palmark.

4. Liza's eldest daughter is an actress and model. Annika, who lends her name to the heroine of Liza's novels, was the seductress in the film adaptation of Mikael Niemi's bestseller Popular Music from Vittula Popular Music from Vittula. Mikael and Liza have also been good friends from the time when they both lived in Lulea in the mid-1980s. Mikael was one of Liza's tutors when she studied journalism in Kalix.

5. Liza got married in Leningrad in 1986. She married a Russian computer programmer to help him get out of the Soviet Union. The sham marriage worked; he was able to escape, taking his brother and parents with him. Today the whole family is living and working in the USA.

Liza's Favourites Book: History History by Elsa Morante by Elsa Morante Film: Happiness Happiness by Todd Solondz by Todd Solondz Modern music: Rammstein (German hard rock) Cla.s.sical music: Mozart's 25th Symphony in G-minor. And his Requiem, of course.

Idols: Nelson Mandela, Madeleine Albright and Amelia Adamo (the Swedish media queen).

Liza's Top Holiday Destinations 1. North Korea. The most isolated country in the world, and the last iron curtain. Liza has seen it from the outside, looking into North Korea from the South, at the Bridge of No Return on the 38th parallel.

2. Masai Mara, Kenya. Her family co-owns a safari camp in the Entumoto valley.

3. Rarotonga, the main island in Cook archipelago in the South Pacific. The coolest paradise on the planet.

4. Los Angeles. Going 'home' is always brilliant.

5. Andalucia in southern Spain. The best climate in Europe, dramatic scenery, fantastic food and excellent wine. Not too far away, and cheap to fly to!

We hope you enjoyed RED WOLF RED WOLF.

Did you wonder about Annika's claustrophobia and fear of the dark?

Do you want to find out exactly what happened when she was held hostage in an underground tunnel?

All is revealed in her multi-award winning, unputdownable thriller THE BOMBER coming in Spring 2011 coming in Spring 2011 Here's a taster . . .

Prologue.

The woman who was soon to die stepped cautiously out of the door and glanced quickly around. The hallway and stairwell behind her were dark, she hadn't bothered to switch on the lights on her way down. She paused before stepping down onto the pavement, as if she felt she were being watched. She took a few quick breaths and for a few seconds her white breath hung around her like a halo. She adjusted the strap of the handbag on her shoulder and took a firmer grasp of the handle of her briefcase. She hunched her shoulders and set off quickly and quietly towards Gotgatan. It was bitterly cold, the sharp wind cutting at her thin nylon tights. She skirted round a patch of ice, balancing for a moment on the curb of the pavement. Then she hurried away from the street-lamp and into the darkness. The cold and the shadows were m.u.f.fling the sounds of the night: the hum of a ventilation unit, the cries of a group of drunk youngsters, a siren in the distance.

The woman walked fast, purposefully. She radiated confidence and expensive perfume. When her mobile phone suddenly rang she was thrown off her stride. She stopped abruptly, glancing quickly around her. Then she bent down, leaning the briefcase against her right leg, and started searching through her handbag. Her movements were suddenly irritated, insecure. She pulled out the phone and put it to her ear. In spite of the darkness and shadows there was no mistaking her reaction. Irritation was replaced by surprise, then anger, and finally fear.

When the conversation was finished the woman stood for a few seconds with the phone in her hand. She lowered her head, clearly thinking hard. A police-car drove slowly past her, the woman looked up at it, watchful, following it with her eyes as it went away. She made no attempt to stop it.

She had clearly reached a decision. She turned on her heel and started to retrace her steps, going past the wooden door she had come out of and carrying on to the junction. As she waited for a night-bus to pa.s.s she looked up, her eyes following the line of the street to the square, Vintertullstorget, and beyond to the Sickla ca.n.a.l. High above loomed the main Olympic arena, Victoria Stadium, where the summer games were due to start in seven months' time.

The bus went past, the woman crossed the broad sweep of Ringvagen and started to walk down Katarina Bangata. Though her face was expressionless, her fast pace let on that she was freezing. She crossed the pedestrian bridge over Hammarby ca.n.a.l to reach the media village of the Olympic Park. With quick, slightly jerky movements she hurried on towards the Olympic Stadium. She decided to take the path beside the water although it was further, and colder. The wind from the Baltic was ice-cold, but she didn't want to be seen. The darkness was dense, and she stumbled a few times.

She turned off by the post office and pharmacy towards the training area and jogged the last hundred metres towards the stadium. When she reached the main entrance she was out of breath and angry. She pulled the door open and stepped into the darkness.

'Say what you want to say, and be quick about it,' she said, looking coolly at the figure emerging from the shadows.

She saw the raised hammer but didn't have time to feel any fear.

The first blow hit her left eye.