Local time – 6:30pm, Sunday 17th June, 2011.
Rawalpindi, Pakistan.
Alex was correct that the distance and direction from Emirates Stadium in London, to the Freud Museum in Hampstead, brought them to a dead end in Rawalpindi. Henry called out directions to an ever anxious Phil, and not only was there no Wifi connection appearing called “Ego and Id”, but they also ran out of road.
‘It’s got to be somewhere else.’ Alex let out a sigh. Her spirits had been so high, but now she felt a deflated disappointment in herself, and Bernie. She knew he liked to be cryptic, and it was especially important to be as cryptic as possible when putting together directions that, had they fallen into the wrong hands, could lead someone to a weapon with the potential to start world wars. But she knew Bernie, and she knew how interested he was in Freud. The Ego and the Id had to relate to Freud’s house.
Phil had stopped the car at a literal dead end. They had followed the twisting and winding streets in the correct direction until they met a huge wall that screened the residential streets from the motorway that led them to this place. Unless Bernie had changed his Wifi map design, they were looking for the wrong place. Henry was staring at the map of Rawalpindi, but couldn’t muster any suggestions as to where to go next.
‘Can I have a look at the map of London again?’ Alex asked.
She stared down at Hampstead, searching her mind for clues. She thought of the time Bernie took her, on a Saturday afternoon, to the Freud museum. It was a beautiful old brick house, with three large dormer windows and a hedge fence. He told her this house was a sanctuary for Freud and his family, after they escaped Nazi controlled Austria during the Second World War. Alex didn’t think much of Freud’s psychological theories, but she respected his courage in reporting them to a sceptical establishment. Bernie seemed to find Freud’s views fascinating for their rebellion too. She remembered two years ago, at Christmas, Laura was able to buy a 1927 first edition of one of Freud’s books, at great expense, and surprised Bernie by leaving it under the Christmas tree. Bernie had carried that book with him for months, boasting about it to anyone who would listen. But then he was devastated to have lost it, and Laura was furious that he had been so thoughtless to put it down somewhere. Alex remembered them arguing about it for weeks. Bernie blamed the loss on an interesting article in The Guardian that caught his attention, causing him to put his first edition on the seat next to him at a tube station, and leave it there in his haste to get on a crowded train. Alex was reminded of this moment only weeks ago when Laura warned Bernie not to lose his iPad at Whitechapel. That’s where he lost the book. At Whitechapel station. He used to visit an old school friend every few weeks, meeting him at his house near Stepney. Whitechapel station. Alex had an idea.
‘There’s somewhere else we could try. Bernie had a book by Freud that he lost at Whitechapel station. I can’t remember which book it was, but it could well have been The Ego and the Id.’
‘It’s worth a try.’ Henry’s face lit up.
Again they were to go south east, but for almost eight kilometres. This route took them deep into the heart of Rawalpindi. Henry plotted out directions for Phil, while Alex looked at the last of Bernie’s clues. Josh turned in his seat to watch her.
‘How many people would know where Bernie lost his book?’
‘I’m not sure, apart from me and Laura. He may have mentioned it to other people.’
‘His house name and favourite pub weren’t too hard to find, and the Gunners, I assume that’s a well known nickname for his football team.’
‘You’re wondering who these clues were for?’ Alex asked, thinking the same thing.
‘Do you think he set up the clues so he would be able to find the weapon? Or did he do it for someone else? In case he didn’t make it?’
‘I think the latter. Whoever set it up for him, I’m guessing it was his old Pakistani contact. Surely it was easier to just tell Bernie exactly where to go? He tried to make sure someone had the iPad, in the hospital, before he died. I think he wanted Laura to work it out. Or me. It might have been for me.’
‘But why not just tell you or Laura the exact location? If he had been given it already, why not just pass it on?’ Henry asked, looking up from his map.
Phil responded, his tone implying Henry had just asked if the sky was blue. ‘Bernie was safest not knowing exactly where he was going. This treasure hunt was set up for him. The less someone knows before they need to, the better. He would have done exactly what we’re doing, so if he was ever compromised, the location couldn’t be tortured from him.’
Alex shivered. Phil was right. The location of Pakistan’s last nuclear weapon was incredibly dangerous information. What had Mossad done to Bernie before he got home and collapsed? There were no signs of torture. They wanted the iPad. He must have convinced them he had no idea where the weapon was. She looked at the tablet in Henry’s hands. Laura had handed her the Holy Grail in that hospital room, and somehow, she had found out how to unlock its secrets.
Henry looked chastened, but said nothing. Phil didn’t seem as confident that Alex was right about Whitechapel station, so it was extra pleasing for her when they rolled into Bernie’s fourth bubble, and the connection pinged on the screen. Again the word Whitechapel was accompanied by two letters. This time it was A and D. The same as the last one. Alex wrote it on her notepad and Henry squeezed her wrist happily.
‘Four down. Where are we headed now?’