Local time – 6.40pm, Sunday 17th June, 2011.
Prague, Czechoslovakia.
Leo looked at his watch glumly, and noted that by rights, he should be sitting down to the conference closing dinner. Diverting from the Sunday agenda had been a natural reaction to a very immediate need. But he hadn’t eaten properly all day, and this was now making him feel even more anxious and angry at the news from Edelstein’s men. They had got to the Army Museum and found Daniel, barley alive. There were other unexplained dead bodies, but no nuclear weapon, and no Alex North. Now they were trying to work out where the girl had taken the weapon. Just when Leo was about to ask if any of the staff could fetch him a sandwich, he heard a shout from the conference room command centre. Men were hurrying towards a huge plasma screen at the end of the room.
When Leo got there, he noticed Douglas was among the people watching the screen. He didn’t have time to object. The scenes unfolding in front of his eyes had him, and every other person watching, transfixed in silence.
A news station, which happened to be one of Leo’s, was running a live feed of the huge protest rally at the Washington Monument. This rally was proudly designed and created by the Bilderbergers, and, so far, it had been responding exactly as planned. Without the delay caused by that infuriating lose end, Alex North, all plans would be in full swing by now. However, as Leo looked at all the bewildered faces around him, it was immediately clear that what was happening in front of them was most certainly not part of their plan.
Two helicopters had appeared in the sky, hovering high above the Washington Monument. In-between the two helicopters was a thick cable, tethering them together. From this cable hung a gigantic white banner, perhaps 400m square. It was weighted down on the two bottom corners, which, along with the downward pressure of the wind from the helicopter blades, kept it almost flat, like a screen. Faces craned up towards it, and an eerie silence engulfed the crowd. The chopper blades were causing a mini wind storm at the front of the crowd, pulling placards out of people’s hands. Leo had never seen anything like it. Then he saw that the white banner was being used as a projector screen. The helicopters hovered stationary, and an image appeared on the screen. Two men sat in large leather armchairs, looking comfortable and relaxed as if in a quiet cabin by a lake. Behind them, a large American flag was mounted on the wall. The screen rippled gently, but Leo could easily recognise them. One was Edward Feck, the Fox TV host and public hero of the Tea Party. The other was Edmund Maxwell, long time financier of the Tea Party, but also, prior to this moment, an incredibly private billionaire industrialist. Maxwell was also the only ex-Bilderberger to have stormed out of the conference last year, so when people in the room recognised him, a lot of cursing and shouting erupted. He looked around when he felt a tug on his sleeve. It was Douglas.
‘Leo, I know how you can stop the video.’ Leo shrugged him away.
‘Stay out of this Douglas.’
‘Ryan worked on this setup. He told me the screen is canvas.’
‘So what?’
‘It’s highly flammable. If they’d used vinyl, it would self extinguish. But if you can get a flame onto the canvas...’ Leo suddenly understood, and rushed over to Edelstein. Within seconds, Edelstein was giving orders to someone on his phone. Leo’s attention went back to the screen. Someone called for hush, as Feck had already started speaking. His enthusiastically dramatic tone boomed across the Monument as if coming from a stadium of loud speakers. Leo wondered where they were projecting from, and how they had set up speakers.
‘Something beyond imagination has happened. America is in crisis. We’re sorry if we’ve crashed your rally here today, but there are things you need to know about your government which we haven’t been able to tell you... in the traditional way. I have with me someone who you might not know. Edmund Maxwell is here today to stop America’s future being destroyed. And it is my privilege to let him explain exactly what he has done.’ Feck then turned to Maxwell. The men in the conference room collectively held their breath, as their ex-member sat forward in his armchair and opened his mouth.
‘It has been a long and hard decision for me to publicly address you today. But, in the end, when it came down to restoring our great country’s strength, or letting it be destroyed by secret socialist forces, intent on undermining our freedom, it was a very easy choice to make. Last year I attended a meeting of world leaders. At this meeting, I discovered a plot so despicable, so filled with evil, and so detrimental to our great country’s liberty, that I knew I needed to act. I fear this plot is about to be unleashed on an unsuspecting public.’ Maxwell now sat back in his chair and took a moment to let his words settle. He then spoke again, still sitting back like a grandfather might sit when telling his grandchildren an oft told story. ‘America made a grave error in choosing a leader who puts a greater emphasis on what he calls international cooperation than on defending his own people. Our democracy does not ask President Santos to worry about other country’s’ problems. Nor does it ask him to use our hard earned dollars to finance the activities of failed nation states. Nations who call us infidels and want to destroy us. Nations who finance terrorism and kill our innocent people in our own land. The President is bringing this terrorism to our shores. He is financing this terrorism. He is organising this terrorism. And, I have come to realise, he is a terrorist. Your President is a terrorist and when you hear what he has allowed Pakistan to do to India because of his criminal disarmament program...’
Suddenly the sound of Maxwell’s voice stopped, as if the speakers had literally been turned off. He kept speaking, but only lip readers could tell what he said. Feck motioned to him, obviously alerting him to the fact the sound was gone. As he went to stand up, a flame tore through the screen. The canvas caught alight, with fire running outwards to the edges from a hole in the centre, until the whole thing disintegrated. People in the crowd screamed and pointed. The helicopters climbed vertically, untethered themselves, and disappeared from the view of the camera. Almost as quickly as it had started, the show was over.
Leo looked around at his colleagues in the room, as they readied themselves to ask the same question. How much damage had this done? And when, for heaven’s sake, would they hear that Alex North’s weapon had been neutralised?