Revolution (13 page)

‘My men could not have done such a thing as this. It is the work of General Rameron and his terrorists!’

‘Then where are they?’ Callum challenged. ‘If they had advanced this far, they would not then abandon their gains. We’re just a few miles from Thessalia, the city that they wish to conquer.’

‘I don’t know,’ Severov admitted.

Sophie shrugged. ‘Then you don’t know it wasn’t your own men who did this.’

Severov whirled and raised an accusing finger to point at Sophie, and in an instant Callum reacted, looping his right arm over Severov’s elbow and then pushing his right hand through under the commander’s armpit. Callum’s left arm came across and his forearm pinned Severov under the throat. The commander was instantly pitched backwards and off balance. The Scot held him there and whispered into his ear.

‘It’s rude to point.’

The surprise in Severov’s eyes mutated grotesquely into terrible fury, black holes radiating hate. The military police nearby watched eagerly, never having seen their commander bested in such a way.

‘Let me go or I shall gut you like a fish,’ the commander growled, his one free hand dropping to grip a knife in a sheath by his left ankle.

Callum smiled and complied instantly. The police commander plummeted onto his back in the snow. He scrambled back onto his feet, his teeth bared in fury and his dark skin flushed with humiliation. He turned to glare at Megan.

‘How dare you let him attack me?!’

Megan was about to reply when everyone, Severov included, suddenly looked past her. She turned to see what looked like a peasant farmer, who had emerged from the tree–line with two goats and a small donkey on a rope leash.

The military police instantly aimed their Kalashnikovs at the old man.

The farmer stared at them in surprise and then turned to flee back toward the forest.

Severov, his pride damaged and his blood up, instantly lunged in pursuit.

‘Alexei, wait!’ Megan shouted.

***

The old man had barely reached the tree line when Severov caught him by the collar, lifting him almost bodily off the ground.

‘Alexei!’ Megan shouted. ‘Let him go!’

Severov ignored Megan and dragged the old man back toward the military police. The farmer was weeping in terror, begging and pleading with his captor.

‘I said let him go!’ Megan repeated, moving to intercept the commander.

Severov pulled his service pistol from its holster and aimed it at Megan.

‘This is police business and you will stay out of it!’

Megan hesitated, sensing the blind fury now contaminating Severov as he dragged the old man to where the dead body lay in the snow and dropped him down next to it. The commander aimed his pistol at the old man.

‘What do you know of this?!’ he demanded in Mordanian, pointing at the corpse.

The old man scrambled weakly to his knees as Megan watched, his gnarled old hands clasped before him as he begged for his life in juddering Mordanian.

‘What do you know of this?!’ Severov bellowed again.

The old man continued to plead, until Severov grabbed him by the collar with his free hand and brought the butt of the pistol crashing down across his temple with a sickening crunch.

‘Stop that!’ Sophie screamed, rushing forward.

Megan and Callum exchanged a silent glance.

Severov hit the old man again. Megan moved swiftly forward into Severov’s right side, reaching out for the pistol. Severov aimed the weapon at her, and in that instant Callum moved in from behind the commander and grabbed the pistol, his hand curling over the barrel and twisting it awkwardly down and to the right. Severov’s fingers parted under the pressure and the pistol slipped from his grasp.

The commander whirled to face Callum, his fist raised to hit the Scotsman. Megan reached up and grabbed Severov’s arm from behind, belaying the blow. In the same instant Callum’s own chunky fist slammed into Severov’s jaw with a crack loud enough to echo off the treeline, sending the commander sprawling into the snow.

A rush of shocked gasps rippled through the military police gathered nearby, and a few of their weapons snapped up to point in Callum’s general direction. The two British troopers instantly raised their own weapons in return, but mostly the Mordanians were transfixed by the sight of their disarmed commander, who had briefly lost consciousness but now rolled over, dragging himself unsteadily to his feet. Severov glared at Megan and Callum in turn, his expression twisted with incoherent hatred. After a few moments he wrenched his features into something approaching dignity and moved to stand silently in front of Callum

The commander held out his hand, palm–up, glaring silently at the Scotsman. Callum, unintimidated, handed the commander back his service pistol. Severov holstered the weapon, his dark eyes never leaving Callum’s, before turning back to the old man.

Sophie was already tending to the farmer’s head wound, and Megan moved slightly to one side, blocking Severov’s path.

‘Enough for one day, Alexei.’

‘I came here to protect you,’ Severov growled, ‘and this is how you repay me?’

Megan gestured to the old man sitting in the snow behind her, who mumbled quietly to himself as Sophie patched her up.

‘Protecting us?’ Megan murmured. ‘From such a bloodthirsty savage as him? What ever would we have done without you, Alexei?’

The two British troopers chuckled under their breath and lowered their weapons, and the Mordanian police, sensing the jibe, relaxed. Severov cast a final glare in their direction before stalking away toward the troop–carrier.

‘He’ll not forget this, Megan,’ Sophie cautioned as she applied a medical pad to the old man’s head. ‘Mordanians never forget an insult.’

Megan shrugged.

‘We’ll be gone soon enough.’

Megan turned to the two British troopers.

‘Can you guys give us a hand?’

Together, the soldiers, Megan and Callum hauled body after body out of the freezing snow and mud, partially exposing them to the elements. Megan then went over the bodies, searching without luck for identification documents.

‘Stripped of posessions before they were shot,’ Callum said as Megan wiped her hands in the snow.

Sophie, who had been watching them work as she finished tending to the old man, looked across the grisly, barren haul of bodies and broken earth.

‘Somebody is responsible for this,’ she said softly.

Megan sighed.

‘Without papers or witnesses, there’s nothing for us to go on.’

She cast her gaze across the bodies again, and then her eyes caught on something, a pattern visible through the grime, slush and decay. She knelt down again beside one of the bodies and examined it more closely.

‘What is it?’ Sophie asked, moving closer.

Megan moved to another body, and then another, checking their ankles each time.

‘These are all male victims,’ she said as she moved from one body to another, ‘most of them middle aged or older.’

‘So?’ Sophie asked.

‘It’s the shoes,’ Megan replied.

‘The shoes?’ Callum asked, following them both closely and filming as he went.

‘They’re all wearing the same kind of shoes,’ Megan said, pointing to one of the corpses. ‘These aren’t the kind of shoes that people wear to travel in the snow. These are indoor shoes. These people either lived or were employed here. Look.’

Callum leaned close to the shoe that Megan held up for him demonstratively. It was a thin soled shoe, almost like a sports trainer but without laces. Instead it was tied with neat straps over the bridge of the foot.

‘There wouldn’t be any warmth in them,’ Callum agreed.

‘They all have the same logo on the bottom,’ Megan said, pointing to the sole of the shoe.

‘
Estrom
,’ Callum read the label. ‘Some kind of company, specialist footwear?’

Megan nodded, lowering the leg she held back into the slush.

‘They were all employees of some kind,’ Megan said, turning to Sophie and gesturing toward the old man. ‘Does he know what they were doing here before the fire?’

Sophie turned to the old man and in faltering Mordanian relayed the question. A garbled response tumbled from his mouth, accompanied by wild and enthusiastic gesticulating. Sophie frowned as she concentrated, and then looked at Megan.

‘I think he’s saying that she doesn’t really know, but there were lots of movements at night, vehicles delivering equipment and personnel from an airfield somewhere north of here. It was a busy place, but he did not return for a long time.’ She listened as the old man gabbled on before translating further. ‘This morning was the first time that he has come back here, when he heard vehicles while working on his fields on the other side of the valley.’

Megan turned and looked at the surrounding mountains, climbing high into the chill clouds. The valley in which they stood was surrounded by the soaring peaks, steep hillsides and plunging valleys leading out into the wilderness. She looked questioningly at Callum.

‘Some kind of research facility?’ the Scotsman hazarded. ‘Maybe military, although there’s no evidence of a defensive structure here, so perhaps industrial.’

‘There’s not much more we can do,’ Megan said, ‘except get the Red Cross down and let Sir Wilkins know what we’ve found. I don’t want him to see it on the news first.’

‘I’ve got plenty of footage,’ Callum murmured discreetly, and patted his jacket.

Megan nodded. ‘Good. Get a few establishing shots for Sigby and then let’s get out of here.’

Sophie looked at the old man. ‘What about him?’

Megan looked at the old farmer before glancing over her shoulder at Severov, who sat smoking in the cab of the troop–carrier whilst watching them with sullen eyes.

‘Let the old man go and make sure our psychopathic escort doesn’t follow him.’

At that moment, Callum’s cell–phone rang. Mildly surprised, he retrieved and answered it. After listening for a few moments, his eyes widened in disbelief.

‘You’re kidding?’ he said, looking across at Megan. ‘Anterik? They moved in on the town and they did what?’

Both Megan and Sophie moved closer, mutually curious as to what was being said to Callum.

‘They just went in and went out again, just like that? And it’s on the news?’

Callum listened some more and then nodded, shutting the phone off and looking at Megan with a bemused smile on his face.

‘You’re not going to believe this,’ he said, ‘but your little endeavour of yesterday is having a bigger impact than I think any of us could have anticipated.’

*

Alexei Severov watched closely as Sophie Vernoux let the farmer go, the old man thanking her with pathetic gestures of gratitude before hobbling away into the tree line and disappearing.

The commander drew deeply on his cigarette, watching as Mitchell and her friend, the big man with the strange accent, began moving again amongst the bodies. Severov observed them for a few more moments, noting the strange path that they took, and then turned to the driver sitting beside him in the cab.

‘Start the engine,’ he snapped. ‘The cab is cold.’

The driver blinked. ‘You have your door open, Alexei.’

Severov’s gaze swivelled toward the driver with murderous intent. The driver reached for the keys without another word and fired the engine. Severov continued to watch Megan Mitchell and smiled quietly to himself.

‘Let’s see what you’re really doing here,’ he whispered.

***

Principality of Monaco,

Cote D’azure

‘Good evening, this is the GNN six o’clock news. I’m Mandie Carmen.’

‘And I’m Jake Hennley.’

Mandie and Jake’s perfectly proportioned features became mutually serious as a computer generated map of Mordania appeared magically on the screen behind them. Mandie’s voice dropped a suitably ominous octave lower.

‘Tonight’s exclusive report comes from the break–away Russian state of Mordania. As the civil war intensifies, an extraordinary report from a British correspondent within the country exposes evidence of crimes against humanity within twenty miles of the capital itself, Thessalia.’

The camera zoomed in on Jake’s thermo–nuclear tan.

‘The British correspondent, Martin Sigby, has managed to obtain access to footage from within the country despite a complete ban on foreign journalists travelling outside of the capital city Thessalia. I should like to warn our viewers that this report contains scenes that they will find immensely disturbing.’

The image of Jake Hennley vanished to be replaced by one of the bitter landscape of Mordania, a snowy clearing ringed with dense forests of pine. Martin Sigby’s voice droned over the images.

‘Borack district, just ten miles north of Thessalia City. Here, during a routine aid mission by Medicines Sans Frontiers volunteers, the remains of what was once a thriving settlement is found beneath the ice and snow.’

The image changed to close–ups, shot as the hands of unseen individuals handled lumps of charred wood and then fragments of grubby clothing.

‘An entire village razed to the ground by fire, and amidst the scorched shards of timber and glass, the remains of the people who had once lived here.’

A shot of a hand holding up a leg, the ankle and calf visible beneath the fabric of clothing, the skin pale and blotched by decay.

‘They are believed to number in excess of eighty souls, all of whom show evidence of being executed where they stood. Given the state of the bodies and the putrefaction of tissues, they can have died little more than days ago.’

The screen changed to an image of Martin Sigby standing on the roof of the Thessalia Hilton, facing the camera with a microphone in his hand.

‘Although the Red Cross has been notified of the discovery of the remains, and though it will be some time before forensic officers can obtain more accurate information about the terrible fate of these innocent victims of an increasingly brutal war, it remains clear that genocide is now a factor in this bitter conflict. The biggest question that hangs over this most distressing of discoveries is that fact that the murders have occurred so close to, and in fact within, government held territory. Despite the obvious efforts being made by the government of President Mukhari Akim to protect civilians here in Thessalia, the presence of such a massacre so close to the city once again throws doubt onto the government’ s ability, and will, to defend the safe haven, and that of the UN to assist them in doing so. It would seem now that the United Nations may call the Mordanian government to task on this most terrible of atrocities, and demand that they do more to protect the people from the ferocity of the forces under the rebel leader Mikhail Rameron. Martin Sigby, Mordania.’