Local time – 10:55am, Saturday 16th June, 2011.
Prague, Czechoslovakia.
When they got to the Old Town Square, there was no sign of protesters, or police, just the normal crowd of tourists eating ice-creams and waiting for the famous clock tower cuckoo to appear. Henry chose the restaurant and an alfresco table. He pulled out Alex’s chair before sitting down himself.
‘I can tell this is your first Bilderberg,’ he said.
‘How?’
‘Where’s your camera?’
‘I’m a journalist, not a photojournalist.’
‘I know, but your paper didn’t send a photojournalist, so you have to be prepared to take photos too. Your story will be better with photographic evidence.’
‘If you’d seen my shocking photography skills, you wouldn’t say that.’ She laughed nervously.
‘No doubt your writing skills are pretty good though. The Contingent wouldn’t hire an amateur. I read one of their articles a while back, it was a great piece comparing the world’s weak response to the refugee crisis caused by the Pakistan floods with the outpouring of support for countries affected by the Boxing Day Tsunami. I found it on the net.’
‘That was mine!’ Alex failed to hide her excitement, but Henry didn’t laugh at her. He looked impressed.
‘That was you? Really? Nice work.’
‘I’m flattered anyone read it! It wasn’t exactly front-page news.’
‘No, the front page is reserved for sound bite journalism. You’re obviously far too analytical for mass media.’ Alex didn’t know what to say. This was exactly how she felt about her career – she was good at writing stories she thought needed to be written, but not necessarily good at finding her by line in the popular sections of the news. She had never delivered a juicy scoop to her editor. This conference was her first chance to do just that.
She put down the menu and admired the stranger sitting across from her. She wasn’t the sort to judge a man wholly on his looks and often found herself attracted to a man’s laugh or personality. But Henry was something different. He had magnetism in his features and his manner. The way he looked at her so intently, she couldn’t help but feel he did already know her. Her mother used to always say “beware of handsome men”. And Henry sure fit that type.
‘Before we order, I need to admit something... ’
Before he could go on, the expectant pause between them was obliterated by an earth shattering boom. The blast of noise echoed in the air for the briefest of seconds, and was replaced by a silence so complete it had to be caused by a momentary deafness. Alex instinctively scrambled under the table, which shook with the blast’s after shock. Henry slid in behind and huddled close, with a protective arm across her.
‘Holy shit,’ he said. ‘That was a bomb.’ Alex’s hearing returned in time to hear ‘bomb’ and then uproar. People were running through the square.
‘Was it the castle?’ Alex asked. She peered out.
The castle, high on the hill, could be seen from anywhere in the city. There were no signs of an explosion. But people were pointing south and a huge plume of dark grey smoke was rising there in the distance. Someone was shouting in English and one word stood out like the smoke in the sky. Alex’s blood ran cold. ‘Terrorist.’
‘Let’s get out of here.’ Henry grabbed her hand and pulled her towards a laneway. The usually dawdling foot traffic was fleeing in all directions and Alex completely lost her bearings. Henry ran steadily, steering away from the chaos whilst dragging her to keep up with him. As they rounded a corner, Alex’s foot slipped on a lose stone and Henry’s grip tightened to stop her falling.
‘It’s OK,’ he kept saying. ‘It’s just down here.’ As they ran down one side of Wenceslas Square, the sound of sirens attached itself to the panic. Henry veered abruptly left into the Hotel Evropa. He was barely puffing, but Alex was exhausted. A worried looking man stood behind the reception desk, speaking tensely in Czech into a mobile phone. He caught Henry’s eye and said in perfect English:
‘A bomb has exploded at the police station.’
‘Police station?’ Alex gasped, acutely aware of the stitch in her side. When she stepped into the lift she noticed she was still holding Henry’s hand.
‘What the hell is going on?’ she asked. Henry looked resolute.
‘I knew something like this would happen.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They weren’t going to put up with this for long.’
‘Put up with what?’
‘The interference.’
The lift stopped and Henry hurried her across the corridor and into his room. The quiet calmed Alex immediately. She sat on the bed, still catching her breath.
‘Look, I don’t mean I knew they were going to bomb the police station. But I knew they would do something to lay down their rules.’
‘You mean the Bilderbergers? I can’t believe... ’
‘Well start believing it. Because it’s real.’ Henry sounded angry, catching Alex by surprise.
‘How do you know it was them? Why on earth would they blow people up?’ Henry sat down next to her and she could feel he was rigid with outrage.
‘They’ve been losing control of their secrecy. It used to be much easier for them to get away with total anonymity, but that’s changed. There are some journalists out there who want to expose what’s going on in these meetings. It was only a matter of time before the Bilderbergers made their position clear.’
‘You mean this was a warning?’
‘Not just a warning. They’ve likely killed most of those journalists today. Who’s going to go after the story now?’
‘Us. We should go to the bomb site. That’s what I should be reporting.’ As if on cue, her mobile rang. It was Gerome.
‘Alex, where are you?’
‘There was a bomb.’
‘I know. I just saw a Twitter feed. It said car bomb at Prague police station and now there’s a hole in the ground where the main cell block used to be... ’
‘There were at least 30 protesters and journalists in there.’
‘Bilderberg protesters?’
‘Yes.’ Alex waited for the news to sink in. Gerome didn’t seem to be saying anything, but she knew he would be swearing under his breath.
‘Alex, as much as I’d love to send you in there to cover this, I’m not putting you in harm’s way. It’s not worth it. I want you out of there.’
‘I’ll stay away from the scene of the bomb, but I’m not coming home yet. There’s at least one story here, even if you have to publish it without my name.’ Gerome considered this for a moment, and his sharp intake of breath suggested to Alex he needed more persuading.
‘Bernie wouldn’t have come home so I’m not either.’ Gerome again said nothing and Alex suddenly realised there was another reason for his call.
‘Bernie didn’t make it Alex. I think you should come home.’ Alex’s phone fell out of her hand. The thud made Henry jump.
‘Alex, Alex, are you there?’ Gerome’s voice echoed from the speaker.
She picked up her phone and managed to say, ‘I’ll call you later,’ before bursting into tears. Henry handed her a tissue and silently waited.
‘A friend, in England, he had a stroke. I thought he would be OK.’ She broke down again and Henry sat down next to her while she cried, his hand resting on her back.
After a while he said quietly,
‘Alex, if you do plan to stay, and you’re looking for a story, come with me to Estonia. I’ll prove to you there’s more to this Bilderberg group.’
‘Estonia? Why on earth would I go there? The story is here.’
‘All the other journalists will be covering the bombing, but the real story is in Tallinn.’
‘Why? What’s there?’
‘Evidence of their power. Evidence of their ultimate goal.’
‘Which is?’
‘Look, I’m not just an innocent bystander. You’ve probably guessed by now.’
‘What are you then?’
‘Let’s just say I’m a researcher. And I’m willing to help you get the biggest scoop of your career. I just want the story out there. We only need to go to Estonia for a few hours. It’s not that far. You’ll be back here before you know it.’
Alex sat looking at Henry, wondering if this was the fork in the road she’d been waiting for. She’d spent the last two years desperately looking for an angle that would launch her onto centre stage, but she had never come across an offer like this.
‘Ok, I’ll come with you,’ Alex said, conscious she was agreeing not just from her own hope of glory but because that’s what Bernie would have done.