Local time – 10:20am, Saturday 16th June, 2011.
Prague, Czechoslovakia.
‘You’ll be arrested if you stay there.’ Alex jumped. Immersed in Bernie’s notes, she hadn’t noticed anyone approaching her. Sliding the iPad into her bag, she stood up.
‘Arrested? What for?’
‘This is a no go zone during the conference. I’m surprised you made it this far.’
The man took a step towards her, and as he moved out of the glare of the sun she saw his features clearly. He wore casual jeans and a light blue jumper, with a white shirt collar peaking out the top.
‘So what are you doing here? Are you police? I mean, security?’
‘No, I’m just a tourist. How about you?’
‘Journalist.’ Alex felt round in the front pocket of her satchel for a business card, eventually handing him a creased one. He glanced at it, holding out his hand.
‘Henry Bradford. Pleased to meet you, Alex.’ She shook his outstretched hand.
‘So why would I be arrested?’ Alex realised she was following Henry as he walked slowly back down the road.
‘About thirty protesters and journalists have already been arrested in the Old Town Square this morning. They were at the gate earlier and got turned away. So they set up under the tower and were rounded up by the cops.’
‘What were they arrested for?’
‘I don’t know. The police are jumpy today, even worse than last year in Spain. They won’t charge them, they just want them out the way so they’ll keep them in the courthouse cells for the weekend.’
‘That’s a bit heavy handed isn’t it?’
‘They don’t want them to draw too much attention to Bilderberg.’
Alex thought this seemed outrageous behaviour, counter-productive even, but not wanting to appear naive, she changed the subject.
‘Are people arriving at the conference now?’
‘You’re the journalist! Shouldn’t you have noticed?’ he asked with a grin, pointing at a black sedan with tinted windows that drove past close enough to touch. Alex tried not to peer in, but she couldn’t resist a quick look.
‘You won’t see them in their cars,’ he explained. ‘But I saw one of them this morning at a restaurant.’
He was still walking and Alex quickly caught up.
‘Who was it?’
‘Duncan Brookfield...’ Alex looked at him blankly. ‘Special Representative for Afghanistan and Pakistan. He attended last year too.’
Alex felt chastened.
‘For a tourist, you know a lot about the Bilderbergers.’
‘It’s a hobby,’ he replied. ‘So what’s an Aussie doing working at The Contingent?’
‘Is my accent still that obvious?’
‘I could tell you’re Australian before you spoke. Beautiful women, each and every one of you. At least you’re getting the chance to cover Bilderberg from London. Australian press have never shown any interest. Murdoch’s doing no doubt.’
‘Yeah, but it was a last minute assignment and I’m not really prepared…’
‘What angle are you going for?’
‘The arrests in the square, that’s a good start.’
‘No, that’s old news. Journalists were arrested last year and the year before. They just got angry and nowhere fast.’
‘So, if you weren’t just a tourist who happened to know a lot about Bilderberg, and you were looking for a scoop, without getting arrested, where would you go?’ Alex asked. Henry stopped and smiled.
‘Let me buy you brunch and I’ll give you some ideas.’
‘I’ll have brunch with you, but I’m buying. I’ll expense it as an interview.’