Local time – 9:30pm, Sunday 17th June, 2011.
Rawalpindi, Pakistan.
Alex wasn’t sure what was more horrifying about Henry’s admission that he was being paid to carry out this plan: the fact that he hadn’t told her, or that he thought she was also doing it to make money. It was now perfectly clear that she was being used. This man, who she had been so attracted to, was quite obviously not the man she thought he was. As much as she tried to avoid thinking about it, she couldn’t pretend she didn’t know the reasons she was so easily deceived. Each reason was as pathetic as the next. She wanted to believe Henry was trying to save the world, because she wanted to save the world. She wanted to believe he was brave and noble, because she wanted to be brave and noble. She was given Bernie’s assignment, and no matter what it threw at her, no matter how many times it changed, and got harder, and more scary, she wanted to finish off what he started. What he was killed to stop him doing. And yes, the likely scoop would be an added bonus. She couldn’t deny that. But the last reason, the final insult, which now embedded itself in her chest and swelled to form a humiliating balloon of pain, was that she thought Henry was attractive. She had a crush on him. She ate up everything he said because it helped to justify his yumminess. This amazing man, who she imagined riding off into the sunset with, after saving all humanity, was not amazing after all. He was a mercenary. Doing someone else’s dirty work. And she was helping him.
It was as if Henry could read the meaning behind the torment on her face, and planned to cement it there, for he calmly asked:
‘So what if I’m being paid? Why do you think Bernie was working with us? And how do you think we found him in the first place without bribing someone at MI6?’ Alex didn’t respond. She already realised that in all likelihood, Bernie wasn’t working out of the goodness of his heart either. How had she been so naïve to think anyone did anything for free? She tried to shake off her self-hatred and focus on her next move.
‘So you think we don’t need to tell anyone we have this weapon, because your pay packet has already told you what to do with it?’
‘Yes. I’m perfectly happy to follow our boss’s plan.’
‘Not our boss. Your boss. I’m getting jack shit for everything I’ve done.’ Henry shrugged at this, not even pretending to care.
‘I don’t know why you’re so angry Alex. Have you forgotten why we’re doing this? It doesn’t matter who’s organising it, and who’s paying who. We’re stopping the Bilderbergers from waging a nuclear war. We’re stopping them from taking over the world. Isn’t that worth it for you?’
‘Yes, actually it is. But obviously it isn’t for you. Your allegiance is to your bank balance! You answer to whoever will pay the highest price!’
‘There are far less dangerous ways to earn money Alex. You don’t honestly think I’m only doing this for the money.’
‘If that were true, you’d be quite happy for me to call Gerome. If you want to make the most out of the position we’re in, you wouldn’t blindly do what your master says.’ As she said this, she wondered what Henry had meant by ‘back up’ and ‘exit strategy’.
‘Fine,’ Henry said after a moment’s thought. ‘Call your pathetic little boss. See what help he is.’ He arrogantly handed his phone to Alex and she snatched it.
‘I don’t know his number off by heart, but I can get it off his emails,’ she said as way of justifying turning on the iPad.
She pulled the iPad out of her satchel and was relieved to see it still had battery life. Gerome’s email signature contained his mobile phone number, so she opened her Gmail account to pull up one of his emails. She angled the screen away from Henry so he couldn’t see that she was scrolling through them. She also typed his number into the phone so it didn’t look like she was being distracted by other things. She held the phone against her ear, and it rang and rang and rang, eventually ringing out. She continued to hold it there, as if waiting for him to answer, to give her time to scan her new emails. A new one caught her eye from Sue, the graphic designer at The Contingent. It was a follow up from Gerome’s question about the photo Alex sent him. Gerome had already passed on the information that Sue had identified the image as being the United Nations logo. But Sue was now giving more information. The email read:
“Gerome, Alex, I’ve had a closer look at the image you sent through. It’s definitely the UN logo. The snippet you sent me is the edge of the logo – the olive branches of peace. But I noticed the edge of the inner circle is missing, which hosts the world map. So I think it’s not the UN logo, but a version of it – most likely the UNHCR logo, which has two hands over a person. Don’t know if this matters, just thought I’d mention it. Sue.”
Henry was now looking at Alex suspiciously, when he should have been looking at the road ahead. Alex turned off the iPad and handed the phone back to him without saying anything. She was still thinking about Sue’s email, wondering if it was important to differentiate between the UN and the UN High Commission for Refugees. Before she had a chance to think about it any further, she realised Henry was slowing down and pulling the vehicle to the side of the road. She looked in the rear view mirror and saw the convoy of Pakistani army trucks doing the same.