Revolution (14 page)

Sherman Kruger grimaced as he watched, sucking on his cheeks as he rested his chin on the uneven pillow of his gnarled, blotchy hands.

The screen flicked back to Mandie and Jake’s perma–perfect features as Mandie continued speaking.

‘Despite the shocking scenes depicted in that report, it is not the biggest news coming out of Mordania today. Jake?’

Jake’s features brightened as though he’d been suddenly plugged into a wall–socket.

‘That’s right Mandie. An extraordinary event has occurred since Martin Sigby’s first report was broadcast from within Mordania from the village of Anterik. It appears that the reports reaching viewers around the world are not just informing us of events that were until now concealed from the world. It actually appears that these exclusive reports are having an effect on the conflict itself!’

Sherman Kruger leaned forward in sudden consternation, staring hard at the screen as Jake introduced their live correspondent on the ground in Thessalia, Steven Ayres.

‘The reports from Mordania by Martin Sigby have suddenly had an effect on the ground here in Thessalia and the surrounding areas. We’ve recently received reports that Anterik, a village suffering from extreme hardship and poverty during the course of the war to date, has received aid shipments not from the UN or the Red Cross or any other of the charity agencies working out here, but from the rebel forces themselves. It appears, Jake, believe it or not, that forces on the ground here are beginning to react to the reports that they know are reaching the outside world.’

Jake’s expression became robotically surprised.

‘That’s incredible Steven, and you’re saying that they’re actively trying to improve the conditions for the citizens of the village, knowing that the fact will be broadcast live around the world?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying Jake,’
Steven enthused,
‘and I can tell you that since the first broadcast by the British correspondent Martin Sigby on the appalling discovery of human remains in a destroyed village outside of Thessalia, rebel forces have been observed advancing on the area and forming a loose ring around the forest. However, they have not acted aggressively toward any teams accessing the site.’

Sherman Kruger’s ageing features turned purple with fury and he slammed a wiry hand down on the side of his chair.

‘You little shits,’ he spat. ‘You scheming, interfering little bastards.’

Jake Hennley thoughtfully furrowed his brow.

‘You’re saying that they’re trying to protect the activities ongoing at the site?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying, Jake. They’ve effectively formed a perimeter around the area but have remained out of contact with the aid agencies and UN inspectors now on site at the remains of the village. It’s as if they’re trying to say “we’re here to protect you while you work” without making direct contact.’

‘Unbelievable,’
Jake replied, shaking his head and looking at the camera.

The studio went dark and silent as Kruger turned off the television and gripped the remote in his hand.

‘Unbelievable, Jake,’ he agreed.

Kruger speed–dialled a number on his phone pad and it was picked up on the second ring by a female secretary.

‘Seth Cain’s office.’

‘Put Seth on the line, and yes, it’s urgent.’

There was a moment of shocked hesitation and then the line clicked as it was transferred.

‘Seth Cain.’

‘You’ve seen the news, I take it, Seth.’

‘I don’t know where the hell this guy’s getting his reels from,
’ Cain replied.
‘The whole world’s watching this jerk, and now it would seem that the rebels are trying to polish their image through his reporting.’

‘It’s got to stop, Seth,’ Kruger hissed, ‘and it’s got to stop now! We had an agreement, remember? I said create something spectacular, not screw up our entire operation!’

‘I remember,’
Cain replied.
‘I’m due to see the Vice President shortly. If I can convince him that the time to move on Mordania is now, he may be able to sway the president’s opinion. There are still enough hawks in the administration to lobby for a military solution to the problem.’

Kruger’s grip on the television remote tightened.

‘That pig–faced little squirt who’s been getting these reels from Mordania, Sigby is it? It says on the reports that he works for GNN UK, correct?’

‘He does,’
Cain replied.

‘Then make damned sure that his next report covers, in unflinching detail, the appalling atrocities of the rebel forces and the valiant defiance of the democratic government of Mordania. Then I want him out of that country, is that clear?’

‘I’m not sure that I can simply pull him out, now that he’s surrounded by such media attention. It’ll do more harm to our cause than good.’

Kruger hurled the television remote at a wall nearby, the device shattering with a sharp crack.

‘Then arrange a tragic accident for him and wrap this charade up with a terrifically sad epitaph for his courage and devotion to the noble cause! I don’t care how you do it just get him off the damned television!’

There was a long pause on the line, and then Seth Cain spoke thoughtfully.

‘There may be another way. Perhaps we can turn this to our advantage.’

‘Whatever. If you let me down Seth, I’ll buy GNN and fire you my goddamned self!’

Kruger cut the line off and fumed in impotent silence as Julia appeared from nowhere and quietly began picking up the plastic fragments of the television remote.

***

‘Ella mon Giet, what has happened out there Alexei?’

President Mukhari Akim’s voice was laden with displeasure as he stood behind his desk. Alexei Sevrov stood to attention before him, his dark eyes staring somewhere above the president.

‘As I said before, sir, it is my suspicion that one of the aid volunteers has been carrying a concealed camera into the country and filming things that do not concern them, in direct deficance of your policies as president of..,’

‘I don’t care about the footage!’ President Akim exploded, his barrel chest projecting his voice like cannon fire around the office. ‘I’m talking about the massacre! Our people have died at the hands of butchers!’

Severov performed a rapid mental calculation.

‘I do not know, sir. Their Red Cross are on the site right now. I have troops stationed to protect them from any interference from the rebel positions to their north.’

The president slowly moved from behind his desk, massaging his temple with one hand as he walked to stand beside the office windows, looking down onto the square and the statue of Balthazaar the Great far below.

‘The murder of civilians, a cold–blooded massacre, will change the course of the conflict entirely. The United Nations will no longer wish to stand by as an exclusively neutral observer, but more importantly they may decide not to support
us
. How could they be seen to support a government they suspect may have murdered its own civilians!?’ He turned to face his chief of police. ‘We are witnessing the complete destruction of our independence as a nation.’

Severov, still at attention, cleared his throat.

‘I can find out who is filming these broadcasts and bring an end to this. The people of the world have seen such images countless times, every year. They’ll be more concerned with weather reports once we’ve closed this renegade cameraman down.’

President Akim shook his head and exhaled noisily, glancing out the windows again at the snow falling thickly from the ghost–grey sky before making a decision.

‘We can no longer afford to be passive observers ourselves, Alexei. We must ensure that there are no longer any further obstacles created by foreigners in the land of our fathers. How long before you know who is responsible for the broadcast footage?’

Severov’s teeth flashed in a wicked smile beneath his thick grey stubble.

‘Perhaps a few seconds,’ he said. ‘You recorded the broadcast, as I suggested?’

The president nodded and activated an ancient VCR beneath a television in the corner of the office. Immediately, the broadcast detailing the discovery of the murder victims and the razed village played.

‘Turn up the volume,’ Severov said, moving close to the television and looking at the images of the bodies partly concealed beneath the snow.

President Akim raised the volume, listening with Severov. After a few moments, as a hand was lifting yet another decaying leg from the mud and slush, the sound of a large truck engine starting–up echoed across the barren clearing.

‘There!’ Severov said. ‘This footage was not taken by the Red Cross when they arrived at the scene. This was taken by the MSF aid group volunteers when I was present. It was shot when I was there!’

‘The engine in the background?’ the president said.

‘I told my driver to start the engine. I knew that if somebody was filming it would record the sound in the background and I’d know who was at the scene.’

The President looked at his chief of police seriously. ‘Who was it?’

Severov’s skin flushed with blood as the first possibility of revenge entered his mind.

‘Megan Mitchell and her big friend. They are the ones doing the filming. I can arrest them right now sir.’

The president glanced again at the recording, now showing Martin Sigby presenting his report from the snowy roof of the Thessalia Hilton.

‘No. There is another way.’

*

‘Estrom? I don’t know of them off–hand, dear girl.’

Sir Wilkins stood in the Government House UN offices, his eyes searching the ceiling as he tried to place the name.

‘They were all wearing the same shoes,’ Megan said. ‘It’s my guess that they were employed doing some kind of laboratory work. Whoever killed these people also stripped the buildings of any evidence of what was there before they torched the place.’

Sir Wilkins nodded thoughtfully.

‘You’ve spoken to the Red Cross teams about this?’ he asked.

‘As soon as we got back. They’re not able to find anything on the work that might have gone on here, but they feel certain that they will be able to identify at least some of the dead.’

‘Good,’ Sir Wilkins replied, punching one fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘There will be families who will be spared the agony of not knowing what happened to their loved ones.’ The attache looked at Megan and blanched slightly. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to refer to, you know, all that business.’

‘It’s okay,’ Megan said. ‘Can you find out who makes these shoes and what they’re for?’

‘Of course,’ Sir Wilkins said. ‘We have the Internet here, along with most of the UN’s files on Mordania. There’s bound to be something. I’ll have a word with one of the girls next door, if you’ll give me a minute.’

‘Thanks, Tom,’ Megan said, turning to see Callum standing in the doorway with a satellite phone in his hand.

‘It’s your friend from the Big Apple.’

Megan took the phone and heard the bouyant drawl of Frank Amonte on the line.

‘Hey Megan, sorry it took so long to get back to you. I managed to speak to Amy’s folks again and they filled me in on this Mordanian mystery.’

‘Go on,’ Megan encouraged.

‘Well, it turns out that her father’s family line is of Mordanian stock, which is probably where Amy got her exotic looks from. Anyway, when I questioned them about their history in Mordania, it turns out that her father had several close friends in the country from his childhood, just after World War Two. He said that Amy mentioned one of them from time to time, a man whom her father remained in contact with after he emigrated to America.’

‘Who, and how did she know him?’

‘That’s the thing. The Mordanian is a scientist who worked in the automotive industry during the post–war period. His name is Petra Milankovich. According to Amy’s father, Petra had a great deal of contact recently with Amy, but her father doesn’t know whether it has anything to do with her having travelled to Mordania or whether it’s just a coincidence. Personally, I’d imagine it’s relevant – Amy had never met this man before yet they’ve had considerable contact over the past twelve months. I couldn’t find a permanent address for the guy, but I’ve found a place that she stayed at regularly while working out there – it’s a farmstead near the town of Talyn. I’ll forward it to you.’

‘Good work Frank,’ Megan replied. ‘That makes sense, that she might have travelled here to meet him. I’ll look into it. What about the other thing that I asked you about?’

‘Ah, now that’s really interesting. Sophie Vernoux, Medicines Sans Frontiers, right? Well, I checked every personnel file that I could lay my hands on going back almost twelve years, and I can tell you something for sure: MSF have never employed a Sophie Vernoux who matches the description of your friend over there.’

Megan felt her heart flutter in her chest as it missed a beat.

‘You’re sure, Frank?’

‘One hundred percent sure. Whoever she is, it ain’t who she’s sayin’ she is. Take it from me.’

‘Okay Frank, good work. I’ll be in touch.’

Frank Amonte rang off and Megan sat for a moment, picturing Sophie Vernoux in her mind. She looked over at Sir Wilkins, who was returning from his officers with a sheet of paper.

‘Anything?’ Megan asked.

Sir Wilkins handed Megan the sheet of paper with a triumphant flourish.

‘Estrom Betrick Incorporated,’ he said as Megan read the details on the sheet. ‘Suppliers of high quality foot–wear to laboratories all over the Caspian region, specifically to industrial and manufacturing plants. They specialise in clothing designed to withstand abrasion with minimal flaking of material, to avoid contaminating laboratory conditions.’

Megan looked across at Callum.

‘The guy that Amy knew here in Mordania, who she might have been searching for, was a scientist,’ she said.

‘One of the ones who was killed?’ Callum said in surprise. ‘The plot thickens.’