THE GIRL WHO KICKED THE HORNETS NEST EPUB

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The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest

It had been a strenuous evening. Since he had come on duty at 6. One was pronounced D. He had treated a waitress whose legs had been scalded in an accident at a restaurant on Avenyn, and he had saved the life of a four-year-old boy who arrived at the hospital with respiratory failure after swallowing the wheel of a toy car.

He had patched up a girl who had ridden her bike into a ditch that the road-repair department had chosen to dig close to the end of a bike path; the warning barriers had been tipped into the hole. She had fourteen stitches in her face and would need two new front teeth. Jonasson had also sewn part of a thumb back on to an enthusiastic carpenter who had managed to slice it off. By He had made a round to check on the state of his patients, and then gone back to the staff bedroom to try to rest for a while.

He was on duty until 6. But this time he had fallen asleep almost as soon as he turned out the light. Nurse Nicander handed him a cup of tea.

She had not been given any details about the incoming cases. Jonasson saw lightning out over the sea. He knew that the helicopter was coming in in the nick of time. All of a sudden a heavy downpour lashed at the window. The storm had moved in over Goteborg.

He heard the sound of the chopper and watched as it banked through the storm squalls down towards the helipad. For a second he held his breath when the pilot seemed to have difficulty controlling the aircraft.

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Then it vanished from his field of view and he heard the engine slowing to land. He took a hasty swallow of his tea and set down the cup. Jonasson met them in the emergency admissions area. The other doctor on duty, Katarina Holm, took on the first patient who was wheeled in - an elderly man with his head bandaged, apparently with a serious wound to the face.

Jonasson was left with the second patient, the woman who had been shot.

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He did a quick visual examination: it looked like she was a teenager, very dirty and bloody, and severely wounded. He lifted the blanket that the Rescue Service had wrapped round her body and saw that the wounds to her hip and shoulder were bandaged with duct tape, which he considered a pretty clever idea. The tape kept bacteria out and the blood in.

One bullet had entered the outer side of her hip and gone straight through the muscle tissue. Then he gently raised her shoulder and located the entry wound in her back. There was no exit wound: the round was still inside her shoulder.

He hoped it had not penetrated her lung, and since he did not see any blood in the woman's mouth he concluded that probably it had not. That was all he needed to say. Then he cut away the bandage that the emergency team had wrapped round her skull.

He froze when he saw another entry wound.

The woman had been shot in the head and there was no exit wound there either. Dr Jonasson paused for a second, looking down at the girl. He felt dejected.

He had often described his job as being like that of a goalkeeper. Every day people came to his place of work in varying conditions but with one objective: to get help. It could be an old woman who had collapsed from a heart attack in the Nordstan galleria, or a fourteenyear-old boy whose left lung had been pierced by a screwdriver, or a teenage girl who had taken ecstasy and danced for eighteen hours straight before collapsing, blue in the face.

They were victims of accidents at work or of violent abuse at home. His job was to decide what to do. If he made the wrong decision, the decide what to do. If he made the wrong decision, the patient might die or perhaps wake up disabled for life. Most often he made the right decision, because the vast majority of injured people had an obvious and specific problem.

A stab wound to the lung or a crushing injury after a car crash were both particular and recognizable problems that could be dealt with. The survival of the patient depended on the extent of the damage and on Dr Jonasson's skill. There were two kinds of injury that he hated. One was a serious burn case, because no matter what measures he took it would almost inevitably result in a lifetime of suffering.

The second was an injury to the brain. The girl on the gurney could live with a piece of lead in her hip and a piece of lead in her shoulder.

But a piece of lead inside her brain was a trauma of a wholly different magnitude. He was suddenly aware of Nurse Nicander saying something. I wasn't listening. The girl they've been hunting for the past few weeks, for the triple murder in Stockholm.

He realized at once that Nurse Nicander was right. He and the whole of Sweden had seen her passport photograph on billboards outside every newspaper kiosk for weeks. And now the murderer herself had been shot, which was surely poetic justice of a sort.

But that was not his concern. His job was to save his patient's life, irrespective of whether she was a triple murderer or a Nobel Prize winner. Or both.

Then the efficient chaos, the same in every A. The staff on Jonasson's shift set about their appointed tasks. Salander's clothes were cut away.

It was surprisingly regular, but her breathing was not quite normal. Jonasson did not hesitate to classify Salander's condition as critical. Her history of unpredictable and vengeful behavior makes her an official dangerto society - but no-one can find her.

The only way Salander can be reached is by computer. But she can break into almost any network shechooses The girl who kicked the hornet's Nest millennium 3 The stunning third and final novel in Stieg Larsson's internationally best-selling trilogy.

Lisbeth Salander - the heart of Larsson's two previous novels - lies in critical condition, a bullet wound to her head, in the intensive care unit of a Swedish city hospital.

She's fighting for her life in more ways than one: With the help of her friend, journalist Mikael Blomkvist, she will not only have to prove her innocence, but also identify and denounce those in authority who have allowed the vulnerable, like herself, to suffer abuse and violence. And, on her own, she will plot revenge - against the man who tried to kill her, and the corrupt government institutions that very nearly destroyed her life.

Once upon a time, she was a victim. Now Salander is fighting back.

He is a crusading journalist whose championing of the truth often brings him to the brink of prosecution. Late one night, Blomkvist receives a phone callfrom a source claiming to have information vital to the United States. The source has beenin contact with a young female superhacker—ahacker resembling someone Blomkvist knows all too well.

The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest

The implications are staggering.This unlikely team discovers a vein of nearly unfathomable iniquity running through the Vanger family, astonishing corruption in the highest echelons of Swedish industrialism—and an unexpected connection between themselves.

This was correct procedure, of course.

Then he came back regularly, until one day he was offered a permanent position at the Karolinska in Stockholm.

Opublikowany The tone of his muscles testified to the fact that he spent a number of hours each week at the gym. He is a crusading journalist whose championing of the truth often brings him to the brink of prosecution. The tone of his muscles testified to the fact that he spent a number of hours each week at the gym.