Local time – 9:35pm, Sunday 17th June, 2011.
Rawalpindi, Pakistan.
With the transporter’s engine off, the night was deathly quiet. It occurred to Alex that the convoy of army trucks was the reason for the deserted streets they travelled on since leaving the museum. She looked at Henry, wondering what he was doing. Now that she knew some cashed up puppet master was pulling the strings, she could no longer believe they were working together. When he finally turned to her, she was surprised at how soft his expression was. It might have been wishful thinking, but she thought she could almost detect a trace of sorrow, or maybe even apology.
‘I need you to do something for me. It’s not hard, but it’s important.’ As he said this, he placed his hand on her thigh. She brushed it off.
‘Is it for you? Or your financier?’
‘Alex, please. We’re still doing this for the right reasons. Forget about the money. Isn’t it more important to finish what we started? You don’t want the Bilderbergers carrying out their plans do you?’
‘Well, no. But I don’t know what to think now!’
‘The person I’m working for, he’s going to deal with the Bilderbergers. He knows we have the weapon and he’s about to make contact with them, as soon as I’ve let him know we have it safely in our control.’ Alex thought about this for a second. Had she overreacted? Henry seemed so tired and fragile. Maybe it was his own fear that had made him seem so cold and hostile since they left the Army Museum? His puppy dog eyes were begging her to listen. She searched for a reason not to believe him, but there was none. Money didn’t change what the Bilderbergers were trying to do. And they needed to know about this weapon before they did any damage with their huge arsenal.
‘What do you need me to do?’ she asked.
‘The Pakistani general out there, he seems to trust you. Tell him we’re going to be waiting here for a little while. Tell him everything is going to plan, but we just need them to wait while we get further instructions.’
‘Is that what we’re doing?’
‘Yes. I need to speak to our contact. And then we await further instructions.’ Again Alex thought about this. What Henry was saying made sense.
‘Why do I have to do it?’
‘Because I can tell he trusts you. Likes you even. You’re better at talking to him than I am.’ Alex nodded, and pushed down on the heavy handle to open the door. As soon as she jumped down and looked back towards the army trucks, she could see the general was already opening his door, and getting out of his truck to meet her. She smiled at him and walked confidently, her head held high.
‘Why are we stopping?’
‘We are awaiting further instructions on where exactly we should be taking the weapon.’
‘Is everything OK?’
‘Yes, it’s all going perfectly. We’re ahead of schedule if anything.’ The man hesitated for a couple of seconds, and seemed to be waiting for Alex to say something else reassuring. But she just stared back, keeping her face completely devoid of anxiety. He finally nodded, and turned around, saying briefly: ‘Ok, we wait.’ She almost ran back to the truck, pleased with herself for again achieving the outcome they needed. Henry beamed at her when she climbed back into her seat.
‘Sorted?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Nice work. I’m going to have a chat to Ahmed, just to fill him in on the plans.’
‘Don’t forget he’s allowed to call whoever he wants to.’
‘I know, I’m sure I won’t need to remind him.’
`Henry slid over Alex as he negotiated getting out of the vehicle. She felt the hard metal of the gun tucked into the top of his jeans, and winced at the memory of him holding it. Guns had almost destroyed their mission. As soon as he was out, she noticed he had left Phil’s mobile phone on the seat beside her. In a guilty flash, she grabbed it and clicked on the text message icon. The last message was the one she spied Henry receiving, with coordinate numbers. If this was the place the coordinates told Henry to come to, how had he known where to stop? He didn’t have a GPS in front of him, and there was no way he could guess with any accuracy. She looked over to Ahmed’s cockpit and saw that he had opened his door and was speaking to Henry. Neither of them was looking in her direction. She quickly slid the iPad out of her bag and turned her body away from Ahmed’s side of the truck. She opened Google and tapped ‘map coordinates’ into a search. This brought up a page where a Google Map could pin point any spot on earth, using the longitude and latitude. Alex’s hands shook, as she copied the numbers from the text message into the boxes on the iPad screen. She didn’t know exactly where they were in Rawalpindi, but when the page loaded, and the spot on the map appeared, it was immediately clear the coordinates weren’t pointing to anywhere in Pakistan. The dot sat somewhere in India. She glanced over at Ahmed, who now seemed to be climbing out of his cockpit. If they weren’t meant to be taking the weapon there, what did this position mean? As she looked back at the iPad, something on the dashboard caught her eye. It was a small keypad, with a black computer screen above it. Written in English, were the words GPS Coordinates. A hot flush of panic rose from Alex’s feet to the top of her head. The coordinates weren’t for the position of the transporter. They were for the place where the missile would land. When Alex looked back down at the spot highlighted on the Google map, she almost cried out in anger. Tiny black words marked a grey splodge on the map, where the red dot was sitting. She couldn’t believe it was possible. But what other explanation was there? The coordinates pointed to Mumbai, one of the most populated cities in the world. 800kms from where they were sitting.
She stared in bewildered anger at the phone in her hand. She needed to know what reply Henry had sent back to the coordinates message. Clicking to the sent items, she looked at the time of the last message and immediately saw that Henry had sent a text only moments ago, while she was speaking to the general. And the meaning of the message was instantly clear. ‘Right to go in five minutes. Just retrieving second code.’ As she sat with the phone in her hand, it beeped with a new message – and Henry’s exit strategy was instantly plain to see. It said ‘ETA 9:45. Ditch girl.’