The interior of the car assigned at the airport was nowhere near as plush as the limousine provided in England. It harboured a faint odour of cleaning fluid and its leather was faded and cracked. However, that was only a distraction to the real activities of the day.
The car’s occupants were in contemplative silence, the driver, facing forward, never turning to look at his solitary passenger.
The passenger watched the group walk into the foyer of the Bilderberg with ironic glee. Ignorance was something the knowledgeable had always used to herd the masses. In many ways, this educated group was more ignorant of the swirling motions around them than the drones that walked by in the street. Many of them were oblivious to even the most basic forces that ranged against them in their everyday lives.
A baby brought up in a prison would not know there was anything wrong with their life unless taught so. In the same way, if that teaching were guided, even the educated would only see their freedom as the compound in which their prison resided. Controlled revelation was no revelation at all. There were very few humans who may have glimpsed the walls of their prison, and even fewer that held the remotest idea about its simplicity.
A scan of the police traffic and military dispatches from the UK had not drawn any further comment regarding the events of the morning. That could be a very good sign, or an exceedingly bad one.
With no time to lose, a handset unlike any available to the general malaise was activated, a selection made, and preparations for the retrieval of the artefacts begun.