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“Hello, Grandmother.”
ChapterTwenty-Nine
KEIR
Istood on the veranda of the Pestana Palace Hotel, looking out at the 25 de Abril suspension bridge and the Tagus River, sipping champagne. There would be a formal party tonight for the one hundred and thirty European and North American business and political invitees before the actual meetings started tomorrow. Gathered was the crème de la crème of CEOs, national security experts, academics, journalists, and prominent politicians.
And I was one of them.
My greatest achievement was about to happen.
Bilderberg.
We had already been briefed on the itinerary for the weekend and signed various documents. The conference operated under Chatham House rules, meaning we were sworn to secrecy and could not disclose the identity or affiliation of any speaker or guest, not unlike the Circle of Kings constitution.
My watch chimed, and I glanced at it, wondering what my grandmother would think of me now. Perhaps I will finally replace the old trinket after this weekend. I certainly deserved to. A new Rolex wouldn’t be unwarranted and would be a good reminder that hard work and determination will always win.
I headed back to my room to change. Dinner was in an hour. When I got there, a bellboy stood waiting against the door.
“Mr. Wilson,” he said, coming to attention when he saw me.
“Yes.”
He handed me a piece of paper. “A man outside insisted I deliver this to you.”
I scanned the note and passed him a one hundred-euro bill. “Thank you.”
All mobile phones were blocked here. There was a communication lockdown. I hadn’t even bothered bringing mine in but instead left it with Alan.
The note was from him asking me to meet him out front.
Bloody hell.
He knew how much this weekend meant to me. I changed quickly into my tuxedo and hurried down the stairs to the lobby. Guests mingled in small groups, talking in hushed whispers. Every minute wasted was an opportunity gone. Prime ministers, finance ministers, and senators vied for each other’s attention.
The scene outside was absolute madness. A wall of police blocked the entrance, and beyond that, a small group of protesters stood chanting and holding signs which read –Stop the New World Order.
I squeezed through the police line, showing them my badge, and found Alan under a tree on the other side of the street.
“This better be fucking important,” I said through my teeth.
“It is.”
He handed me my phone. On the screen was a text from Patrick:Evie is missing. Is she with you?
“There are more,” Alan said. “Cormac and his father are gone too.”
I ran my hand through my hair. “Fuck. I’ll call him. I’m sure she is fine.” Though something in my gut said differently.
“You can’t. They have the phones jammed for at least a mile radius. You’ll need to come back to my hotel to get service.”
I looked back at the Pestana. Dinner would be starting in twenty minutes.
“Fine.”
Alan hailed a cab, and we got in. “Pressa,” he said to the driver in Portuguese.
“How long has she been missing?”
