Local time – 4:30pm, Sunday 17th June, 2011.
London, England.
Gerome was used to Bernie being secretive about his articles. When he first hired him, it infuriated him that Bernie wouldn’t tell him anything about his latest story until the first draft was delivered in their editorial meetings. But Gerome soon realised that Bernie’s paranoia was a small price to pay for what was always an outstanding piece. It was only since Alex started with them that Bernie let anyone help him with his research. He pictured Alex and Bernie, hunched over a pile of notes in the conference room, and smiled to himself. They were two of a kind. But the notes that Gerome was now looking at, hand written on a notepad by Bernie and kept in the top draw of his bedside table, were definitely a project he was working on alone. As soon as he received Laura’s email, he called her to check if it was OK for him to come and have a look at what she had found. It took her a long moment of hesitation to agree, heartbreakingly responding that it couldn’t hurt, now that Bernie was gone.
‘Did he mention anything to you about what this article was going to achieve?’ Gerome asked Laura, who sat opposite him in her sitting room, sipping her third cup of tea.
‘No. I knew nothing of it. Sometimes he would ask my advice on things, and I usually knew what he was working on. But that’s why I emailed you when I found these notes. I only saw them after I got off the phone to Alex. I had no idea about any of it.’
‘I guess it makes sense that he was going to do some background research on Winton while he was in Prague. I’m really not sure how the Patria fits in though. These notes, they’re very… ’
‘Random?’ Laura responded. Gerome felt terrible to be sitting in Laura’s sitting room, questioning her about Bernie’s latest article, when he never had a chance to finish it. She was so stoical, but also so obviously in deep mourning. Her worry for Alex was the reason she had said anything. And Gerome could see how disappointed she was that he couldn’t use these notes to work out what Alex might be doing.
‘I guess they’re a bit haphazard because it’s more of a brainstorm than a plan. He had an article in mind, and perhaps he had been working on it for a while. Since he was going to Prague for Bilderberg, he thought he’d kill two birds with one stone and follow up on this one as well?’
Laura shook her head politely. ‘I don’t think so. All he’s talked about for weeks was the conference. A few nights ago, I asked him what he was writing. He was sitting up in bed, scribbling on the notepad you’re holding. He said it was for his Bilderberg article.’
Gerome read through the scrawled script again. The first thing on the page were the words ‘Nicholas Winton’ and then some key dates and references to Winton’s work during the war. The next section of notes was headed ‘Patria’, which was written in uppercase letters and underlined with a thick, neat line. Written underneath were the relevant stats and dates of this incident, which also occurred during the Second World War. Then, underneath this, there was another name. To Gerome it seemed completely unrelated to the rest of the page. But Bernie was never irrelevant. He wrote it there for a reason. Edmund Maxwell. Gerome recalled Bernie writing a brief article a few years ago about Maxwell’s businesses booming throughout the GFC, thanks to their weapons contracts in Iraq and Afghanistan. But he couldn’t link any of this with the notes on the top of the page. And linking it to the Bilderberg conference, and Alex’s decision to front a conspiracy video and then go to Pakistan, was even more difficult.
‘I’m sorry Laura, I just can’t make out what Bernie was planning to write about.’
‘No, don’t be sorry! I’m in the same boat.’
‘As I mentioned, Alex might still be contactable on email. She responded to one earlier. I think it would be wise to send these notes to her, on the off chance they mean something.’
‘I can type them out and send them to her. She seems to be able to get the emails on Bernie’s iPad mail so that might be the fastest way to contact her.’ Laura looked ready to stand up, but Gerome could sense she wanted to say something else. He sat still, waiting for her to make up her mind. Her face looked pained, and Gerome noticed, a little scared. When she finally spoke, it was as if she regretted saying anything, but couldn’t stop herself once she started.
‘There’s something you need to know about Bernie. I can’t not tell you now… if it could… well it might help Alex.’ Gerome said nothing. He was a good enough journalist to know when silence was the best response to keep someone talking.
‘Before we moved to London, and Bernie started working with you, well, he wasn’t just a journalist. This is completely confidential, of course, you must never tell anyone I told you this. I’m probably breaking the Official Secrets Act.’
‘Of course! What is it?’
‘He was employed by the Home Office. MI5 and then MI6. He was, well... ’
‘I understand,’ Gerome cut in. In fact he wasn’t even really surprised; he almost felt he’d always known. ‘Do you think this has something to do with the article, with Alex?’
‘Yes. As you know, we lived in Pakistan for a number of years. And Alex has gone there, so I just thought… I just thought it was worth mentioning.’ Gerome stood up and hovered there for a moment, wondering if there was any way to remove the sorrowful look from Laura’s face.
‘I promise I won’t tell anyone. Bernie was a great man Laura. He was a brilliant journalist and I have no doubt he served his country proudly.’
He stepped forward, wondering if he should hug the widow, who was now crying quietly. But she was already hurrying to a small desk at the side of the room, which had a laptop open on it. Gerome followed her and watched as she efficiently typed a brief email to Alex, and then transposed Bernie’s notes into it. She jotted down the email address on a post-it note so Gerome could send messages to Alex there as well.
‘Please let me know if you hear from her,’ Laura said as she showed Gerome to the door.
‘Of course. And you do the same.’
Gerome rushed to his car. He was now more confused than ever, and felt like something obvious was hanging just out of his reach. He needed to get home and watch Alex’s video again. Bernie’s career as a spy definitely changed things. But how, Gerome couldn’t yet say.